‘All right,’ she said ungraciously, and the laughter flashed back.
‘What, no curtsy and “Thank You, Your Lordship, your kind invitation is accepted”?’
‘Go jump,’ she said crossly and he held out his hand.
‘I will,’ he said. ‘Both of us will. Come and jump with me.’
* * *
For the last couple of days the amount of sorting had meant every time they came together there was so much to discuss there was little time for the personal. But now suddenly there wasn’t. Or maybe there was but suddenly it didn’t seem important.
Jo was no longer sure what was important.
She’d never felt so at ease with anyone, she thought as they walked together over fields that grew increasingly rough the nearer they were to the estate boundaries. But right now that very ease was creating a tension all by itself.
She didn’t understand it and it scared her.
She needed to watch her feet now. This was peat country and the ground was criss-crossed with scores of furrows where long lines of peat had been dug. That was what she needed to do before she went home, she thought. Light a peat fire. Tonight? Her last night?
The thought was enough to distract her. She slipped and Finn’s hand was suddenly under her elbow, holding her steady.
She should pull away.
She didn’t.
And then they were at a line of rough stone fencing. Finn stepped to the top stone and turned to help her.
As if she’d let him. She didn’t need him.
She stepped up and he should have got out of the way, gone over the top, but instead he waited for her to join him.
There was only a tiny section of flat stone. She had no choice but to join him.
His arm came round and held her, whether she willed it or not, and he turned her to face the way they’d come.
‘Look at the view from here.’
She did and it was awesome. The castle was built on a rise of undulating country, a vast monolith of stone. It seemed almost an extension of the country around it, rough hewn, rugged, truly impressive.
‘For now, it’s ours,’ Finn said softly and Jo looked over the countryside, at the castle she’d heard about since childhood and never seen, and she felt...
Wrong.
Wrong that she should be signing a paper that said sell it to the highest bidder.
Wrong that she should be leaving.
But then she always left, she thought. Of course she did. What was new?
She tugged away from Finn, suddenly inexplicably angry. He let her go, but gently so she didn’t wrench back but had time to find the footholds to descend to the other side.
To where the bog started.
‘Beware,’ Finn told her as she headed away from the wall, and she looked around her and thought, Beware is right.
It was the same sort of country she’d been caught in when Finn first found her. This wall wasn’t just a property boundary then. It was the start of where the country turned treacherous.
For here were the lowlands. The grasses were brilliant green, dotted with tiny wildflowers. There were rivulets of clear water, like rivers in miniature. The ground swept away to the mountains beyond, interrupted only by the occasional wash of sleet-coloured water.
There were no birds. There seemed no life at all.
‘I’ve been out on it,’ Finn told her. ‘It’s safe. Come on; this is fun.’
And he took her hand.
Her first impulse was to tug away. Of course it was. Since when did she let anyone lead her anywhere? But this was Finn. This was Ireland. This was...right?
‘I’m not hauling you anywhere you don’t want to go,’ Finn told her. ‘This is pure pleasure.’
So somehow she relaxed, or sort of relaxed, as he led her across the stone-strewn ground to where the ground ceased being solid and the bog began. But his steps were sure. All she had to do was step where he stepped. And leave her hand in his.
Small ask.
‘It doesn’t hurt,’ he said softly into the stillness.
‘What doesn’t hurt?’
‘Trusting.’
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her hand was in his, enveloped in his strength and surety.
Trust...
‘That first day when I picked you up,’ he said softly. ‘I pretty near gave you a heart attack. I pretty near gave me a heart attack. You want to tell me what that was about?’
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ he said lightly and led her a bit further. She was concentrating on her feet. Or she should be concentrating on her feet.
She was pretty much aware of his hand.
She was still pretty much aware of his question.
‘I couldn’t handle it,’ she told him. ‘I had a temper.’
‘I guessed that,’ he said and smiled. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was concentrating on the ground, making sure each step he took was steady, and small enough so she could follow in his footsteps. It was the strangest sensation... ‘So what couldn’t you handle?’
‘Leaving.’
‘Mmm.’ The silence intensified. There were frogs, she thought. There’d been frogs in the last bit of bog but there were more here. So it wasn’t silent.
Except it was.
‘Will you tell me?’ he asked conversationally, as if it didn’t matter whether she did or not, and then he went back to leading her across the bog.
If he left her now, she thought... If he abandoned her out here...
He wouldn’t. But, even if he did, it wasn’t a drama. He was stepping from stone to stone and she understood it now. If he left she wouldn’t be in trouble.
She could leave. She could just turn around and go.
Will you tell me?
‘I got attached,’ she said softly, as if she didn’t want to disturb the frogs, which, come to think of it, she didn’t. ‘Everywhere I went. I think...because my mother was overseas, because she didn’t want anything to do with me, because no one knew who my father was, it was assumed I’d eventually be up for adoption. So I was put with people who were encouraged to love me. To form ties. And of course I grew ties back.’
