by Brenda Joyce
Suddenly the bay mare nickered.
Virginia started, so lost in thought she hadn’t been aware of leaving the woods. She halted the mare instantly, wary and alert. She was on a low, grassy ridge overlooking a small freehold. A stone farmhouse marked its center, along with several barns, a vegetable garden, some cornfields and an open pasture where a dozen cows grazed. Virginia saw his gray stallion instantly.
She stiffened with alarm, renewed anger flooding her. The stallion was tied up in front of the farmhouse with four big-bodied country hacks. Three buggies were parked in front as well. What was going on? She didn’t think the farmer was having an afternoon tea.
She reminded herself that she didn’t care what Devlin did and whom he did it with. She started to turn the bay to return to the woods, when she looked at the other mounts tied in front of the house. Wasn’t the heavyset chestnut Sean’s?
What was going on?
Virginia hesitated. Something odd was happening—her every instinct told her that. She dismounted, tying the mare to a tree and letting her graze. Scrambling down the ridge, she ran hard to cross the clearing until she reached the safety of the farmhouse walls. Virginia crept up to a window, her heart pounding with unbearable force. It had no glass and the shutters were wide open.
Inside, many men were shouting in an uproar.
What could this be? If she were lucky, she was going to catch Devlin O’Neill with his hand in someone else’s cookie jar. She fervently hoped so. Virginia straightened until her chin was level with the sill and she could peek inside.
Instantly she saw two dozen men, maybe more, most of them peasants and farmers. The second thing she saw was Sean standing on a dais with a Catholic priest, holding up his hands and asking for order in the room. She quickly spotted Devlin, seated in the front row of the crowd. Bewildered, she could not even begin to imagine what kind of meeting was in progress.
“Please, everyone has a turn,” Sean was saying with authority.
The shouting turned into disgruntled murmurs and mutters.
“Tim McCarthy,” Sean said. “Would you like a chance to speak your mind?”
A big man with shaggy gray hair stepped forward. “It’s just more lies, it’s always been lies, it’s all the English are good for, that and stealing our land!”
“Here, here!” everyone roared.
Virginia stood up, stunned. Was this a political meeting?
“They promised us our rights, the same rights as any Protestant, back in 1800, with the Union. And what have they given us? Does a Catholic sit in Commons? Does a Catholic serve the king? An’ I still got to take the ungodly oath if I want to buy my land—land that is really mine!” Tim McCarthy cried.
Everyone began speaking at once, clearly in furious agreement.
Sean held his hands up again. “One at a time.”
“I ain’t done,” McCarthy said.
“Fine, do go on,” Sean returned.
“We been meeting for two years now, and for what? We need to get them damned bloody British out of Ireland, yes we do, and the time is now! Because nothing will ever change unless we show ’em the day of steppin’ on Catholics is over. We need to bloody a few noses and get all of our rights, just the way the French did!”
A huge cheer sounded.
Virginia bit her lip so as not to cry out. This sounded very dangerous—it sounded like treason. And what in God’s name were Devlin and Sean doing there?
Virginia didn’t know very much about Ireland, but she did know a lot about the revolution in France, which most Americans had fervently supported, at least until Napoleon had begun his campaign to conquer Europe. She wasn’t sure what rights Tim McCarthy referred to, but she knew that Ireland was a part of Great Britain, and an Irishman shouldn’t speak about driving the English from their midst. That sounded like an impending revolution to her. It was certainly seditious speech.
Suddenly Devlin stood. Before he could even step forward to join Sean, lusty cheers rang out. “O’Neill!” someone cried.
“The O’Neill,” more men answered.
“O’Neill! O’Neill! Hurrah!” everyone boomed.
Virginia slammed back against the wall, shaken and shaking. Was Devlin involved in this unpatriotic, antigovernment conspiracy? But how could he be! He was a captain in the British navy!
Devlin had joined Sean on the dais. “May I?” he asked his brother, confirming Virginia’s suspicion that Sean was in command of this group.
“They are waiting for your words of wisdom,” Sean said seriously.
The room had become silent. Virginia gripped the sill and stared inside, mesmerized.
“I understand your frustrations,” Devlin said slowly, his gaze roaming over the room, making eye contact slowly but surely with everyone there. “But a rebellion will only bring pain and death. My family knows that firsthand.”
There were some grunts of agreement—and there were murmurs of anger as well.
“But what can we do?” someone cried. “I can’t pay my rents, which are triple what they were last year!”
A chorus of agreement sounded.
Sean held up his hands for silence, and instantly the crowd became still. Devlin began to speak, his focus still moving from man to man—and that was when his gaze finally found Virginia.
His eyes widened.
As did hers.
Then she leapt away from the window and back against the wall. Damn it!
And then there was no more time for thought. As she began to sprint away from the house, she heard Sean adjourning the meeting. She ran across the clearing, tripped and fell. As she got up, she looked back.
Devlin was just a few lengths behind her. His expression was one of savage determination. And she realized that a dozen men were streaming out of the house, all angry, and a chorus began—a terribly frightening chorus.
