The Fragrance of Her Name

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Upon reaching her, he didn’t pause even for an instant, but took hold of her face and kissed her almost brutally! His mouth demanded response from her! His kiss was so driven and deep that she could hardly catch her breath.

  “Lauryn,” he breathed as he kissed her, let his hands be lost in her hair. He kissed her neck, her face, her mouth and after long moments that found Lauryn crying in his arms, the salt of her joyous tears mingling with their kiss, he paused looking at her with a longing, an emotion that was too profound to describe.

  “I love you, Lauryn,” he said, his voice low and intensely passionate. “From the very first instant I touched you…heard your voice. I swear it. I loved you from that moment.”

  “Brant,” Lauryn sobbed, as he held her face in his hands forcing her to look at him through her tears. She felt as if her heart might burst from her chest with the sudden ecstasy she felt because of his confession.

  “And I don’t care. I don’t care about anything else! I’d rather die and wander around forever…than to live another minute without owning you!” he added.

  “I love you,” she stammered through her sobbing. “In my dreams, before I met you…I loved you. I’ve loved you my whole life!”

  “I couldn’t have you, you know,” he mumbled, his own eyes filled with tears. “Not wholly…not when we both were bound by the past. You understand that I had to keep myself controlled…disciplined. I would’ve failed otherwise…because, so many times, I simply wanted to leave. To take you away from here…and selfishly live my own life.”

  Lauryn smiled and caressed his face with her hands. He was hers! Truly and finally. She could touch him whenever she wanted! Ask for his arms around her, feel his magnificent kiss whenever she needed him. Which, she knew, was every minute, eternally. The freedom she felt was rapturous! As if she’d begun to breathe easily for the first time in her life.

  “I’m ready now,” he began, kissing her quickly. “I’m ready to ask your Mama for the thing I want from Connemara.”

  Lauryn smiled, understanding. “And what would that thing be?”

  Brant smiled, chuckled and hugged her. “And we’ll stay here,” he added, kissing her forehead lovingly “If that’s what you want…we’ll stay here. As long as I can have you that land in New Mexico doesn’t…”

  “No,” she interrupted. “That’s where I want to be…with you. Everythin’ is…is different now. There’s too much of the past here. And all I want is…the future. I want every tomorrow…every moment yet to come…to be our moments. I don’t want to belong to the past anymore, Brant. I only want to belong to you.”

  Lauryn felt weakened with love, at the same time powerful with it, as Brant smiled lovingly down at her. Brushing a stray curl of nutmeg from her cheek, he took her face in his hands and kissed her again.

  “I won’t be able to stop now, you know,” he mumbled into her ear as he held her to him. “You’ll have to marry me soon.”

  “When?” Lauryn giggled.

  “Tomorrow,” Brant determined, kissing her again.

  “Where?” Lauryn sighed between kisses.

  “Here…at Connemara House,” Brant answered. And then they were lost…but only to the world. For in each other’s arms they were found…found in their love.

  Virginia Anne O’Halleran Kensington sighed as she watched the young lovers, now oblivious to all else around them. “A love like no other, that one,” she said.

  Carissa O’Halleran McGovern smiled. “Oh, maybe like one other, dear sister. Maybe like one other.”

  Epilogue

  Lauryn Masterson slid her hand to the back of her neck and lifted her braid as she brushed the hair from her forehead. The evening breezes were cool, and she was very glad…for the summer days in New Mexico were hot and dry. Still, as she gazed at the mountain, turned a brilliant shade of watermelon pink by the setting sun, she was happy to look forward to another day filled with the brilliance of blue sky, the space of the pastures and love of her family.

  She closed her eyes, breathing the freshness of the air scented with cedar, pine, sagebrush and wildflowers. She could hear the windmill busily spinning to fill the water troughs, hear the breeze dancing through the cottonwoods down by the riverbank. A calf bawled and “kitty,” her pregnant and very lovable tabby cat, purred at her feet.

  “Mama!” Ginny called. Lauryn opened her eyes to see Ginny, now almost five years old, rushing toward her dragging a dusty three-year-old brother behind. “Mama…there is bird mess all over Henry again!”

