She nodded. “I read Psalm 23.”
“I know.”
“It’s been far too long since I’ve spent any measure of time in the Scriptures,” Moira confessed. “I think perhaps I drew more from it than he did.”
“Well, I should hope so.”
Moira gaped at him, chagrined. What was he implying with a statement like that? After all this, did he still think her a fool?
Sean held up his hands in surrender. “What with the lad bein’ unconscious and all, I would hope you’d garner more wisdom from the Good Book than a man in a coma.” His smile faded instantly. “I shouldna spoken that way. Áedach may not be a man of integrity, but neither am I, if I treat his suffering lightly.”
They continued walking, caught in the somberness of what was not yet over.
At length, Sean said, “Well, here ye are, Miss. Ye’re home.”
Moira’s heart sank. Already? “Yes, it appears I am.” She turned to face Sean and waited until he looked straight into her eyes. “Thanks again for accompanying me tonight. It means a great deal to me.”
His eyes locked on hers and they stood, silent and motionless, both barely breathing. “My pleasure.” His voice was thick and rough, and it set Moira’s spine tingling.
Sean took a step toward her.
Her heart quickened. She didn’t know if she hoped or dreaded that he might kiss her.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slowly leaned toward her. Moira’s breath caught in her chest as heat flashed on her cheeks. She wanted to turn away, lest he see the desire in her eyes. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. He bent at the waist, gently took her hand in his, and pressed his lips to the back.
Her head spun, and it took all her strength not to melt beneath his touch. He lingered there, his breath warm on her fingers, for just a second before straightening again and releasing her hand. “Good night, fair lady.” He backed away with a few slow steps before turning and disappearing into the darkness.
Moira drew her hand to her face, pressing her own lips against the place where his had been mere moments before. The same hands that had served her perceived enemy, Áedach.
She had never been in love before but couldn’t imagine a more euphoric feeling than this one. Though not ready to fully admit its depths, she knew in her heart she held more than admiration for Sean McFadden. She stood in the mist longer than was prudent, straining to follow his outline through the fog.
The warmth of the moment eventually faded, and a shiver shook her from her reverie. She went inside, secured the door, stoked the fire, and hung the kettle over the flames. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her bones, she knew sleep would not be swift in coming this night.
As she sipped her tea, she replayed the events of the night over and over again. She remembered the terror that had gripped her at the sound of Peg’s cough. The honor that had welled in her heart when Colm handed her the ledger. The fresh sense of compassion as she read Scripture and prayed over Áedach. Her thoughts all swayed together until the entire evening was a swirl of emotions, sounds, and colors. And then. Then the moment that took her most by surprise and would take up residence in her heart as the highlight.
She shivered as she recalled the strength of her desire to feel Sean’s kiss upon her lips. And how thoughtful of him to protect her honor—particularly given the current rumor surrounding her origins—by exercising restraint and offering a polite kiss to her hand.
Those were the thoughts that stayed in her mind as she drifted toward sleep—Sean’s kindness, thoughtfulness, and the press of his kiss on her skin.
Chapter 38
Try as she might, Moira couldn’t coax the smile from her face as she walked to the shop the next morning. Tempting though it was to hide and avoid those she knew took umbrage with her helping Áedach, obedience had to be her highest priority. So she walked in confidence, ready to face the “consequences of obedience,” as Bríd so perfectly stated. Gratitude swelled for Bríd, who gave her a way to express what was happening in her relationships with those in Ballymann.
As though coordinating with her mood, the weather was bright and pleasant. The air still held a heavy chill, but gone was the mist and fog from the previous day, and the sun shone strong and clear. When she reached the entrance to the McGonigles’ shop, Moira paused and took a deep breath, steeling her nerves for whatever assault might await her inside.
“God, give me strength.” The prayer was audible only to herself. She entered, taking time to scan the shelves and produce for what she might need. Hushed voices wafted from the back of the store, the women clearly unaware she could hear them. She was eyeing a large tub of dried beans when a whispered phrase caught her attention.
