She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that.” She heaved a sigh and rested against the wall. “I just am wondering what the point of it all is.”
His brow furrowed. “Go on.”
“Why on earth would God bring me here, if I was just going to be run out of town on a rail?” A tear slid down her cheek. Sean gently wiped it away. She relished the feel of his skin on hers.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t know what plan God had for bringin’ ya here, Moira. But I’m sure glad He did.”
She met his gaze.
“I don’t pretend to be an expert in the ways of the Almighty.” He dropped his hand and sat next to her on the wall. “An’ I know I don’t read the Book as much as I should. But I do know God is doing something in you, Moira. Your heart has changed. Whatever it is He’s doin’ in you through your work with Áedach, and fighting against the darkness that’s pressing in on you—I just can’t imagine He would waste any of that. You’re a different woman than the one I met only weeks ago,” he continued. “He’s changing you . . . and watching that unfold has changed me. If me drawing nearer to God is the only good thing that comes out of Him bringing you to Ballymann, I’d say He worked a miracle through you.”
Tears flowed freely now, and Moira made no attempt to hide them. How foolish she’d been, lured by Declan because of his smooth words and those striking eyes. Such wisdom and depth flowed through Sean, and she held no doubts that he ever wanted any less than what was best for her.
She placed her hand on his, the skin rough and calloused under her fingers, but it bothered her not at all. “Thank you, Sean.” Her eyes searched his, willing him to hear all that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “Truly.”
He nodded slightly and gave her fingers a tender squeeze.
They stood there together for a moment, volumes being spoken in the silence between them. In the distance a sheep bleated, and the church bells began to ring.
“I’d best be off.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Good night, Moira.” He released her hand, and she instantly missed the warmth of his touch.
Her heart ached to leave his side, and as she walked home, she committed to meet Declan on the morrow—but only to tell him her heart belonged to another.
Chapter 45
Moira’s heart thumped against her chest as she made her way to the agreed-upon meeting place. Lord, give me strength. She held no concern of being drawn back in by Declan’s charms—God had opened her eyes to the truth about her affection for Sean. Rather, she concerned herself with being direct enough to communicate clearly that she had no intentions of continuing any kind of relationship with him.
As she approached the corner, her heart sank. Declan wasn’t there. Turning about, she looked for his silhouette on the horizon, but not a soul was present.
A rustling on the stone wall drew her attention. Under a loose rock, one end flapping in the breeze, was a paper. On it was only her name and an arrow, pointing north. Retrieving the paper, she peered up the road. When she saw no one on the path ahead, an argument waged within her.
If she followed his instructions, he might think her interested in pursuing more than the polite, congenial acquaintance of two members of the community. However, if she tarried, she might miss the chance to speak what was on her mind—and the urgency with which to do it.
Gripping the paper in her hand, she set her face to the north and stepped out in faith, trusting God to work in the less-than-ideal circumstances.
Once at the top of the hill upon which she’d stood and surveyed her new home on her first day in Ballymann, she discovered another paper flapping at her, this one stuck to a gorse bush, directing her down the other side of the hill. She continued, finding a new paper every few yards, until finally she reached the junction with the road that led to Colm and Peg’s house. Fighting the urge to turn right and flee to the warmth and solace of her friends’ good company and hospitality, she searched for another paper to guide her next steps.
To her left stood the town halla, the one place she’d longed to explore since the day she’d arrived. All at once, Declan appeared from around the corner of the building.
“Surprise!” He held a bunch of wildflowers and sea grasses in his hand, his dimple flashing at her.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Malley.” Moira dipped the smallest of curtsies. “I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to find you.” Instantly, regret flooded her for making a remark that could easily be interpreted differently than she’d intended.
“I was just wondering the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and extended the flowers to her. “I feared you’d changed your mind.”
She reluctantly took them from his hand.
Declan reached over and pushed the door of the halla open. “I can’t wait for you to see this, Moi—Miss Doherty.”
