“You’ve done enough,” the priest remarked obliquely. He hesitated a moment, remembering MacShane’s warning that his wife must hear nothing of the old legend, but MacShane was not born or raised on the sod, Irish though he might be. He could not understand the depth of feeling and respect accorded ancient beliefs. If the lady were to be sincere in her repudiation of her heritage, then she must understand it fully.
“You have a mark upon your shoulder,” he began, his eyes hard upon her face. “There’s a legend about such a mark. You know of it?”
Deirdre nodded reluctantly. She could not lie to a priest, though she had omitted some of the truth in her story. “I know a little, not all.”
“I did not believe the tale of your return until I saw the mark myself, and it is as legend predicted.” He paused, feeling the night’s chill though the fire glowed healthily. “You are the second to bear the mark. I will tell you what I have heard about the first.”
When he had finished repeating the story he had told Killian, Deirdre sat with her arms wrapped about her middle. She felt faintly ill, as though some ague would soon be upon her.
“The mother came to you with her babe because she had come to me and I could not cure her. She was dying and she knew it. No worldly power could save her, and I do not claim for myself powers reserved for God.”
“Neither do I!” Deirdre answered. “Father, believe me, I have spoken to no one of the legend, showed no one the mark.”
“And yet Mrs. Ross has seen it,” the priest replied.
The memory of the woman entering in upon her and
Killian as they were about to make love came back to Deirdre and she blushed. “She came upon me suddenly, while I was dressing.”
The priest finished his porridge in silence. Only then did
he speak. “Why have you sent for me, to find a home for the orphan bairn?”
“Oh no, Dary can remain here. I want you to baptize him, if his mother has not done so already.”
Teague O’Donovan felt the breath of fear on his neck. “That I will not do.”
“Why not?”
The priest shook his head, rising. “Folk believe the bairn was saved from drowning by fairy magic. His mother died under dubious circumstances. Until it can be proved that magic had no part in these events, I will do nothing.”
Deirdre rose indignantly to her feet. “You are a priest. You cannot fear the fairy boughs and straw charms of simple people.”
“I do not fear them. But I will not be a party to abetting their beliefs. The saving of the bairn could be a devil’s trick. I’ll not be drawn into it.”
“Baptizing Dary will make him a child of God. How can you be certain that it was not God’s doing? Could He not have worked the miracle of sparing the baby’s life to demonstrate the goodness of His spirit? Why must goodness be questioned as the devil’s tricks?”
Teague shook his head. The lady made sense, so much so that he feared to glance at her again. If she was as pure of heart as she seemed, she could be a formidable ally. Yet, he must be careful, wary.
“If you will come to Mass when next I am in the valley, and take the Host, I will baptize the bairn then.”
“I will,” Deirdre agreed enthusiastically, but the priest was already moving away from her toward the door through which he had come. “How will I know where to find you?”
“Mrs. Ross will bring you.” he answered over his shoulder and slipped out into the night.
*
“You’re home! You’re home!” Tears of relief blurred Deirdre’s vision as she was caught up in Killian’s arms and swung around in the yard.
“Aye, Dee! Home!” Killian hugged her hard before setting her back on the ground. She gazed up at him, her green eyes as bright as the first patch of spring shamrocks in the valley. Her face was thinner, Killian noted in concern, and those lush green eyes were ringed with dark crescents of worry and discomfort. The hands he held in his were thickened by blisters and the beginnings of calluses. She was still beautiful, but how long would that beauty remain if she had to live like a wild thing in the west country of Ireland?
Deirdre put a self-conscious hand to her hair as he continued to stare at her. “Have I grown ugly, or have you forgotten entirely what I look like, you’ve been gone so long?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing, Dee,” Killian answered in a voice roughened by emotion. “I’m sorry I’ve been away so long.”
“More than two weeks!” Deirdre complained and tugged the black whiskers at his chin. “You’ve grown a beard. Where have you been?”
Killian smiled suddenly. “Bartering, lass, like any gypsy you see on the roads.” He turned to show her the pony cart he had ridden into the yard. “I’ve gifts from so far away you’ll never guess them all.”
Deirdre looked at the brimming cart for the first time. “Where did you get the money for the cart and the pony?”
“Bartered for them,” Killian answered, and then with his hands on her shoulders he pushed her gently toward the back of the cart. “Stand here and see what I’ve brought you.”
As she watched, he slipped a knife under the knot that held the canvas cover tight and then threw back the cover. There were so many things piled in the cart that she could not take in everything at once. The item that captured her attention first was the largest. “You’ve bought a bed!”
“Aye, that I did. ’Twas time we had one. I’ve grown weary of that slate floor. It wears like the very devil on a man’s knees.”
“You don’t sleep on your knees,” Deirdre answered as
she ran a hand appreciatively along one long branch of black bog oak that was a bedpost.
“Sleeping’s not the only thing a man does in bed,” Killian answered and was pleased to see her blush. “My first several sons shall be born on this bed.”
“First…several,” Deirdre echoed in faint dismay.
“Aye, and we’ll have a lass or two to round out the number,” Killian added.
“Look! Is that velvet? It is! My velvet gown,” Deirdre cried in delight as she pulled it free. She turned to him. “You’ve been to Cork.”
“Aye, so I have. There are wools, velvets, and even a silk gown,” Killian answered. “I brought a pair of chairs and a table. They’re not as fine as those you’re accustomed to, but they’ll do.”
Deirdre’s face was wreathed in a huge smile. “Aye, they’ll do, Killian MacShane. And so you’ll know, I love you!”
Killian folded his arms across his chest in satisfaction as she filled her arms with the gifts he had claimed as his share of the smugglers’ horde. He had pleased her, and that’s all he had wanted. Later he would tell her how his trip to Cork had forestalled the Bill of Discovery against him. It was quite amazing what a few cases of French brandy could buy. His cattle were to be released and the petition dropped. As for the rest of his adventure, the less she knew, the better. O’Donovan’s threat was real, and the investigation he had begun against the man must not leak out.