“No right, I tell you.” The voice was unfamiliar to Moira. “That lass has no right waltzin’ in here, wit’ her English an’ her ignorance of the auld ways. Now she has the gall to be risking the health o’ the whole o’ Ballymann? And for what? A good-fer-nothin’ scoundrel? Tsk, tsk! I don’t understand why they would even allow her here to begin wit’.”
The words hit Moira like a punch to the gut. Of course, she had questioned her own legitimacy as a replacement for the beloved teacher. But to hear it so bluntly, that the village likely shared such an opinion, caused her to question again what God was thinking when He led her here.
“Now, now.” The second voice interrupted Moira’s reverie. Mrs. McGonigle. “The gairl didn’t know all o’ this when she came. Sure, I doubt her mammy even told her why she left Ballymann. Moira’s a sweet lass, make no mistake. She’s in way over her head, but she’s dug her own grave now, an’ she’ll have to live with the consequences of her choices.”
Tears pooled in Moira’s eyes, blurring her vision and clouding her thoughts. Until she’d heard her name, she could almost convince herself they might be talking about someone else. There was no denying it now though. She needed to escape. To get out of there before they discovered her and thought she was intentionally eavesdropping. In her haste, she backed into the barrel of dried beans, spilling them with a horrific crash all over the wooden floor.
“Och!” In an instant she was on her hands and knees, scrambling to gather the beans, which had scattered like a herd of cats in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Let me help you, miss.” Two masculine hands brushed over hers as they worked to wrangle the wayward beans. Moira lifted her gaze, wiped her eyes with her apron to clear her vision, and found a pair of sapphire eyes staring back at her. A gleaming smile greeted her, along with a mop of perfectly coiffed jet-black hair. All except a wayward strand that insisted on hanging down the stranger’s forehead, setting his eyes ablaze in a fire of azure. Her breath caught in her chest and she fell back onto her haunches.
When she attempted to express her gratitude, a jagged mixture of breath and spittle flung forth and landed squarely on the gentleman’s nose. Mortified, Moira buried her face in her hands and her words finally materialized. “Oh my goodness, I’m dreadfully sorry.” Fumbling with her sleeve, she produced her kerchief and offered it to him, dismayed to see her hand shaking like an oak leaf in a gale.
He accepted the offering and dabbed his face, chuckling. “Please.” His voice was dark and smooth. “Don’t worry another second about it. Ye’re grand, I promise.” He offered the used hankie back to Moira and extended his hand. “I’m Declan—Declan O’Malley.”
Moira shook his hand, keenly aware every nerve in her body was awake and alive. His gaze drew her in like a hypnotist’s watch, and she couldn’t tear her attention away.
“And you are?” His brows arched high.
She blinked quickly and shook her head. “Moira.” She stared at their hands, oscillating mindlessly up and down in an endless handshake. Yet she couldn’t convince her hand to let go. “Moira Doherty. I’m the new teacher here in Ballymann.”
“Ah, so ye’re the fine lass I’ve been hearing so much about.” His eyes sparkled, and Moira noticed a
dimple on his cheek that melted her inside, even as her heart fell.
He’s heard about me. Would she never be free of the rumor of her mother’s indiscretion in this place?
“I’d heard they’d hired a lass from America,” he continued. “I’d not heard she’d arrived though. I’m glad ye’re here.” He stopped shaking her hand and cupped it with both of his, his thumb gently stroking the back of it.
The action both delighted and unnerved her. Never before had a gentleman been so bold upon first meeting her, but the attention and sensation flooded her with warmth and a sense of importance. A man’s touch had never had such an effect on her either—except for Sean’s.
Sean! How could she be so foolish, letting a man she had barely met treat her with such familiarity, such audaciousness. Before she could wrangle her hand free of his, another voice entered the mix.
“O’Malley.”
Moira and Declan turned in unison to see Sean standing in the entryway of the shop. “McFadden.” Declan hopped to his feet and greeted Sean with an embrace and a manly slap on the back. “How are ya, ye auld”—the men glanced at Moira—“eh, ye auld codger?”
