do her good."
Keane pushed away from the desk and strode to the window. His
voice lowered. "I think the lass dislikes being in my company."
"Why do you think that, my lord?"
' 'Whenever I am near her, she watches me the way prey might watch
a hunter."
"You can hardly blame her. She was, after all, nearly killed here on
your land."
Keane's eyes narrowed. "I'm not her enemy. If she doesn't know that
now, after all I've done to save her, she never will."' It could be
because of the horror of what she suffered, my lord."
Keane nodded. "There is that, of course."
"Or she could be shy, my lord. She is, after all, a lass educated in the
convent."
"Aye."
The old servant decided to poke and prod a bit more. "You might find
it pleasant to have someone with whom you could talk about the
books you've read, the places you've been. She might prove to be an
interesting companion, something in short supply here in Carrick."
Keane stared out the window, seeing nothing. Neither the green
rolling hills, nor the flocks undulating across the valley, nor the way
the sunset turned the cross atop the chapel to blood. All he saw was
the emptiness, stretching out before him. Endless emptiness.
"She has nothing to wear. I doubt she would sup with me wearing a
borrowed nightshift."
Vinson smiled. He'd anticipated the problem. "There are your
mother's trunks. Mistress Malloy could no doubt find something that
would fit the lass."
Keane turned and met the old man's look. "You've put a good deal of
thought into this, haven't you, Vinson?"
"Aye, my lord." The old man remained ramrod straight. Not a hint of
a smile touched his lips. "The lass needs a chance to properly thank
her benefactor."
Keane gave the slightest nod of his head. "All right. Invite her to sup
with me. And tell Mistress Malloy to rifle through the trunks for
something appropriate." As the old man turned away he added,
"Suggest that she find something modest. We wouldn't want to
scandalize such an innocent."
"Aye, my lord."
When the door closed behind the servant, Keane glanced at the
portrait of his father staring down from the mantel, and beneath it, a
set of crossed ancestral swords. The two symbols he most detested.
Bloodline and misuse of power. Life and death.
He could still hear his father's harsh tone, lecturing him on his
weaknesses. "The man who puts the love of God, country or woman
ahead of gold is a fool. For, in the end, gold is all that matters."
He'd rebelled, determined to prove his father wrong. He'd have the
rest of his life to regret it.
To occupy his mind, he returned to his ledgers. But as he bent over
the page, he found himself thinking about the lass's strange voice.
And the way her lips looked whenever she smiled. Odd. He hadn't felt
this quickening of his heartbeat for a very long time. But it wasn't the
lass that caused it. It was merely loneliness. He'd kept himself locked
away with his ledgers too long now. But they were all he had now,
since he'd become a stranger in the land of his birth.
"This will do nicely, Cora." The housekeeper held up a gown of pale
lemon, which she had retrieved from the trunk in the tower room.
Though it appeared to be far too big, it was the only one she'd found
with a modest neckline. "Can you make it fit the lass?"
"I'll do my best. Mistress Malloy." Cora signalled for Briana to stand.
Then she slid the gown over her head and began plying needle and
thread, nipping and tucking, until the fabric began to mold to the
shape of the slender body.
"Oh, my lady, this is lovely on you." Cora tied the waist with a lace
sash, then, because there were no boots to fit, added satin bed
slippers.
"Now, if you'll sit, I'll do what I can with your hair."
Briana did as she was told, closing her eyes as the little servant
dressed her hair.
"Are you feeling weak, my lady?"
"Nay." Briana gave a dreamy smile. "It's just that these past hours
have been so luxurious, I'm beginning to feel whole again."
Cora stood back, admiring her handiwork. ' 'Now if you'll just step
over here, my lady, you can see what I'm seeing."
Leaning on Cora's arm, Briana walked to the tall looking glass and
stared in amazement.
"Oh, my." She lifted a hand to her mouth. Words failed her.
Seeing her reaction, Cora smiled. ' 'Then you are not unhappy with
what you see?"
"I'm...speechless."
Gone was the girl she had once been. In her place was a woman. A
stranger.
It was the gown, she told herself. A pale lemon confection with a
high, tight circlet of lace at the throat and wrists, and a full skirt,
gathered here and there with.-lace inserts. With a critical eye she
studied the slender body revealed in the gown. She hoped she
wouldn't appear frail. In her whole life she had never thought of
herself as anything but robust.
And then there was the hair. Or rather, the lack of it. The last time she
had looked at her reflection in a looking glass, she'd had thick, fiery
tresses that fell to below her waist. Now it was no more than a few
inches long, a tumble of curls framing a face bronzed by the sun.
Oh, what had happened to her fair skin? It was not only tawny, it was
freckled. Dozens of them. Hundreds, perhaps, parading across her
nose, down her arms. And to think she had once protected her fair
skin beneath bonnets and parasols.
