Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02

by Emerald Enchantment

  Constance laughed a bit too loudly. “My dear, why don’t you refuse Howard? But we both know that is impossible. I need my money and you must save your children.” Her eyes clouded. “I’m very sorry about Paul. If he hadn’t escorted me to Quebec he’d still be alive. He loved you, you know.”

  “I know,” Allison simply said and looked at the never ending expanse of sea.

  Allison arrived home on a cold December day. Her heart tightened with emotion as the carriage turned the drive and Fairfax Manor came into view. Howard hadn’t felt the need to accompany her but had gone ahead to Ballysheen Hall, so certain was he of her resolve to spare the lives of her children.

  But Allison was determined to make Howard pay for Paul’s death. She knew no English authority would imprison him merely on her say so. Howard had many connections in Dublin and would simply deny everything he had done, so she’d get no help from the authorities. But she knew Quint would revenge his son, and before Quint killed Howard, she’d have the delight of watching him beg for his wretched life.

  When the carriage stopped, she jumped out and flung open the front door, running into the vestibule. Servants gasped in astonishment.

  “Where’s Mr. Quint?” she called, not stopping for an answer. She ran into the parlor, the dining room, the library. All empty. Just as she neared the kitchen Beth nearly bumped into her, with a tray in hand.

  “Allison, how wonderful to see you!” Beth put down the tray and hugged her. Huge tears gathered in Beth’s cinnamon-hued eyes. “I’m so pleased you’re back. Now things will return to normal. Where is my brother?”

  At times Allison forgot that Beth was Paul’s half-sister, and now a knot formed in her stomach and her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Paul … is dead.”

  Beth’s face went white. Her lower lip trembled, and she didn’t bother to conceal her sobs. Allison gathered her in her arms. “I shall miss him so.”

  Allison pulled away. “I must find your father and avenge his death. Howard Granger killed him in cold blood and now forces me into marriage to claim Fairfax Manor. The only person who can help me, who can help Paul rest in peace, is his father.”

  “Oh God!” wailed Beth in abject misery. “My father can’t be helping anyone. Allison, he is dead—gone these three months. He was killed by my mother’s hatred of him and Dera. It was my mother who started the fires, then called in the authorities when he refused to leave Dera and make her his wife. The king’s men swarmed over the estate like vultures, and … shot him down like an animal.”

  “No!” Allison moaned. Quint couldn’t be dead, too. He was her last hope, the hope of her children. But then her thoughts strayed to Dera. “Where is my motherin-law?”

  Beth regained her composure and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Upstairs. I was taking this tray to her. She wants only me to wait upon her, because I remind her of my father. And because I just gave birth to a son whom I named Quint.”

  “I’m happy for you and Patrick.” Her tone was sad though her eyes showed gladness at Beth’s news. “Beth, where is your mother?”

  Beth’s face hardened. “Dead. She didn’t lie about ailing. The day we buried my father, her heart gave out. But don’t you be worrying about me or her. Worry over Dera. I fear the woman will not be pulling out of this. ‘Tis been three months and all she speaks of is Paul and Daniel … and my father.”

  “Has anyone heard from Daniel?”

  “Nay.”

  “I’ll visit Dera after I see my babies.”

  Allison and Beth slowly walked down the hallway to the vestibule then up the stairs. When Beth entered Dera’s room, Allison continued onto the nursery where she barely recognized her own children. They were now nearly nine months old, and so beautiful, loving and sweet. Kathleen had kept her dark hair and Allison realized she resembled Dera, while Douglas looked so much like Quint and Paul that she burst into tears. She held them against her breasts and sobbed. “I must marry him, my loves, or risk losing you. We’re all alone now.”

  After cuddling them a few minutes more, she sadly handed them over to the nurse and walked into Dera’s bedroom. The drapes were open and Dera stood before the window, her eyes on the winter meadow where patches of ocher glistened in the sunlight.

  “Dera.”

