A Very Romantic Christmas

by Lorraine Bartlett

  Kate was determined not to speak, but somehow a question made its way past her lips. “Is he here?”

  Niall threw her a pitying look. “Waiting for you, my lady. Waiting for you.” He addressed Sarah sympathetically, “You, my girl, had best get yourself to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for your mistress. I suspect she’ll soon need it very badly.”

  Sarah eyed the great hall with disapproving eyes. “Looks as though I’ll need to scrub the pot as well as make the tea,” she said before she scurried away in the direction Niall pointed out to her.

  The hall was dank and dark and Kate stopped for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust. The musty carpet, its pattern obscured by layers of dirt and mud, came clear in her vision as she glanced toward the floor and blinked to assure herself that she was, indeed, inside the abbey at last.

  She saw his boots first and her heart seized with an emotion she could not name, though it paralyzed her breath and sent sharp pain through her chest.

  All her instincts cried out to turn and run away. Away from the inhospitable abbey. Away from the man who had married her and abandoned her without a single qualm.

  She looked up to meet his eyes. “Happy Christmas, my lord. I have come to see which of us you meant to be the donkey.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  She had come. And she had sharpened her tongue for battle. Did she truly not know he meant himself to be the donkey? Or did she merely want to hear him say it aloud.

  Sean stifled a sigh. To give her the edge now would be his undoing for more than this small skirmish, he had no doubt of it. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. He had business tonight and he wanted no strangers about to interfere.

  She stood proudly to face him, the hood of her cloak dropped back to reveal the determined tilt of her chin. He wanted to push her back out the door and into the carriage that had brought her here. Wanted to pay the driver to carry her away as fast as the devil riders were said to go in the dark winter night.

  But there was no place he could safely send her until tomorrow. He watched her standing there, waiting for him to make his move as patiently as she had when they played chess together in London. He had forgotten how beautiful he found her. How small and delicate and fierce she was. She filled the great hall with her presence, slight as she was.

  Niall said, “Well Sean, have you no kiss for your wife, after she has come so far just to speak with you?”

  He glared at his cousin. “Leave us, Niall.”

  Niall didn’t look pleased, but he bowed and left the hall.

  Kate did not glance at the departing man. She had, in fact, not taken her eyes from Sean’s face since she had first looked up at him. Sharp eyes, that saw more than he wanted her to, even in this dim light. Should he postpone his business? No. He would just have to see she had no desire to wander. Which shouldn’t pose that much of a problem.

  He returned her even gaze, not hurrying to speak. After all, what did one say to an unwelcome wife who had landed on the doorstep at the worst time possible? She had changed little in appearance. Perhaps there was a sharpness to her jaw line and a tighter press to her lips?

  The trusting look was gone from her eyes, of course, but that was only to be expected. He’d seen the shadow of question that always lingered there during their courtship. Now it was no shadow, but a solid accusation. She had said nothing more after her initial volley, but her posture, her glare, all spoke loudly, asking him why he had professed to love her? Why had he lied? Perhaps he should have been honest with her from the first? Impossible.

  She gazed around her, at the ruined state of the abbey’s great hall, for a moment before turning her attention back to him. When he didn’t speak, she did. “Please don’t tell me you would turn away even a wretched stranger during the Christmas season? Your candles suggested otherwise. But perhaps I am mistaken? I have been so before, lamentably.”

  “You are welcome for the night, of course.” He bowed stiffly, unused to the courtly gestures of the city any longer.

  Restlessly, she took a half-step toward him. “Have you nothing else to say?”

  He paused a moment, as if contemplating the question. “I can think of nothing pressing.”

  Her anger gave resonance to her voice. “Well, I can, and I expect you to do me the courtesy of listening.” Though her eyes were fixed on his, he did not think she saw him. Or perhaps he seemed like a ghost risen from a grave to her, the way her eyes were wide and her cheeks were drained of color.

  “My ears are yours.” But that was all of him she could have--and that not for long.

  Just then, as she opened her mouth—to berate him or plead with him he could not tell, the door opened again and Bridget entered the hallway, laughing. Her maid followed a few steps behind, breathless and apologetic. “I’m sorry, my lord, the time got away from us…”

  The women stopped, staring at the tableau in the hallway in confusion. Sean stifled the impulse to pick up his sister and bundle her out of the door. The damage was well enough done now.

  He cast about for a way to halt the disaster that loomed on the horizon. He had not informed Bridget that his wife was coming to the abbey. He had hoped they’d never meet. He preferred to keep his sister safe among those who would love and protect her—and understand her nature. And now the two women stared at each other with frank curiosity. He could think of nothing worse than for the two of them to spend a moment longer together.

  His stomach dropped when Bridget stared at Kate with that penetrating, faraway gaze she too often held. “You bring a whirlwind with you,” she said to Kate, whose puzzled half-smile of greeting froze on her face.

  After a moment, Kate said stiffly, “No, I’ve only brought one trunk.” Her confusion was plain, checked only by the strange situation she found herself in.

  Bridget glanced at him, and frowned. Damn. She sensed his desire to push Kate from the room and panic flared in her eyes. “Sean? What trouble does she bring?”