  Lauryn giggled. Ever since Ginny was born, it seemed, she had worried over Henry. “Well, we’ll just have Daddy wash him off again, sweet pea.”

  “But, Mama…it’s all down he’s face and he’s shirt… and there’s a big ol’ wad of it on he’s foot and Michael sticked his finger right in it and wiped it all over his face and…” Ginny babbled excitedly.

  Kneeling down, Lauryn gathered her two children into her arms, hugging them lovingly. “Oh, I’d be willing to bet that Henry’s had bird mess on him most of his life, Ginny. Don’t worry about him so.”

  “But, Mama!” the child whined stamping her foot. “He’s all messy!”

  Brushing a curl of ebony hair from Ginny’s cheek, Lauryn smiled. “Well? What about May Belle? Did the birds get May Belle?”

  When Sean and Patrick shipped Henry, the statue, from Connemara to New Mexico several years before, Brant commissioned a sculptor in Santa Fe to create a statue of a woman to keep Henry company. He affectionately dubbed the female statue, which was sculpted with attire true to the same time period as Henry, as May Belle. Brant explained that the statue reminded him of an old school teacher he had as a child, Miss May Belle Bomgardner.

  “May Belle is fine, as always, Mama.” Ginny sneered. “Them birds never mess on May Belle.”

  “That’s because May Belle is a lady and they know it,” Lauryn told her daughter. Lifting her apron and moistening its edge with her tongue, Lauryn proceeded to clean Michael’s face. “There’s Mama’s big boy. Now you quite playin’ in that bird mess, Michael! I swear you put me in mind of your Uncle Patrick!”

  The thunder of approaching hooves captured Lauryn’s and the children’s attention. She looked up, enchanted by the sight of Brant and Keil riding toward them. Though only nine, Keil had already become a good rider under his father’s guidance. Both riders reined up smiling contentedly.

  “Mama!” Keil exclaimed. “You should see the writhin’ maggots livin’ on that ol’ cow that died last week! It’s amazin’!”

  “I’m certain it is,” Lauryn commented. “And where’s your shirt, boy! You’re goin’ to be burnt through and through,” she scolded. “Brant…he’s gonna be browner than a bean, just like you.”

  “Hell, Lauryn. Ain’t nothing wrong with brown beans. Is there, Keil?” Brant chuckled.

  “Brant!” Lauryn scolded. “For pity’s sake, quit that swearin’.”

  But Brant only chuckled and looked to Ginny who was tugging on his pant leg.

  “What’s the matter, kitten?” he asked.

  “Daddy, them birds have been at Henry again. You’ve got to do somethin’ about it!” Ginny whined.

  Brant laughed. “Henry’s fine, Ginny. You have Keil help you water that wisteria out by Henry.” Brant held a hand out to Lauryn. “And you two watch Michael. I’m stealing your mama away for a bit.” Winking flirtatiously at Lauryn, he asked, “Up for a ride, sugar?”

  Lauryn smiled and tugged at the ribbon holding her braid a moment before mounting up behind Brant. She hugged him tightly around the waist, letting her face rest against his bare back. His skin was warm from work in the sun, and he smelled like leather and dust.

  “Hang on, baby,” Brant told her. At his signal, the horse broke into a comfortable pace. Lauryn smiled as she tipped her head back, letting the breeze cool her cheeks and blow through her hair. She waved to the children as they stood watching their parents ride away, grateful for the blessing of their happy faces. />
  Riding with Brant was always exhilarating. It always had been one of Lauryn’s favorite pastimes. Ever since she and Brant had moved to New Mexico, they had ridden together. Riding with him was something of a romantic notion to Lauryn, and she reveled in it.

  “The sunset is beautiful today,” Brant sighed, as he sat next to Lauryn atop the giant rock in the west pasture. “Look at that mountain!” he exclaimed. But Lauryn was too distracted by a much larger beauty in the world.

