From the kitchen came the most enticing aroma of beef roasting over
a fire, and biscuits browning on a warming shelf.
While the men talked of land and crops and weather, and the children
continued to entertain the baby, Briana walked to the kitchen and
offered her help.
"Oh nay, my lady. You'll soil your lovely gown."
"You're not to worry about my gown. Here." Briana reached out and
took a heavy platter from Bridget's hands. "Where would you like
this?"
"In the center of the table, if you please."
The two women worked in companionable silence, enjoying the
rumble of masculine voices and the laughter of the children. Soon the
dinner was ready, and the others were called to the table.
As they sat, the family reached out to link hands, while Hugh led
them in prayer. Briana and Keane followed suit.
"We ask a blessing upon this food, this fine land, and most especially
on our guests, who honor us with their presence."
With her head bowed Briana glanced at Keane. But his fate showed
no expression as he listened to the words.
Then they began passing platters. It was simple fare. Beef. Potatoes.
Biscuits. But the meat had been cooked until it fell off the bone. The
potatoes were swimming in rich dark gravy. And the biscuits, spread
with freshly churned butter, melted in the mouth.
Keane accepted a second helping, and a third, and even Briana was
surprised by her appetite, eating more than she could ever remember.
When Bridget brought tea to the table, the children began to fidget, in
anticipation of the special dessert awaiting them.
Their father glanced around the table, then said with a smile, "I think
it's time you enjoyed those fancy cakes Miss O'Neil brought you."
With sighs of delight they began to eat until there wasn't a crumb left.
"Those were the bestest I've ever tasted," little Keely said solemnly as
she licked her fingers.
"I'm glad to hear that, Keely." Briana laughed. "Shall I tell Cook that
you approve of her surprise?"
The children nodded as they drained their glasses of tea laced with
milk.
"If you've had enough to eat," Hugh said, "we can take our ale
outside, where we can sit and watch the sunset."
"What about the dishes?" Briana asked.
Bridget scooped up the baby, who was still seated on the floor,
playing with the new ball. "The older ones will see to them. Come,
my lady. The air is pleasant tonight."
They wandered outside and sat on wooden benches positioned
beneath the branches of a gnarled old tree. Already the sun had
dipped below the horizon, leaving a sky streaked with gold and rose.
Night shadows were gathering close.
Bridget opened her dress and held the babe to her breast. Seeing
mother and child, Briana felt a sudden tightness in her throat. By now,
all of her young friends in Ballinarin would be wed with children of
their own. Her brothers, too, had taken wives, and would no doubt
soon have families. And all the while, she had been suspended in time
and place, unable to go forward with her life. In these past three years,
the world had moved on, leaving her behind.
Keane sipped his ale and looked off across the meadow, watching the
flight of a hawk. "You're a lucky man, Hugh. A lovely wife, a fine
family."
"Aye, my lord. A lucky man, indeed. And I'd like to keep them all
here, safe around me." He turned to Keane, daring to look him in the
eye. "But I wonder how much longer I can do that, with the English
soldiers roaming the land, seeking new victims daily for their
bloodletting."
When Keane said nothing he asked, "You've seen what these
madmen do to our women and children?"
"Aye. I've seen, Hugh."
"We've no weapons with which to defend ourselves, my lord."
Keane sipped, nodded.
Hugh's voice lowered. "The men of Carrick wish to band together and
form a militia, my lord. We want your permission to forge some of
our farming implements into weapons. And we would ask you to
teach us how to wield them."
"You want me to teach you how to handle a sword?'
"A^e, my lord. And a longbow and knife."
When Keane held his silence, Hugh stood and faced him. "There was
a time, when your grandfather was alive, that the people of Carrick
knew such things. We were proud of our warlike abilities. But during
the time of your father, such things were lost to us. He..." It was
obvious that Hugh was struggling to choose his words carefully, not
wishing to offend the new lord. But the words needed to be said. They
burst forth from between clenched teeth. "He cared more for grand
balls and fine dinners than he did about the people whose work made
those things possible. There's even talk that he deliberately relieved
us of our weapons, because he'd gone over to the English." He
glanced toward his wife, then lowered his voice. "Forgive me, my
lord. But after our chance meeting, I'd begun to think, that is, I'd
hoped, that you might prove to be more like your grandfather."
"I see." Keane stared down into his glass.
Perplexed, Hugh McCann did the same, avoiding his guest's eyes.
After a prolonged silence, Keane drained his glass and got to his feet.
"I thank you for the lovely meal, Bridget."
The young woman fastened her gown and lifted the infant to her
shoulder. "You're welcome, my lord. I hope you'll come again."