  He did not want to introduce her. Did not want to have to explain to Kate the oddities of his sister. They were none of her business and Bridget, like Sean, did not wish to be pitied by anyone.

  “I’ll explain later.” He waved his hand to indicate she should leave them and, miraculously, after a fleetingly mutinous expression, she allowed her nurse to lead her away.

  Kate’s eyes flickered away from the spot where Bridget had stood then, as if she had broken some spell and regained control of herself. Her expression suggested his sister’s laughter and odd comment about bringing a whirlwind had wounded her somehow.

  But he dismissed Bridget from his mind. Kate was here. And he must find a way to ensure she left first thing tomorrow morning. And that she never wished to, or would dare, return.

  What, he wondered, could he say that would convince her to go? He saw her dismay as she took in the surroundings. It was nothing like Anderlin, the home she’d grown up in. Even Bridget’s laughter had not warmed the stone-cool walls, bright as it was.

  No. The abbey was not like her home. Nor like any of the duke’s fine residences. Stone. Damp. Dark.

  Being Kate, of course she did not instantly turn on her heel and head back to home and safety, thanking the stars that he would soon not be her husband. No, that would have made matters much too simple for his Kate.

  Instead she stared at him, her lips parted as if she meant to speak but couldn’t find the words.

  He decided a show of indifferent strength was called for here, so that they didn’t lapse into useless sentiment. “Come to thank me personally, have you? Wish you’d given me just a bit more notice, I’d have had someone sweep the mouse droppings away.”

  “I thought you were here making improvements, my lord. Or perhaps I misunderstood?” She vibrated with the anger and tension that came only from facing down something unpleasant after hard travel. But he would not allow himself to sympathize. He had not asked her to come.

  “You should have seen the abbey five years ago, I have made m
any improvements.” That was a lie, he had not wanted to waste much on making the abbey a showplace when his tenants and countrymen were dying of starvation. He had invested in seed for the future, not curtains for the windows.

  “I would have, gladly, if you’d asked me.” She glanced around, allowing her contempt for her surroundings to show. “You prefer this to me, and London?”

  “Why, my lady? Do you think I waste my time here among the hungry and dying just because a king saw fit to grant my father a title? Perhaps I should approach the fine Squire Jeffreys and ask him to pay my passage to America, as he has done for so many of my countrymen who used to tend the land for him?”

  She faced down his anger with scorn. “It is not fleeing your country to represent your people in Parliament, Sean.”

  “Laws. Unfair laws that no Irish man can repeal with words alone.” He thought of what he had to do tonight and let his own anger show. “How many have to die before you English stop thinking it’s your God-given right to keep your boots on our necks?”

  She apparently had not expected him to be angry, for she took a step back at his words. One brow raised in challenge. “You English? You speak as if we sit around in parlors thinking up amusing new ways to torment your poor countrymen.”

  Had she forgotten he spent a year in London, listening to the condescending opinions of the Englishman upon the subject of the lazy Irish? “Don’t you?”

  She didn’t seem to know whether to attack or placate, so she answered weakly, “We have better things to do.”

  He pressed his advantage. “Ah. Knitting sweaters for the poor starving Irish babies to be buried in.” He wanted her angry and frightened and thoroughly disgusted with him. It was the best way to get her to leave quickly.

  She waved her hands in the air, as if she wished to erase the angry words. “Sean--if only--”

  “What? If only I worked harder? If only my people spent every day with their noses to grindstone, they’d get their reward when? In their early grave--in their flimsy coffins, made from wood your folk deign to leave in our forests in disdain?”

  “Your fields…”

  “My crops were promised to your avaricious countrymen--who were going to send them away from the starving people of this land, anyway.” That was a lie. He had not sent his crops to feed the people in England or America, filling his coffers while leaving the bellies of his people empty, as so many other absentee landlords had done. But the lie made his point for him and she would not be here to uncover the truth.

  She stared at him silently for a moment, and he saw the moment that she realized his argument was meant to distract her from the bigger question that lay between them. Her eyes flickered away from his face, but then returned in a steady gaze. “Why did you never come for me?”

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the naked pain in her expression. He couldn’t, however, dredge up his anger again, so he settled for changing his tactics mid-battle and softening his voice and attack. “I know I should have expected an affection might grow up between you and my cousin, considering my long absence. I only wanted to see you well looked after.”

  “You don’t believe that I would betray you—or that Niall would.” Her voice was flat, accepting of no argument.

  “No?” Are you not a beautiful woman?” He allowed his voice to soften as he spoke the truth. “Is your heart immune to love when I have so shamefully neglected it?”

  “Your cousin was a friend—nothing more. You must believe me.”

  “’Tis a tale as old as time. But I do not hold it against you. You are a hot blooded woman. Maeve would have been proud.”

  “I have never been unfaithful to you—though you’ve given me plenty of reasons with your abandonment. There is no reason for you to divorce me.”

  “Katie, I’m sorry to have been such a bad husband that I drove you into the arms of another man. But you must know I cannot let such an insult go.”

