The space between them seemed charged with a potent force, like magnetism. For a moment, she felt him sway toward her almost imperceptibly. “Surely I wish this devilish business could, Katie.”
“What is so urgent, then?”
He gazed down at her almost sightlessly, as if it were not she he gazed at, but something, someone, much farther away. “My sister is…ill….”
She felt the pull of his force diminish as her senses cleared abruptly. His sister? She had not even known he had a sister. And then, with a chill of dread, she found herself questioning whether or not he told her the truth. “You did not mention a sister before now.”
“No?” His gaze came back to focus on hers, and he frowned as if thinking back through what he had and hadn’t told her during their courtship. She wondered how much there might be untold, if he had not mentioned a matter so critical as a sister back in Ireland.
“Well, I have one—only one—“ he said, as if he had read her thoughts. “And she is ill and needs me.”
She could feel the distance between them as if he were already in Ireland and wondered how to bridge it. How to bring him closer to her. To make the magnetic pull of a moment ago return. She put aside her dismay that he had not spoken of his sister before the marriage. It didn’t matter, they were married and his sister was now hers. “What is her name?”
She shivered as the distance between them widened even as he spoke. “Bridget.” He seemed a thousand miles away, rather than close enough to kiss.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have believed he didn’t want to tell her his sister’s name. Was there some problem with the girl? Was she simple? She couldn’t ask that, however, without sending him even further from her, if such was possible.
Uncertain, yet desperate, Kate put her hand on his arm, tighter than might have been wise, although she knew she had no hope to keep him against his will. “How old is she, your sister?”
Again, he hesitated before speaking and his answer was almost a whisper. “Twelve.”
“So young.” Kate could imagine just how frantic she would be if one of her sisters was ill and far away. “Do you trust her governess to see to her well enough until you arrive home?”
His mouth twisted into a grimace and his words were bitter. “I sacked her governess.”
The girl was without a governess? No wonder he was a slow simmer of restlessness and impatience beneath his apparent calm. She bit back the more obvious question—why? “When did you do that?”
He looked away, and she could see he was holding something back from her. “Some time ago.”
She wondered if it had been a matter of finances and felt a twinge of guilt. While she was making him dance to her tune, had his sister been forced to go without a governess? Would he blame her for the illness? “Then of course, you must fetch her at once.”
He seemed neither pleased nor displeased by her words, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, though he nodded his head in response.
Kate felt as if he were slipping away from her as she watched. The dread in her belly coalesced into a more solid form—she was afraid if he left that he might never come back. There was only one answer. “I’ll pack quickly and come with you.” She moved toward the bell rope to summon the maid.
Sean felt pulled in two directions, forcefully enough to split him down the middle. Come with him? Impossible “No.” He intercepted her and pulled her into a rough embrace.
“I must. You are my husband now. You need me—“
He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “I need you here.” Another kiss. He could feel her unyielding lips begin to soften. “I need to know you’re safe here, among your family.”
“I’d rather be with you than safe. Especially if your sister is in need of a good nurse.” Kate was warm and rose scented in his arms, the silk of her gown slipped through his fingers easily. But no matter that her breathing came slightly faster and a blush sat high upon her cheeks, she was determined to have her way. “The poor thing doesn’t even have a governess, Sean. You need a woman with you for the child’s sake.”
Holding her so closely, his mind grew muddled and unfocused, so it took him a moment to think up a rational objection to her accompanying him to Ireland. An explanation that would not expose his lie. “There has been another breakout of typhus at the abbey. It is not safe for you.”
She was about to protest again, so he bent and kissed her more thoroughly than he had before. After all, he wanted to and he knew well enough from the expression that had been on her face when she first turned toward him that she had hoped he would. Her lips were soft and warm and welcoming. For a moment he was lost to the sensation that he had longed for all day. All the days since he had known her.
But such human frailties as lust must wait. With effort, he pulled away, afraid he would forget Bridget entirely in another few moments. He embellished his lie, determined to convince her quickly so that he could leave temptation behind. “What kind of husband would I be, to risk you falling ill just as I have finally managed to win you?”
His words brought a shadow to her eye, but she stifled the protest that she had been about to make and said only, “You must bring her here as soon as she is strong enough to travel—I will see to her education and care now.”
Her heart was gentle and for a moment he hoped that he would indeed bring his sister here, to be welcomed into this family. If Jeffrey’s hadn’t bound her over for hanging by now.
She frowned at him. “I wish you had told me about her in the first place, we would have invited her for the holidays and perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen ill.”
He rubbed her cheek gently with his finger. “You are generous, as always, but I thought it best for Bridget to remain in Ireland until I had settled upon a bride, married her and set up a household suitable for a child.”
She turned her cheek against his palm and sighed. “She must have been so lonely.”
“She was at home, Kate. Bachelor’s quarters are no place for a twelve year old girl.” He thought of Bridget, who loved to wander the hills, in a prison cell. London wouldn’t be much better for her, he realized, but at least she would be alive.
“Can’t you stay for the night?” She clung to him tightly for a moment, but then, as if ashamed of her selfish request, she released her hold. “What am I to do without you?”
