by Pamela Clare
It’s not that he didn’t believe in love. Alec and Cassie loved one another, had risked their lives for their love. But he’d found love to be nothing more than an invitation for betrayal. A man who handed a woman his heart shouldn’t complain when she threw it in the dirt and stomped on it. Jamie had no intention of handing any woman his heart again.
No, he would not allow himself to care for Bríghid. He hadn’t the time for such foolishness. She certainly didn’t care for him. He was nothing more than a Sasanach in her eyes, an enemy with whom she’d made a temporary truce. She was likely looking forward to the day he was well enough to return to England. Then she would do her best to forget him.
But things weren’t going to go quite the way she imagined.
He would leave her life soon enough, but first he had to know she was beyond Sheff’s reach. Then he could focus on his real reason for being here. He’d come to persuade Parliament to move decisively against France in America. The future of British colonies might depend upon him, and he would not fail. As soon as he was strong enough to travel, he would resume his mission—and solve the Bríghid problem.
He reached for his greatcoat and gloves, slipped them on, then opened the door and stepped outside for the first time. He wanted to see to Hermes. The stallion needed regular care and had likely grown restless and unkempt from loneliness and neglect. Though Ruaidhrí insisted he was taking good care of the horse, Jamie was certain the hotheaded boy knew little about such things.
The day was chill and overcast, the clouds a heavy blanket that held no warmth. A cold wind blew through his damp hair. It was exhilarating. He’d been cooped up far too long in the smoke-filled cabin. Though he still felt a bit dizzy, he was strong enough to walk around a bit and breathe fresh air again.
He had expected to find Bríghid out here, her nose in the book she read when her work was done and she thought no one was watching. But she was nowhere to be seen.
He took in his surroundings. The cabin looked as small from the outside as it did from within and just as rundown. Its whitewashed clay walls were crumbling back into earth. Overgrown rosebushes grew up the front on either side of the door, their nude branches a tangle of thorns. The roof of thatch grew green with moss so thick it had become a fertile loam and sprouted grass. The ground around the cabin was dotted with dark clumps of moss that had lost their hold on the slanted roof and fallen.
A few steps from the door rose a grey stone wall—no doubt some kind of windbreak—that stretched the length of the front of the house and wrapped around a knoll covered in gorse. Beside it ran the rutted, grassy remains of a road. A thick copse of trees rose on either side of the road and behind the cowshed. Ash and birch, their bare branches in lacy silhouette against the gray sky, mixed with what had once been part of an orchard, gnarled apple trees heavy with withered fruit.
A short distance from the cabin stood a ramshackle cowshed. Eager to see how Hermes fared, he walked to the shed, entered—the door had long since fallen from its hinges—and allowed his eyes to adjust. Fresh straw covered the ground, a good sign the stallion had received at least some attention. In front of Jamie were three empty stalls, likely built for milk cows, as their gates were relatively low. A partition divided the shed into two halves. He could make out Hermes’ sleek form against the far wall on the other side of the partition and started toward the stallion.
He took two steps, froze.
In the straw before Hermes’ stall sat a wooden tub. In the tub sat Bríghid as naked as the day she’d been born. Her clothes lay in a heap in the straw. Her eyes closed as she massaged soap into her locks, her breasts half out of the water. He could smell the soap’s lavender scent from where he stood. Her legs were bent, two pink knees poking up above the water. Steam rose into the air around her, a shimmering, translucent curtain.
Jamie watched, transfixed. Some part of him was dimly aware it was wrong for him to stand there, but his feet had grown roots. Her wet shoulders glistened in the weak light that leaked through cracks between the stones. The rosy peaks of her breasts stood like tight buds in the cold air. He longed to feel them, to cup them, to mold them with his hands.
Heat rushed to his loins. In an instant, he was hard, painfully rigid.
Suddenly she disappeared below the water, then rose up again, her neck arched, her breasts thrust upward, water sliding down her skin, over the dark river of her hair. She wiped her eyes.