“Mr. O’Malley.” She cleared her throat. “I must speak with you.”
“Of course, of course!” He hopped over the threshold and beckoned her inside. “Let’s talk in here where we’ll be out of the elements.”
Moira hesitated. Glancing inside the thatched building, she could see he’d brought lanterns. Shadows and light danced upon the walls and all the stories her mother had told flooded her mind. The need to see inside overcame her, and she stepped through the doorway.
The sight stole her breath as she scanned the room. On the far-left wall stood a fireplace. No fire crackled in its hearth now, but she could almost feel the warmth that radiated from it during the céilí celebrations. The musty aroma of the ancient thatch wafted from above. In the corners and along each wall, bales of hay provided makeshift seats for partygoers in need of a rest. She ran her fingers along the roughhewn stones that made up the wall. If only those stones could talk!
“D’you like it?”
“It’s . . . it’s extraordinary.”
She felt Declan’s warmth from behind, and he placed his hands upon her shoulders. “I hoped you’d love it,” he whispered in her ear and grazed his lips on her cheek.
She jumped away from his grasp and absently wiped the place his lips had been. “Mr. O’Malley, whatever are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re beautiful, and lovely, and . . . soft.” He took a step toward her.
She held up her arm, palm extended. “Stop right there.” Her legs shook beneath her. “I fear I might have given you the wrong impression, Mr. O’Malley. I met you today only to tell you”—she swallowed hard, building her courage—“to tell you I cannot pursue a friendship with you. It isn’t proper.”
“Proper?” He laughed. “What’s so improper? Besides, it’s not so much friendship I’m looking for.” Desire swam in his eyes, and Moira wished he wasn’t between her and the door.
“That, sir,” she continued, “is exactly my point. I have no intentions of pursuing any kind of relationship with you. Friendship or otherwise.”
“You can’t mean that.” His voice dripped with desperation. “I saw the way you looked at me, flirted with me. I know how you feel about me, Moira.”
“No, Mr. O’Malley, you don’t.” Her heart raced. She had to find a way to get out of there. She took a step toward the exit, but Declan slid in front of her. He reached back with his right leg and kicked the door shut with a sickening thud.
“You little tease. Don’t pretend that you don’t want me.” He stepped closer. Instinctively she moved backward, away from him, until he had her pressed up against the wall.
“Please, you don’t want to do this.” Her voice shook, and his face blurred through her tears.
“Oh, yes, I do.” He pressed his mouth against hers. He released her only to take a breath and kissed her again. Hard. So hard she tasted blood. She struggled against him, but the more she fought, the harder he pressed. He pulled away just far enough to look at her face. His eyes were filled with a vacant, angry blaze that terrified Moira to her core. “I know who you are.
I know who your mother was. And I know you take after her in more ways than one.”
“No!” She shook her head violently. “No, it’s not true. None of it. Please!”
He grabbed a handful of her hair and shoved her face toward his, kissing her harder than before. With his other hand he groped and grabbed where and what he pleased. She managed to wriggle her face free of his and screamed.
Furious, he grabbed a fresh handful of hair and threw her to the ground. “Quiet, woman!”
Pain shot through her head as it hit against a rock that must have crumbled from the fireplace to the floor long ago. Warmth pooled under her head.
Desperately she clawed the ground, trying to escape. But he sat upon her and his mouth found hers again and again. Then her neck. Her ear. He grasped the neckline of her dress and ripped the fabric.
No, God, please! Someone help!
Her kicks and punches only seemed to goad him further until finally, he managed to pin her arms above her head with one of his hands while the other tore the remainder of her dress.
Her vision blurred and began to darken. Somewhere in the distance a shout floated on the air, sounding far away and close by all at once.
The room spun and suddenly she was free of Declan’s weight. But everything faded to black and silence.