“Leave the rest for Colin and Enan to bring in,” he said as he took the bundle from her. “You have yet to show your husband a proper welcome.”
Deirdre smiled saucily at him. “I thought you did not want to wear out your poor knees.”
Killian grinned at her over the pile in his arms. “And so I was thinking on my journey home. You’re not to know but there’s ways, lass, of pleasing a man that don’t wear out his knees.”
Deirdre colored to the roots of her hair but she hurried after him as he strode toward the house.
“It doesn’t need a great mind to know where they’re going and what they’ll be doing when they get there,” Enan Ross exclaimed from where he stood watching in the doorway of the stable.
“Shut up!” Fey glowered up at him. “Ye do nae know everything.”
“I know enough to please a lass, were I of a mind,” he answered cockily.
“Yer mind does nae come into it,” Fey shot back. “And as for the lass who’d choose ye to bed her, she’d must have a mind smaller than me
loodeen
.”
“I could prove ye wrong, were ye nae so afraid of me loving ye,” Enan said as he reached out for her.
“I’d rather eat turf!” Fey cried and swung away from him.
Enan smiled as he watched her walk across the yard. His ma was wrong about her. Were she a loose girl, she would have succumbed to his blandishments long ago. It had been two weeks since he had fished her out of the river, and she had done no more than allow him to kiss her on one occasion. But he could wait. She was just beginning to blossom into womanhood. When her hips filled out and her hair grew in, she would please him right enough. Already her breasts had begun to jiggle as she walked. Aye, he would wait, for he was barely fifteen. There was the widow beyond the valley who had once proved to him that he was a man and might again, if he brought her a gift. When Fey was ready, he would make a proper bride of her.
“Never fear,
madilse
!”
he called after her. “’Tis proper wed I’ll see ye!”
An hour later Deirdre’s head lay on Killian’s bare chest, her naked thighs riding along either side of his waist. “You were right, my love. There are other ways.”
Killian slowly opened dreamy eyes. She sat up astride him,
the thick, billowy golden cloud of her hair blanketing her
shoulders. “You are more beautiful than life.”
Deirdre laid a finger against his lips. “No, never say that. It is unlucky to think yourself too pleased with life.” She shrugged “I myself am only moderately pleased.”
Killian frowned. “Did I not satisfy you, lass?”
“Aye, you did,” she answered, her eyes softening as she gazed down at him. “You please me so much it frightens me.”
“Why?”
Deirdre wet her lips, suddenly shy. “Because…because no matter how much you please me, I always think of what the next time will be like. That is greedy, ungracious. I feel I want to gorge myself on you, to never let you rise, ever. Do you understand?”
Killian nodded, unable to voice the deep emotions that her words roused within him. He raised his hands to her shoulders, resting them lightly there, and then brought them in slow descent down over her collarbone to her breasts, which he squeezed lightly, eliciting a soft open-mouthed gasp from her.
He would not tell her today, could not. Was it selfish and perhaps cruel
knowing what he must say to her and yet wait, allowing her to give in completely to the joy of the moment? He could not believe so, not when she looked down at him with a passion that made him melt and grow hard in the same instant. They needed this day, these hours, to cement a loving that must withstand a parting.
His hands moved to her waist and he lifted her slightly to bring them together, reveling in her sigh of joy as he slid within her; and then he forgot all but the glory and magic of their union.
*
Killian glared at the glossy surface of the bog-oak table at which he sat with his supper, not lifting his eyes until he thought he had some measure of control over his temper. “You sent the English soldiers packing without so much as a cup of water?”
Deirdre’s chin jutted out. “There’s no reason to shout. I did what seemed necessary.”
“As you did with the child and sending for a priest. God bless, woman! You might have gotten yourself arrested for any or all of those things!”
Deirdre stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “I did what I thought was best. Were you here, you might have chosen to do else. But you were not here.”
“I’ve explained—”
“You explained nothing, nor did I ask you to,” Deirdre cut in. “You’ve been roaming about, doing who knows what, and I do not complain about it. But you will not shout at me under my own roof!”
Fey looked up from her perch on a wine barrel. “The pair of ye sound like fish mongers!”
“Stay out of this!” Deirdre and Killian cried in unison.
Fey rose. “Well, that’s telling me, I’m sure. Scream at each other and wake the bairn, for all I care. I’ll nae rock him to sleep again.” She stomped off.
Killian suddenly changed color. “The bairn. I forgot he was actually here.”
Deirdre gave him a blighting look. “You were too busy shouting to think of him. His name’s Dary, at least for now. Mrs. Mooney’s a fine wet nurse. Later we may find another home for him.”
“You’ll do that now,” Killian said grimly.
“Why should I? I’m capable of looking after him.”
Killian raised his head. “You won’t be here to look after him after tomorrow.”
Deirdre gazed at him in shocked surprise. “Why not? Where are we going?”
“
You
are going back to France,” Killian said in clipped tones. “Don’t even question it. ’Twill do you no good to rail at me. Back to Nantes you go until I say you’re to return.”
Deirdre was not about to argue. She was so taken aback that she could think of nothing whatever to say for a moment. “Why?” was all she said in the end.
“Because Ireland’s not a safe place for a lady. Look at you, playing the wife of an impoverished farmer with no
crops and fewer cows. The crop of blisters on your lovely
hands are all we’ve to show for our months here. You have nothing to wear, less to eat, and now a babe on your hands that could cause you to be arrested. Oh, we’re a fine pair, we are!”
“I thought I looked rather well,” Deirdre said primly, forcing Killian to look up at her.