As if awakened from a dream, Jamie cleared his throat.
Her head snapped around. She gasped, sank deeper into the tub, peered at him through eyes wide with surprise.
“Had I known the delights to be had out here, I’d not have done my ablutions alone inside.” He didn’t know why he said it. It wasn’t the apology she deserved.
Bríghid felt heat rising in her cheeks, and with it, anger. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I came to check on Hermes. I can see he’s had a better time of it than I.” But he wasn’t looking at the horse, which stamped and snorted a greeting in its stall. He was looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. His gaze scorched her, soaked through her wet skin, to the blood that surged beneath.
She stared back, her breathing strangely rapid. He had shaved, the smooth planes of his face scandalously handsome. His hair, tied with a black ribbon at his nape, was still wet. No longer a man fighting for his life, he looked healthy, strong, alive. She struggled to find her tongue, to form words, strangely bereft of speech. “Go. Now.”
“Aye.” But he didn’t move. His gaze captured hers, and his eyes, usually hard and cold, had warmed to the deep green of the summer.
He’d already stolen her tongue. The heat of his gaze stole her breath.
“Isn’t this is cozy?”
For the second time, she gasped, ducked. “Finn!”
Jamie muttered something under his breath and faced her brother.
“I’m not surprised to find you together. I’ve a question that needs an answer.” He took a white bundle out from under his arm, shook it out.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
The bloodstained sheet.
Chapter Eleven
“I can see by your face you recognize this.” Finn threw the sheet in the straw. “Oh, Bríghid!”
Bríghid heard the suppressed rage in her brother’s voice. His gaze held hers, his eyes brimming with anger and, worse, grief. He thought she’d lied to him. “It’s not what you think!”
“No? Tell me then!”
She was so eager to allay Finn’s fears, to assure him she hadn’t lied, her words came out in a jumble. “I … that is … Jamie—”
She stopped, cut off by a chuckle.
Jamie was laughing. He was laughing! How could he laugh? There was nothing at all funny about this. Did he not realize how angry her brother was, how much shame she felt?
“Oh, Sheff, you bastard. What scheme have you devised?” His gaze met Finn’s. He didn’t look the least bit worried. “I assume this came from the earl?”
“Aye, dropped in the dirt at my feet by the earl himself.” Finn’s jaw was tense, his body rigid with anger. “He said things I won’t repeat here, things I bloody well hope are not true for your sake, Sasanach.”
Jamie leaned against one of the support beams, crossed his arms over his chest as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. “I did not steal your sister’s innocence. Presuming that really is the sheet from my bed, it’s my blood.”
Finn’s brows shot up. “Your blood?”
“Aye, mine. I had hoped to fool the earl into believing your sister had been … taken. I had hoped he would think me so besotted, he would lose interest in her and not pursue us.”
Finn’s face darkened with rage. “Did you not think how that might blemish her name?”
“Aye. She spoke quite eloquently on that subject herself.” He smiled ruefully. “I felt preserving her reputation was less important than preserving her virtue … and her life.”
The air was
heavy with uncomfortable silence, and Bríghid could feel the tension that stretched between the two men. Finn was the first to break eye contact. He shifted his gaze to hers, his eyes revealing both doubt and hope.
“Bríghid, look me in the eyes, and tell me whether this man speaks truly.”
She met her brother’s gaze unflinching. “I am a maid still, Finn. That is his blood.”
Her brother’s blue eyes searched hers for truth. She watched his doubt fade to regret, watched the anger drain from him.
“’Tis sorry I am for doubtin’ you, Bríghid. I’ve never known you to lie.” He shifted uncomfortably. His gaze fell to the straw. “Forgive me.”
“What else could you have done, Finn? There is naught to forgive.” Bríghid wanted to throw her arms around her brother, to comfort him, then suddenly remembered she was naked in her bath. “Now if the two of you would please get out!”
Finn looked mortified, nodded. “Aye.”