  As she studied her husband, she smiled, thinking how much more handsome and attractive he was now…even than he had been when they first met all those years ago. Reaching up she twisted a dainty finger in his hair at the back of his neck.

  “You need a hair trim, Mr. Masterson,” she said.

  Taking the piece of straw he’d been chewing out of his mouth and flicking it aside, Brant smiled at Lauryn and said, “You need a kiss, Mrs. Masterson.” Lauryn giggled, delighted as always, by his teasing nature.

  “I do,” she admitted. In an instant, she was in his arms, his skillful kisses sending her heart soaring with love and passion for him. It had always amazed Lauryn, the fact that she never tired of Brant’s kisses. She still craved them as strongly as she had from the first time he’d kissed her.

  His lips left hers, and she lay in his arms looking up at him as he gazed down into her face. The pink of the sunset washed over them like a painter’s dream. “I love you, Brant. I love you so much more than ever I did. And I never knew that I could,” she said.

  “I love you, Lauryn,” he told her. “Thank you for finding Laura all those years ago. For finding me…for loving me.” And, as Brant gathered her into his arms once more, as she lay in the bliss of knowing his love, watching the sun set, as it sent violet-pink color to kiss the clouds…Lauryn fancied she sensed a familiar fragrance for a moment. The fragrance of home, of history, of dreams come true. The fragrance of sweet wisteria….the very fragrance of Connemara and enduring, eternal love.

  

  “Do you think we should tell Mama and Daddy?” Ginny asked. Tenderly, she kissed Michael on the forehead and wiped a smudge of dust from his face.

  Keil Masterson stood looking at the giant arbor their father had built to support the wisteria that came from his mother’s family home in Tennessee. He studied the two statues that stood under the arbor protected by the splendid vine that covered it. No one in the valley could ever explain how the Masterson family had been able to nurture wisteria to grow so healthy and so prolific in the dry desert heat of New Mexico. But, Keil thought he knew. And so did Ginny. And even young Michael.

  “Well? Do you, Keil?” Ginny repeated. “Do you think we should tell them?”

  “Tell Daddy and Mama that we haven’t watered Mama’s wisteria in months and months? That we saw a man in a uniform and a lady with sunshine hair cleanin’ bird mess off Henry the other day?” Keil shook his head again. “ They’d never believe us.” He looked to his little sister. “Would they?”

  To my husband, Kevin…

  “Mr. Perfectly Imperfect” Personified!

  About the Author

  Marcia Lynn McClure began writing novels as Christmas gifts for her closest friends. She weaves her tales of love, life, laughter and adventure around those compelling, romantic moments which most appeal to a woman’s romantic and loving heart. Gazing out her window into the surreal beauty of the New Mexico desert, she writes her stories inspired by life and imagination. Blissful in the company of her wonderful husband, two sons, a daughter, son-in-law, and grandson, Marcia continues to captivate readers with her own, unique writing style and adored stories.

  Visit www.marcialynnmcclure.com to order books and e-books by Marcia Lynn McClure.

  Also by Marcia Lynn McClure

  The Windswept Flame

  Weathered Too Young

  Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

  Saphyre Snow

  A Crimson Frost

  The Time of Aspen Falls

  The Highwayman of Tanglewood

  The Whispered Kiss

  The Touch of Sage

  The Fragrance of Her Name

  Dusty Britches

  Shackles of Honor

  The Visions of Ransom Lake

  The Heavenly Surrender

  Daydreams

  Divine Deception

  An Old-Fashioned Romance

  To Echo the Past

  Desert Fire

  Love Me

  Born for Thorton’s Sake

  Sudden Storms

  The Prairie Prince

  E-Books by Marcia Lynn McClure

  A Better Reason to Fall in Love

  The Tide of the Mermaid Tears

  Kiss in the Dark

  The Light of the Lovers’ Moon

  Sweet Cherry Ray

  Kissing Cousins

  The Rogue Knight

  Weathered Too Young

  Historical Romance, 304 Pages

  Lark Lawrence was alone. In all the world there was no one who cared for her. Still, there were worse things than independence—and Lark had grown quite capable of providing for herself. Nevertheless, as winter loomed, she suddenly found herself with no means by which to afford food and shelter—destitute.

