She frowned. “What is so odd about a father loving his daughter?”
“In those times a man didn’t take well to a girl child, and only after a son received his share of affection, did a daughter receive hers.”
“Then I am very pleased it was not that way for my family. My father doted on his daughters, and I enjoyed every minute he spent with me.” Thinking of her father made her heart yearn for home. “Please, go on with your story.”
“Grania bore a strong resemblance to Owen’s own beloved mother, black-eyed Maria from Spain, and I believe ’tis why he lavished his heart upon the lass. And he wasted no time taking her to sea with him. As soon as wee Grace was out of nappies, he stood her upon a crate before the ship’s wheel and urged her to steer the Dorcas while he stood behind her. He held his precious daughter steady with calloused hands, his eyes on the horizon.”
“From that time on did she sail the seas?”
He smiled, the dimple in his chin deepening. “Aye, lass, she did, in spite of her mother’s attempts to teach her womanly skills. She also ignored the proper way a lady should dress, and donned lad’s clothes; woolen breeches, linen shirt, and a short jacket, which she waterproofed with wax. Her long dark braid was tied up and covered with a cap.”
“My mother once did the same, dressed herself in boy’s breeches and shirt and stuffed her hair up into a hat.”
He frowned. “Why did she do this, lass?”
“To save my father, who had been captured by a white lawman, by the name of Ryan Duffy, and taken to a military fort to be hanged.”
Braiton’s frowned deepened. “What was his crime?”
The injustice of the way her people were treated caused her next words to crack with emotion. “He was an Indian, not as heroic as Crazy Horse, but brave just the same.”
“And who is Crazy Horse?”
“He was the Sioux leader in 1876 that joined with Sitting Bull to defeat General George Armstrong Custer and his army at a place called Little Big Horn. In the end, Crazy Horse was forced to surrender to the troops due to starvation and killed while trying to escape. But my people, because of the heroic way Crazy Horse defended the threatened people, have made him a symbol of leadership,” she said.
They rode on, neither of them speaking for several moments, then she broke the silence. “I would like for you to finish telling me about Grania.”
He nodded. “She cut off all her hair when she was but fourteen so she could sail with her father to Spain. She earned the name, Granuaile, which in Gaelic means Grace of Gold. Further voyages took her to Scotland and Portugal, and she learned from her father how to be a skilled swordsman, wielding a blade with a deadly force to reckon with. She could best any man who crossed swords with her. Owen even taught the lass how to fight.”
“My father taught my mother the warrior’s fight, as well as all of us children.”
He chuckled. “Then I shall be careful not to anger you.”
“Did Grania ever marry, have children of her own?”
“Aye, my lady, she married and was widowed thrice. After giving birth to her fifth child, a son, while on a voyage overrun by the Turks, Grania rose from her birthing bed to fight with her men, saving her vessel.”
She gasped. “Did she quit the sailing after that?”
“Nay, my lady, the woman’s calling was the sea, ’twas on a ship she felt at home. Wild, free, unencumbered by conventional means, Grania O’Malley reigned for forty years as a sea pirate and gunrunner. ’Twas how she made her living. A clan leader and captain, she’s credited with commanding a fleet of galleys. At the height of her power, perhaps thirty men manned the oars and another fifty to one hundred warriors were armed for whatever new adventure lay ahead. She fought her foes, the English Saxons, who had a stronghold on her beloved Ireland, and became mother of the Irish Rebellion. For a year’s time she was even imprisoned in a Limerick gaol, by the Earl of Desmond. Then she was sent to a prison in Dublin to be hanged, but finally freed after a nearly a second year passed by Lord Justice William Druary.”
“Truly not a featherhead,” she commented.
He chuckled again. “Nay, that she wasn’t.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps my admiration for such a brave lass, as Grania O’Malley, is what’s made me irreverent toward women who have empty heads and shrinking spirits.” He searched her face. “You would have fought well beside her, my lady.”
