But she wouldn't be dissuaded. She clung to him even tighter, her face aglow. "The Red Branch had a code, almost like... like Arthur's standard of chivalry. No Red Branch knight could ever eat until everyone else had been fed. A Red Branch knight was honor bound to provide for those weaker than he, to give them anything they needed—his spear, his warming fire, the very clothes from his back—just as you gave Mrs. McGinty your cloak!"
He spun around, stalked a few paces away. He winced, realizing the reason her fantasies were so damned terrifying was because she believed in them. "Don't turn this mess into some sort of heroic deed," Ciaran warned. "It was your cloak. It didn't mean a damn thing to me."
"But you didn't have anything else to wear!"
Heat seared his cheeks, his mouth curling in a formidable frown. "If I'd been in my right mind, I never would have done it. It was foolhardy. Reckless."
"You would have given that cloak to her no matter what—given her anything, down to your last drop of blood. It's what you were born to do: shield those weaker than yourself."
He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to cover his ears like a witling boy and block out the words. But he only stood, scowling. "I wasn't doing anything except making a complete fool out of myself. Don't you realize how dangerous it was, handing off that cloak like that?"
"No! It was wonderful. Honorable. I knew you were Ciaran."
He swore under his breath. "I would hope this legendary Ciaran of yours would show more common sense than I did a moment ago! You say it's vital no one knows about me, no one can trace me to Misthaven. Just exactly what do you think will happen when Mrs. McGinty arrives at her daughter's house? Don't you think they'll ask for some sort of explanation as to where she got that cloak? And what will she say? 'From Miss Fallon Delaney and a naked man.'"
He could feel the excitement drain out of Fallon. She stilled, her voice suddenly small. "But... But maybe... I mean, I can't imagine—"
He plunged on, ruthlessly. "If I am some sort of fugitive, my grand heroic gesture might lead this Redmayne person you're so afraid of right to your front door."
"Mrs. McGinty would never do us harm!" She rose to the old woman's defense, as outraged as if she and Maeve were bosom friends and not two strangers who had stumbled across each other on a moonlit road.
"She might not harm us intentionally. But we didn't warn her to keep silent."
Fallon's hand dropped away from him, and he was surprised to find the place it had covered suddenly cold. She caught her lip between her teeth, and Ciaran felt as if he'd kicked a kitten.
After all, crazed though she might be, Fallon had taken him, a complete stranger, under her wing. Invited him into her home. True, she thought he was some magical hero, and yet he'd seen her concern as she bent over Maeve McGinty. Somewhere beneath those dream-addled wits was a generous heart, and a brave one. Who knew how much danger she would incur because of her kindness to him? If it wasn't for Fallon, he'd still be wandering around on that rocky cliff, naked, bewildered, alone.
"Maybe we should go after her. Get a vow of silence."
Ciaran grimaced. She hadn't said "tell Maeve to keep her mouth shut," or even "ask her to be quiet." No. A vow of silence. As if it were some ancient rite. Legendary heroes, fairy magic, what other nonsense was her imagination stuffed with? Why did some secret part of him almost envy her?
He forced a rare gentleness into his voice. "Chasing after Mrs. McGinty now would only make this seem all the more strange." If it was possible to make things stranger than meeting a naked man and a landholder's sister on a night road.
"No," he insisted, "better to leave it as it is."
He wasn't sure what possessed him to reach out, to touch her cheek. Smooth as new cream it was beneath his fingertips, warm and velvety, scented with heather. So very, very fragile for a world filled with jagged cliffs and battered heads, angry strangers and stormy skies. Her breath caught at that tiny touch, as if it were something rare, something she was unaccustomed to—the brush of someone's fingertips.
Ciaran didn't want to feel empathy for her, but he couldn't help it. Who was she, this fey creature with a woman's body and a child's dreams shining in her eyes? He wanted to cup his palm against her cheek, thread his fingers back into the subtle flame of her hair. But he stayed still, barely touching her.
"Fallon, everything will work out in the end. Maeve's family will be so excited over Bridie's new babe that it will likely take some time for Mrs. McGinty's tale to get back to this Redmayne. We'll just have to make sure that by the time it does, we've discovered who I am."