“Sorry for the intrusion.” Jamie bowed slightly, but he didn’t look one bit sorry. A suppressed smile tugged at his lips. His gaze met hers once more. Then he turned on his heels and was gone, Finn behind him.
She sighed with relief, laid back in the water, her head against the back of the tub, her eyes closed. Her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. Sweet Mary and Joseph!
* * *
“I’ll not berate you, Englishman. You spared my sister a terrible ordeal, and, as I was not there, I cannot judge you for how you did it. Sometimes fate deals a strange hand.”
“Aye.” Jamie knew this was Finn’s way of apologizing, but he didn’t need an apology. He opened the cabin door, entered the smoky warmth, Finn behind him. “Tell me what happened—exactly what happened.”
He sat at the table and listened as Finn retold the story of his encounter with Sheff. Jamie felt anger build inside him as Finn recounted Sheff’s thinly veiled threats against the woman whose baby had died. Muirín was her name, and Finn said she was a widow, too. By the time Finn related Sheff’s words about Bríghid, anger had become a dark and deadly calm coiled like a viper in Jamie’s gut.
“He wanted my help in trackin’ you down.”
“He’s not really looking for me.”
Finn’s brows knitted in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve broken no laws. For a variety of reasons, he can do nothing to harm me. Oh, yes, he can create difficulties for me in the House of Lords, and I expect he will.” Jamie waived his hand dismissively. “He wants that which was taken from him. He wants Bríghid. And I suspect he wants Ruaidhrí, too.”
He let Finn think on this for a moment, was surprised to see the younger man smile.
“You say our names very well—for a Sasanach. Are you certain one of your parents wasn’t from our island?” A broad smile split Finn’s face.
Jamie chuckled, wished for a moment he and Finn could be friends rather than enemies who’d temporarily found common ground. “Pure Sasanach, I’m afraid.” Then he grew serious. “The earl wants them, Finn. He wants Ruaidhrí dead or worse, and he wants Bríghid to serve his basest needs. He will get what he wants unless we are very careful.”
Finn’s face darkened, all signs of laughter gone. “Aye. I should have sent them away that night, but … ”
The unspoken words hung in the air between them.
“But you were saddled with a dying Englishman.”
“Aye. Now that the iarla and his men are scouring the countryside, I’m not sure I can get them to our kin in County Clare safely. Then there’s Muirín. I cannot leave her alone.”
Jamie chose his words carefully. “I could arrange passage for all of you to the colonies. In Maryland, you’d be beyond the earl’s reach and free to live your lives as Catholics, untouched by the laws that oppress you here.”
Finn gaped at him. “Leave Ireland? We could no more leave Ireland than a fish could leave the sea. It’s in our blood. Besides, we could never repay you.”
“Consider it a fair return on the debt I owe all of you for saving my life. You could just as easily have left me to die.”
Finn’s brow furrowed, and he appeared to consider the idea. “We can’t just leave all we have behind.”
“Yet you risk your very lives by staying. Bríghid and Ruaidhrí are in grave danger. On the other side of the Atlantic they’d be safe.”
“Are you thinkin’ I should send them away with you, send them over the ocean?” Finn met Jamie’s gaze, and Jamie could see doubt, fear, anger.
“It may be the only way to ensure their safety.” Jamie said no more, letting Finn think on his words.
Finn looked troubled, shook his head. “It likely makes no sense to a sasan … an outsider, but Ireland is in our blood, in the beating of our hearts. The Uí Naill are an ancient clan. For centuries beyond count, our ancestors have lived and died here. If we were to leave, we would be turning our backs on a thousand years of dreams and prayers. We’d be turning our backs on everything we are, everything our da’ taught us to be.”
“It takes courage to leave everything you know and sail to an unknown land.”
“Aye, I see that.” Finn took a deep breath. “But I’d like to think it takes as much courage to stay, to face hopelessness and yet hope.”
Jamie could hear the strain in Finn’s voice, and he knew it wasn’t easy for this proud man to speak so openly of something so personal. “The offer stands should you change your mind. You need only contact Kenleigh Shipping in London, and arrangements will be made.”