  The long flowing robe Dera wore was a deep shade of green, and Allison immediately saw that she was bone thin beneath the robe’s voluminous folds. Allison said her name again, but Dera didn’t turn around.

  “Winter is upon us,” Dera said. “The meadow is the color of his hair. Did you know that my Quint’s hair was once the same golden color of the winter meadow? Of course, he was younger then, but that is how I’ll always remember him.” She pointed a finger, the tip touching the glass pane. “Right there near the haystacks was where he first kissed me … where we first made love.” Her voice trembled. “I miss him so!”

  Allison went to her and held her until her sobs ceased.

  Dera looked at her, her eyes red-rimmed but filled with pride. “My Quint died fighting, died the only way he knew how. Those filthy soldiers thought they could kill him like a rabid dog, but they couldn’t. He gave them a mighty run before the end. He ran to the top of a hill, sword in hand, and I heard him exclaim in Gaelic, ‘My name is Flannery!’ That was the first time in years he had used his own name. Then they shot him. I ran to him and held him in my arms. He could barely speak but he told me he was soon to rest in Irish soil, so not to grieve. And that he loved me. But I do grieve and can’t stop crying. I miss him and love him. I knew this would happen if we came here, but I was helpless to stop him.” Dera clasped Allison’s hand. “Where is my son? Bring my Paul to me.”

  Allison shook uncontrollably. How could she tell Dera that Paul was dead?

  “Where is my son?” Dera asked again.

  The blue of Allison’s eyes met Dera’s violet ones. “Paul is dead.”

  “No,” Dera breathed. “I am his mother. I’d know such a thing. He will come home. He must come home.”

  Unable to speak about it, Allison was grateful Dera didn’t feel the need to ask questions.

  Dera once again faced the window and as Allison started to leave the room, she heard Dera’s voice.

  “Paul will come home.”

  42

  When Allison went to her room to change from her traveling clothes into a gown of black silk, she found a letter on her bureau. Breaking the seal, she realized from the free-flowing handwriting that it was from Daniel.

  Dearest Allison,

  When you informed me the other day that you intended to search for Paul, I thought you were indeed foolish. A part of me still feels that way because you’re really too good for him, but Paul is my brother, and I love him dearly. I love you, also, and wish for your happiness. If that includes Paul, then so be it. I wish you success with your search. He does love you; I know that now, just as I know the depth of your love for him. That is why I’m presenting you with a present. Call it a belated wedding gift or a welcome home gift. Whatever, I wish the two of you to have it. Once, I told you that every artist wishes to paint a masterpiece. Little did I dream that mine would spring forth so early in life. Look in your wardrobe where I placed it for safekeeping.

  Allison, I still love you and will bear the sting of your refusal for years to come. One day I hope to find love again, but for the moment, I must comfort myself with what might have been. Yet, I love you and Paul and wish only for your joy. Kiss the babies for me.

  With deepest love,

  Daniel

  Allison’s eyes misted over as she opened the wardrobe. Inside was a picture frame, covered with a cloth. She picked it up, stood it against the wall, uncovered it, and heaved a huge heart-wrenching sigh. On the canvas was her image, with the Shannon behind her and the misty purple hills rising to touch the azure sky. Apparently this had evolved from one of the quick sketches Daniel had made of her.

  Daniel had captured her likeness with remarkable accuracy, the p
astel colors emphasizing her delicate beauty. But what interested her most were her own eyes. Deep within them she could see love—the love for her husband. How hard that must have been for Daniel to paint, and she wondered if she was indeed as beautiful as Daniel had portrayed her.

  She’d have the portrait hung immediately. Not only was this Daniel’s best work, but she realized she’d never have that same look in her eyes again. Not if she married Howard.

  “Come now, let’s have the glimmer of a smile. You’ve become terrible company,” Howard chided, cutting into his roast with gusto.

  Allison lifted her eyes, her glance darting over a very silent Constance, then resting on Howard. How she detested the idea that soon he’d be master of her home. Even now he had moved his belongings to the east wing without her permission, and she knew she dare not question it or risk her children’s safety.

