The Ground She Walks Upon (39 page)

Kathleen turned beet-red. Her lovely azure eyes filled with tears. Ravenna was grateful to Trevallyan, who smiled kindly at the girl and ignored her mother's cruel remark.

"Lady Kathleen," he said gently, "I'd like to introduce Ravenna to you. You've much in common. I predict you two may be great friends one day."

Lady Kathleen nodded her head. Ravenna was terrified the poor young woman was going to burst into tears.

"How nice to meet you—you cannot know how long I've admired you," Ravenna burst out, desperate to console her.

"It's wonderful to meet you, too," Kathleen said, averting her eyes in her embarrassment.

There was a terrible pause as Ravenna groped for something else to say. In despair, her gaze met Lord Quinn's. His eyes were decidedly fixed on the handmade violets pinned to her bosom, or at least on the flesh that pushed up above them.

Feeling her cheeks flame, she turned to Trevallyan for assistance. He nodded and murmured something about seeing

Ravenna's grandmother. He took her by the arm and led her away. Ravenna gave one last glance at Kathleen. The girl was being soundly berated by her drunken mother.

"I had no idea..." Ravenna whispered, mostly to herself.

Trevallyan looked back at Lord and Lady Quinn before they were engulfed in the crowd. "He philanders and she drinks, and the brunt of it all falls on Kathleen." His mouth turned down in disgust.

"I feel so sorry for her. She seems trapped." Ravenna met Trevallyan's gaze.

He gave her an appreciative smile. "I believe what I said is true. I predict you and Kathleen will become great friends one day. You both have a lot in common. Your strengths are different, but you've both had to rely on them."

"I thought I admired her a great deal once." Ravenna's gaze grew distant. "But I think perhaps I admire her more now."

"She's had money but not much else. She's terribly lonely."

"And terribly beautiful." Ravenna felt a knot in her throat, something akin to jealousy. Trying to remain nonchalant and yet unable to, she asked, "Why have you not courted her?"

He locked gazes with her. Slowly his thumb stroked her cheek. "Because my heart was captured by another."

She looked into his eyes and saw things he seemed unable to put into words. In there, too, was the possession she had grown to hate. The possession she feared he misinterpreted as love.

"Ma chère," a familiar voice cut into her thoughts. Ravenna looked behind her. Trevallyan was already scowling.

"Ah, Monsieur de la Connive, how nice to see you again." Distractedly Ravenna put out her hand. Guy bent straight at the waist like a wooden soldier and kissed it.

"You must give me this waltz. I cannot go on living without one." He posed for her, giving her
the stare.
His black, brooding look was so hopelessly contrived she felt a giggle swell in her throat.

" 'Twould be my pleasure,
monsieur."
She glanced at Trevallyan. He gave Guy a stare also. A terrifying stare. One that was definitely
not
contrived.

His face taut with displeasure, Niall said, "Ravenna cannot—"

"Cousin! Finally you've deigned to arrive. And look what we find on your arm. Don't think you can have all of her. She's here, and by God, we want to dance with her. How are you, my darling?" Lord Chesham appeared in front of her. He bowed and kissed her hand also. "Have you met my new acquaintance, Stavros?"

A Greek youth with long, dark, affected curls stepped from the crowd. With his billowing poet's shirt and much-too-pretty face, he could only be described as a rather effeminate Lord Byron.

"How nice to meet you," she said, uneasy in the crush of preening men.

Niall whispered in her ear, bedeviling her with thoughts she would never speak aloud. "If they weren't so taken with themselves, I'd believe they were taken with each other. Think about it, my love."

"You wicked man," she whispered behind her fan, wanting to laugh and rap him on the head at the same moment.

"Dance with me," Guy prompted.

"And then with me," Lord Chesham said, his lips pressed against the back of her hand.

