his pained expression.
'No such thing. I wouldn't insult fish of this quality with a frying
pan. This is going to be a special meal.'
And it was also going to be their last together. He didn't have to
come right out and say it, because Sandie knew. Their time on the
island was ending.
She tried a bright smile. 'I can hardly wait.' She paused. 'I might
even wear a skirt in its honour- Jessica put one in.'
'Then we'll both dress up,' he said.
Sandie went ahead of him down the path. When they reached the
fork, Sandie turned to the left, but Flynn stopped her.
'It's the other way,' he said. 'That path only leads to the tower.'
'Is that the ruin I saw this morning?'
'So you found it. And did you see the ghost?'
'Ghost?' She swung round, staring at him. 'What ghost?' She saw
that he was grinning. 'Oh, you're winding me up!'
'I'm not. I've never seen it either, but it's a privilege reserved for
those with O'Flaherty blood, I'm told. However, I live in hopes.'
'Whose ghost is it?'
'A woman—one of the Joyces who lived round here, centuries back.
There was always a great feud between the Joyces and the
O'Flahertys, so when she fell in love with one of the O'Flaherty
chiefs and he with her, there wasn't much hope for them—
particularly as his marriage had already been arranged for him. So
when she found she was pregnant, he brought her here, and built a
small tower for her to live in, where he could visit her without
anyone being the wiser. He called her the "woman of his heart", and
that's how the island got its name
Oilean an chroi.'
'That can't have been much of a life for her,' Sandie commented.
'Why didn't he just marry her, and have done with it?'
'It wasn't as simple as that. Simply by associating with her, he'd been
guilty of a kind of treason to his clan, and his overlord had a short
way with traitors.'
'So did she just go on living here with her child?'
'Not for very long. The story says the midwife who delivered the
baby betrayed them, and the next time a boat beached here, it wasn't
the lover but his wife, and her kinsmen. They murdered the girl and
her baby in fairly gruesome detail, and burned the tower. Legend
even says the wife cut out her rival's heart and presented it to the
husband, as something to remember of "the woman of his heart".'
Sandie shuddered violently. 'That's awful! Don't you ever feel the
place is haunted?'
'Never once. There are few places round here that haven't a story
attached to them, some bloodier than others. There's probably not a
word of truth in any of them.' He grinned at her. 'I think the mistress
probably got fed up with waiting around, and hitched a lift back to
her own people with a passing fisherman. But O'Flaherty wouldn't
spend the night here, all the same.'
'It must have been terrible for her—watching out for a sail every
day—hoping.'
'Just as you do yourself,' Flynn said drily.
But I don't want to see a sail, she thought. I want to stay here
forever, with you. The words sounded so strongly in her head, she
was almost afraid she'd spoken them aloud.
She made herself meet his cynical gaze. 'Do you blame me?' she
challenged.
'Not at all,' he said. 'But keep your chin up. Your ordeal will be over
soon.' He turned and led the way back to the cottage.
Sandie followed in silence. His last comment had ended any
lingering doubts she might have had—and any hopes too. She
swallowed, fighting the misery that rose like an iron ball and lodged
in her chest. The sensible thing—the right course would be to forget
Flynn, and everything that had happened at Killane. To go back to
England at the earliest opportunity, explain to her parents that it
hadn't worked out, and get on with her life as best she could.
Only Sandie didn't feel sensible, or rational.
I'll worry about tomorrow when it happens, she told herself, lifting
her chin defiantly.
Because, first, I still have tonight.
She was moderately pleased with her appearance when she looked
in the mirror a couple of hours later. She'd had a lingering bath, and
shampooed her hair, brushing it until it shone with its old lustre. She
wished she had something else to put on other than the skirt and top
she'd worn for her date with Crispin, but it was still one of her
favourite outfits. And, she'd found, Jessica had omitted to put in her
cosmetics bag, although her skin was glowing healthily after her day
in the sun, and didn't really need further enhancement.
She pulled the curtain aside and went rather shyly into the other
room. Flynn had just finished lighting the fire, and stood up dusting
off his hands. He smiled at her lightly. 'You put me to shame,
Alexandra. I'm afraid all I can manage is a clean shirt and a shave.'
It was impossible to tell from his tone whether he thought she
looked beautiful. She hoped he did. She wanted him to think she
was desirable.
'I'd offer you a drink,' he went on, 'but there's only whiskey.'
'That would be fine,' Sandie said airily.
Flynn's brows lifted slightly, but he made no comment. He fetched a
glass and poured her a measure of Jamiesons.
'Would you like water with it?'
She wasn't sure what she should say. Was it usual to offer water, or
was he suggesting the drink should be diluted because he thought
she couldn't handle it?
'I'll drink it neat.'
He studied her for a moment, then said, 'As you wish.' He poured
himself a drink, and lifted his glass. 'Your health now and ever,
Alexandra.'
It was as if he was saying goodbye, she thought, with a sudden chill.
She took a cautious sip of whiskey and nearly choked. When Flynn
had gone into the bedroom to change, she poured some of the drink
away, and added a judicious amount of water.
Flynn had cooked the fish in the oven, wrapped it in foil with herbs
and butter. Sandie thought she had never tasted anything so
delicious.
