Call Home the Heart

by Shannon Farrell

  The warm baths, hot food and late hour made them both sleepy. They pushed the table away from the fire so they could huddle up closer to the hearth, and sat back sipping their coffee, which Muireann admitted was her one weakness. They contentedly gazed into the crackling flames, their knees just touching.

  Lochlainn stared at Muireann's lovely face in repose from under hooded lids, and then remarked, "I must say, you've coped with all of this amazingly well."

  "I haven't had much choice, have I?" she replied with a shrug.

  "Yes, you have, my dear. You could have gone back to Scotland today, washed your hands of Barnakilla completely. Perhaps tomorrow you might wish you had."

  "You've coped well too, Lochlainn. I mean, all of this must have been very hard for you."

  "It has been, but I have to be strong. My sister is counting on me, you know. Well, they all are, really."

  "And now they're counting on me," she said sadly. "I only hope I'll be up to the challenge."

  "I am sure you will be, Muireann. I feel it in my bones."

  Muireann rose and stretched. "The only thing I feel in my bones is a perpetual ache after that rattling carriage ride. If you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed."

  She called down the corridor for hot water bottles and a warming pan, and tidied the supper tray while the servants looked after the bed and took the used dishes away. Muireann busied herself laying out her warmest under things and stockings. She put the food parcel near her bag and hung her sable woolen dress on the peg for the morning.

  When they were alone again, Lochlainn gathered up some cushions and took the spare blanket off the bed.

  She stared. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm getting myself comfortable in this chair for the night."

  Muireann took the blanket out of his hand and threw it back on the bed with a flourish.

  "Now I've told you, Lochlainn, we share everything, and that includes the bed."

  Lochlainn blushed a furious red. "Muireann, you don't know what you're saying!"

  "Oh, for Heaven's sake, I'm not going to have you freeze to death in this chair or on the floor. The bed is so big you won't even notice me in it. And if it will make you feel better, we can run a line of hot water bottles down the center to shield your virtue," she said with a small smile.

  Lochlainn blushed again, but laughed in spite of himself. "Really, you're the oddest girl I've ever met!"

  "I thought we said we would be honest with each other. I'm tired of pretense, of worrying about what is and isn't the proper thing to do. I'm twenty-one, a married woman, who has lived on a farm all her life. I have no illusions about what happens between a man and a woman. I also happen to know it usually has to be mutual. I trust you, Lochlainn, so just stop arguing. I'm tired and cold, and we have to be up early in the morning."

  "Why?" Lochlainn asked, raising his eyebrows.

  "Because I've booked us two seats on the earlier coach, so we'll have to breakfast and be out of here by seven."

  Lochlainn rubbed his eyes wearily. "May I ask why? Look at you, Muireann, you must be done in, poor thing," he said in a too tender tone as he stroked one riotous ebony curl back from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

  "Because we need to get to work at Barnakilla. There's no sense in remaining here in Virginia all day, then getting to Enniskillen late, and probably having to stay there overnight because we can't get a lift out to Barnakilla."

  "You do seem to think of everything, little miss," he said, suddenly stooping to kiss her on the cheek before he could stop himself.

  "I do try, Lochlainn, I really do."

  "You succeed, clever girl. Right, we'll share the bed, then, but I'm sticking the pillow in between us, and this blanket, to protect your virtue."

  "Alice would say I was a hoyden who had none," Muireann giggled.

  "Why?" Lochlainn asked, astonished.

  "She liked Augustine, but she loathed my other suitors. She accused me of trying to make up for my ugliness by encouraging men to pay me unsuitable attentions."

  Lochlainn frowned, suddenly feeling unaccountably jealous. "And what unsuitable attentions might those have been?" he asked sharply, his eyes glittering.

  Muireann shrugged. "Oh, dancing, riding horses, hunting, talking."

  Lochlainn visibly relaxed. "I can't see that there's anything wrong with any of those things. My sister does the same all the time, and her virtue is without question."

  "I'm glad to hear it. It's nice to know I'm not abnormal after all. You're a good person to talk to. Very, well, understanding. Sympathetic. Alice doesn't talk, she issues orders," Muireann said, lifting her nose in the air in imitation of her sister.

  Lochlainn laughed as he unfastened the top of his shirt and then rolled the blanket into the center of the bed. "I knew someone like that once myself. But I think I'm beginning to see why Fintry isn't as attractive as I imagined. Though you are. Certainly not ugly." He reddened and turned his full attention to the blanket.

  "Very kind, I'm sure. I suppose it's a question of how strict one's family is," Muireann explained as she unbuttoned her robe. "Believe it or not, being wealthy does have its disadvantages, though I don't expect any sympathy. It's like . . ." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts.

  "Like what, Muireann?"