"Yes. Of course. That's it. Then Redmayne won't be able to hurt you, hurt Misthaven, hurt anyone ever again. You'll understand your destiny. You'll be glad I summoned you back."
Was that what she needed Ciaran of the Mist for? To battle with this Redmayne she so dreaded? What had she done to make such an enemy? How dangerous was this Captain Redmayne? And why the devil did he feel a tightening like a noose around his neck whenever he heard that name?
He felt Fallon's hand upon his arm, her grasp eager.
"Just wait, Ciaran. You'll find out who you are, and then everything will be just as I imagined."
"No, Fallon." Ciaran cut her off, turning away from her hope-filled face, unwilling to deceive her. "Then I'll be gone."
Chapter 4
Squares of gold lantern light glowed from the stable windows, the musty, warm scent of horses and hay filling Fallon's nostrils as she reined Cuchulain into the shadows at the side of the stables. The horse pricked up his ears, tossing his head as he strained against his reins, eager to return to his oat box and straw bed.
But with each hoof fall bringing them nearer, Ciaran grew tenser, more reluctant.
"Are you sure this isn't going to be a disaster?" he murmured, low in her ear. And she could sense his gaze was fastened not on the stable so near, but rather on the silhouette of Misthaven House on the edge of the hill. "What if someone sees me?"
"If you do as I tell you, no one will. The servants are far too preoccupied with their own work. And Hugh will be locked up in his study or off somewhere tending his precious business interests. There's not the slightest bit of danger."
What was it the priest had said about not daring fate? At that instant, a voice echoed from inside the stables, and hurried footsteps stalked toward the door. "Fallon? Fallon, is that you?"
Hugh! Her stomach dropped, sweat breaking out on her upper lip. What the devil was he doing in the stable at this hour?
She started to shove at Ciaran, warn him to dismount, hide. He'd already sprung from the horse's back with a warrior's instincts. Fallon glimpsed a blur of pale flesh and sinew against the darkness as he dove for the shelter of a hayrick, but it was too late to escape. Hugh stood in the rectangle of the stable door, garbed from head to toe in black as if he were going to a funeral.
Unfortunately, all things considered, it might be Fallon's own. She scrambled to find some explanation as her brother stalked toward her, his usually calm face more thunderous than any of the clouds scudding in from the west. But she was fresh out of good reasons for dragging a half-naked man home as if he were a stray puppy she'd found.
"I know this seems odd—" she stammered, "but—"
"Blast it, Fallon, it is you, isn't it?" He stepped closer. "I can't see in this benighted dark. Why the devil doesn't Sheehan light a torch or two?"
Fallon sucked in a breath of bone-shattering relief, blessing the head groom for his negligence. Hugh was still blinded, coming from light to darkness. By some miracle, he hadn't seen Ciaran.
Now the trick was to make certain her brother remained ignorant of Ciaran's presence. Desperate to put some distance between Ciaran and herself, Fallon prodded Cuchulain toward Hugh with feigned nonchalance, trying to hide the fact that her heart was in her throat.
"Lovely evening, Hugh," she said, closing the distance. "What are you doing in the stables at this hour? Surely you can't be going out to count your sheep in th
e dark."
She wanted to taunt him just a little. If he were irritated at her, he'd be less likely to glance around and see something they'd both regret.
Hugh tugged the collar of his riding coat. "There is trouble out at MacDuggan's Quay. With the storm coming, a shipment is in danger."
"Heaven forfend."
Hugh's mouth tightened in a thin white line. "I prefer my sailors on their decks, rather than at the bottom of the ocean. So do their families."
Fallon had the grace to be a trifle ashamed, but she wasn't about to let Hugh know it. His tone was insufferable, as if she were a naughty child in need of punishment. It only got worse as he continued.
"When I reached the stables and learned that you'd gone out, I was going to ride in search."
Ridiculous notion! The last thing she needed was Hugh trailing after her. It wasn't as if he'd have the slightest chance of finding her! The familiar impatience flared, tinged with shame for her brother. Damn Hugh anyway!
