She had failed in that regard with Augustine. But why couldn't she find someone else? She never would meet a man her parents would approve of if she remained on a debt-ridden, decaying estate. Yet the beauty, the happiness she had felt there, the golden glowing days, the warm passionate nights. . .
Muireann shook her head then. It wasn't real. Lochlainn came and went like a demon lover from that Coleridge poem. She must look it up, she thought idly, as she wandered into the stable block to see how the weavers were getting on.
Everyone there smiled and greeted her cheerily, but she could see their pinched faces. It was her arrogance that had brought them to this. Surely there had to be someone who was willing to take all of this on, to save these people from certain destruction?
Muireann went back inside her office and wrote to Neil and then her father. In the letter to her brother-in-law she expressed her doubts as to her ability to keep going at Barnakilla any longer, and her intention to ask her father for help on the pretext that the potato failure had resulted in unforeseen financial difficulties for her. There was really no need to tell her father she had been lying to him all along.
She sealed the letter to her father in the one to Neil, and wrote to Anthony Lowry in Dublin, asking him to gather together all the papers regarding Barnakilla with a view to selling it to any interested parties who were willing to match her price.
She calculated that price by looking at how much she owed on the mortgage, how much the businesses would bring the new owner, and how much she would need to pay the workers on the estate a stipend to tide them over in case they were evicted. She then added up the rents, and added that to the figure.
Sealing the letter with a heavy heart, she stared at it as it lay on the blotter. She was almost tempted to tear it up, but decided in the end it would do no harm to post it just in case.
She went out and tethered Bran and Misty's foal to one of the carts, and loaded up several live pheasants, rabbits and piglets. She sold the animals in town, and bought what few staples she could find with the money. Despondently, she posted her letters, and was just getting back onto the box when she noticed a huge coach and four standing in front of the Horseshoe Inn.
She instantly recognized the Caldwell coat of arms. Augustine's cousin Christopher Caldwell must have at last returned from abroad.
Her guess proved correct, for the very next day the stately brougham drew up in front of the house, and a dissolute young blond gentleman, a trifle portly around the middle, with a rapidly receding hairline, came knocking on the front door.
Muireann, who just happened to be coming around the front of the house with a huge load of woolens to take into town, saw the man standing on the steps tapping his cane impatiently against one leg.
"Hello, can I help you?" she called over to him.
The young rake took in her appearance, especially her hair tied back in a kerchief, and her apron, and said, "Of course you may, my beauty. I've come to pay my respects to your mistress, compliments of the Christmas season and all that, but no one seems to be answering my knock."
He snaked one arm around Muireann's slender waist, and grinned lewdly.
"Would you be a good little girl and tell the mistress of the house, Mrs. Caldwell, that her late husband's cousin, Christopher Caldwell, is here to see her?"
Muireann tried to step away from his amorous advances, but he continued to cling onto her like a limpet, until at last she stamped on his foot and declared, "Let me go, sir! And before you take another step towards me, I'd like to inform you that I'm Mrs. Caldwell. So before you even make an bigger fool of yourself than you already have, I suggest you keep your distance."
"Hah, hah, capital joke, young miss, but you couldn't possibly be," he sneered. "I mean, Mrs. Caldwell is one of the richest women in Scotland by all accounts. How dare you presume to adopt her identity! I have half a mind to whip you for your insolence, you young hussy," he said more threateningly, lifting his cane.
Muireann dropped her woolens then, seeing red at the threat of violence. She was damned if she was going to let Augustine's brute of a cousin thrash her for telling the truth, or for rejecting his unwelcome attentions.
Unthinkingly she grabbed the stick, and broke it in two over her knee. She was grateful that all her outdoor work had toughened her up, and anger had made her even stronger. She then flung the pieces in his face and gathering her bundle, she marched to the cart, stating, "That's what I think of your violence, sir. Cousin of Augustine's or not, I want you to get off my land now, do you hear?"
Her fury was matched only by his own, as he shouted, "Look what you've done to my cane!"
He advanced on her menacingly, grabbing her by the shoulders and tearing her gown down the front as she struggled to get away.
Just then, a rifle shot rang out. The dirt three inches from Christopher's booted foot flew up into the air. Lochlainn slung the rifle over his shoulder and cocked his pistol. "I'll give you one second to unhand the lady before I shoot. And this time I'll kill you, Christopher," Lochlainn declared coldly.
Muireann shook Christopher's hand off her and ran over to where Lochlainn was standing.
"Are you all right?" he asked her softly.
"I'm fine. He thought I was a servant girl. He was pestering me, that's all."
Lochlainn laughed sourly. "Bad mistake, Christopher. This is Mrs. Caldwell, as I am sure she tried to tell you. Your charming manners with ladies seem to have slipped since we last saw you around these parts four years ago. To what do we owe the pleasure after all this time?" Lochlainn drawled, still keeping his gun trained on Christopher.