"Come, miss." The housekeeper's voice broke the silence. "Vinson is
here to escort you to sup."
She turned and saw the old man's look of approval before he lowered
his gaze. When she accepted his arm, she was grateful that he
matched his steps to her halting ones.
' 'I see Mistress Malloy found a gown that suits you, miss."
"Do you think it does, Vinson?"
"Aye", miss. And Cora worked her magic to make it fit."
"I've..." She swallowed, "...lost a bit of weight."
He patted her hand and slowed his steps.
As they made their way along the hall, she stared at the ancient
tapestries that depicted the history of the O'Mara lineage.
"I see from the number of swords and battles that Lord Alcott comes
from a family of warriors."
"Aye, miss. Do you disapprove?"
She shook her head. ' 'My family can trace its roots to King Brian,
whose sons were baptized by St. Patrick himself. And we are,
proudly, warriors all."
She missed the old man's smile of approval as he whispered, "I must
share a secret, lass. Lord Alcott disdains his title. He prefers to be
known as merely Keane O'Mara."
"Thank you, Vinson. I'll keep that in mind."The old man paused,
knocked, then drew open the doors to the library.
"My lord. The lass is here."
"Thank you, Vinson." Keane set aside his ledgers and shoved back
his chair. He'd been trying, without success, to keep his mind on the
figures in neat columns. But it
had been an impossible task.
Briana, leaning on Vinson's arm, walked slowly into the room.
Keane knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. He hoped
his jaw hadn't dropped. Quickly composing himself, he called to
Vinson, "Draw that chaise close to the fire for the lass."
"Aye, my lord."
The old man hurried forward to do his master's bidding, while Keane
led Briana across the room. The minute he touched her he felt the heat
and blamed it on the blaze on the hearth. He shouldn't have had the
servants add another log. It was uncomfortably warm in here.
When she was settled, he asked, "Would you have some wine?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, feeling that such a luxury
should be saved for important guests. Then, recalling the festive
meals at Ballinarin, she relaxed. Before the convent, it had been an
accepted custom. It was time she adapted to life outside the convent
walls. "Aye. I will."
Keane turned to his butler. "We'll both have wine, Vinson."
"Very good, my lord."
Minutes later the old man offered a tray with two goblets. That done,
he discreetly took his leave.
"Well." Keane lifted his goblet. "I need to know what to call you."
"I thought I'd told you. My name is Briana."
"Aye. You did. But I thought..." He sipped. Swallowed. ' I thought
perhaps you would want me to call you sister."
"Sister?"
' 'You said you spent the last three years in the Abbey of St. Claire."
"I did." She swallowed back her surprise. Was that why he had kissed
her hand? Out of respect? "But only as a student. I took no vows."
"I see." He took another sip of wine and thought it tasted somehow
sweeter. "So, you're not a nun."
"Nay." Was that disappointment that deepened his voice? She
couldn't tell.
Keane relaxed. Not that it mattered to him whether or not the lass was
a nun. All he wanted was a pleasant evening of conversation with a
reasonably intelligent human being.
"Tell me a little about your family."
"With pleasure. But only if you agree to tell me about yours, as well."
"Aye." He forced himself not to frown as he glanced at the portrait
above the mantel. That was his usual reaction whenever he thought
about his family. He shook off his dark thoughts and concentrated on
the lass.
"My father is Gavin O'Neil, lord of Ballinarin."
"Aye." His frown was back. "I know of him. All of Ireland knows of
him. And your mother?'
"My mother, Moira, is a great beauty."
"I see where you inherited your looks."
She blushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She had no way of
knowing if he was merely making polite conversation, or if he meant
to pay her a compliment.
Needing to fill the silence, she said, "I also have two brothers, Rory
and Conor. And their wives, AnnaClaire and Emma. And Innis, who
is like a brother to me, though he was orphaned when his entire
family was killed at the hands of the English. He lives now with Rory
and AnnaClaire." Her eyes lit with pleasure at the thought of those
beloved faces. "And there is Friar Malone, who has lived at Ballinarin
since before I was born, and who is like an uncle to me."
She took a deep breath. It was the most she had said in years.
Suddenly, spreading her arms wide she gave a husky laugh. "Oh, it
feels so strange and so good to be able to talk without asking
permission."
The sound of her laughter skimmed over him, causing the strangest
sensation. "It would be a pity to stifle a voice as unique as yours,
Briana O'Neil."
"Unique?"
"Aye." Instead of explaining, he said simply, "I like listening to you.
Tell me more about your family and your home."
