A Woman's Heart

by JoAnn Ross

  “Now I tell you that there was a fair and handsome daughter named Una, who attracted the love of a man named Thomas Costello, who went by the nickname Tumaus Loidher, which is Irish for Strong Thomas. There was, in Ireland at the time, no man with the strength of Thomas Costello. Indeed, he was so strong that when he was only a lad, about seventeen years or so, a bully—a man who’d already killed a great many people—came to the town of Sligo and challenged the entire county to put forth a man to wrestle with him.

  “Well, as it so happens, Thomas had come to the town with his father’s brother and they watched as the bully hurled man after man to the ground. In those days, you see, the unfortunate city would be forced to support the champion.

  “Against his uncle’s wishes, Thomas volunteered to wrestle, but his uncle refused again and again until finally he grew weary of the young man’s beseeching and gave him permission to fight.

  “There was a gasp from the people gathered, because they feared that such a young man would surely be killed. Young girls and women wept, and it’s said that even Thomas’s own uncle had tears on his face.

  “But Thomas knew he was stronger than the people thought. Indeed, the muscles in his arms were as firm and hard as iron, so when the match began, he grabbed the bully before the man could get hold of him and squeezed. Now everyone, especially Thomas, was puzzled when the champion didn’t fight back. But then, when Thomas released him, the man fell back, stone-cold dead, don’t you know, his back broken. And that was the first of many heroic feats Thomas Costello performed.

  “But that is neither here nor there—there are so many stories about the grand deeds Tumaus Loidher performed that if I were to begin relating them, I’d never cease—and I must be getting on with my story before Nora complains that I’ve gotten sidetracked again.”

  “I wasn’t going to say a thing,” Nora insisted.

  “And aren’t you a fine polite girl.”

  Quinn watched as Brady beamed at Nora, causing her to smile back.

  “As I was saying, Thomas, who was much beloved by the people, fell in love with the fair Una MacDermott and she with him. But Thomas was not a rich man, and the MacDermotts were a family of property, don’t you know, and MacDermott had already chosen a wealthy man for his daughter to wed.

  “And then of course, there was that other dilemma I must tell you, which I forgot to tell you before, that the Costellos and MacDermotts had taken opposing sides during the Cromwellian upheavals, like Irish Capulets and Montagues, you see, and there was no way MacDermott was going to allow his family to be linked with the one who’d lost out in the Cromwellian settlement.

  “Una was heartbroken and when she fell ill of lovesickness, her father finally allowed Thomas to visit her, but when MacDermott continued to withhold his consent to a marriage, Thomas grew angry and rode away, swearing never to return if he was not recalled before crossing the Donogue River to his own home.

  “He tarried for a long time in the water, hopefully awaiting a messenger from his fair Una, but finally, after being taunted by a servant for surrendering his pride to a woman, he drove his horse up onto the bank. He was scarcely on dry ground when a messenger did, indeed, come from Una, entreating him to come back to her.

  “But Thomas was known throughout the land as a man of his word, don’t you see, and he’d given his vow not to return once he’d crossed the river.”

  “Pride goeth before a fall,” Quinn murmured.

  “Aye. You’ve spoken the sad truth. And Thomas was a fearsome prideful man.” Brady gave a regretful shake of his head. “To pursue the story further, ’twas after this regretful day that grief and melancholy settled hard on poor Una. She died of a broken heart and was buried on Trinity Island in Lough Key.

  “Thomas swam his horse to that very same island every night to lament their tragically lost love, and during those lonely nights, he composed the passionate tormented poem he called Una Bhan, or Fair Una, as it’s also known by some. And then, his own heavy heart broken, as well, he died and, as he had requested, was buried beside the darling love of his life.

  “And it was soon after that an ash tree magically grew out of Una’s grave. And another out of the grave where Thomas Costello had been laid to rest, and they inclined toward each other like lovers, and kept growing until the branches entwined like a bower over the two sweethearts who were finally together at last.

  “And if you go to Lough Key today, you’ll see poor MacDermott’s castle still standing amidst the tangled thickets of briers, wrapped in ivy and creepers, looking for all the world like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, awaiting young Tumaus Loidher to return and bring it back to life again.”

  “Great story,” Quinn murmured, lifting his glass in a salute. A man who’d written tales of banshees, ghost stallions and lake serpents could appreciate the story of an ill-fated romance and a castle awaiting rebirth. “A tragic tale of man’s flaws of pride and prejudice.”

  “Aye, I’ve always thought so, as well. But you’d be overlooking the most important part. The part about two lovers reunited after death.” There was something in his voice, something deep and profound that made Quinn wonder if the older man could be thinking of his own lost love.

  “You’re not only a splendid storyteller yourself, Quinn Gallagher,” Brady suddenly declared, his mood lightening once again. “You’re a good and generous fellow, getting me talking so as to help ease the pain I’ve been suffering all day.”

  “I enjoy hearing tales. And yours was a good one.”

  “It’s a fine tale, sure enough. But that doesn’t take away from the truth that you’re an equally fine man.”

  He’d been called many things. But good and generous had never been words used to describe him. Uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation had taken, Quinn declared the evening at an end by calling for the check.