“A spy! It’s a spy! An English spy!”
Virginia bolted. In terror, she took another step when he leapt upon her from behind. The force of his tackle took them both instantly to the ground.
As she went down he twisted sideways and she landed in his arms instead of on the hard ground, where she would have surely broken a bone. A moment later she was on her back, however, and he was on top of her. “You followed me here?” he demanded, and she saw rage in his eyes.
And for the first time since he had captured the Americana, she felt real fear. “No! I was out riding—I saw your horse—I thought there was a party!” she cried.
“You little fool!” he gritted.
Virginia looked past his angry silver eyes. They were surrounded now by the angry mob of men, some of them holding muskets, others with pikes. Each and every man present looked as if he wanted to use his weapon on her. Sean stepped through the circle. “It’s all right, boyos,” he said lightly, smiling. “This is just a little misunderstanding.”
Virginia’s fear knew no bounds. She knew what she had witnessed and what she had heard. These men wanted to rise up against the English government and throw it out of Ireland. That was treason. She also knew what she had just seen in their expressions. She had seen far worse than anger—she had seen fear.
They were angry and desperate and they were afraid of what she knew.
“He’s a spy!” someone shouted.
A rumble of affirmations sounded.
Virginia looked into Devlin’s eyes, trying not to panic. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, would he?
He gave her a very angry look. Then he stood, hauling her to her feet.
“It’s a wench,” someone cried.
“Damned spy’s a woman,” someone else agreed.
“Miss Hughes is our guest and she is not a spy,” Sean said, moving to stand protectively beside Virginia and Devlin.
Virginia nodded, wetting her lips, which felt parched and cracked. She stared into a sea of hostile, suspicious faces and saw their hatred. “I’m not a spy,” she tried. “I saw Devlin’s horse and—”
Devli
n jerked on her, hurting her, a command that meant, “Be silent,” and as he did so, someone said loudly, “She’s English! The wench is English!”
Virginia started, although this was not the first time she had come face-to-face with people who had never met an American before and therefore assumed her unfamiliar accent to be British.
“Hang her.” Tim McCarthy stepped forward. “She knows too much.”
Virginia gasped and looked at Devlin but he ignored her, stepping forward. “There’s not going to be a hanging, not of anyone, not today,” he said calmly, but with an authority that only he could muster. “Miss Hughes is American, not English, and she’s my fiancée.”
The crowd was silent, but dozens of eyes had widened in surprise.
Virginia seized at the hope he offered. “Yes,” she cried, stepping forward, “Devlin is my betrothed and I only came to—”
He took her wrist and almost snapped it off, but before she could cry out, he had jerked her forward and smothered her words with a kiss.
Virginia gasped. His mouth was hard and angry and hurtful. His arms felt like the iron bars of a prison cage, steel bands tight around her. She vaguely heard some mutters behind her, mutters about O’Neill having taken a bride. She tried to press him away, but his grip only tightened, his lips turning more ruthless, and that was when she felt his arousal.
It was red hot, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to his state of mind and body, and she instantly forgot about the terrible meeting she had just witnessed. Instead, as his mouth started to soften, causing her own lips to instinctively yield and part, she thought about Fiona. His tongue swept inside. Fiona.
Last night he had been in bed with Fiona.
Virginia bit down on it.
He jerked away from her, but he did not yelp or release her. Virginia stared furiously up at him—he stared as furiously back.
“Let me go,” she murmured, low and threatening.
“Like hell, my sweet little bride.” And he smiled and swooped down on her again. But this time, before he kissed her, he hissed, “Pretend you love me, chérie, as your life might well depend on it.”
Virginia felt real despair, as his lips brushed her mouth, and worse, his hands slid so intimately over her back and lower still. But he was right. She was trapped. He pulled her closer still, perhaps thinking to punish her, for the surge of sensation engendered by contact with him was just that, unfair, unjust punishment. “Kiss me back,” he ordered so only she could hear.
All the hurt she had thought safely tucked away in some far and distant place where it could never come back crashed over her now. She knew she should kiss him so that the onlookers would think their engagement real. She simply couldn’t. It was impossible to kiss a man while crying.
And he knew. His body stiffened far differently, the tightening in his shoulders and spine; his roving hands went still, and his mouth, while covering hers, no longer sought to invade. Virginia finally managed a weak and pitiful closemouthed kiss.
He pulled away and looked closely at her.
She wanted to curse him to hell but did not dare, as the crowd had fallen silent. She felt a dozen pairs of suspicious eyes and she summoned up a smile that had to be as pathetic as it felt frail.
His stare intensified.
Someone cheered, “Captain O’Neill and his bride!”
The cry was taken up.
Devlin smiled coldly. He put his arm around her in such a way that she could not move an inch if he did not let her do so. He faced the crowd, which no longer seemed suspicious. “My little fiancée could not wait for me to return home,” he said mockingly.
Rough male laughter sounded.
But McCarthy said, “Will she be sworn to secrecy, Captain?”