"Well, well, Lochlainn, old man. I would have thought after Tara pulled up stakes and left with her whole family that you wouldn't have wasted you time here any longer. But you always did have ideas above your station. Playing Mrs. Caldwell's protector now, are we? Looking after the beautiful young widow, eh?" he remarked suggestively.
Muireann looked from one man to the other and saw the unmistakable mutual hatred etched on their faces, glinting in their eyes.
"I think I've already told you, sir, that you're not welcome here. I'll thank you to leave now, before my manager shoots you for trespassing."
"Mrs. Caldwell, Muireann, if I may make so bold, surely you realize it was an honest mistake. I didn't mean to catch you in the middle of your cleaning or whatever other little chores you were doing in that peasant's garb. I honestly meant no offense. I merely wanted to meet you, to see if I could be of service, and invite you to tea." Christopher smiled like a predator about to devour his prey.
"Where's your wife, then?" Lochlainn asked suddenly.
Christopher smirked. "I never married, actually."
"You bastard!" Lochlainn hissed.
Muireann could see his finger tightening on the pistol trigger.
She hastily grabbed at the weapon, and shoved it high into the air, causing the bullet to wing a tree branch above Christopher's head.
"Now, now, Lochlainn, I'm not the bastard here, as you well know," Christopher mocked, before opening the door of his carriage and scrambling in before Lochlainn could get time to reload.
Once safely inside, he instructed his driver to move on quickly, and took off down the avenue, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind.
Lochlainn stood glaring at the carriage until long after it was out of sight, and then straightened. He began to march away, but Muireann pursued him. Clutching her torn gown to her bosom, she ran after him.
"That was Christopher Caldwell?" she asked, her astonishment evident in her tone.
"Yes, and the same as he ever was, more's the pity. You're lucky you weren't hurt. But you should have let me shoot him. His presence will only cause trouble for us. I can feel it in my bones. But at least you've had fair warning not to trust him. You've seen for yourself what he's really like."
"I could tell from the moment I glanced at him that he's a lecher, but what I would really like to know is what all that hostility b
etween you is about!"
Lochlainn tried to duck down an avenue of trees.
Muireann charged after him and spun him round to face her. "Stop running away from me, Lochlainn! I want the truth!"
"I don't want to discuss it with you or anyone else. It's private, can't you see that?" he hissed, trying to shake her off.
"Not when you try to shoot visitors to my estate, it isn't!" Muireann shouted back.
She tried to cling onto Lochlainn's arm, but he stormed off into the wood so quickly it seemed pointless to try to follow him in the growing darkness.
Muireann trailed into the kitchen thoughtfully. Seeing Sharon in there on her own, stirring some stew every so often while the other women were working digging up the onions and leeks in the kitchen garden, she mentioned Christopher Caldwell's visit.
Then she declared, "I don't want to pry, but Christopher Caldwell and Lochlainn seemed to hate each other. Can you tell me what resentment there is between them?"
Sharon looked at the door warily, and whispered, "I probably shouldn't tell, but you and Lochlainn seem to care about each other, so I think you deserve to know. Christopher lured away Tara, the girl Lochlainn was engaged to. One night they eloped, and soon after that her family moved away and were never heard from again. Lochlainn had been very close to them all. It was like losing his whole family when they all left."
"Christopher said he had never married Tara. He must have seduced the girl and then just abandoned her."
"Well, you'll forgive my saying so, but there wouldn't have been any seduction in the case. Tara set her cap at Lochlainn. When a better opportunity came along, she took it. Lochlainn was too blind to see that. She was the only person he ever trusted, and she wasn't worthy of that trust, though of course Lochlainn was so in love with her he thought she was perfect," Sharon said with a twinge of disgust.
Then she looked at Muireann with something akin to horror. "You just said Christopher was back. Are you all right? I mean, he didn't, er-"
"He did, but I fended him off," Muireann admitted.
"Did Lochlainn see? Because he would have been furious."
"He was angry, right enough, but I think it's just because of their old love rivalry," Muireann said with a sinking heart. Lochlainn is still in love with Tara, has always been. Where does that leave me?
"You're looking worried. Or perhaps doubtful. I'm telling you, Lochlainn does care for you. I've known him for years, and he's a good man."
Muireann sighed. "Once we were close, but recently…"
Sharon said firmly, "I think this potato blight business has taken its toll on you both. And Lochlainn is a proud man. With Christopher turning up here, looking prosperous and as arrogant as a peacock, it would have dredged up a lot of old memories."
"That's just it, though, Sharon. I feel like I simply don't know Lochlainn sometimes. He never talks much about himself or the past."
"Well, neither do you," Sharon surprised her by replying. "We none of us feel we know you, really know you, though we've worked with you side by side for nearly a year."