' 'And I hope one day you will accept the hospitality of Carrick
House." He took Briana's hand and helped her to her feet.
When he turned, Hugh said, "You'll think on what I've said, my
lord?"
"Aye, Hugh. I will."
The children gathered around the doorway, calling their good-nights.
Little Keely ran up to hug Briana, who, in turn, lifted her in her arms
and kissed her soundly before setting her down.
Keane helped Briana into the carriage. With a wave of their hands,
they took their leave.
Briana waited until they were some distance from the cottage before
turning to Keane. "Tell me the truth. Do you love this land?"
His voice, so close beside her in the darkness, vibrated with feeling.
"You know I do. But soon enough it will be bathed in the blood of its
people. How lovely will it seem then, I wonder."
Her voice trembled with anger. "Do you hear yourself? Do you know
what you're saying?"
"Aye." He nodded. "Would you have me lie to myself?"
"I would have you care enough about your land to do something
about it. Hugh McCann made a simple request. Arms for his people,
and someone to teach them how to use them."
"What would you have me do, Briana? Should I encourage all of
Carrick to die for their country? Would I then prove to you how much
I love Ireland?"
Her voice lowered with conviction. "I would rather die for my
country than turn my back on its troubles."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"Isn't it?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't. For in truth, he was no longer certain just
what he was doing.
He..had returned to Ireland simply to put his affairs in order. And then
he had fully intended to leave this unhappy land with its unhappy
memories, and never look back. Now he found himself tempted to do
what he'd sworn never to do again.
And all because of this fiery little woman who had fought her way
back from the dead. And would no doubt fight until the day she
breathed her last.
Dear heaven, he was sick of the fighting. He cursed the day he'd ever
stumbled across Briana O'Neil. Were it not for her, he would already
be on his way to Spain or France. To safety. Not to a life of inherited
titles and lands and debts, but wealth he'd earned with his own two
hands and clever mind. To a life of untold wealth and ease. With no
demanding little female like a millstone around his neck. A female
who made him think too much. And want too much. And ache for
things he could never have. Like respect and respectability. And love,
such as he'd seen between Hugh McCann and his Bridget.
Aye, love. It was the one thing he'd always wanted in his life. And
had despaired of ever finding.
Chapter Thirteen
Keane leaned a hip against the balcony, watching the sunrise. He'd
slept badly. All because of a certain female, who was taking up
entirely too much of his time lately.
He ought to be grateful for their harsh words of the night before. At
least he hadn't been tempted to ravish her. It was probably the first
night since she'd been under his roof that he could make such a
statement.
He was still angry with her. She had him tied up in knots. She'd
questioned his loyalty. His integrity. His courage.
What's worse, he was now questioning them himself.
What right did she have to plant such seeds in his mind? Hadn't he
suffered enough? Paid a high enough price? And all because of some
misguided sense of duty to the land of his grandfather. To atone for
the sins of his father.
No, by God. He slammed an open palm against the balcony. He'd
paid his dues. He'd be damned if anyone would question such things
again. He was done with all that. He had no intention of paying a
further price for his father's weakness.
He watched a horse and rider top a ridge in the distance. Sunlight
glistened on a cap of dancing curls. If he didn't know better, he would
think it was Briana. But that couldn't be. She wouldn't attempt to ride
again after the horrible fall she'd taken on Peregrine. Would she?
He turned away and slipped into a tunic, then pulled on his boots.
That done, he strode down the hall toward her chambers.
The door to her sitting room was standing open. Inside, Cora was
tidying the room.
She looked up as he entered.
"Where is Miss O'Neil?"
"I know not, my lord. She left here not long ago, dressed for riding. I
assumed that she was joining you."
His eyes narrowed as a sudden thought intruded. He swung away and
stalked toward the library. Inside he stared at the mantel where his
ancestral swords usually hung. The space was empty.
With a muttered oath he stormed out the door and headed toward the
stables. Minutes later the stable master confirmed that the lass had
indeed gone riding, "with the lord's permission." With a look of fury
Keane took off on his own mount, following the direction Briana had
taken.
It didn't take him long to figure out where she was headed. The
McCann cottage.
Tigers, it would seem, never changed their stripes. And his resident
tiger, Briana O'Neil, had decided to take matters into her own hands
once again, and fight the English in the only way she knew—by
leaping into battle without a thought to the consequences.
When he got his hands on her this time, he'd throttle her within an
inch of her miserable little life.
"Nay, Hugh." Briana, standing atop a hillock in a neatly plowed field,
held aloft her weapon and shouted commands at the man who was
attempting to disarm her with his upraised sword.