‘That sucks.’
‘It was only bad when it was time to leave.’
‘But when it was...’
‘It was always after a full-on emotional commitment,’ she told him. ‘I’d stay for a couple of years and we’d get close. My foster parents would apply for adoption, there’d be ages before an answer came but when it did it was always the same. My mother didn’t want me adopted. She’d say she was currently negotiating taking me herself so she’d like me transferred close to Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane—always the city that was furthest from my foster parents. She said it was so she could fly in quickly from Ireland to pick me up. I got stoic in the end but I remember when I was little, being picked up and carried to the car, and everyone I loved was behind me and my foster mum was crying... I’m sorry, but the day you first saw me I’d been stuck in the bog for an hour and I was tired and jet-lagged and frightened and you copped a flashback of epic proportions. I’m ashamed of myself.’
Silence.
He felt his free hand ball into a fist. Anger surged, an anger so great it threatened to overwhelm him.
‘Let’s revisit our bonfire idea,’ he said. ‘I’d kind of like to burn the whole castle.’ He was struggling to make his voice light.
‘We’ve been there. I couldn’t even burn the horse.’
‘Mrs O’Reilly said it made three hundred and fifty pounds for the local charity shop,’ he told her. ‘For kids with cancer.’
‘As long as the kids with cancer don’t have to look into its sneering face.’
‘But that’s what you’re doi
ng,’ he said gently. ‘Coming back to Ireland. You’re looking at a nursery full of toys owned by kids who were wanted. You’re looking into its sneering face.’
‘I don’t want to burn it, though,’ she said. She turned and gazed back across the boundary, back to the distant castle. ‘It’s people who are cruel, not things. And things can be beautiful. This is beautiful and the people are gone.’
‘And so’s the horse,’ he said encouragingly. ‘And we can go put thistles on Fiona’s grave if you want.’
‘That’d be childish. I’m over her.’
‘Really?’
‘As long as you don’t pick me up.’
‘I won’t pick you up. But, speaking of childish... You don’t want childish?’
‘I...’
‘Because what I’ve found here is really, really childish.’ He took her hand again and led her a little way further to the base of a small rise. The grassland here looked lush and rich, beautifully green, an untouched swathe.
‘Try,’ he said, and let go her hand and gave her a gentle push. ‘Jump.’
‘What—me? Are you kidding? I’ll be down to my waist again.’
‘You won’t. I’ve tried it.’
She stared at it in suspicion. ‘The grass isn’t squashed.’
‘And there’s no great holes where I sank. There’s a whole ribbon of this, land that quakes beautifully but doesn’t give. Trust me, Jo. Jump.’
Trust him. A man who wore leggings and intricate neckties and looked so sexy a girl could swoon. The Lord of Glenconaill Castle.
A man in work trousers and rolled-up sleeves.
A man who smiled at her.
She stared back at him, and then looked at the grassy verge. It looked beautiful.
The sun was shining on her face. The sound of a thousand frogs was a gentle choir across the bog.
Trust me.
She took a tentative step forward and put her weight on the grass.
The ground under her sagged and she leaped back. ‘I don’t think...’
‘You’re not sinking into mud. This is a much thicker thatch of grass than where you got stuck. I’ve tried it out. Look.’ And he jumped.
The ground sagged and rose again. Jo was standing two or three feet away from him. The grasses quivered all the way across to her and she rode a mini wave.
She squealed in surprise, then stared down in astonishment. ‘Really?’
He jumped again, grinning. ‘I found it just for you. Try it.’
She jumped, just a little.
‘Higher.’
‘It’ll...’
‘It won’t do anything. I told you before; I’ve tried it. I was here yesterday, scouting a good bit of bog to show you.’
‘You did that...for me?’
‘I can’t have you going back to Australia thinking all Irish bogs are out to eat Australians.’ He reached out and caught her hands. ‘Bounce.’
‘I...’
‘Trust me. Bounce.’
Trust him. She looked up at him and he was smiling, and he was holding her hands and the warmth of him...the strength of him...
He wouldn’t let her down. How did she know it? She just knew it.
‘Bounce,’ he said again, encouragingly, and she met his gaze and his smile said Smile back and somehow she felt herself relax.
She bounced and the lovely squishy grasses bounced with her and, to her amazement, she felt Finn do a smaller bounce as the quaking ground moved under him as well.
‘It’s like a water bed,’ she breathed.
‘I’ve never tried a water bed,’ Finn admitted. ‘I always thought they’d be weird.’
‘But fun.’
‘You’ve slept in one?’
‘One of my foster mums had one. She had three foster kids and we all bounced. She was out one day and we bounced too much and she came home to floods. She wasn’t best pleased.’
‘I’d imagine,’ Finn said, chuckling, and jumping himself so Jo bounced with him. ‘Gruel and stale bread for a week?’