She laughed sardonically. “I do not think I could lead one hundred warriors into battle.”
“I have a strong inkling you’d try your damnedest,” he said with confidence. “I would heed your judgment, fight under your command.”
Her eyes widened. “You would put your life in my hands?”
“Aye, without hesitation.” He arched a brow. “The only trouble I see encountering is keeping the other men at bay from wanting to taste your charms.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I have a strong inkling you would try your damnedest.”
He laughed. “Aye, that I would.”
Again they rode in silence, her taking in the lush scenery. The leaves adorning the clusters of trees had turned red and gold. She sighed. “I enjoy all seasons, but I love most the colors of spring.”
“Then come with me, and I’ll show you a place still aglow with the colors you crave.” He tugged on Grania’s reins and turned off the path.
She followed him with anticipation to the shores of the Shannon River.
“This is the most beautiful and finest river of the west; large in width and rimmed with lush dense forests,” he said as he led her to a small clearing where deep dark pink flowers grew.
“See, my lady,” he said, pointing to the spray of blooms. “There lie your colors of spring.”
He dismounted, helped her off Dayden, and together they made their way to the colony of flowers.
“They are beautiful, Braiton.” She bent down on one knee and felt a petal. “What are they called and how did you know they bloomed here?”
“They are the fuchsia flower, and as a lad, I’d come here often.” He looked out to sea. “After my mother died, ’twas the only place I found peace.”
She remembered his ship was named after his mother. The Sweet Maureen.
“Tell me about your sweet Maureen.”
He turned his gaze to meet hers. “Aye, she was sweet, my lady. And by no means was she a featherhead, though her illness left her frail and fragile.” He made his way to a tree and leaned against the aging trunk. “She never ventured far from her bed, so I’d climb in beside her to keep her company. She’d read aloud to me for hours, entertaining us both.” He smiled with his memories. “A witty woman, she was, and I admired her wisdom.”
She came to stand beside him. “Were your father and mother close?”
He shrugged. “That’s hard to say, since my father worked long hours. I suppose in their private time they had loving moments. I know he had an endearing name for her, called her his Lilly, because her flesh was so wane. Spidery veins peeked through her transparent skin, reminding me of little blue trails upon a map.”
She rested a hand on his arm. “You miss her, Braiton?”
“Aye, that I do, lass.” Again he gazed out across the river. “I remember well the day she died.” He sighed. “I was no more than ten, just beginning manhood. I wanted to explore, hunt, and ride with friends. Climbing beneath the quilt with your mother and listening to her read was for younger lads. So, my visits to her bedchamber weren’t as frequent.” His tone wavered. “The day she died I ran from her deathbed and into my father’s study. He kept there a rare and beautiful collection of porcelain pipes on a shelf behind his desk. I smashed the lot of them.”
She gasped. “Why did you do such a thing?”
He turned to lock his gaze with hers. “I wanted him to hurt me, beat me, humiliated me, and punish me.”
“But why, my shikaa?”
“Because I was guilty for not spending more time with my mother, and if he reddene
d my backside till it burned, justice would have been served.”
“Did your father beat you?”
“Nay, he did nothing, left me to my torment.” He glanced around the clearing. “And so I’d come here and in the privacy of this quiet place, I’d cry, ashamed of myself for abandoning my mother.”
“Oh, Braiton,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and placing an ear to his heart. “You did not abandon your mother.”
He stroked her hair. “What would you know about it, Raven?”
“I know if I had a son, I would be blessed for him to experience the excitement of growing up.” She raised her eyes to meet his misty, green orbs. “I would not deny him his right to live life to the fullest. My love for him would trust his love for me. Never would I feel he stayed away to hurt me.” She reached up and caressed the side of his face with the tip of a finger. “It is time you forgave yourself. Put the guilt to rest.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and bestowed a kiss upon her fingers. “You are but one perfect flower, my lady; rare and beautiful, like the fuchsia that grows to bloom in autumn—a ray of hope amongst the dismal sorrows of life, sprouting strong and determined.”
