Quinn's Deirdre (22 page)

Chapter Fourteen

By
morning, enough snow had fallen to blanket the city with pristine white.
 
Deirdre peered out the window and smiled with
a childish delight.
 
The weather would
cut down on how many people trekked into the pub.
 
Tuesdays were slower days anyway or so Quinn
had told her.

A gust of
wind blew hard enough against the window to rattle the frame.
 
Frigid air seeped around it as the glass
fogged from the cold.
 
On impulse,
Deirdre traced a heart with one finger and wrote their names inside it.
 
Kansas City born and raised, she was familiar
with winter, although that didn’t mean she always liked it.

Distracted,
she failed to notice Quinn had crept behind her until his warm lips kissed the
nape of her neck.
 
She shivered and
leaned back against him. “Does it snow in Ireland?” she asked.
 
Funny, with her mostly Celtic heritage and
love of most things Irish, there remained many things she didn’t know.

Quinn
chuckled, amused. “Aye, it does, some but not usually as much as here.
 
It snows a bit more in the north, where I’m
from, but it does.
 
Most of the time, a
usual Irish winter is more cold rain than anything else.
 
There are a lot of long, gray days and cold
winds from the north Atlantic.”

Deirdre envisioned the misty days, the cool weather, the hot tea,
and cuddling with Quinn.
“I think I’d like Ireland.”

“Ye’d like
County Tyrone,” he said. “If we ever go home, ye will.”

He had
mentioned going back before, but something pensive in his tone filtered through
to Deirdre. “You sound like you want to go back.
 
Are you so homesick, Quinn?”

“Sometimes
I am, sometimes not.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her locked
between them.
 
“Deirdre, love, there’s a
thing I need to tell
ye
.”

Her inner
alarm bells jangled. “Quinn? What’s wrong?”

“Naught
yet, but I think ‘twill be today, whatever happens.
 
I feel it in my bones. They ache, deep within.

“Maybe you’re
just coming down with flu,” she quipped, knowing he wasn’t.

“I could
well be,” he said and surprised her. “I don’t feel good at all, but it isn’t
just my body, it’s in my soul.
 
The bad
feeling’s stronger than it’s ever been.”

Almost
anything had to be an improvement over the gnawing, terrible tension and the
waiting, but Deirdre realized she wasn’t ready.
 
From some innermost, secret place, she shared her feelings. “I wish I
could run away until it’s over, whatever it is.”

“If I had
a place to send
ye
, ye’d be gone.
 
I’ve
thought,
these
past few days, I should’ve sent ye home with Eileen’s family, but it’s too late
for it now.
 
Whatever does happen,
however it ends up, I want ye to remember how much I love ye.
 
I’m glad ye came back, never think otherwise.
None of
it’s
yer doing or
fault. Ye can’t blame yerself for any of it.
 
I’d rather die today if it should come to it than live thinking
ye
dead and buried.”

Quinn
sounded resigned, she thought, and yet somehow strong.
 
His voice lacked uncertainty.
 
She twisted around in his arms to see his face
and when she did, Deirdre stared.
 
His
eyes gazed back at her, as placid as a summer lake, but his mouth was set hard
with determination.
 
The fear she’d seen
in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something powerful and brave.
 
His face had become a warrior’s, Cuchulain or
Finn McCool or Roddy McCorley.
 
Awe
filled her heart to overflowing, but it mingled with fear.

“Don’t
talk like that,” she said, voice sharper than she intended. “Nobody dies
today.”

“Ye can’t
say it and mean it. Ye must know better, love.
 
The baddies might, I might, ye or Desmond could.
 
Stay close, woman, and whatever I tell ye to
do, will ye do it without question?”

Deirdre
cupped her hand against his cheek. “I don’t like the sound of that, Quinn.”

His large
hand covered hers. “I don’t care if ye like it.
 
I just want
ye
to do it.
 
Promise me ye will.”

Maybe she
would, maybe not.
 
“I’ll try, Quinn.”

“Ah,
mo ghra,
ye’ll have to do it.” Quinn
sighed and then he kissed her, swift and fierce.
 
His mouth took hers by right and claimed
it.
 
The kiss seared her lips with
intense heat and a connection that burned all the way down to her toes.
 
He wasn’t gentle but urgent and
commanding.
 
Deirdre hearkened to it and
gave it back to him with the same power.
 
They stood, mouths locked and souls fused, and she understood this meant
more than a kiss.
 
It stood as a promise
and a vow, one to endure forever no matter what happened.
 
When the kiss ended, they remained together,
arms tight in an embrace for some minutes.
 

“We’d best
go face the day,” Quinn told her when he released her. “Business as usual, I suppose,
until they make their move.”

“You sound
so calm,” she said, with admiration. “I’m a nervous wreck.”

“I am
calm,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “I suppose I’ve reached some kind of
battle mode or some such.
 
I’ve worried
for weeks and now it’s time to face the danger, I’m ready.
 
Or, at least I think I am.”

Her life
might lie in his hands and she accepted it. “I know you’ll take care of me, no
matter what, Quinn.”

“I’ll do
me
best. Let’s go down.
 
I need to talk to Uncle Des, too.”

Deirdre
hesitated.
 
He needed a private moment to
share what he’d told her with Desmond. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need
to process and I think I’ll change clothes, too.”

Quinn
touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Are ye okay? I know ‘tis a lot to
deal with, though we’ve been expecting it.”