Chapter 46
Sean draped his coat over Moira, averting his eyes from her bruised flesh. “Colm, is he awake?” Sean shook his right hand a few times, trying to quell the throbbing in his knuckles from the punch he’d served to Declan’s jaw. The lad lay on the ground where he’d fallen.
“Nae, lad, the brute’s out cold.” Anger registered on the old man’s face, but pride shone in his gray eyes. “Ye see to Miss Doherty—take her over to me missus. I’ll make sure this one doesna move.”
Sean scooped Moira’s limp body in his arms. Her black hair was matted to the back of her head, but warmth from the blood seeping from the gash still trickled down his elbow.
Lord, have mercy on her. Save her.
Taking care not to press on any wounds, he sidled out the door and hurried to the Sweeny home.
“Peg! Peg!”
The door flew open. “Oh, Mhaidean! What’s happened?” She rushed to Sean’s side and brushed the hair from Moira’s forehead with a tender hand, then lifted one of the girl’s eyelids with her thumb. “Bring her inside. Ye can lay her on me bed.”
Sean obeyed, turning sideways as he crossed the threshold so as not to catch Moira’s foot or her head on the doorframe. He made his way to the back room and laid Moira as gently as he could on the ticking, rearranging his coat to ensure her modesty. Blood—Moira’s blood—slicked across his palm. Hair and dirt studded the crimson stain. Unbidden, trembles overcame his body, and his stomach roiled, threatening to deposit his breakfast on the floor.
“Oh, peata.” Peg’s warm hand circled on his back. “There’s some hot water on the stove. Go clean up and help yerself to a cuppa tea. I’ll see to Moira now.”
Sean stared at the older woman, her face blurred through his tears. “But Moira . . .” He extended his hand toward her, then withdrew it quickly. “She’s hurt. She’s so very hurt.”
“She’s in good hands now, love. It wouldn’t be proper for you to tend to her in this state.”
Sean nodded absently.
“There’s a good lad. Get cleaned up, have yer cuppa, and then ye can tell me what’s happened.” She gave his shoulder a compassionate squeeze and led him out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Sean stared at his hands, covered in Moira’s blood, knuckles burning, and rage boiling in his heart. Stomping to the kitchen, he grabbed the pot of nearly steaming water from the stove and poured it over his hands, ignoring the searing heat as it washed the blood of the woman he loved from his hands. Through the window above the washbasin, he could see the thatched roof of the halla. He stared hard at it as he scrubbed, his thoughts scattering this way and that.
He slapped his hands on his breeches and stormed out the door.
“Declan!” His voice thick with rage, he called the name again. Sean kicked the halla door open. “Declan O’Malley!”
Declan was propped up against a pile of hay, chin dropped to his chest, obviously still unconscious. Colm had tied Declan’s hands behind his back, and Sean relaxed some knowing the brute was subdued. One benefit of a lifetime of thatching was Colm’s ability to tie knots sure not to come undone in a hurry. “Ye’re a good man, Colm.”
Colm nodded, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Oy!” Sean kicked Declan’s foot, pushing down the rising desire to pummel the man where he lay.
Declan stirred and moaned. Sean reached down and grabbed his face, shaking it violently. “Oy! Come on now, man.” He punctuated his words with a smart slap across Declan’s stubbled face.
Declan’s head bobbed from side to side before raising up to look at Sean. He clenched his eyes shut then open a few times and worked his jaw back and forth, wincing in pain. “What’s the meaning of all this?”
Incredulous, Sean paced in front of his prisoner’s feet. “The meaning? You abused a chaste and righteous young woman, ya chancer. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you then and there.”
Declan sneered. “You’ve got it all wrong, lad.” He licked his lips. “She lured me here and tried to seduce me. You should’ve seen the ways she tried to entice me.” A guttural laugh rattled his chest.
Sean’s fingers balled into a fist then opened, again and again.
“When I resisted, she went insane and attacked me.”