  "Like being asked to perform the same role in a play day in and day out," she said as she got into bed. "I don't want to play that part any more. I just want to be myself. I accepted the marriage part because I met a man who made me feel like I was someone important when he courted me. I thought I was the most precious object in the world to him. But it was all an act, wasn't it?"

  Lochlainn swallowed past the lump in his throat, and it took all of his self-control not reach out to kiss and comfort her. "I'm sure you were precious to him, Muireann. It couldn't have been an act."

  "Nay, Lochlainn." Muireann shook her head bitterly, spreading her black tresses across the pillow in an ebony cloud. "Barnakilla was and always will be more important, wouldn't you say?"

  "Muireann, I don't think--"

  "Let's go to sleep, shall we?" Muireann said as she pulled the covers up to her chin and turned her back on him.

  Lochlainn paused just long enough to turn down the oil lamps, then got into the bed and at last closed his eyes. But he was haunted by images of Muireann laughing, weeping, in despair. He was also acutely aware of her presence only inches away from him, her soft warmth, the delicate sound of her breathing. All he had to do was reach out one hand and….

  For a seemingly endless time, he lay aching for her, and despite his weariness, sleep eluded him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It grew bitterly cold during the long winter's night. As the blazing fire in their hearth gradually died down, both Muireann and Lochlainn instinctively moved towards one another in the bed, seeking each other's comforting warmth.

  By the time they awakened groggily in response to the maid tapping on the door at six to give them time to get ready for the seven o'clock coach, the dividing blanket between them had been pulled over their bodies. Lochlainn opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side, with Muireann on her back tucked tightly against him.

  Again, her face in repose was an arresting sight. Her lips were curved in a small smile. Lochlainn could never remember having seen Tara in the cold light of morning. They had always met furtively, briefly, in the outbuildings or in the woods during the summer months.

  Tara had said it was all part of the excitement of being in love. Lochlainn, now in his mid-thirties, wondered as he soaked up Muireann's warmth, if there were more important things than the thrill of sensuality. There was tenderness, affection too, things he had never known since his mother had died many years before, when he had been only two and his sister a newborn.

  "Mmm, I smell coffee," Muireann practically purred. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him.

  His head lowered then, and he kissed her on the lips, forcing himself to be gentle as hi
s emotions nearly spiraled out of control. He recalled her pain the morning before when he had touched her midriff, so he simply stroked her face and hair.

  Muireann's lips parted with a sigh, deepening the sweet kiss into someting much more compelling as he raised one hand to hold her chin tenderly and explored her mouth with a leisurly thoroughness which thrilled them both to the core.

  At last Lochlainn lifted his lips, knowing he couldn't hide his throbbing desire for her forever. But she seemed untroubled by the kiss, stroking her hand down the long column of his neck with her eyes closed.

  "God, it's cold," she murmured, seeking his warmth again as he tried to pull his lower body away from hers before he shocked her. "I wish we could stay here a bit longer."

  "We can have another five minutes," he suggested, as Muireann sleepily rolled over onto her side, putting her back to him. She stretched, her full length pressing up against his front.

  His hand moved down under the covers to hold her gently around the waist. He warned himself to be careful, to just enjoy the moment, for he would never get another like it again. A moment later, she turned her head to look at Lochlainn sleepily.

  "How long will it take us to get to Enniskillen?"

  "We should be there by tea time if we have clear roads, but then we'll have to hope for a lift out to Barnakilla," he whispered against her silken soft hair, now a mass of curls which he tousled with his hands, savoring the soft feel of her all over.

  Like a rose without thorns. The thought came to him suddenly, and he found the simile apt.

  Muireann nodded, and stroked the hand around her as she turned her head back onto the pillow. She reflected somewhere in the back of her drowsy mind how wonderful Lochlainn felt in the bed beside her. How they just seemed to fit together.

  She had had the strangest sensation when she had first met him on the docks in Dun Laoghaire, and their hands had touched in greeting. She had trembled then as though the ground under her were shaking. Strangely, she had felt almost as if she had come home, though of course she had never before set foot in Ireland. It was as though they belonged together for all time…

  "I hope we get a lift out to the house as soon as we arrive," she murmured. "It'll be good to be home."

  Lochlainn looked down at her, wondering if she were asleep, so little sense did her statement make. She had never been to Barnakilla. Nor could she possibly imagine a run-down and bankrupt estate as home.

  Also, her response to his kiss and his presence in the bed also began to worry him. Was she a complete wanton, or had she somehow lost her wits? Or worse still, had she somehow confused him with Augustine in her mind?

  Lochlainn's unease grew as she rolled over onto her back again, and his arm came into intimate contact with her breasts. Struggling for control, he knew he had to test her.

  "Muireann, are you awake?" he asked a trifle too loudly, moving away from her a short distance in the bed.