  “I have not—“ But she cut off her protest and said, instead, “Why did you not ask me, directly, if such a thing was true?”

  Not being an idiot, he knew the trap that lay in answering that simple question. Simple question, but no simple answer. “This is between Niall and me—you must not get in between us.”

  She sighed, as if she had heard the argument before. “Don’t be absurd. It is about me, though the law doesn’t see it that way.”

  He supposed the duke had explained the matter thoroughly to her, so he said only, “My legal quarrel is with Niall. You have no part in this. I understand that you were lonely and vulnerable without me. It was Niall who should be horsewhipped.”

  “You think me vulnerable to Niall because…” She trailed off, speechless. And then, sharply, she chastised him. “You are a fool, Sean McCarthy. The king was wise to name you Lord of Blarney. You argue with both sides of your tongue.”

  Aware that time was slipping away and he must complete his deeds tonight under cover of darkness, he decided to press his advantage now. “And you, my love, argue in the dulcet tones of a fishwife. No doubt because you are exhausted from your travels.” She must know that he was no longer on her family’s lands, but on his own. And that he would not be treated like an errant house servant. “I will show you to your room.”

  “I have come all this way…” she protested.

  “And you are undoubtedly tired.” He took her elbow, pretending that it was surprise that made her flinch, not distaste. “Come, we’ll get nowhere stabbing at each other this way. Tomorrow you will be more rested and perhaps your sweeter nature will have re-emerged.”

  She refused to move. “We have to talk.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back and propelled her forward. “We will talk in the morning.”

  “Sean--” She was not willing to buy the goods he intended to sell her. But for tonight, he had run out of time to try to persuade her.

  “Katie, it is all my fault. I must beg your pardon for my foolishness. No man should leave a beautiful woman alone with any man who has a pulse, no matter how much he trusts him. Forgive me for my part in this situation. But do not ask me to swallow my pride and allow myself to be cuckolded. I cannot do it.”

  She said nothing, although her look was not forgiving in the least.

  “You will be comfortable here.” He stood at the door to the room he had decided would be hers. The smallest, and least comfortable. It was mean of him, but he did not want her to mistake his hospitality for anything but necessity. He wanted her gone tomorrow. A night in this room should see it done.

  “My trunk…” She looked as if she were afraid it might disappear if she did not carry it up herself.

  “I will have it brought up shortly.” He had not yet taken his hand from the small of her back. The contact was more pleasant than was wise right now, and yet he did not want to give up the pleasure of the intimate gesture. “No doubt your maid should be up soon with a small meal. Nothing fancy, you understand. Tea. Some bread and perhaps a wedge of cheese if one can be found.”

  As if she knew the small pleasure he took from the touch of his hand to her back, she pulled away and crossed her arms tightly. “I am not hungry.”

  He did not believe her stubborn declaration, but he had no time to argue. “As you wish.” If she missed a meal, she would not be the worse for it. No, it took more than one missed meal to starve a body. He should know that well enough by now.

  “I hope you know I have no intention of leaving before we discuss this matter.”

  “As you can see, the abbey is no place for a discussion, especially one which will be unproductive for us both.”

  She squared her shoulders and he realized that the five years he had hoped would soften her will had prepared her to fight this battle full out. “I do not sail back for a month, so do not hope you can delay so long that I will be forced to return with matters unresolved between us.” She glanced at the room and set her jaw mulishly, no doubt to prevent the complaints that she wished to utter.<
br />
  Stubborn woman. But he had no more time for her tonight. “Goodnight Kate. Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight, Sean. I’m certain I will.”

  Her words were sheer bravado. He admired them, but he did not want her braving a step outside her room tonight. “My heart warms to know you are comfortable here in my home. By the way, if you hear any moaning or groaning just ignore it.”

  “Moaning?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Moaning.” He spoke with cheerful reassurance, trusting that his words would have the opposite effect. “Not too loud, I assure you. Lady Dilys was as refined in life as she is in death.”

  “Lady Dilys?”

  “A visitor to the abbey centuries ago.” He nodded. “She died in childbirth in this very room, with her first child. Legend has it that she enjoyed being a gracious hostess and continued the practice even after death.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re just trying to frighten me. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or leprechauns either.”

  He held a finger to his lips. “Hush, Lady Dilys might hear you and take offense. She is said to have a very tender disposition when she is insulted.”

  Her temper flared again and the door shut on her sharp, “Indeed.” Through the solid oak, he heard her continue on in muffled tones. “Then she and I have something in common. I warn you Sean McCarthy, I have not had any…congress…with your cousin.”

  “That is not what I have heard, my lady. But the matter is between my cousin and I, as you well know.”

  The door thumped in its frame. “It is not true.” The door thumped again. “And I am willing to prove it.”

  A ghost. Trust him to try to convince her there was a ghost in this room. He was no doubt trying to scare her away. Did he not know her at all? Had he ever?

  Kate tried to bolt the door when he left, but her hasp was rusted and bent so that it was impossible. This place was fit only for ghosts, who needed no corporeal comforts or securities. And ethereally beautiful young women who made a habit of dashing about outside, at night.