  In a quirk of bad timing, The Chieftains were appearing in Derry’s concert hall, and members of the group had booked all the suites in the hotel. The other top hotels were booked as well, but fortunately Brenda had proven her usual efficient self, managing to reserve adjoining rooms for Quinn and Nora, and one for Brady on the floor below.

  Remembering what Laura had said about the gossip concerning his relationship with Nora Fitzpatrick, he decided that Brenda booking Nora’s father on a different floor had not been a coincidence.

  When they retired to their respective rooms, Quinn found the comforter turned down, a piece of minty chocolate on the pillow and the radio tuned to some local station that specialized in “easy listening.” The work of the unseen maid was, Quinn thought, the first familiar thing he’d experienced since stepping off the plane at Shannon.

  He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white dress shirt, kicked off his shoes and was eyeing his door between the room and Nora’s. Feeling like a nervous groom awaiting his bride, he was trying to decide whether he should knock or just take the bull by the goddamn horns and go in when the door suddenly opened and Nora stood there, still in the somber heather gray dress she’d worn to dinner.

  Tension whipped through him like a whirlwind. He didn’t speak. Amazingly he couldn’t. On some distant level Quinn found it ironic that, after having wanted Nora since that first drunken moment he’d stepped out of the back of Sergeant O’Neill’s patrol car and seen her standing in front of the house, backlit by the yellow porch light and looking like an ancient Celtic goddess, he now couldn’t move to take what she’d come to offer him.

  As if possessing the ability to read his mind, she smiled. Faintly. Softly. And he felt the iceberg encasing his heart crack a little more, as it seemed to do whenever she was near.

  “Da made you uncomfortable tonight.” Her throaty voice proved devastatingly potent. “When he called you a good and generous man.”

  She’d come to know him well. Too well. “Your father has an overactive imagination.”

  “Aye.” She closed the door behind her. And did not look back. “He d
oes, indeed. But like all seanachies, he’s a student of human nature.” She crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Why is it that a simple statement of truth should make you turn the color of ashes?”

  “Now it’s you with the wild imagination.” His hand felt abnormally heavy as he lifted it to stroke her hair. The fiery waves felt like silk beneath his palm. He knew her skin was even softer.

  “Oh, I’ve always been the practical one in the family. Ask anyone.” She went up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “You are a good man, Quinn Gallagher. No matter what you say.”

  The touch of her mouth caused a painful thrumming in his loins. He’d wanted her, all right. But now that he was on the verge of having her, Quinn realized that wanting was too simple for what he was feeling. Music drifted from the bedside radio, soft and dreamy.

  “I just realized that as pleasant as dinner was,” he said, “we missed an important part of our evening.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’d intended romance.” He touched her hair again and looked down at her while she looked back up at him, both paused on the brink of something that had seemed inevitable from the beginning.

  Her eyes were wide and innocent, and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was yet untouched, as if waiting for him.

  “I want to dance with you, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Why, that sounds lovely, Mr. Gallagher.”

  He took her easily into his arms, his fingers spanning her waist, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as they swayed to the romantic ballad.

  His body was hard against hers, his breath a soft breeze against her temple. It surprised Nora that despite the difference in their heights, they seemed to fit well together. The tenseness that had gripped her body and heart since the argument with her father, the anxiety that had had her nerves screeching when she’d dared to open that door between their rooms slid away as she surrendered to the romance of the music, of this one stolen night. Sighing her pleasure, she lifted her arms and linked her fingers together behind his neck. Her eyes drifted closed.

  Her soft curves were pressed against him in a way that made him ache. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in the scents of the same white soap and herbal shampoo he used in the shower every morning. There was also another faint fragrance that reminded him of Irish druids dancing in fairy rings. In the rain.

  “You’ve changed your scent.”

  “Aye.” Her eyelids fluttered open ever so slightly and in them he saw unmistakable desire. “I bought a bottle of ridiculously dear perfume at Monohan’s.” Her smile was one of contradictions, managing to be both shy and vixen-alluring at the same time. “I was hoping to seduce you.” Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, playing with the dark hair that nearly brushed his collar.

  “If that was your plan, you’re succeeding admirably. And you definitely could have pulled if off without the new perfume.” He touched his mouth to her temple. “But I like it, just the same.”

  “I’m pleased. Since I bought the body lotion and powder, as well. It took such a long time to spread it on this evening, I was afraid I’d be late to dinner. Although I wash my skin every morning in the shower, I never realized how much I have.”

  The idea of Nora wearing nothing but perfume and powder licked at his desire, causing it to flame higher. He drew back a little. “You know I want you.”

  “Aye. That’s what you’ve been saying. From the first.”

  “The thing is…” Hell, her body was practically melting against his and the fingers stroking his neck were driving him to distraction. He stopped moving to the music and captured both her hands. “The thing is, you’re an intelligent woman…”

  “What a lovely thing to say. And although it’s a fine compliment, I think I’d rather, just for tonight, that you tell me how beautiful I am.” Her hands were shackled in his, but that didn’t stop her from pressing her smiling lips to his throat. “And how much you want to go to bed with me.”

