by Erin O'Quinn
“Mo theaglach,” I said. My family. I remembered Owen’s simple words to his family a few nights ago, and I hoped my words told them how I felt. I hoped Liam would see that family was more important than petty jealousy.
They turned their heads to me at once, even Murdoch. “We are now a Christian household. Would one of you utter the Lord’s Prayer? Then we shall eat.”
Murdoch bowed his head and began, his words differing a bit from the ones Brother Galen had taught us.
“Dear Father, who dwells in heaven, we hallow thy name. Thy kingdom shall come, thy will shall be done, even here as it is in heaven. Give us today our humble bread. O Father, forgive our debts, even as we forgive those indebted to us. Lead us not into temptation. Deliver us from evil. To thee is all the power, all the glory, the eternal kingdom, forever. Amen.”
In the quiet moments following his words, I stood, giving thanks also for my new, strong family and for the growing child whom I would soon begin to feel stir inside me. And then I spoke. “Amen. Each man, bring your own trencher and bowl. And someone bring mine, too.”
We ate rather quickly, enjoying the flaky fish and the just-tender vegetables. A convivial silence prevailed for a while.
I sat on the bench with Liam, and I laid my hand on his thigh just above his knee. I leaned close to him, and he lowered his head a bit to hear me. “Tá tú álainn,” I said, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin. He knew I was complimenting both his good looks and his good behavior.
“Murdoch,” I said. “I have an idea to try on you.”
“Speak, O cousin,” he said into his bowl.
“I own a marvelous Welsh mountain pony. His hooves are well adapted to mountainous and rocky terrain. I know he would not be daunted by the beautiful yet treacherous beaches and shoreline of Inishowen. What do you think of trading steeds, just while you search for the Isle of Captives? It would probably shorten your search by days, even weeks.”
He laid his spoon on the table and made a great show of wiping his mouth, all the while considering my words. “How much bulk can he carry, Cate? I am not a small man.”
I was surprised at his answer, for I had not given thought to such an obvious consideration. “Why, I know not. Why do we not test it? In the morning, you and Torin can stop here on your way to the enclaves, and we will try your weight against his tolerance.”
“Very well,” he said, and he picked up his eating knife, once again making a great show of eating and not looking directly at me.
I was not through. I had been giving much thought to Murdoch’s struggle with me, and I thought I might have an ingenious answer. I had diverted Torin’s unspoken attentions last year by introducing him to the fetching Swallow Feather. Now I might be able to do the same with Murdoch. But I had to be careful lest Torin catch on and spoil everything by alerting his cousin.
“Ah, speaking of tomorrow…Have you had a chance yet to see your grandmother?”
In spite of his resolve, he looked directly at me for the first time, startled by my words. “I have not.”
“As long as we will all be riding together in the morning, I could take you by the house where she is staying.” …And being cared for by a certain gorgeous woman named Persimmon, I added to myself.
This time, he could see no reason to stall without seeming indifferent to his dear grandmother. “Tá go maith,” he said. “I have missed the seanmháthair. Let us do that, Cate.”
I could see that Torin had not caught on to my devious plan, for he was talking to Liam about something or other and had missed the conversation completely, or he had been bored by its humdrum nature.
After clearing the table, I settled at Liam’s feet, my pretty léine billowing all around me. This one, another gift from Brigid, was almost as pale yellow as Mama’s silken toga. The sleeves were ingenious—layers of lace, each subtly different in color tone, and all a shade of green. Brigid always tried to match my eyes with the clothing she gave me, all designed and fashioned by a master in Londinium, faraway Britannia.
I hoped that my choice of seating, the glowing oak floor at his feet, would send a signal to all three men that here next to Liam was the center of the teach, the center of my world.
I reached out and stroked his calf. “Sing us a pretty song,” I urged him. “And may the company join in.”
He reached his hand down and lifted one of my truant curls, tucking it behind my ear. “Very well, Cat,” he said with a smile. He reached into his belt and drew out his mouth organ. Looking directly at Murdoch, he said, “Ye start, cousin…while I play.”