"Of course." Ravenna placed her hand on Guy's brawny arm, hardly daring to peek at Trevallyan. She already could picture him, staring at Guy as if he wanted to cut out his liver and eat it. But what could he do, she asked herself, amused. He had to let her dance or make a public spectacle.

"A lovely night for a ball, almost as lovely as you, sweet lady." Guy swept her around the pandemonium, expertly guiding her in and out of the jumbled crowd. He waltzed as handsomely as he looked, but his conversation made her wish to flee. It was cloying, like the smell of rancid honey.

"And what exactly is the color of your eyes, Ravenna?" he asked, again giving her the stare.

She half-felt like swooning just to make fun of him.

"Dear sweet God in heaven, they leave me speechless with their beauty..." he prattled. "By God, they are as purple as the heather that grows on the mount when the violent sea turns to spurning the shore—"

Speechless!
she thought incredulously.

"My turn,
monsieur."

Ravenna was almost grateful that Chesham cut in. Trevallyan might at times annoy her with his disposition, but at least he didn't insult her intelligence with disingenuous compliments.

"I really think I must rest. Would you mind if I sit out this dance?" She peeked up at the handsome lord, then let her eyes scan the crowd for Trevallyan.

She found him at the edge of the dance floor. For one brief moment, their gazes met and a shock ran down her spine. They were far apart and yet she could feel his anger and frustration as if it were he who held her and he who turned her about the room. Their connection disturbed her. She was glad when the crowd moved in and she could see him no more.

"You do look pale, my beauty." Chesham gave her a wolfish grin. "Shall we retire to the lawn? I know a private little bench right near some hedges."

She glanced at him, taken aback. She wanted to leave the ball and Trevallyan's influence as badly as she wanted to return to Grania and home. But on Chesham's arm, in the dark, she knew she had to decline.

"My turn for dance. Long, long time I pay my due."

Chesham stopped dancing as if he'd run headfirst into a plow horse. Ravenna caught her breath and looked up. Count Fabuloso had his hand on Chesham's shoulder, effectively stopping them dead. Resplendent in a black frock coat and beaver hat that the clod hadn't the grace to remove, the count was still by far the most ravishingly handsome man she'd ever seen.

"Listen here, I've just begun this dance," Chesham complained.

Just like you to be a sore loser,
Ravenna thought before she allowed the count to remove her from Chesham's arms and hold her in his own.

It was the chance she'd been waiting for. It wasn't likely she'd have been able to escape Guy or Lord Chesham, but the dolt who danced with her now was like a lump of clay, ready to be molded by her small little hands.

"Oh, dear," she said, after they had begun to dance. Touching her temple, she covertly glanced at the count. "I've got the worst headache. May I continue this dance in a moment? I'd like to step outside and get a breath of fresh air."

The count nodded, his handsome eyes blank.

She quickly slipped past him. Once outside, she covered her smile with her black-mitted hand. She wouldn't be surprised to find him still waiting on the dance floor two nights from now. She could already imagine what he'd say.

Long, long time I wait for girl.

She burst into a giggle and ran down the crowded lawn, her heart light and free. She could finally seek out Grania. She could finally go home. No more prisoner of Trevallyan Castle.

"There you are, you delicious creature." Lord Quinn stepped from behind a topiary and made to grab her. Shocked, Ravenna artfully stepped out of his reach and stared at him with wide eyes.

"My Lord Quinn, no doubt your wife is seeking you just this minute," she couldn't stop herself from saying.

"Not possible, my dear. I left her asleep on a settee in the ballroom."

"Then perhaps 'tis time to take her home."

"But why? Now I've a moment for more pleasurable pursuits." He grabbed at her again. She dodged it, tripping down the velvety lawn.

"My lord, if you'll excuse me, I believe I heard Lord Trevallyan calling my name." She was pleased when that seemed to make him pause. He lifted his head and tried to listen.

"I must go. As you know, Lord Trevallyan has a foul temper."