She gritted her teeth, excruciatingly aware of Ciaran hiding behind the hayrick, knowing that the man was listening to the conversation. It made her squirm inside, left her feeling oddly naked. She sought shelter in belligerence.
"You were going in search of me? How strange. I'm amazed you even noticed I was gone. After all, it's not Christmas or my birthday."
Hugh flinched, a heaviness seeming to bow his shoulders. "I know I haven't always done right by you, Fallon but I was worried. Especially when I heard you were out riding alone at night. The garrison has posted more patrols ever since that Captain Redmayne arrived."
Fallon stifled a shudder at the man's name, and gave a light laugh. "I'll remember to avoid him whenever I'm plotting treason."
"It's not a jest, Fallon. This whole coast has been seething since the rebellion was put down. Desperate men are on the run from the law, angry men who might hurt you if you saw something they wanted to hide. And that new garrison captain will only make things worse. There's something about him that sets my nerves on edge. He's dangerous. And you're not a child anymore, to run wild around the countryside. Something could happen to you."
Fallon rolled her eyes. "I've met Captain Redmayne. I hardly think he is the sort who would hurl me down on the heath and have his wicked way with me." But her attempt at humor fell flat as she recalled the way the Englishman had watched her, like a tiger with its prey. Perhaps Redmayne wouldn't fling her onto the ground to take his pleasure, but he was obviously a man given to more complex, subtle tortures.
She slid down from Cuchulain and slipped the reins over the stallion's head. "Now, Hugh, if you'll excuse me?"
Her brother stepped in front of her, looming tall and lean, with a quiet intensity. Sometimes it seemed impossible that the same blood flowed through their veins. "Fallon, you can't spend the rest of your life running about the heath. It's time you leave off wild ways. You're twenty-two. A woman."
"You've noticed? Why the sudden interest, brother? Nothing more important to occupy the master of Misthaven's thoughts tonight? No dips in the price of new lambs to fret over?"
She was hurting him. She could sense it in the tightening of Hugh's shoulders, the way his lids lowered to hide his eyes—eyes the color Mama's had been. But she had to get Hugh to leave her in peace. She had to get Ciaran safely into Misthaven House. The longer Ciaran was outdoors, the more danger that he would be discovered.
She couldn't keep the scorn from dripping into her voice. "I've done well enough without your interference in my life thus far, Hugh. I get along fine. You tend to your business dealings, while I—"
"While you what? Wander around the heath barefoot, your hair straggling down like a shepherdess's?"
"It's a little late to start planning teas with the Misses Alberdale, isn't it? Especially considering the disaster it was the last time you stuck your head out of your office long enough to insist I attend one of their fêtes."
"You were only eight years old then."
"I was old enough to know I didn't belong there. And the twins never forgave me for dousing their new party frocks in punch." She tried to remember the pleasure it had given her, to see the pampered darlings of the neighboring gentry dripping in the sticky-sweet mess, red dribbles flowing down their tear-streaked faces, pooling on the exquisite lace their papa had brought them back from Belgium.
Why doesn't your papa bring you back any presents, Fallon? She could still hear their mocking giggles. Does he think they sticked you in the grave with your mama?
She'd blamed Hugh for forcing her hand that night, and sometimes she thought he'd blamed himself for the ostracism that followed. Whoever had been at fault, the repercussions of that outing had driven an even deeper wedge between two siblings already impossibly different. Hurt had piled upon hurt until they'd both hoarded their stores of pain in silence, alone, Hugh absorbed in Misthaven, Fallon in her world of legends—two strangers with nothing more in common than a mother's grave.
"Fallon"—Hugh's voice shook her from her dark thoughts—"if you only made an effort, you could charm the gold out of a miser's fist. You're witty and intelligent, and even pretty when you comb the bits of leaf and heather out of your hair. I could try to arrange some invitations. Clarissa Prunty always seemed to like you. You could start by making friends with her."
Fallon grimaced. "That solemn little mouse? She's got all the animation of that bit of barn wood. As for her admiration of me—bah! It was you Clarissa liked, Hugh. The way she'd always stand about, blinking those adoring doe eyes at you. It was near revolting."