Her heart raced with his touch. “What do you think makes one flower so much more perfect than the others?”
Taking her by the hand, he led her to the patch of fuchsia, and looked down at the thriving blooms.
“’Tis the seed planted with love, from which one perfect flower grows.”
She smiled, placing a hand to rest upon her stomach and spreading her fingers over her belly. “And love always finds a way.”
He glanced over at her, returning a smile. “Aye, Raven, that it does.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The bouts of nausea subsided and the fatigue ebbed. With renewed energy Raven was able to accomplish all she must each day. What she was not able to do, was tell Braiton he was going to be a father. She made numerous attempts, only to cower in the end. And Molly’s constant badgering did not help her frame of mind.
She sighed and squared her shoulders. This would be the night. This had to be the night. Her growing belly would tell all soon, anyway. She found Braiton in his study, sitting in an overstuffed chair and puffing on a clay pipe. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to speak when her efforts were interrupted by a messenger delivering the news Shamus O’Neill was dead.
The elder man passed in his sleep two nights before. At his request a private service was held the next day in his memory, his wife and children the only attendants at the ceremony. He was buried in the family plot at the edge of the estate.
She had not known Lord O’Neill long, but treasured the time she did have with him during the week they spent at Glenview. She truly enjoyed reading aloud to him the sonnets he loved.
Braiton looked at the letter in his hand and sighed. “He was the last of my father’s cronies. He mentored me, took me under his wing at a time I needed the most help.”
“I am so sorry, my shikaa. He will be truly missed.”
“Aye, he will.” He looked up at her. “And Rory will be paying us a visit within a few days. He wants to discuss his father’s holdings and shares with my company.”
He chuckled sardonically. “He’s not wasting any time in assuming his place in the family affairs. Shamus is barely cold in his grave, and his son is ready to talk business.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “The last thing I need right now is a visit from Rory. With the warehouse scandal not yet solved, I’m in no frame of mind to go through Shamus’s accounts.”
He stood and made his way to the window, looking out at the quiet night. “Was there something you wished to speak to me about, my lady?”
She bit her bottom lip. “No, not a thing.”
****
The day Rory O’Neill arrived, Braiton was more out of sorts then he expected. And to top off his foul mood, Raven declined joining them for lunch. Not that he could blame her. The O’Neill siblings were anything but hospitable toward her. He had Molly take a tray up to her bedchamber and dined with Rory himself.
“Driving the poor lass mad, are you, Braiton,” Rory teased from his seat across the table.
He took a sip of his coffee and steered the conversation away from his wife. “I find it disrespectful of you, deciding to conduct business so soon after your father’s death.”
Rory raised a brow. “Are you insinuating I’m not grieving, because I choose to carry on with what needs to be done?”
He placed his cup on the table. “’Tis not an insinuation, but a bold faced fact.”
Rory sat back in his seat, a derisive grin curving his lips. “And you own the market on how to properly grieve?”
“I know what’s appropriate,” he snapped.
“And ’tis always important to look appropriate, isn’t that right?” Rory challenged.
“You miss my meaning entirely,” he said, locking his eyes with the other man. “For God’s sake, Rory, the man was your father.”
“What would you have me do, sit around in mourning clothes like the women and sniffle into a handkerchief?” Rory shot back. “Nay, I think not. I have a business to run now, and there’s not a better time than the present to get a feel for my new duties and responsibilities. My mother and sister are depending on me to make sure the household finances run as usual.”
He sipped his coffee. “After I get matters squared away with you, I will return to Glenview and act accordingly.”
Braiton felt disgust for the other man, right down to his toes. Standing, he straightened his waist coat. “Then let’s be off. Your father’s accounts will not take long to summarize. He was a man who thought ahead, was well organized. If you’re as wise a business man as he, you should have no problem continuing to run Glenview’s affairs.”