Muireann shuddered. Her hand began to tremble so violently that Sharon took it in her own.
"Whatever it is, Muireann, it can't be that bad."
Muireann stood up abruptly and put her hand on the latch of the door. "I don't want to think about it, don't you see?"
She fled from the kitchen and ran out to the weaving workshop, where she spun thread for the rest of the day without so much as five minutes' rest. She tried to calm herself, but all the same, Christopher Caldwell had reminded her of Augustine, and of her time in Dublin. She knew his kind. She had met them before. They used women for an hour or two of pleasure, no more.
When Christopher had grabbed her and torn her gown, she had detected the same streak of cruelty which she had discovered in Augustine. Why, why had he come here, now of all times, just when things were the worst they had ever been?
Muireann tried to take command of her breathing, to force herself to relax. She tried to view Christopher's arrival in a positive light. It was true that he was odious and lecherous, but perhaps he was the solution to her problems. As a cousin, he might want to help. Perhaps she should consider his offer of friendship for the sake of the estate? He might even be willing to buy it, and look after all the people there, so that she could go home.
Lochlainn had said she didn't belong there. Perhaps he was right? Of course, with the animosity between Lochlainn and Christopher, there would be no question of Lochlainn remaining at Barnakilla as estate manager. But that might be just the excuse she needed to get him to come to Fintry with her. She was sure if her father met Lochlainn, he couldn't fail to admire the man she had come to love beyond all else.
Muireann became completely carried away by this fantasy life she planned for herself and Lochlainn. But he never appeared in her room that night. It was the first time for as long as she could remember that they hadn't spent the night with each other.
Refusing to accept defeat, and willing to do anything to win the heart of the man she loved, Muireann worked long into the night in order to take some time off from her chores the next day, when she would make the opening gambit in her bid to save Barnakilla from utter ruin.
CHAPTER THIRTY
At about noon on the following day, a bright crisp Christmas Eve, Muireann dressed carefully in her best sable velvet gown and saddled her stallion Bran. She rode out to Christopher's estate to the south of her own property. She was charm itself as Christopher greeted her at the door with his crocodile smile.
"Please, I wanted to try to mend fences with you after yesterday." She forced herself to smile up at him as he led her into the foyer, a high-ceilinged affair with two graceful marble staircases curving upwards to the second floor.
"Delighted, my dear, delighted," he said with a leer, clutching at her arm possessively.
It took all of Muireann's strength of character to prevent herself from jerking her hand away from Christopher as he practically drooled all over it. She hesitantly accompanied him into the drawing room, which was highly ornate, and covered from floor to ceiling with nude paintings.
Muireann trembled inwardly. She had seen "art" like this before. There had been plenty of it in the house in Dublin.
Muireann tried to keep her tone neutral as she avoided looking at the loathsome paintings by mentioning all that had happened to her since Augustine had died. She praised all the workers highly, making them seem like a genuine asset, which to her mind, they were.
His blue eyes seemed to stab into her very soul, trying to lay bare her secrets. Finally, when he still said nothing, merely kept staring at her, she remarked, "But I suppose I'm boring you with all this talk of my little enterprises."
"No, on the contrary, I'm very interested in the estate," he said with a gleam in his eye which Muireann misunderstood completely. "All that you've been telling me is most interesting. I know your estate manager would be unwilling to do it, but do you suppose you could give me a tour of Barnakilla right now, to show me how much splendid work you've done?"
"Well, yes, of course." She smiled, delighted with how easy it all seemed to be. Even if the paperwork took some time to go through, she and Lochlainn could still go back to Fintry together soon if Christopher were willing to commit himself this afternoon to buying the estate.
Muireann remounted her horse, and showed him every corner of the property, explaining all of the timber and agricultural schemes, and giving him facts and figures to make the whole estate seem even more impressive and prosperous, with nary a mention of the potato failure.
After all, she wasn't going to sell for just any old price. She wanted to get the best deal possible for herself and the tenants at Barnakilla. She could even redo the rent books, set the tenants' rents lower, she thought kindly. It was a bit dishonest, but if it helped the people of Barnakilla to a better life, who was to know except herself and Lochlainn? It was the least she could do in return for all their loyalty.
After a suitable length of time had elapsed, she said to him conversationally, "So, are you interested in buying the estate?"
"Buying it?" Christopher spluttered, choking until he turned purple. "Not at all! I wouldn't be in a position to buy it! I'm mortgaged up to the hilt myself! But I think a little merger might be in order, Muireann. You've done wonders with the place. It's been difficult, I know, with the potato crop failing and everything, but you've built this place up into quite an attractive little enterprise. One I would be more than happy to reap the benefits of."
She stared, feeling a sudden creep of unease. "What sort of merger?"
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