'There's some cream in the ice box,' Flynn remarked when the meal
was over. 'Would you like me to make you a Gaelic coffee, now that
you're a hardened whiskey drinker?'
'It sounds wonderful!'
'Oh, it is. It can also be lethal.'
She found the truth of that as she sipped through the thick layer of
cream to the hot dark liquid beneath. She gasped. 'How much did
you put in this?'
'Enough,' Flynn sent her a laconic smile.
They sat either side of the fire. Sandie had kicked off her sandals,
and her bare toes curled into the thick sheepskin rug that lay in front
of the hearth. She could feel the warmth of the coffee uncurling
through her body, making her glow. She watched Flynn under her
lashes. His face wore an odd expression, remote and even a little
weary. And the silences between them were getting longer and
longer.
This isn't how I planned it all, she thought, taking her courage in
both hands.
She said, 'Flynn,' and when he glanced at her, went on in a little
rush, 'Would you make love to me?'
He was quiet for a moment, then he said, 'Probably, if the time and
the circumstances were ever right.'
Sandie bit her lip. 'I—I didn't mean that. I meant— will you—
please?'
There was another long pause, then he shook his head. 'No,
Alexandra.'
'But you said only today—you implied that all I had to do was ask...'
'Yes, I know.' His face and voice were grim. 'I had no right to say
that at all.'
'Why not?'
He finished his coffee and put down the glass. 'Because wanting
isn't enough any more,' he said at last. 'People can't just—take any
more without fear of the consequences. And there's no future for us,
Alexandra. You know that as well as I do. And last but not least,
because your innocence is a rare commodity which you should
treasure.'
She looked at him, stunned. 'You're rejecting me?'
'No. I'm telling you that you feel this way because we've been
penned up together here alone—and because you've drunk whiskey
you're not used to. And I'm trying to ensure that there'll be no regrets
when we leave here.'
'But I wouldn't regret it. I...'
'You don't know what you want,' he interrupted brusquely. 'A few
days ago, the sun shone out of Crispin for you. Tomorrow—next
week—who knows? I've been there, Alexandra. I was in love once,
and planning to marry. But people change. Relationships falter. It's
an uncertain world, when all's said and done. Let's make sure that
we can at least part friends.'
'Are we—going to part?'
'Of course we are,' he said gently. 'And you know it. We have our
own lives—other commitments.
Oilean an chroi
is a place apart, but
the real world and the people in it are waiting for us, just over the
horizon.' He got up restlessly. 'I'm going out to get some air before I
turn in. I'll try not to wake you.'
She watched him go, then slid off her chair on to her knees on the
rug.
It had all gone horribly, disastrously wrong, and she was at a loss to
know why. Flynn had mentioned other commitments. Was he trying
to tell her that he had a lover in New York, perhaps, or Paris?
Jealousy knifed through her, and she wrapped her arms across her
body, suppressing a little groan.
Or was it, even more damningly, that he didn't really want her?
I can't believe that, she told herself. From that first night he'd kissed
her there'd been a hunger in him which even her inexperience could
recognise. And now that she shared it, he was trying to deny it, it
seemed.
Or perhaps it was the very innocence he'd told her to treasure that
was the drawback, she thought suddenly. Maybe he thought she was
just using him as an experiment, and didn't realise how much she
wanted and needed him.
Somehow she had to convince him that she meant what she said.
That she wasn't a child to be protected, but a woman to be fulfilled.
And quite suddenly, she realised how to do this.
She got up and went round the room, putting out the lamps until
only one remained. Then, kneeling once more on the rug in the
firelight, she began to undress. When she was quite naked, she put
her clothes on the chair, covering them with a cushion, and settled
down to wait for Flynn's return.
It seemed a very long time before she heard the sound of the latch.
She stayed where she was, watching the dying flames of the fire.
She sensed his abrupt halt as he saw her, heard his swift intake of
breath, and turned then to look at him, smiling a little, lifting the
concealment of her long fair hair from her breasts and scooping it
back over her shoulders in a gesture as old as Eve.
He might have been carved from stone.
Sandie said his name softly and coaxingly and then he moved,
crossing the room in swift strides, dropping on his knees in turn in
front of her.
'We mustn't do this,' he said huskily. 'My beautiful one, we must
not.' She put out a hand and stroked his cheek, and the line of his
jaw, and with a faint groan he captured her fingers and brought them
to his lips. Then, gently, he drew her towards him and kissed her
mouth, his hands holding her bare shoulders as if she was a flower
he might damage.
Their lips touched softly at first, moving, exploring, learning the
first tentative responses. Sandie could sense the restraint in him, the
determination to hold back until she was ready to follow wherever
he led her. She leaned towards him, deepening the kiss of her own
accord, and his arms closed round her with sudden passionate force.
His lips parted hers in unequivocal demand, and she felt the warm,
silken thrust of his tongue against her own.
At last he put her away from him. His breathing was ragged, and
there was a heated flush along his cheekbones. His hands slid slowly
down from her shoulders to cup and hold her breasts. For a moment,
she was unsure, because no one had ever touched her like this
before, then, as he began to caress her, she gasped with a delight
that was near pain as his sure fingers stroked the rosy peaks into
proud erection.
Flynn bent his head, adoring each small, scented mound with his