I wondered whether Liam meant to show up his cousin, for Liam’s tenor was as sweet as though an angel had descended to earth. Ah, jealousy takes many forms.
Liam began, cradling the little comblike instrument with one hand while the other flapped and curved like a rousing bird. The melody was sweet, yet playful, and I did not recognize it. Then Murdoch began to sing.
Take me again to Belfast
fair bally on the Lagan
where first I lay
upon a day
with sweet Colleen O’Hagan.
I was not the only one astonished. Torin’s mouth hung agape, and even Liam’s playing faltered a moment as we listened to a robust, rich baritone that reverberated against the walls of our little home and set our toes to tapping.
Liam joined his cousin on the second verse.
O take me to the river
and lay me down a while
so I can bring
the birds to sing
of Colleen’s pretty smile.
From that song on, Liam and Murdoch joined voices, and all four of us stayed flushed and delighted for well over an hour. At last I stood, a clear signal to my company. Torin jumped to his feet. “Tomorrow comes early, O cousin. Let us try to find my teach in the dark.”
Liam gravely presented Torin with his sword. Both kinsmen stood and grasped Liam’s hand, then his arm, in a clear sign of comradeship. I was pleased, and I held my hand out to each one in turn. Torin took my hand properly and gave a small ironic bow. Murdoch, watching closely, did the same. There! Was that so hard, gentlemen? I smiled and showed them to the door.
“Be here one half hour after sunup,” I told them, and I shut the door.
When I turned around Liam was already so close his breath stirred my hair. “Ye wench,” he said. “Ye are a tease.”
I was honestly dumbfounded. “I—do not understand.”
“I think all me kinfolk be in love with ye—Ryan, Michael, Muiredach, Torin, Fergus. Even Uncail Eóghan.”
“If that be true, Liam—and mind you, I think you are addled—then ’tis none of my doing. We have talked about this before. Please do not make me angry.”
He pushed up to me, pinning me to the door, tipping my chin toward his mouth. “It fires me, Cat. It sets a flame to me banger. Come to the bed with me.”
I tried to twist away from his strong arms. “Not if I see you jealous. That is the one emotion I will not tolerate from you—or anyone. For it means you trust me not.”
He held me fast, his eyes glittering and boring into mine. “I trust ye. I know ye love me. But those rowdy men—I trust them not.”
“Not even your own brother?”
“Not even.”
I struggled harder to break his hold. “You told me once you would never smother me, Liam. You would never try to grasp the fragile butterfly. What happened? Do you want to lose me now that our love is stronger than ever? Now that our child is coming?”
He let me go suddenly, and he hung his head. “Cat. Me emotions are strong. Me heart…bursting. I cannot lose ye.”
“Yes, you can. You can lose me by trusting me not.”
“Why must ye ride with Muiredach tomorrow, Cat?”
“If you had given me a chance to speak, I would have told you. I want Murdoch to meet the beautiful Persimmon. The woman who is taking care of the seanmháthair. I told you he is in love with the idea of love—not with me. Let
him begin to love the idea of fair Persimmon, one who may return his feelings.”
“Ah, Cat, I am sorry.” He astonished me by falling to his knees, lowering his head, and crying softly for all the world as though someone dear to him had expired in his arms.
I sank down in front of him and put my hands on his great shoulders. “Liam. Love. Look at me.”
When he raised his eyes, I saw that the tears, instead of abating, were flowing even more. I could not believe the depth of his emotion. “Do not worry, Liam. Our love will keep growing, I promise you. Just–just trust me. That is all I ask. And, if you please, love your family as they love you. None of them would hurt you by touching me.”
“Fergus,” he said.
“Your cousin Fergus is sick, Liam, we both know that. The monster inside him is large, and Father Patrick is trying to destroy it like a dragon of old. Do not pull poor Fergus out of thin air to make a weak point. I accept it not.”
“Tá go maith, a ghrá. I know ye…hurt by me.”