“I’m grand, now, can’t complain.” Though he was speaking to Declan, Sean’s eyes bored into Moira’s. “I didn’t know ye were back in Gweedore.”
“Well, you know how it is. You’ve got to get out of the rat race every now and then.” Declan’s distinct lack of accent stretched and smoothed his words. “I’d had enough of the barrister work for a while and needed to come home to good ol’ Donegal for a spell.”
“Aha. Well, glad to have ye back. I see ye’ve met Miss Doherty.”
“Yes, Moira and I were just teaching these beans a lesson, weren’t we, lass?”
Moira mustered a meek nod.
Sean’s jaw worked back and forth, and the whole of his body was stiff as a board. “I can see that. I’ll fetch a scuab.” He headed for the back of the shop, then paused. He turned to Moira. “Declan an’ I can take care o’ this, Miss Doherty. Ye go ahead about yer business.”
Moira hadn’t procured any of the groceries for which she had ventured to the shop in the first place, but the look in Sean’s eye stopped her from arguing. “Good day to you both.” She lifted the corners of her mouth in a shaky smile. As she turned to go, she nearly walked into Mrs. McGonigle and her conversation companion, who seemed to have witnessed the whole scene between her and Declan. Moira didn’t recognize the strange woman. They both shot a glance at one another before mumbling a greeting to Moira. She nodded in return and exited.
Just before the door closed behind her, Moira heard the stranger stage whisper, “The apple don’t fall tew far from the tree, now, does it?”
Chapter 39
“I’m tellin’ ya, Colm, the man’s trouble.” Sean paced in front of his mentor’s fireplace, the skin on the back of his neck raw from the near constant rubbing since he’d left the McGonigle’s shop.
Colm patted the table with his meaty hand. “Come, lad.” He waved Sean over. “Sit an’ have yer tea.”
Sean reached the table in two steps and flopped into a seat opposite the man. He took hold of his cup but had no stomach for tea. He slid the cup to the center of the table, splashing the milky liquid onto the wood. It pooled for a moment before soaking in, Sean watching it the whole time.
Colm’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Good grief, now I know ’tis serious if ye won’t take yer tea!” A hearty laugh bubbled out of his mouth, and he gave Sean a playful nudge. But there was no laughing for Sean on this day.
“’Tis serious, man! O’Malley’s no good, I’m tellin’ ya. Ya know yourself what he was like as a boyo.”
Colm nodded, pursing his lips in thought. “Aye.” He drew a long drink of tea and sat back. “Declan had his fair share of wild oats to sow, but that doesna mean there’s more left in his pouch.”
Sean remained unconvinced.
Colm cocked an eyebrow. “So, ye’re tellin’ me that ye’re the same lad ye were ten years back?”
Sean threw his hands up, exasperated. “C’mon, Colm, that’s not fair and ye know it. ’Course I’m different. I’ve grown. Changed.”
Colm nodded emphatically. “Agreed.”
“I know what ye’re tryin’ to say, and I don’t deny that the same could be true for Declan.” Sean’s hand went instinctively to the back of his neck. He winced and scratched his scalp instead. “It’s just that men like him—men who treat women the way he did—don’t change much in that regard. Not in my experience, at least.”
Colm looked pensive, and he swigged the last of his tea. “Ya have a point there, lad. All I’m sayin’ is ta watch and pray. The Laird can change even the coldest man’s heart.”
“Humph! He’d better watch his manners, that’s all I have ta say.” Sean shook his head. “The nairve of him callin’ her Moira when they’d only just met.” He slumped back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “God help ’im if he so much as looks at her with disrespect.”
Sean released a deep sigh. If Declan O’Malley thinks he can win the heart of Moira Doherty without a fight, he’s got another think comin’.
The dough was soft and warm in Moira’s hands as she kneaded it again and again. How could she have been so stupid to allow herself to be part of such a display? There was no mistaking the hurt in Sean’s eyes when he caught sight of her hand in Declan’s.