She
wasn’t, not at all, but she pasted on a smile with bravado. “I will be,
Quinn.
 
I love you.”

He
grinned. “And ye know I love
ye
, too.”

After he
shut the door behind him and his descending footsteps faded away, she returned
to the window.
 
The snow had picked up
until the falling flakes fell at blizzard rate.
 
In the silence, she could hear the sound of the two men’s voices below
although she couldn’t make out any words.
 
Deirdre wished she could but more than that, she wished it was
over.
 
If Quinn was correct and she had
no reason to doubt he was, then between now and nightfall, they would come
after her.
 
The weather seems wrong for it, but maybe they think they can use it to
their advantage.

Maybe she
should pray, but the words refused to form. She stood, mind numb, almost
paralyzed with fear at the window until she shivered from the cold.
 
Deirdre shook out of her trance, changed into
a warm sweater and headed downstairs.
 
She found the kitchen empty so followed their voices into the bar where
Quinn and his uncle sat at table with steaming mugs of tea.

“There ye
are,” Quinn said. “Do ye want some tea? Des baked brown bread this morning,
too.”

If she
ate, her stomach would tangle into knots. “I’ll have some tea, if it’s already
made.”

“Aye, ‘tis.”
Desmond pointed to the big teapot on
the table. “Come pour yerself some, Deirdre.”

The rich
brew eased a small fraction of her anxiety.
 
Sitting with Quinn and his uncle, she could almost believe it would be a
normal day until she glanced at Quinn’s face.
 
His features could have been carved from granite, and Desmond wore a
similar expression.
 
Too often, she
forgot the mellowed old man had been a freedom fighter and an IRA soldier in
his youth.
 
She sometimes failed to
remember the patriotic songs from Ireland carried a deeper meaning for Desmond
Sullivan.
 
She, like Quinn and her late
father, sang them.
 
Desmond had lived
them and according to Quinn, he’d taken out one of the men who had threatened
her three years ago.
 
Good
, she thought,
we’ll likely need his help today
.

“So,” she
said as she sipped the full-bodied, rich tea. “What’s the plan?”

Quinn
snorted. “Love, there isn’t one. For now, we’ll do what we do each
day,
prepare to open the pub at eleven like always.
 
Des will be cooking in the kitchen and I’ll
get the bar stocked.”

“Okay,
I’ll help Des, then.”

“No,
acushla
, not today,” Quinn said.
 
He rested his left hand on her thigh beneath
the table and she enjoyed the solid warmth of it. “Ye’re the target so I want
ye
in back, out of sight.
 
They could come through the kitchen or in here either one, easily
enough.
 
I thought ye could pass the time
in
me
office or in the back dining room.”

“Doing
what? I’ll be climbing the walls.”

“Ye could
read or play with yer laptop,” Quinn suggested.

“She might
pray,” Desmond added.
 
Quinn shot his
uncle a dark look and the old man shrugged. “It wouldn’t go amiss, lad, to have
a few prayers sent heavenward.”

A heavy
ball formed in her throat and blocked it.
 
She swallowed hard around it, scared.
 
If Desmond, who went to Mass on Easter and Christmas only, thought
prayer
was in order, things were serious indeed. “I could,”
she said. “I think I’ll go fetch my rosary.
 
The beads will help me focus.”

Desmond
dug into his pocket and pulled out a string of beads. “Use mine,
mo mhuirnín,”
he told her. “They’re made
from marble quarried in the Connemara Mountains at home.
 
I’ve had them since I was confirmed, long
years ago.”

“Thank
you.” The oval stones were heavy in her hand as she clutched them.

Deirdre
settled into the booth in the rear dining room.
 
No way could she concentrate to read, and she lacked interest to surf
the ‘net or play games so she recited the familiar prayers.
 
The smooth marble between her fingers kept
her on task, and she’d recited it three times, fumbling a little over the daily
mysteries when she heard the
unmistakeable
sound of
shattering glass.
 
Quinn shouted and she crawled
from the seat to stand up, beads still tight between her fingers.
 

“Go to the
bog,” he shouted as he ran past on his way to the kitchen.
 
“Lock the door and stay there until I come
for
ye
.
 
They’re
here.”

 
Her brain tried to make her legs work, but
nothing happened.
 
Swearing in
both Irish
and English, Quinn grabbed her hand and dragged
her toward the bathroom.
 
He deposited
her at the door and she ducked inside.
 
A
terrific crash echoed from the front and the rough noise of several men’s
voices over the din.
 
Deirdre closed the
lid, sat on the commode, and tried to think.
 
Locked into the small windowless room, she would be an easy target if
they found her.
 
Maybe they won’t realize I’m here.
 

“Come on,
the bitch has to be back here somewhere,” one of the men shouted. “Let’s find
her and finish it.”

She
whipped her gaze around the bathroom, searching for any place to hide, but no
place existed.
 
Deirdre had been trapped
and she could do nothing but wait.
 
She
fingered the beads, but her mind refused to summon up the prayers.
 
A moan threatened to work up from her belly,
so she bit her finger to keep still.
 
Moments later, someone pounded on the door and a whimper escaped.

“I found
her! She’s in here.”

Two sets
of fists hammered at the thin wood and someone kicked it with force.
 
The frame began to separate from the wooden
veneer and Deirdre shrieked.
 
In seconds,
the two men she spied through the broken bits would reach her and she would
die.