"Yes. Yes," Lord Quinn agreed. "Perhaps another time."

"Perhaps not," she said, hoping it soundly chastised the old lech. Without looking back, she lifted her skirts and ran down the lawn, past the crowd.

The night was almost magical out on the castle lawn. Candlelight from the many windows left a checkerboard pattern on the grass, and laughter from the guests trickled through the thick copse of trees. Ravenna almost hated to leave it, but she was desperate to go home. More than anything, she wanted to go home.

"A mhuirnin,"
someone whispered behind her.

Ravenna turned around. Standing in the grove of ancient yews and hazel trees that stood sentinel around the Trevallyan graveyard, she had thought she was alone.

"A mhuirnin,"
the whisper came again.

"Who is it?" she asked, stepping around a large tree.

"Ravenna." A hand reached out and grabbed her by the waist. She was shoved into a man's chest, his large grubby hand covering her mouth.

"Don't you be saying a word, all right?"

Her eyes widened. She finally recognized the voice of the one who had grabbed her.

Slowly she nodded her head.

He released his hand.

"Malachi, what are you doing here? Trevallyan will see you hanging by your neck if he finds you," she whispered.

"It's him who'll be swinging. I've come to warn you. They'll be burning the castle down tonight."

His words sunk in as slowly as water into sand. Sickened she looked up the lawn to the ancient pile of stone that was Trevallyan Castle. In the light of the festivities, it shone like a beacon of human endurance. A monument to a fragile, vulnerable truce.

"You've got to tell them to leave him be, Malachi." She grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her though he weighed several stone more than she did. "Can't you see? He's not the evildoer that you make him out to be. He's the only hope of Lir overcoming the blight. He's bringing in sheep and cattle and corn to get us through this terrible time. Trevallyan and only Trevallyan will help Lir. If you succeed in killing him, what will be left?"

In the darkness, he looked down at her, and she could see his eyes missed nothing, not the costly gown, and especially not the glittering emeralds strung on her neck like a priceless noose. "Sean O'Malley told me you went with him to Antrim," he whispered, his expression thunderous with frustration. "He told me he thinks you been lyin' with him. Does Trevallyan's money make you moan louder when he's on you?"

She slapped him before she had even realized what she had done. Shocked, she stared at him, hardly able to see him in the shadows. He didn't move; he didn't even rub his scruffy jaw. Gradually she began to realize that her hand now hurt almost as much as her heart.

"Do you love him, Ravenna?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. She went limp against the ancient, gnarled trunk of the hazel tree and held on to it as if it were the only thing holding her up. Her thoughts were so overwhelmed and tangled, she could hardly make sense of them.

Watching her, gauging her, Malachi finally said, "You've good and had him then. So be it. You'll have him no more."

"No," she whispered, her voice raw. "You've got to tell Sean and the rest of them to leave him alone. If they burn the castle tonight they might be hurting many of their own." A new surge of fear coursed through her. "Grania's in the castle and Father Nolan, too. Will you be killing them just to get to Trevallyan?"

"I don't want to kill anybody." Malachi shook her, clearly exasperated. "But don't you see? The boy-os need an example. Tonight with the ball, 'tis the perfect night—"

"I thought you were leaving them! I thought you were going to Galway!" Her words were full of despair. "You've got to tell them to leave Niall alone."

"They don't listen to me,
a mhuirnin.
It's out of my hands. I just wanted to see you tonight. To make sure you weren't in the castle—"

"I will be in the castle. So stop them, stop them!"

She struggled out of his arms and began to run up the lawn. He went after her, grabbing her back as if she weighed nothing.

"You can't save him!"

A small animal cry rose up in her throat. Acting on instinct, she bit his forearm and, freed, began running again.

"Ravenna!" he called, unable to follow her in the crowd.

"Stop them! Or I'll be in the castle, too, Malachi!" she cried, picking up her heavy satin skirts and running up the crowded lawn.