There was also no denying that Declan had stirred something in her. And while she felt bad for injuring his pride, Sean had never made any proclamations of intention or interest of any kind. He’d been a gentleman and gone out of his way to help her. He’d kissed her hand. But could that account for more than a polite gesture? Had she made too much of it? Sean had never said . . .
I think he made his interest quite clear last night, Moira Girl. She brushed her fingers over the place where his lips had lingered and closed her eyes. But it was Declan’s piercing blue eyes she saw in her mind. While true that she’d made no promise or commitment to Sean, she couldn’t deny that she had very nearly proclaimed herself to love him less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Was this a test of the state of her heart? Moira felt petty and foolish to be so moved by a man she’d only just met, but the butterflies that still fluttered when she pictured the newcomer’s face threatened to drown out all logic.
Not ready to forget her feelings for Sean too quickly, she purposed in her heart to focus her energy on nursing Áedach and Peg and meditating on the Scriptures she would read to them each day.
Lord, don’t let my heart be distracted from what You’ve brought me here to do.
She formed the dough into a ball, cut an X in the top, and placed it in the oven.
And please give me wisdom with these two gentlemen, both of whom have managed to waltz their way into my heart too quickly.
The bread was still steaming when Moira wrapped it in cheesecloth and started out for Peg’s house. She wanted to check on her friend before making her way to Áedach’s for the day’s visit. While Peg recovered and Sean was busy with work, they’d all agreed Moira could tend to Áedach on her own during the day. And with the children all but forbidden to attend classes, Moira’s days were her own. How long could that go on? How long before her job would be officially ripped from her and given to another?
As she walked along the hillside, the sea churned, swirling this way and that, much like her own thoughts.
She was so lost in reflection, she found herself outside Peg’s door in what seemed an instant. Colm let her in and welcomed her with a fatherly kiss on the cheek. He gave her the prize of a bigger kiss on the cheek when she presented him with the freshly baked brown bread.
“Ah, ye’re a dear, lass.” He scurried into the kitchen with his treasure and reappeared just as quickly with a plate and a slab of butter. He motioned for her to join him at the table.
Moira sniggered into her hand as she watched Colm hack off a wedge of bread and slather it in the crea
my butter, licking his lips like a child in a sweet shop.
“My Peg’s the best cook in Gweedore.” He sank his teeth into the bread and moaned in delight. “But since she’s been under the weather, she’s not been able ta cook, of course.” Crumbs flew as he spoke. “And ya don’t want me comin’ anywhere near a cooktop. It’s been near-moldy bread and whatever else I can scrounge together for the last few days.”
“And how is our patient?” Moira interjected when he paused for another bite. “It’s much quieter than it was last night. Has her cough settled down?”
“Aye. She’s still sleepin’ sound now.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Moira grimaced, imagining the work it would be for Peg to get butter stains out of a linen shirt.
“T’anks be to God, her chest cleared along wit’ the weather. I’d say another day or two an’ she’ll be right as rain.”
Moira released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God, indeed!” Relief washed over her at the realization that Colm had been right in his diagnosis and that she hadn’t brought Áedach’s dreadful ailment into the Sweeny home.
“Well, enjoy the bread.” She pressed fists firmly to her hips and gave him a playful scowl. “I expect you to share with Peg, you know?”
Colm’s shoulders slumped and he pushed his lower lip out in a mocking pout. “Aw, do I hafta, marm?”
Hearty laughter enveloped them both as they made their way to the door. “Give my love to Peg, and let her know I’ll be by again tomorrow to call on her.”
“Will do, dear, will do.” He opened the door for her. “Ye keep yer wits about ye, lass. Ya never know who ye might run into, an’ who might try to run away wit’ yer heart.”
Moira laughed again, but one look at Colm’s face told her he wasn’t joking. She cleared her throat and straightened her stance. “I will, Colm. I promise.” Turning to head for Áedach’s, she couldn’t help but wonder why he would make such a remark.
A Dance in Donegal Page 17