Finn nodded. “That’s right and kind of you. But it’s an offer I cannot accept.”
It had been Jamie’s last option, his only way out. Now he had no choice but to betray them all.
He stood, his mind made up. He walked around his chair to the corner where he’d slept and reached for his travel bag. He unbuckled it, felt inside for the wooden case. He grasped the case, walked back to the table, and sat. He lifted the lid, withdrew one of two pistols, turned the handle toward Finn.
Finn’s eyes were round with amazement as he took the weapon in hand, got a feel for its weight. “Bloody lovely.” He laid it across his palms, stared with open admiration at the intricate silver designs on the polished wooden handle. “French?”
“Aye.” Jamie took up the other pistol in one hand, the black velvet cleaning cloth and ramrod in the other. “My brother-in-law had them made as a birthday gift last year.”
“Such a gift!” Finn turned the pistol over in his hand.
Jamie wrapped the cloth around the ramrod and began to clean the inside of the barrel. “Do you know how to use it?”
Finn gaze rose to meet Jamie’s, his eyes full of wariness. “I’ve never even held such a weapon. Catholics are forbidden to own firearms.”
“I want you to keep it. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”
Finn’s eyes widened in surprise. “I cannot accept this. It must be worth—”
“It is nothing I cannot easily replace.”
Finn shook his head, but did not relinquish the pistol. “Did you not hear me? ’Tis against the law.”
“I heard you.” Jamie wiped the pan and lockplate clean, tested the cock. He looked up, met Finn’s gaze. “And now you must hear me. I will do whatever I must to make certain Bríghid is safe.”
“What is my sister to you?”
What was Bríghid to him? He’d asked himself the same question and found no clear answer. He felt Finn’s measuring gaze upon him, feigned a calm he did not feel. “An innocent in need of protection.”
“And I suppose you’re a knight on a white horse come to save her.” Finn shook his head. “You’ve been readin’ Bríghid’s books. Don bloody Bellianis.”
Jamie chuckled, and then grew serious. “I’m no knight. It’s partly my fault she’s in danger to begin with. That day at the oak, in the midst of the chaos, I … noticed her. Sheff … The earl saw, made a gift of her to try to win back my friendship. It’s my responsibility to keep her safe
.”
“I heard this story from Bríghid. And to hear you speak it now—well, you’re an honest man. I see that. But answer me this. Can you keep her safe from yourself?”
The question hit Jamie like a fist. Could he keep from touching Bríghid when his desire for her grew with each passing day? Could he turn away from her when his thoughts ran heavy with the memory of her softness, her scent, her luscious body? Could he ignore his mounting hunger to kiss her, to taste her, to feel her beneath him?
He must. They had no chance of a future together, and a woman like Bríghid deserved a man who could give her more than a few nights of physical passion. “I’ve no intention of touching your sister.”
“But you will break the laws of your own country to help her?”
Jamie met Finn’s gaze. “Sometimes fate deals a strange hand.”
The door flew open. Instead of Bríghid, it was Ruaidhrí, his brow wet with sweat, his hands grimy from hours of cutting and loading peat. He gaped at the two of them, at the pistols in their hands. Then a smile spread across his face. “Bloody grand! Who are we shootin’?”
* * *
Bríghid pulled her cloak tighter about her to stop the chill. As angry as she was, she was surprised smoke wasn’t coming out of her ears. She’d come in from emptying the tub to find Jamie teaching her brothers how a pistol works. At first she’d been too shocked to speak. Then she’d demanded to know what was going on, for it was clear something was afoot. First, the hated iarla pays her brother a visit, then Jamie gives Finn a pistol and offers to teach her brothers to shoot. Chance perhaps?
She was no child, though they treated her as one.
She’d hollered a fair bit, but they’d paid her no mind until Finn lost his temper, told her it was men’s business, and demanded she get on with her chores. He’d never spoken to her that way before. It had taken every bit of willpower she’d possessed not to cry.