Standing around in a semicircle was a cluster of more than a dozen
farmers and their sons, watching and listening intently.
"If you charge directly toward me, I'll be able to run you through with
my blade. Don't you see? You must twist, turn, dodge. Whatever it
takes to avoid injury."
"Unless you'd like to die a bloody, and very painful death," came a
familiar deep voice from behind.
Briana whirled. And found Keane advancing toward her, with a look
of fury smoldering in his eyes.
"My lord." Hugh McCann stepped forward, holding out his sword. "It
was kind of you to permit us the use of your ancestral weapons. At
first we thought Miss O'Neil was jesting when she said you'd sent her
to teach us to fight. But now that we've seen and heard her, we are
most grateful. The lady has real skill with a sword."
"Aye. She does, doesn't she?" Keane accepted the sword, testing the
weight of it in his palm for several moments before turning to Briana.
The murderous look ki his eyes had her backing up as he said softly,
"Let's give them a demonstration of your skill, Miss O'Neil."
She was aware of the temper that flared in his eyes.
Was aware, too, of the deadly softness that masked a blazing fury.
She would show him that she didn't fear him or his temper. She lifted
her chin a fraction. ' 'Aye, my lord. As you wish."
She raised her sword and waited. Keane did the same, his gaze never
leaving hers. When she advanced, he moved to one side and easily
deflected her thrust. But she surprised him by turning on the balls of
her feet, and striking out quickly, catching his arm with the point of
her sword.
The stab wasn't enough to draw blood. It merely sliced a long tear in
his sleeve. But it was enough to make the crowd gasp. For they
realized that these two had no intention of holding back. If it was,
indeed, a mere demonstration of skill, it very nearly resembled a true
battle.
"You're quick, my lady."
"Thank you." She smiled as she backed away from his thrust.
It was true. What she lacked in strength, she more than made up for
with speed and grace. She was, he realized as he backed her across the
hillock, a worthy opponent.
As the fight took them across toward a stand of trees, the crowd of
farmers moved with them, watching each thrust, each parry with avid
fascination.
"But what will you do when I pin you?" Keane brought his sword up,
catching hers in midstrike. Metal clanged against metal, and Keane
could see, by the look on Briana's face, that she had felt the blow clear
to the tips of her fingers. She'd had to, since his own were still
vibrating from the force of it.
Still, to her credit, she didn't drop her sword andbreak into tears as he
had half expected. That would be the way of most females. But this
one was like no other.
"I was taught to never surrender." Her breath was coming hard and
fast now as she danced, spun, avoided and, wh
enever possible,
charged . ' 'And never retreat."
He deflected another thrust and tempered his blow with the flat of his
blade, knowing that if he were to use all his strength, he'd send her
facedown in the dirt. He didn't want to humiliate her, after all. He
merely wanted to test her skill. Though the thought of inflicting just a
little pain and a little embarrassment, was tempting.
"Most unwise, Miss O'Neil," he said between clenched teeth. "For
sometimes retreat is necessary, in order to live to fight another day."
She felt the rough bark of a tree against her back and knew she'd gone
as far as she could. No more evasive tactics. Now she would have to
stand and fight.
"A true son of Ireland would rather die than retreat from the sword of
an Englishman, my lord."
His smile was dark and dangerous. ' 'Tell that to the sons of Ireland
who lie buried beside the chapel. And tell it to their widows, and their
children, who now have no one left to provide for them or defend
them."
"They have me." She lifted her sword, prepared to make one last
valiant effort in her own defense. "And soon they'll have these brave
men, who have come here to learn how to defend, not only their own
loved ones, but all of Ireland as well."
"Then I suggest they watch closely." Keane easily brought the point
of his sword to her hand, and in one deft movement disarmed her.
Her mouth dropped open in stunned surprise as her weapon fell to the
earth at her feet. Before she could bend to retrieve it, Keane caught
her roughly by the shoulder and dragged her in front of him, holding
the sharp blade of his sword against her throat.
"And that is how you disarm your opponent and render him helpless."
He gave a sardonic grin to the circle of men. "Or in this case, render
her helpless."
The men roared with laughter, before doffing their hats to
congratulate Lord Alcott on his superior skill.
Keane released her and picked up her fallen sword, jamming both
weapons into the earth at his feet in a symbol of victory.
As she stepped back, heat stained Briana's cheeks. Even her brothers,
Rory and Conor, who were perhaps the most skilled swordsmen in all
of Ireland, had never managed to disarm her without so much as a
drop of blood being shed. To fight and win without inflicting serious
wounds demonstrated a superior skill such as she had never before
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