  Muireann opened her eyes and glanced up at him with some irritation. "Of course I am, Lochlainn. You said five more minutes." She wondered why his tone seemed so sharp.

  "But I suppose you're right," she sighed, as she planted a peck on his cheek and swung her long legs over the edge and onto the floor. "We have to go, and breakfast will be here soon."

  She padded across the room to the screen. In a few minutes she emerged fully dressed. Gathering up her discarded hairpins, which she placed between her ruby lips, she hastily brushed her cloud of raven hair and tugged it forcefully into a short, severe roll at the nape of her neck, jabbing her hairpins into it as though attacking an enemy.

  Lochlainn watched her from the bed, and noted that the whole procedure took less than a minute.

  She went to the door and fetched the can of hot water, and for a minute splashing sounds could be heard. She emptied the basin into the slop bucket, and went over to the door to fetch the breakfast tray, which the maid had just placed outside.

  Muireann turned to Lochlainn and said, "Right, lazybones, your turn. I'll lay out the breakfast while you shave."

  There was porridge, toast, bacon, eggs and sausages. Again Muireann made sandwiches out of the meat and bread they didn't eat, and wrapped them in another clean cloth. She then packed her things, placing the food parcels in her large purse, which she laid next to her cloak and the traveling rugs.

  All this time Lochlainn had been watching her warily whenever he had the opportunity, popping his head above the screen to keep an eye on her every movement. As he finished shaving, he remarked to himself that if Muireann were indeed mad, she was certainly the most practical insane person he had ever come across.

  Muireann could see he was in one of his odd moods again. She had grown quite used to his frosty demeanor, and was bold enough to observe softly, "You're awfully quiet this morning, Lochlainn. A penny for them?"

  "They're not even worth that, my dear." He smiled as he fastened his shirt and waistcoat.

  He fussed with his stock for several moments as she watched him, a puzzled frown marring her lovely face.

  At last Muireann reached up and brushed his fingers aside, and offered, "Here, let me." She tied it expertly with her small nimble fingers, explaining, "Papa used to have trouble all the time too."

  Lochlainn couldn't resist her nearness as her amethyst eyes shone up at him. He kissed her on the lips fleetingly, before releasing her to put on his jacket. Odd she might be, he commented to himself, but really, she was the most charming woman.

  But there was little time for further reflection on Muireann's behavior. Not when the coach was about to leave. Lochlainn gathered up his things while Muireann checked the room to make sure they had left nothing behind.

  Then she paid the hotel bill while Lochlainn loaded their bags on top of the waiting coach. She stepped out into the bright crisp morning air. Lochlainn stared at her as a ray of sunshine lit her up in the hotel entrance. She was a most arresting sight, he thought as his heart turned over. Every man in the quiet street turned to look at the illuminated figure, standing above the throng like an angel from on high.

  Muireann, completely unconscious of the effect she was having on Lochlainn, hopped up into the carriage, where she made a small nest for them with the traveling rugs. She assumed there would be other passengers, but due to the early hour and the poor weather conditions over the past few days, they ended up with the whole carriage to themselves.

  Lochlainn wondered if he should sit across from Muireann rather than next to her, but it seemed ridiculously formal. After all, they had shared a bed, and it was certainly very cold. So he sat next to her, with both of them tucked securely under the rugs. Lochlainn passed the time by regaling Muireann with tales of his experiences in Australia. He also asked her about her life in Fintry.

  The information that she gave Lochlainn about the things she had been accustomed to doing back home made him feel terribly inadequate. Not for the first time he wondered what her reaction would be when she arrived at Barnakilla. Would she hate him for having been so economical with the truth?

  He wanted to warn her, and debated doing so in his mind whenever there was a lull in their conversation. But it was just so good to talk to someone about the things that mattered to him, the things he was interested in, as if he were someone important in her life.

  Even their silences were comfortable, for example while Muireann gazed out the window admiring the view, or when they ate their sandwiches side by side, washing them down with some milk they were able to purchase at a small farmhouse when they made a brief rest stop to change horses.

  Whenever Muireann laughed, she sparkled like a rare jewel. Not for the first time, Lochlainn compared her to Tara, who had remained cool, aloof, and had seldom smiled, let alone laughed. She had been incredibly alluring, but in a frustrating sort of way.

  Muireann was also enticing, Lochlainn had to admit. It was amazing to him that she was full of joie de vivre even after all that had happened to her. Or was she simply trying to block out all she
had endured, pretend it had never happened?

  "You're doing it again, Lochlainn," Muireann remarked at one point as they neared Enniskillen.

  "What's that?" Lochlainn asked, puzzled, his steel-gray eyes glancing down at her lingeringly.

  "Going off into that grim dark little world of yours, where I can't reach you."

  Lochlainn stared at her for a brief moment before looking away. He told himself he simply couldn't kiss her again, though every fiber of his being yearned for her.