  “Oh, Christ.” The words, and the groan, were ripped from somewhere deep inside him. “My point is…and I do have one,” he managed to say on a gasp as her tongue dampened his hot flesh, “is that a decent intelligent woman like you shouldn’t be here like this. You deserve a man who can give you what you need.”

  “And if I need you?”

  The softly spoken words were part question, part request. Never had Quinn had more difficulty drawing air in and out of his lungs.

  “Dammit, Nora, you should take off running.” Her lips felt like a brand, making this the hardest thing he’d ever done. “While you still can.”

  “Oh, Quinn.” She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with a host of complex emotions. “Don’t you see?” She skimmed her mouth over his jaw, until it was a mere whisper away from his grimly set lips. “It’s too late for running.”

  The touch of her soft succulent mouth against his was like a spark against dry tinder. “Too late,” Quinn agreed roughly as he hauled her against him. “For either of us.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Towards the Mist

  Quinn released her hands, but only to grab her hips, lifting her against him, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, greedy lips to lips as he half carried, half dragged her to the bed.

  Sweep the widow Fitzpatrick off her feet, he heard Laura’s voice echoing through his heated mind.

  And wasn’t he doing exactly that?

  Unable to remember when he’d felt so free, Quinn laughed as they landed on the double mattress in a tangle of arms and legs. Her hair wound around them, wrapping him in fragrance. He kissed her, a long deep wet kiss that made him quake from within.

  “God, you’re sweet.” His hands dived into the silk strands of her hair and pulled her mouth back to his. “And potent. I’ve never been with a woman who can make me as drunk with a single taste as you can.”

  “And I’ve never been with a man who made me feel like the type of woman who could make a man drunk.” She dragged her mouth away and lifted her head. “It’s a fearful feeling.”

  “Ah, sweetheart.” One hand smoothed its way down the back of her dress in a reassuring gesture while the other delved beneath the gray skirt. When he realized she wasn’t wearing the expected panty hose, but stockings that ended with a border of lace high on her porcelain-smooth bare thigh, Quinn felt his blood begin to boil.

  The feel of his hand on her skin made her stiffen ever so slightly. “It’s okay,” he crooned. “You don’t have to be afraid.” His palm edged higher. “I’d never hurt you.”

  He knew that was a lie even as he said the words. For he would hurt her. He could only hope that someday years from now, when she was happily married to some easygoing Irish farmer who adored her and the children they would undoubtedly have together, Nora would forgive him for tonight.

  “It’s not you I’m fearful of, but me. Of how you make me feel.” He felt her soft sigh against his mouth, felt her body relax as he continued his caressing touch up her leg. “And you’ve had so many women…”

  “None like you.” Easy words, designed to trip off the tongue as they had in so many similar situations. But never had Quinn meant them more than he did at this moment.

  “I’m afraid of disappointing you.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He laughed at that as he rolled them over on their sides. A rough lust-edged sound that was half groan. “Honey, I’ve already told you—if there’s one thing you can’t do it’s disappoint me.”

  “I’m not very experienced.”

  “Don’t worry. I am.” In contrast to the sexy lace at the top of her stockings, her panties were white cotton. The type, Quinn thought, as he slipped a finger beneath the elastic leg band, a former would-be nun might wear. But hearing her soft moan as he stroked her intimately, knowingly, he reminded himself that she’d left the convent a very long time ago.

  “You’ll see, Nora,” he murmured as he continued stoking the fire between her legs. “You’ll be perfect.”
Her eyes were huge as they looked up into his. But in them he read absolute trust. “We’ll be perfect together.”

  Nora had never known her skin could be so sensitive. Never known desire could be so sweet and so strong at the same time.

  “Quinn—” His mouth drank from hers, swallowing what she’d already forgotten she’d been intending to say. “I need…” Her voice was weak. Slurred. “I need…”

  “I know.” And to prove he did, indeed, understand her ragged plea, he used his thumb on the vulnerable nub hidden in her slick folds.

  It was as if he’d reached into the sky, pulled down a sparkling white-hot star and touched it against her ultrasensitive flesh. Nora gasped, then trembled as release shimmered through her.

  “Oh,” she said on a sigh, as the brilliant sensation ebbed, “that was lovely.”

  “Lovely is good.” He planted a trail of lingering kisses down her throat. “For starters.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. Not again.” Once was an event in itself. Something to celebrate when she could think again.

  “Wanna bet?”

  His grin was rife with masculine satisfaction as he began to unzip her dress. He wanted to rip it off her, but because he was determined to savor, not just for her, but for himself, Quinn forced his touch to remain slow and gentle as he lowered the zipper tooth by metal tooth.

  Not surprisingly, given what he’d guessed about her up-bringing, she’d turned absolutely passive. After he’d peeled the somber wool away, she lay on her back again and closed her eyes, offering herself up like some early-Christian martyr.

  At any other time such lack of participation from a woman would have irked him. Tonight, because it was Nora, it made Quinn smile. It also made him all that more determined to prove to her exactly how satisfying sex with the right partner could be.

  Her bra was cotton, as well, and took only an instant to unfasten. He tossed it aside, where it fluttered onto a nearby chair like a white dove.