‘Mops at twenty paces.’ She bounced again, starting to enjoy herself. ‘Foster parents are awesome.’
‘Until you have to leave.’
‘Let’s not go there.’ She bounced again, really high. The ground sagged but bounced back, so she and Finn were rocking with each other. The sun was on their faces. A couple of dozy sheep were staring over the stone wall with vague astonishment. A bird—a kestrel?—was cruising high in the thermals above them, maybe frog-hunting?
‘I hope we’re not squashing frogs,’ she worried out loud and he grinned.
‘Any self-respecting frog will be long gone. That was some squeal.’
‘I don’t squeal.’
‘You did.’
‘I might have,’ she conceded, jumping again just because she could, just because it felt good, just because this man was holding her hands and for now it felt right. She felt right. She felt...as if this was her place. As if she had every right in the world to be here. As if this was her home? ‘I had...provocation,’ she managed. She was trying to haul her thoughts back to whether or not she’d squealed, but her thoughts were heading off on a tangent all of their own.
A tangent that was all about how this man was holding her and how good it felt and how wonderful that when she jumped he jumped, and when he jumped she jumped. And suddenly it had nothing to do with the bog they were jumping on but everything to do with how wonderful it was. With how wonderful he was.
‘I should warn you, you’re seeing the bog at its best,’ Finn told her. ‘Tomorrow it’ll be raining. In fact this afternoon it may be raining. Or in half an hour. This is Ireland, after all.’
‘I like Ireland.’
‘You’ve seen approximately nought point one per cent of Ireland.’
‘Then I like nought point one per cent. I like this part.’
‘Me, too,’ he said and jumped again and suddenly they were grinning at each other like idiots and jumping in sync and the world felt amazing. The world felt right.
‘You want to explore a bit further?’ he asked and her hands were in his and suddenly she thought no matter where he wanted to take her she’d follow. Which was a stupid thought. She didn’t do trust. She didn’t...love?
There was a blinding thought, a thought so out of left field that she tugged her hands back and stared at him in confusion. She’d known this guy for just over a week. You couldn’t make decisions like that in a week.
Could you?
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked gently and she stared at him and somehow the confusion settled.
He wasn’t asking her to love him. He was asking her to explore the landscape.
With him.
‘You know I won’t let you sink,’ he told her and she looked up at him and made a decision. A decision based on his smile. A decision based on the gentleness of his voice.
A decision not based one little bit on how good-looking he was, or how big, or how the sun glinted on his dark hair or how the strength of him seemed like an aura. He was a farmer born and bred. He was a farmer who was now the Lord of Glenconaill. Who could transform at will...
No. The decision wasn’t based on that at all. It was simply that she wanted to see more of this amazing country before she left.
‘Yes, please,’ she said and then, because it was only sensible and Jo Conaill prided herself on being sensible, she slipped her hands back into his. After all, he was her guarantee...not to sink.
‘Yes, please,’ she said again. ‘Show me all.’
* * *
He wished he knew more about this country.
If you drove quickly across bog country you could easily take it for a barren waste. But if you walked it, as he and Jo were walking it, takin
g care to stick to ground he knew was solid but venturing far from the roads, where the ground rose and fell, where the streams trickled above and below ground, where so many different plants eked out a fragile life in this tough terrain...if you did that then you realised the land had a beauty all its own. He knew the artist in Jo was seeing it as it should be seen.
And she was asking questions. She’d tighten her hold on his hand and then stoop, forcing him to stoop with her. ‘What’s this?’ she’d ask, fingering some tiny, delicate flower, and he didn’t know what it was and he could have kicked himself for not knowing.
He knew what grew on his farm. He didn’t know this place.
But it was fascinating and Jo’s enjoyment made it more so.
‘I need to sketch,’ she whispered, gazing around her with awe. ‘I never knew...’
But she was going home, he thought, and more and more the thought was like grey fog.
They’d had their week at the castle. They’d had their fairy tale. After tomorrow they’d go back to their own lives. The castle would be nothing more than an eye-watering amount in their bank accounts.
And, as if on cue, the sun went under a cloud. He glanced up and saw the beginnings of storm clouds. You didn’t expect anything else in this country. The land was so wet that as soon as it was warm, condensation formed clouds and rain followed.
It was kind of comforting. A man knew where he was with this weather—and if he had to feel grey then why not let it rain?
‘We need to get back,’ he told her. ‘It’ll be raining within the hour.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
She paused and gazed around her, as if drinking in the last view of this amazing landscape. Her hand was still in his.
Her hand felt okay. It felt good.
The feeling of grey intensified. Tomorrow it’d be over. He’d be back on his farm, looking towards the future.
He’d be rich enough to expand his farm to something enormous. He could do whatever he liked.
Why didn’t that feel good?
‘Okay,’ Jo said and sighed. ‘Time to go.’
And it was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EXCEPT THERE WAS the cow.
His Cinderella Heiress Page 12