For a moment he considered whether it would be better to consummate the marriage now, no matter how hastily. He owed her more, though, considering the way he had rushed her to the altar. “A wedding bed needs more than haste and worry, does it not?”
She nodded, but without conviction.
He sighed. “Our wedding night will be all the sweeter for the waiting, mo chroi.” The thought of Bridget clapped in a filthy jail cell had galvanized him, though, cutting through the sensual haze of being alone with his bride. He pushed her gently away from him, and bent to kiss her forehead as he lightly ran his hands along the silk-clad curve of her waist and hips. There was no time for anything more, he acknowledged grudgingly. “Prepare for Bridget’s arrival.” He would not allow himself to believe that he would return without his sister.
She stepped away from him, as if to break the spell that had enveloped them both. Worry for his “ill” sister clouded her expression. “Very well. I will ask R.J.’s sister what can be done for those suffering typhus--she is studying to be a doctor. That way, when you return, you will not have to doubt that I am unprepared.”
“You are an angel.” She looked like an angel, as well, he thought as he left her there, again by the window. The white silk fell about her with an almost unearthly glow from the scented candles blazing around the room.
As he closed the door, Sean put the image of her away from his thoughts with a sigh and sought out his uncle. Bridget could not afford for him to be distracted now. All his focus must be on winning her release.
He found Connor pacing in the library, with his bag packed and sitting beside him. “All is set.�
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Resignation settled on Sean’s shoulders like a mantle and he realized he had been hoping for a reprieve—only momentary—in which he could properly celebrate his wedding night. “Then let waste no more time here.”
Ever pragmatic, Connor asked, “Have you signed the papers?”
Thinking that the sudden wealth in his coffers would make for a cold bedfellow tonight, Sean nodded. “Indeed I have. The funds are in my control.”
Connor grunted his satisfaction. “Jeffreys will have to take you seriously, now that you have the duke’s backing. He does so love the titled English, even if he has no respect for a family that ruled in Ireland for centuries before—“
Sean made a harsh sound, half to acknowledge the bite of the winter air as they left the duke’s home and half to interrupt his uncle’s diatribe. “If he is wise, Jeffreys will have released her before we arrive.”
Connor stilled, and then glanced at him with sharp assessment. “And if he has not?”
Knowing the answer would please his uncle, considering how long it had been withheld—how long Sean had held out for peaceful counsel rather than blood and open warfare--he said firmly, “Then God help him.”
Connor grinned, a blood-glint in his eye. “That’s the way I like to hear you speak. It’s hard words like those that will see Bridget free.”
Sean wasn’t so certain that any words--or bloodshed itself--would right things for his sister. What had she done? And what would he have to do to make things right? To bring his sister to London safely—and keep her safe?
CHAPTER SIX
The journey home passed in a blur of frigid wind and overly warm hearths. At the fork in the road which would lead him home, or to Jeffreys, he stopped his horse. “Go home and warn the abbey we have arrived.”
“I’ll not let you face Jeffreys alone.”
“Are you more afraid for me? Or for Jeffreys? Go home. Prepare for Bridget’s return.”
Fortunately, his uncle argued only a few minutes before he agreed to ride on ahead and warn the abbey of their coming. And Sean took the fork that led to his enemy.
“Congratulations on winning a wealthy bride, McCarthy.” Jeffreys was surprisingly amenable to him when he interrupted the man’s dinner. He did not call him Blarney, of course, as the name still rankled Jeffreys after almost 4 decades.
“I’ve come for Bridget.”
“Ah. Yes, that unfortunate matter. I’m sorry to pull you away from the wedding festivities.” He glanced behind Sean, as if expecting to see someone else. “Did your lovely bride not come with you?”
Sean had no intention of making a pretense of civility with this man. “Have you hung her already?” he asked bluntly.
“Where is that vaunted silver tongue, McCarthy? Have you left it with your bride in England? Or did they strip it from you as a bride price?”
Sean did not answer with words, only a glare that promised bloodshed if he was not answered.
Jeffreys sighed, and answered as if Sean should have known without asking. “Of course I haven’t had her hanged.” The sanctimonious man smoothed his mustache before he added nervously, “I was within my legal rights—“
Sean had no interest in the questionable legalities of Bridget’s situation. “Where is she?”
“Not so fast.” Jeffreys held up a hand, and then indicated a chair with a wave of his hand. “Sit and discuss the matter with me.”
Sit? While Bridget’s life hung in the balance? Was the man mad? “I want to see her.”
Jeffreys frowned. “You will, as soon as you and I come to terms.”
Terms? What lunacy had possessed the man? “There are no terms; she is a twelve year old child.”
Jeffreys shook his head. “She tried to push Jamie over a cliff.”
“What did he try to do to her?” The question had been a stumble in the dark, but Sean’s gut clenched when Jeffreys’s gaze skittered toward the biscuits arranged on the platter by his right side.
The man blustered, “He did nothing but rescue our property from her possession.”
Had Bridget stolen something? It didn’t seem in her nature. But perhaps he had been away so long he no longer knew her nature. “Your property?”