"Ballinarin is wild. And so beautiful. In all of Ireland, there is nothing
to compare with it. We live always in the shadow of towering Croagh
Patrick, with its wonderful waterfall that cascades to the lake below.
There are fields of green as far as the eye can see. And rolling
meadows, where I used to ride, wild and free with my brothers."
Keane refilled her goblet, then his own, before settling himself on the
chaise beside her. Their knees brushed, and Briana's voice faltered for
a moment. "It was...the loveliest life a girl could ever have."
' 'Why did you choose a convent so far away?' He found himself
studying the way the soft fabric revealed the outline of her thighs, her
hips, her breasts.
"I didn't choose. It was chosen for me."
He heard the change in her tone and realized he'd struck a nerve.
"And you have not seen your home in more than three years?"
"Aye. There were times when I thought I'd die from the loneliness."
She looked over at him. "I suppose that sounds silly."
"Not at all." He stared down into the amber liquid in his glass. "I
know the feeling well."
"Have you ever been forced to leave Carrick House?"
He nodded. "For most of my life I've been away."
"By choice? Or were you forced by circumstances?"
She saw a look come into his eyes. "Like you, my education abroad
was chosen for me."
"And then you returned?"
"Not immediately."
She smiled. "But you're home now."
"Aye." He didn't return the smile. He had gone somewhere in his
mind. A place, Briana realized, that wasn't pleasing to him.
They both seemed relieved when Vinson knocked, then entered to
announce, "My lord, dinner is ready. Mistress Malloy wishes to know
if you will take your meal in the great hall or here in the library."
He had intended a simple meal here in the library, so that the lass
wouldn't be drained by a longer walk. But now, glancing at the
portrait over the mantel, herealized he wanted a change of scenery.
He wanted, needed, to put some distance between himself and his
past.
"Tell Mistress Malloy we'll sup in the great hall."
"Aye, my lord."
The old man took his leave, and Keane stood and offered his arm.
"Come, my lady. It's time you saw more of Carrick House."
It was, he realized, his first opportunity to show off his home to a
guest.
Chapter Five
You'll let me know when you grow weary, Briana." Keane
deliberately kept his strides easy, the pace slow so as not to tire her.
"I will, aye." She was grateful for the strong arm to lean 6n. "This
weakness is most distressing."
"It will soon pass, and you'll be as you were before."
She looked up at him with an impish smile. "Do I have your word on
that?"
His own features remained impassive. "You do." He thought about
touching that cap of curls and resisted the impulse. "Now tell me how
you were before."
"Before the attack? Or before the convent?"
"Why don't we begin with your life before the attack."
"Before the attack I had learned, at great cost, how to keep my head
bowed in chapel, how to keep my thoughts to myself, and how to bear
the unbearable."
Though she kept her tone light, he could detect the under
lying
sadness. "What was this great cost?"
"Penance. It seemed I was always on my knees. If not in chapel, then
scrubbing the cold stone floors of the refectory. And when I was
allowed to stand, it was to harvest a crop or to fork dung from the
barns and stables."
He couldn't hide his surprise. "You did all that?"
"Aye. But only after my classes and chores were completed to the
liking of Mother Superior."
"I'd say you were far from weak, if you did all that and survived."
"I survived all that, and more."
He knew, by the finality of her tone, that she had no intention of
listing all that she'd been through. His admiration for her was growing
by the minute.
"Now I would like to hear about your life before the convent."
She smiled. "That would take hours."
He paused at the threshold to the great hall. "We have all evening."
As he led her to the table, the butler, the housekeeper and their army
of servants stood to one side, awaiting his command.
Keane helped Briana to her chair, then took his place at the head of
the table.
Briana surveyed the table, with its gleaming silver and crystal and the
masses of candles that flickered and glowed. "Oh, Mistress Malloy,
this is indeed lovely."
The housekeeper nearly burst with pride. "Thank you, miss. We do
our best to please."
"I haven't seen anything this grand in years." Briana-turned to Keane.
"Isn't it wonderful knowing this awaits you each night?"
He glanced around. "I never think of it. I suppose I've begun to take
such things as my due." He signalled to his housekeeper. "You may
begin serving now, Mistress Malloy."
"Aye, my lord." At a word from her, the servants moved to the table
bearing platters of fresh mussels and salmon, tender slices of beef and
biscuits still warm from the oven, while Vinson filled their goblets
with wine.
When Keane noted the small portions on Briana's plate he lifted a
brow.
Seeing it she avoided his eyes. "It's my training at the hands of the
good sisters, I suppose. I can't bear to waste."
"But you've taken so little, it wouldn't keep a bird alive."
"I'm afraid my appetite is slow to return." She took a bite of salmon
and almost sighed with pleasure. "But if this is any indication of your
cook's talent, it won't be any time at all before I'm eating like Sister
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