  Yet, Tom Evans was a kind and compassionate man. When Lark Lawrence appeared on his porch, without pause he hired her to keep house and cook for himself and his cantankerous elder brother, Slater. And although Tom had befriend Lark first, it would be Slater Evans—handsome, brooding and twelve years Lark’s senior—who would unknowingly abduct her heart.

  Still, Lark’s true age (which she concealed at first meeting the Evans brothers) was not the only truth she had kept from Slater and Tom Evans. Darker secrets lay imprisoned deep within her heart—and her past. However, it is that secrets are made to be found out—and Lark’s secrets revealed would soon couple with the arrival of a woman from Slater’s past to forever shatter her dreams of winning his love—or so it seemed. Would truth and passion mingle to capture Lark the love she’d never dared to hope for?

  The Windswept Flame

  Historical Romance, 280 Pages

  Broken—irreparably broken. The violent deaths of her father and the young man she’d been engaged to marry, had irrevocably broken Cedar Dale’s heart. Her mother’s heart had been broken, as well—shattered by the loss of her own true love. Thus, pain and anguish—fear and despair—found Cedar Dale, and her mother Flora, returned to the small western town where life had once been happy and filled with hope. Perhaps there, Cedar and her mother would find some resemblance of truly living life—instead of merely existing. And then, a chance meeting with a dream from her past—caused a flicker of wonder to ignite in her bosom.

  As a child, Cedar Dale had adored the handsome rancher’s son, Tom Evans. And when chance brought her face-to-face with the object of her childhood fascination once more, Cedar Dale began to believe that perhaps her fragmented heart could be healed.

  Yet, could Cedar truly hope to win the regard of such a man above men as was Tom Evans? A man kept occupied with hard work and ambition—a man so desperately sought after by seemingly every woman?

  Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

  Historical Romance, 304 Pages

  Civil War—no one could flee from the nightmare of battle and the countless lives it devoured. Everyone had sacrificed—suffered profound misery and unimaginable loss. Vivianna Bartholomew was no exception. The war had torn her from her home—orphaned her. The merciless war seemed to take everything—even the man she loved. Still, Vivianna yet knew gratitude—for a kind friend had taken her in upon the death of her parents. Thus, she was cared for—even loved.

  Yet, as General Lee surrendered signaling the war’s imminent end—as Vivianna remained with the remnants of the Turner family—her soul clung to the letters written by her lost soldier—to his memory written in her heart. Could a woman ever heal from the loss of such a love? Could a woman’s heart forget that it may find another? Vivianna Bartholome
w thought not.

  Still, it is often in the world that miracles occur—that love endures even after hope has been abandoned. Thus, one balmy Alabama morning—as two ragged soldiers wound the road toward the Turner house—Vivianna began to know—to know that miracles do exist—that love is never truly lost.

  Saphyre Snow

  Historical Romance, 250 Pages

  Descended of a legendary line of strength and beauty, Saphyre Snow had once known happiness as princess of the Kingdom of Graces. Once a valiant king had ruled in wisdom—once a loving mother had spoken soft words of truth to her daughter. Yet, a strange madness had poisoned great minds—a strange fever inviting Lord Death to linger. Soon it was even Lord Death sought to claim Saphyre Snow for his own—and all Saphyre loved seemed lost.

  Thus, Saphyre fled—forced to leave all familiars for necessity of preserving her life. Alone, and without provision, Saphyre knew Lord Death might yet claim her—for how could a princess hope to best the Reaper himself?

  Still, fate often provides rescue by extraordinary venues, and Saphyre was not delivered into the hands of Death—but into the hands of those hiding dark secrets in the depths of bruised and bloodied souls. Saphyre knew a measure of hope and asylum in the company of these battered vagabonds. Even she knew love—a secreted love—a forbidden love. Yet it was love itself—even held secret—that would again summon Lord Death to hunt the princess, Saphyre Snow.

  A Crimson Frost

  Historical Romance, 296 Pages