Sean lunged toward him, but Colm caught him before he reached his target. “’Tis not the time nor place, lad.”
Sean shot a glare at the old man. “Ya can’t be serious?”
“He’ll stand before the Gardaí for his crime.” Colm laid a strong hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Don’t heap guilt upon yourself by acting unwisely. Ye saved the gairl’s life, and you did right by her and yerself with what you did. Any more, though, and ye’ll be in the wrong as well.”
“Aye,” Sean growled, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “You can spin yer lies all ya want, Declan, but Colm and I know what we saw. And any man can look at the state o’ that poor girl’s body—” His voice caught in his throat. “Everyone will know what you did, and no one will buy that load of malarkey you’re sellin’.”
He reached down and grabbed Declan by the elbow, yanking him to his feet. Together, Sean and Colm dragged the prisoner to the Gardaí house.
When Sean and Colm burst through the Gardaí door with Declan, Tom Duffy scrambled to his feet behind his large desk.
“Cad a tharla?” The officer yanked his waistcoat into place. “What’s all this?”
Sean pushed his way past him and thrust Declan into the holding cell, slamming the door with a clang. “This . . . this rake is after assaultin’ Miss Doherty.” He paced the room, breathless.
Duffy’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked hard at Declan, who slumped onto a creepie in the corner of the cell, looking neither guilty nor innocent. “Tell me exactly what’s happened.”
Sean smoothed his hair back and splayed his hands on the desk. “Colm and I were heading out for a thatching repair when we heard a commotion in the halla. At first all we could hear was scuffling and muffled voices. Then we heard a scream—a female scream. A . . . terrified scream.” He rolled his lips between his teeth and took a deep breath, fighting to keep his rage in check. “We burst into the halla to find—” He closed his eyes and waited for the lump to leave his throat. “We found yer man there tryin’ to have his way with Miss Doherty. She was bleeding from her head, and barely conscious. He’d ripped her dress from her—it’s still on the floor of the halla. I pulled him off her and gave him a right hook across the jaw.”
Duffy rubbed his fingers across his jowls before resting them on his plump belly. He turned to Declan. “Was that the way of it?”
Declan shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “
You know how these young, single teachers are, Duff. She lured me there and tried to seduce me.”
The officer’s brow furrowed, and he scooted up close to Sean. “Are ya sure it was as you say? You know, Miss Doherty’s been said to—”
Colm raised his palm up, signaling Duffy to say nothing more. He stepped closer to the officer and looked him in the eye. “We’ve known each other a long time, Tom. All our lives, aye?”
“Aye.”
“God as my witness, it happened just as young Sean here told ye. O’Malley assaulted that poor lass, and I won’t stand here an’ let ye use gossip to make an innocent gairl accountable for an attack that nearly stole her life. She lies in my house now, unconscious.”
Duffy looked back at Declan, who turned his palms up toward the ceiling as if to say, “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Colm, of all the folk in Ballymann, I trust ye more than any—other than Father McGowan, o’course.”
Colm nodded.
“I’ll give yer wife some time to tend to the lass’s medical needs, and then I’ll need to talk to her meself.”
“Anything ya need.” Colm shook Duffy’s hand.
Sean nodded at the officer and leveled another glare at Declan before turning to head out the door and back to Moira.
Chapter 47
A dull ache throbbed in Moira’s head, turning her stomach with each beat of her heart. The aroma of fresh bread and tea hung in the air, and muted voices floated from somewhere in the distance. As she opened her eyes, blurred lines and hazy light swam in her vision. When she raised her hand to her face, it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Her muscles screamed with each movement.
Her vision finally clearing, panic seized her. This was not her home. Where was she? Whose voices was she hearing? Without warning, images flashed across her mind—Declan’s face shoved against hers. His body hovering over hers. The weight of him pressed down on her. Her heart raced, and she curled over the side of the bed just in time to get sick in a bowl that rested on a creepie.
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