Anna stepped into the room to clear the table. “Should I plan on Mr. O’Neill joining you for dinner, m’lord?”
“Aye, there’s not much for us to do at the warehouse,” he said.
“I will not be returning to Shannonbrook, Anna,” Rory corrected. “So I’ll ask you to bid Lady Shannon farewell for me. Please let her know how much I regret not being able to enjoy her company on this visit.”
He frowned. “You would travel at night when there’s not a need?”
“Aye,” Rory said. “As a matter of fact, I prefer it. I like the dark peace of night waters.”
He made his way to the foyer. “Then, let’s be on our way.”
****
Raven fell asleep in the overstuffed chair in Braiton’s study, waiting for him to return. Anna said they would not be long, yet a glimpse at the mantle clock showed the hour to be way past six. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stood and made her way to the door. Kathleen Grady’s voice sounded from the foyer, nervous and shaking as she conversed with Brian.
“What is it, Kathleen,” she said, entering the large vestibule.
“Lady Raven,” Kathleen began, her large green eyes filled with concern. “Forgive me for this visit at such a late hour, but I fear for our husbands.”
She motioned for Kathleen to take a seat on the hallway davenport and sat beside her. “Why, Kathleen?”
“This afternoon Lord Shannon and another man came by the cottage for Kevin.”
She nodded. “The other man was Rory O’Neill. Braiton had business with him at the warehouse, and I am sure he needed Kevin along.”
“Aye, that’s where Lord Shannon said they’d be, but he also said he’d be needin’ Kevin for only an hour, and that was around one o’clock. He promised they’d both be home long before ’twas time to be eatin’ the evenin’ meal.” Kathleen gestured to the grandfather clock. “But as you can see, ’tis way past six now.”
Raven glanced over at Brian. “Has Lord Shannon sent a message home saying his plans were changed?”
“Nay, m’lady, if he had you would know.”
She frowned. “Yes, well, sometimes his messages get waylaid, especially if he trusts
Daniel Brodie with the delivery. The man has a good heart, but cannot pass a pub without stopping in.” She took Kathleen by the arm. “Come, we will be more comfortable talking in the drawing room.” She smiled. “I am sure my husband will be home soon. In the meantime, stay and wait with me.” She turned again to Brian. “Please bring us a pot of tea, Brian. Mrs. Grady looks chilled to the bone.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Brian agreed and hurried off to the kitchen.
She wrapped an arm around Kathleen’s shoulders. “Did you walk all the way from the village?”
“Nay, not all the way. I was able to catch a ride on a wagon with one of the tenants. It brought me as far as the gate,” Kathleen said.
The path from the gate to the mansion’s door was dark, winding, and lined by dense woods. She remembered her own attack while walking about her village at night and quivered inside. “That is a long, frightening walk, especially for a woman at this hour.”
Kathleen nodded in agreement. “I had no other choice, m’lady.”
After Brian brought them the tea and a plate of Anna’s pumpkin cookies, Raven dismissed him. “I am sorry my husband has been keeping yours out so late, Kathleen. He has been very worried over business troubles. I am sure the men are just discussing those problems and lost track of time.”
“I don’t think that’s happened, m’lady.”
“How would you know different, Kathleen?”
Kathleen frowned. “From me cottage I can see the warehouse. Kevin works in the room at the rear of the buildin’. I can see the window o’ his room from the porch. Around four o’clock, I emptied a dish pan o’ soapy water out back of me house, and I saw the light in Kevin’s office go out. I hurried back inside to finish dinner, knowin’ ’twould not be long before he’d be arrivin’ home. But he never came home.”
She bit her bottom lip. “And you are sure that was at four o’clock?”
“Aye, m’lady, I’m positive,” Kathleen said. “I waited an hour more before walkin’ over to the warehouse to see what was goin’ on. I tried the door and ’twas locked. There was no sign o’ anyone around.”
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