Devlin smiled coolly at him, with real warning. “She would never betray me, Tim.”
He nodded slowly, not even looking at Virginia, his gaze hopeful and eager and riveted on their leader.
“Let’s go,” Sean said, appearing with his horse and Devlin’s. He was smiling pleasantly, but Virginia saw the wariness in his gray eyes. For one moment, as his glance moved over her, she saw so much of Devlin in him. His gaze was as cold, his expression as controlled. She sensed a new wariness and some hostility. Was he suspicious of her? she wondered, surprised. Or was it the men in the meeting he did not trust?
Devlin’s hands closed around her waist and before she could protest she was seated on his stallion. He swung up behind her and the saddle was far too small for them both. She held her breath, for otherwise she would turn and quell him with a look. He didn’t seem to notice as he spurred the gray forward.
“How did you get here?” he asked tightly, his breath feathering her ear.
So he was angry, she thought, thinking of Fiona again. Good, because she hated him and she always would. “I rode.”
“Really? And who gave you permission to do so?”
“No one,” she said snidely.
He was silent. As the bay mare had become visible, grazing farther up the hill, she knew he had seen her horse. He changed his horse’s direction, causing them to canter toward the bay. “What is on your mind, Virginia?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she snapped.
“Good, as I have no patience for you today.” He halted abruptly beside the bay.
Virginia started to get down, but he wouldn’t let her. “You are riding with me,” he said, dismounting and untying the mare.
“Like hell I am!” she cried.
He stared at her. Slowly, he said, “I am the one who is angry, Virginia, as you were spying on me. How much did you hear?”
She lifted her chin. “Everything.”
He smiled then, so ruthlessly that she shivered. “Then you may never leave Askeaton, my dear.”
She gasped, “You don’t mean it!”
“Oh, but I do.”
“But, my ransom?”
“Your ransom pales in significance right now,” he said. “And it is my duty to protect Sean and the others.”
Her mind raced. “I didn’t hear anything!”
He swung up behind her. “That’s not what you just said.”
“I lied. I really didn’t hear anything!”
“Liar. Pretty little liar.” He had yet to ask his mount to move. “Why didn’t you kiss me when I told you to? Your life hung in the balance and that was an order, not a request.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” she managed.
He finally looked very irritated, indeed. Then he asked, “And why did you cry?”
“I had dirt in my eyes,” she flung.
He stared searchingly. “You are a terrible liar. I would not recommend dishonesty, Virginia, as you are as easy to read as a children’s book.”
“Then why am I angry?” she asked with false sweetness.
His prying gaze never wavered. “I don’t know. But I will find out.” Abruptly he spurred the gray forward.
Virginia would have fallen off except for his strong grasp, which tightened as the horse surged forward. She bit off her cry, as she refused now to give him any satisfaction at all. They rode the rest of the way back in a charged and uncomfortable silence.
SEAN WAS WAITING FOR HIM when he came into the library. He had his hip balanced against the edge of the desk, his arms folded across his chest. He was almost scowling. “What did you do with her?”
“She’s in her room. Connor has orders to watch her every move.”
“Maybe she should be kept under lock and key,” Sean said tersely.
Devlin was almost amused. He poured himself a brandy, offering his brother one, who declined. “I thought you were her champion.”
“How much did she hear?” Sean asked tersely, not amused.
“I don’t know precisely, but I intend to find out—one way or another.”
“Damn it!” Sean suddenly exploded, coming off the desk and pacing. “What the hell was she doing at Canaby’s farm?”
“Probably following us,” Devlin sa
id.
“Now what are you going to do? For God’s sake, you can’t return her to Eastleigh now!”
Devlin sat down in a huge leather chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, glass in hand. “I’ll have to return her sooner or later.”
Sean stared, his gaze wide. “That meeting was treasonous and you know it, even if nothing has been planned. We could lose everything—and you, an officer in the navy, could wind up swinging from the nearest yardarm for this, never mind the damnable ransom you intend!”
“It’s more likely they would chop off your head and stick it on a pike. You’re their leader.”
“Is that funny?” Sean was disbelieving. “They are looking for hope, Devlin, and I am trying to give it to them.”
He sipped. “No, but it’s odd, isn’t it? Like father, like son.”
“And now you choose to be morbid? I will not allow a rebellion. But Devlin, you are holding Virginia against her will. She has terrible information that she could use to bring us both down.”
“What do you suggest? Should I send her to the bottom of the sea?” But Sean was right. Virginia needed to keep her mouth closed and her lips sealed, even though what she had seen looked far worse than what it was. He knew from Sean’s letters how angry and desperate their people were and that once or twice a year they held local meetings. His arrival home had precipitated this one. Even if he hadn’t been invited to attend, he would have done so. But the men were not planning an uprising. They were farmers and cotters, more interested in feeding their families than losing their lives. And while free speech was sedition in wartime Great Britain, everyone was encouraged to speak freely at these meetings. Tim McCarthy and the others had called a meeting mostly because they desperately wanted to hear what Devlin had to say. As Sean had said, they desperately needed hope.