Jeffrey’s smoothed his fingers down the glossy tails of his mustache before answering. “It seems your sister has discovered an illuminated manuscript hidden within the castle walls.”
A book? Sean cared nothing for a book. But, he realized, Jeffreys did. And like his ancestors before him, he didn’t want a McCarthy laying claim to anything at Blarney Castle. So perhaps this was the concession Jeffreys wanted from him before he released Bridget. Sean tried to judge how important the book was to Jeffreys. “No doubt hidden during the time a McCarthy lived there.”
The man straightened in his chair with an alacrity that suggested he would have much rather launched himself at Sean for a good scuffle to settle the matter. “The castle is ours, and has been for two centuries. The manuscript is ours.”
“So you wish me to drop any claim to an old book, and in exchange you will not press these ridiculous charges against Bridget?” He was tempted to refuse. But he wanted to see Bridget first. He was uneasy that Jeffreys had refused his request to speak to his sister.
“You have no claim to anything upon the castle grounds—whereas several of my men saw your sister struggling with Jamie on the cliff and are eager to testify so.” There was a shadow in the other man’s eyes. Almost as if he did not relish the idea. Odd, considering how prickly he had been to Sean’s family since the king had granted them the title.
Sean’s father had said that the Jeffreys were simply afraid the king might take it upon himself to give back the castle. When Connor had said he should, Sean’s father had merely laughed. “What need have we of a ruined castle? Let us build new and be glad no Englishman will ever have his boot on our necks again.”
The money had been thin, though. Connor had spent almost all they’d had for the land and the gifts he’d used to curry favor with the king and convince him to reward Sean’s father with a title.
Despite the grand plans of his uncle, the abbey had yet to be made entirely comfortable, and some said it was not even truly habitable, though Sean thought of it as home.
Infuriated that his sister would be made vulnerable for Jeffreys’s greed for possessions, Sean stood. “Blast your greedy English heart—two hundred years on Irish soil hasn’t made you an Irishman, or you’d know that book belongs to me and mine.”
Before the man could protest, he added, “I will make no claim for the book if you release my sister to me immediately and we never speak of this again. Is it agreed?”
Jeffreys pressed his lips together, unhappy to be rushed. “I must have your solemn word.”
“Would you take it?” Sean asked with a snarl of displeasure.
Jeffreys hesitated only a moment before dipping his head in assent. “If you give me your word, I will hold you to it, rest assured.”
“I give you my sworn word, on my mother’s grave, if you need. Now release my sister.”
But Jeffreys’s was not yet satisfied. “It is agreed that, owing to my good will, and my son’s pleas on your sister’s behalf, that I will give you one more chance to rein in the girl. She is wild. Jamie could have died--and I assure you, if he had, there would be no saving her.”
Thank God, the man was not determined to see her dead. His heart eased, though his blood boiled as he said mildly, “Perhaps, given that the boy has turned thirteen and has grown bigger and stronger than Bridget, you might remind him not to wrestle a lady.”
Jeffreys’s color grew high. “My son was protecting himself from a madwoman, not a lady, I assure you. Perhaps if you were home more, rather than pursuing your useless course to win the favor of those in London, you would know that.”
The blow had struck too accurately, and Sean reined in his temper just barely. “Where is she?”
Jeffreys rose and rang for a servant. “I shall have h
er sent to your carriage.”
So. He was to be dismissed, was he? “I have no carriage, Jeffreys. I will wait no more than a minute for her. If you are playing some game…”
“I play no game. I will see she has a mount.”
“Do not bother, she can ride with me.” Sean turned his back and strode away before he gave in to the temptation to murder the man.
He had barely reached his horse when he saw two cloaked figures approaching, one of Jeffreys’ carriages following a slight distance behind them.
The taller figure pushed back her hood and he recognized the stolid features of one of Jeffreys’s maidservants. The other, he knew by the graceful movement, was his sister.
Glancing at the carriage, and the nervous driver, his blood boiled more furiously as he realized that Jeffreys had been prepared to have his maidservant flee with Bridget should Sean have tried to free her with violence. But he forced his emotions into tight rein. His father’s favorite proverb ran through his mind: “Is fear rith maith na drochsheasamh.” This was truly a bad stand, and his sister needed him to get her to safety. He had no time for anger as he examined her, searching for any signs that she had been afraid for her life—or that she had been harmed. He had not forgotten Jeffreys’s discomfort earlier.
Jeffreys’s voice carried in the crisp winter night. “As promised. Your sister, alive.” At a gesture from Jeffreys’s, the maid pulled at Bridget’s hood, revealing her face. Sean was shocked by her appearance. Bridget was neat and clean, virtually expressionless, and her hair hung smooth and plaited where normally there would be wild strands escaping and a wide smile or a tight frown on her face. She did not look at him, but followed the maidservant who led her to his side and then scurried back behind Jeffreys, eyes downcast.
Sean had not missed the momentary fear in the maidservant’s eyes as she glanced at him before turning away and dread curled in his belly as he asked, “Are you well, Bridget?”
Her green eyes focused steadily on his. “I am.” But there was no fire in her, none of the usual lilt to her words. Her voice was as unnaturally smooth and tame as her hair.
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