“Not hurt, Liam. Not yet. But I am disappointed. I lost a man once who would not trust me, and I promised myself I would never let that happen again.”
“I am not like this—this grá chaill, the one ye lost.”
I put my arms around him as we both knelt on the polished floor. I never thought I would be the one to comfort an overgrown warrior, and now I was saying, “Shush, shush, love,” and stroking the silken hair of my husband as he wept onto my tunic.
“Come, Liam,” I said in his ear. “Carry me to the bed.”
He picked me up easily and walked to the bed. He laid me down gently, and then he walked around blowing out all the candles except the long one on our bedside table. I raised my arms, and he removed my pretty léine, leaving me in my lace-and-silk undertunic.
“Let me see…bruises,” he said, referring to his rough love play this afternoon. I rolled over and lifted my tunic, and he licked, then scattered healing powder over the places on my bum where he had seized me too hard. I rolled back over and smoothed the silk down over my thighs.
“Do you know why I sat at your feet tonight?” I asked him, reaching my hand out to stroke his soft beard.
He caught my hand in both of his, and he allowed a small smile to start. “I do not.”
“It was a signal, Liam. Perhaps too subtle. Now I want you to caress my own feet. Sit back.”
He looked at me with smoldering eyes, wondering no doubt if he had heard me right. “Your…toes, a Cháit?”
“Yes. Toes and ankles and legs. Kiss them. I would see how it feels.”
He sat with his back against the wall, and I put my feet in his lap. I knew my tunic had ridden up somewhat, and he eyed my exposed groin as he took my left foot in his hands and began to stroke softly. The caress became stronger, and his hands worked the muscles of my foot until I moaned just a bit. Putting it down, he did the same to my right foot, and I found myself feeling strangely aroused. I lay back, my eyes closed, waiting for the sensation of his mouth on my toes. When it came, I gasped in surprise. It was intensely stimulating, just as when he took my fingers into his mouth.
Slowly, one by one, he sucked each of my toes and licked my feet. By the time he had finished one, I was moaning softly and urging him on. “Oh, do it, love. Suck me. Suck me. Yes, I love it.” His mouth went from my feet to my ankles, then my calves. At last his tongue found the inside of my thighs. By the time he reached the area between my legs, I was moving and moaning, ready for his exploring mouth and fingers to put me over the edge.
“Tell me, Cat, tell me.”
“I want it, I love it, Liam. Suck it, make me come.” And then my whole world became the slick heat of his tongue and his moving lips. My bum rose and fell, rose and fell while he noisily sucked. And then I was coming, crying out and grasping his hair. I heard his own soft moans, and that prolonged my joy until I could not bear the intensity any longer. I turned, pushing my groin into the surface of our bed, my shoulders shaking with the release.
He stroked my shoulders, then my hair. “Cat, Cat. I think ye love everything.”
I turned around, amused at his words yet knowing he was right. “When you touch me, my body sings. I cannot hide it.”
“No, never hide it, Cat. I love ye for it. I love that ye love me.”
I put my arms around his large chest and buried my head in the nest of his underarm. “Sing to me again, love. My very own lullaby.”
Locked in me arms, rocked in me arms,
lovely woman, hide not your charms.
O long a day, O long a day,
take me love, take me love,
take me away.
I did not know if the song ended there, but those were the last words I heard as I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 9:
Beautiful
I awoke still in the hollow of Liam’s shoulder. He had fallen asleep sitting up, his back against the curving wall, holding me as though I were a restive child. Not wanting to wake him, I slipped out from his circling arm and rolled quietly out of bed. At the fire pit I stirred the dying, blackened wood into small flames and then fed more kindling into the pit. Lighting a small branch, I walked around to light a few candles to see by in the predawn darkness.
I walked barefoot to the river with my earthenware jug, following a well-worn footpath cleared of rocks just beginning to spread with soft green shamrocks. Standing on my accustomed low spot on the bank, I drew off my shift and tossed it onto the nearby rocks.