Color flooded up from Hugh's collar to stain his cheeks. "Don't be absurd," he snapped. "Clarissa Prunty never spoke two words to me."
Fallon gave a snort of disgust. "She never spoke two words to anyone. As for enlarging my social circle, we've discussed this before. I said no. I still feel the same way. You lead your life, I'll lead mine. We're both happy that way."
She shivered suddenly, aware of Hugh's eyes watching her, piercing, strangely haunted. "Are you?" he asked.
"Am I what?"
"Happy?"
The word hung between them, quivering like an arrow's shaft. Fallon was stunned at the sudden lump in her throat. She looked away from him, something in his face leaving her heart raw. "What I am is tired. I'm going up to my rooms to take a hot bath and go to bed."
"You mean you're running away, Fallon. That's what you do every time you race off into the hills. You're just like father, pretending that nothing exists but what you want to see."
Fallon rounded on Hugh, hot fury surging through her veins. "Don't you dare compare me to him!"
"Why not? It's the truth. He just mounted his horse and rode away. Sailed to London and never looked back. God forbid he had to face the fact his wife was dying, his estate was crumbling to ruin and his children were shattered and afraid. I'd wager he was damned relieved when the gin finally killed him."
"I'm not running anywhere! I'm just doing what Mama did. She spent every spare moment wandering about the fields."
"She was going to the cottages, to help the people there. You could do the same, Fallon. You could take an interest in the estate. Help me. Together we could build Misthaven into something to be proud of."
"Bury myself alive in this place as you do? No, thank you." Fallon led Cuchulain into the circle of light spilling from the stable door. "There is a difference between us, Hugh," she said, passing the reins to an undergroom who loped away with his charge. "You idolize Misthaven. It's your wife, your children, your sister, your friend. For you there's nothing else but the land. Me, I do my best to forget I have any part in Misthaven and all it stands for. This chunk of land isn't worth the price our ancestors paid for it, in my opinion."
"Fallon—"
She turned back to her brother, knowing she should be silent, but unable to be so. The words she had thought for so long, yet never spoken, wouldn't be stopped. "Can I ask you a question, Hugh?"
"I suppose."
"When you ride ou
t over the land with your silver-headed crop tucked under your arm and your boots polished to a gleam, are you ever ashamed? Do you ever think about how the Delaney family betrayed the simple people hereabouts century after century? We're Irish, but we didn't stand with them when they fought for freedom. We compromised, sold our soul, changed our politics. The men, the precious Delaney heirs, even changed their religion when they had to, all to cling to this scrap of land. The glen folk should despise us as much as our English neighbors do."
A lock of dark hair tumbled over Hugh's brow, making him look suddenly boyish, desperately earnest. "I do the best I can to make the crofters' lives better."
Fallon was surprised how much her heart hurt. "How admirable. Of course, it's convenient that their labor keeps a grand roof over our heads, plenty of money in the Delaney coffers and power in our family's hands. Yes, Hugh, you make a praiseworthy sacrifice indeed looking after them."
He looked as if she'd slapped him. But she wasn't sorry—wouldn't let herself be. Everything she'd said was the truth. She only wished that the man still hiding behind the hayrick hadn't heard it.
Hugh turned and walked into the stables. He took the reins of his sturdy mount and swung himself up. "This conversation isn't over, Fallon," he warned. "There are some matters to be settled here. And we will settle them." Touching his spurs to the animal's sides, he disappeared into the darkness.
Blast Hugh! She remembered countless times as a little girl when it would have meant the world to her to have her brother's attention for just a little while. But now? Trust cautious, plodding Hugh to wait until it was too late. There was too much hurt between them, and they were both too independent.
Fallon watched in relieved silence until she was certain he was gone and that the grooms had returned to their work. Then she hastened to where Ciaran had hidden.
There was an odd stillness about the man, his lips curved in a thoughtful frown. And she knew, with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, that Ciaran had heard it all, understood it all. She supposed it was against the code of the Red Branch to be disrespectful to one's older brother, no matter what kind of a plodding fool he was.
Her Magic Touch (Celtic Rogues Book 3) Page 7