Slowly, I entered the calling river. I dared not go farther than a foot or so into the water with no light to see by, for one slip into the wanton currents might mean injury to myself or my child. I stooped and filled the jug. Then with one practiced motion I spilled it over my head so that it could run down my face and then my shoulders and stomach, off my legs and back into the river.
The shock of the cold wakened my drowsing mind, and I began to think about last evening’s confrontation with Liam. I had awakened with the old familiar feeling of guilt and remorse. What had possessed me to invite both Torin and Murdoch to our house when I knew that both men harbored veiled feelings for me? How could I blame Liam for feeling jealous? And yet I had been angry with him, I had accused him of trying to fragment our strong marriage with his petulant distrust.
I looked into the canopy of stars overhead. “O Father Patrick,” I whispered. “Will the Lord forgive me?” The eternal stars nodded and blinked, and yet I felt no comfort in the reply.
Shivering, I rubbed more water onto my body but still did not feel cleansed. Just as I started to wade to the bank, I saw Liam’s sure approach and stood rock still, waiting for him to draw close. His warm body enveloped me, and I felt a rush of comfort and love. Straining to put my face next to his, I put my mouth close to his ear to be heard over the roar of the Foyle.
“A chuisle mo chroí…I promise to be a better wife to you.”
“Cat, ye’re perfect. Ye cannot be better. Ye cannot help…be beautiful.” His mouth left my ear and found my cheek, and he began to nuzzle and kiss my face with small, tender bites.
I stood there with my arms around him, thrilling to the tenderness of this large, gruff man. I bowed my head. “I promise, I promise,” I whispered into the skin of his chest.
He gathered my hands together and spoke, forcing me to lift my face from his chest to his eyes. I could just see them in the breaking light. “I promise to be better. Is tú mo ghrá, a Cháit, an’ I trust ye, too.”
“Then let us both promise to be better to each other.”
“Will ye promise…not be so beautiful?”
I laughed softly and kissed him, putting my mouth over his and nuzzling, biting his sensuous lips. “If beauty is what you see, then I am joyed. That is what I see when I look at you.”
We held each other for a long time, his body still warm, mine shaking with the cold of the spray crashing off the rocks. At last I bent and filled the jug. “Are you ready?”
“I am n
ot. Do not do it, devil woman. I cannot—”
I dashed it onto his chest, and he gasped with the shock of it.
I rubbed the water into his chest, then ran my hands down his long thighs, delighted at the way the water streamed off his body. I did it again and again, until the cold water was a stimulant instead of a shock. We laughed and rubbed each other’s bodies, cleansing each other of any clinging regrets.
“I will see you inside, Liam. ’Tis time for me to get ready.”
Inside I pulled on my triús and a short leather tunic and then stood making a fast breakfast of birds’ eggs and pan bread. I wondered again at his insistence that I was beautiful. Never, in all the years I was growing up, did anyone ever tell me I was even pretty—except for Mama, of course, who told me daily that I was her beautiful princess. I had always thought that my uncontrollable hair and short stature were unsightly, and I had even spent a few years during my young womanhood trying to hide my breasts under stiff, ugly tunics. “Like this one I am wearing,” I admitted wryly, looking down at my hidden, flattened chest.
But the notion of being somehow “beautiful” was new to me, and I thought of it as almost a reflex from my devoted husband. Murdoch had told me once that I was “compelling,” but I thought he meant something quite different. And yet somehow, before I was married, I had attracted the affections of several young men without wanting to—and without knowing what to do with their attention.
I knew that Liam had been attracted by my eyes, for even I could admit that they were unusual and expressive, just like Grandfather’s, and they told all my heart, always. And Liam had told his cousin Michael how he loved my mouth from the very beginning, for he could imagine what it could do to his ready body. That was a long time before I had the slightest idea what his words even meant, before I finally learned, with his help, the meaning of “storm maker.”
Thinking about those early days with Liam filled my heart—and surely my eyes—with love and longing, so that when he embraced me from behind at the fire pit, I turned and looked at him and knew that he would see my forthright need and love for him.