  “Perhaps it’s the company I keep,” she retorted.

  “Well, I doubt if I’m any worse than Paul and his bore of a family. I heard the old man was killed like a mad dog. Serves him right. He burned Englishmen out of their homes. Deserved to die like that.”

  Allison’s hands tightened around her napkin, the blood rushing her to her face. “How dare you criticize my father-in-law, now that he is dead. I shan’t stand for this in my own house!” She stood up, throwing down her napkin and started to leave the room, but the harsh, menacing tone from Howard stopped her.

  “Stay and dine with me, Allison, or I will not allow you the privilege of seeing your children tonight.”

  “Howard, please!” Constance’s tone was pleading, almost frightened.

  “Both of you know what I’m capable of, so if Allison wishes to disobey, she can. However, she must suffer the consequences.”

  How long will this go on? Allison asked herself, but knew her suffering had hardly begun. That would happen in two weeks when she married Howard. Then her imprisonment would begin in earnest, and that is how she thought of herself, a prisoner in her own home.

  She turned back to him. “And how do you intend to punish me, my lord? With whips and chains?”

  “Not a bad idea. Come back to the table until I dismiss you. I wish to talk to you about our wedding.”

  Reluctantly she sat down, eliciting a sigh of relief from Constance. Allison couldn’t understand the change in Constance. She had been so high spirited until Howard crushed her love affair with the captain, so determined and unscrupulous to have her own way. Now, she sat like a docile kitten while her brother manipulated her funds and her forthcoming marriage to Lester Colfax, set to take place within a week’s time. Though Allison much preferred the kinder Constance, she sensed something wasn’t right with the woman.

  “I’ve extended personal invitations to everyone of note in the county. I want our neighbors to see us exchange vows, to know that I am master of Fairfax Manor. Constance and Beth Lacey will be your attendants.”

  “I don’t wish Beth,” Allison told him. “She is Paul’s sister and I’ll not put her through such a travesty.”

  “Precisely why I wish her. She was his sister,” he coldly reminded her. “The dressmaker will arrive on the morrow to begin work on your wedding gown, so please try to put on a more cheerful face. You know what gossips people are. Now you may go and tend to your brats.”

  God, she hated him! She rose and left the dining room. If only there was someone she could turn to, someone to help her. But she was alone, and though she thought of fleeing with the twins, she couldn’t. Howard would eventually find her.

  “Why are you so quiet?” Howard sipped his liqueur, watching Constance fidget in her chair.

  “I was thinking about what a huge bore you’ve become,” she said, a bit of her old spunk surfacing.

  “I pity you, my dear, for in one week you shall be the one who is bored. I can’t think of anything duller than to live with Sir Lester for the rest of my days—or should I say his days.”

  At the mention of her marriage, she shakily stood up and knelt beside his chair. “Please don’t make me marry him, Howard! Release my inheritance so I can leave Ireland. Please!”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, and he realized he had never before seen her cry in earnest. He could always tell when she was acting. After all she had done it many times as a child to win their father over. But now she truly was upset, and this pleased him greatly. All those years when she was the pet, the smart one of the family, came back to him with rancor. He wanted to pay back his sister for the many humiliations and beatings he had been forced to endure for her misconduct when she was the favorite child.

  Gently he caressed her cheek, and she rubbed against his hand like a small puppy, hope in her eyes that he would relent.

  “Sweet Constance, dear little sister. Go to hell.”

  The words were spoken so softly, so tenderly, that she wasn’t certain she heard them. He got up quickly and withdrew from the room, his huge booming laugh echoing through the vestibule.

  She stayed on her knees, unable to stand, and knew that all hope was gone. In one week she’d be married to an old man, forced to be his wife. How could her own brother do this to her? But once her inheritance was turned over to her, she could run away and never look back. She hoped and prayed that would happen before the bedding. Because if it didn’t, she’d have only her brother to blame, and somehow, someway, she’d make him sorry.

  43

  Beth had just finished placing baby Quint in his cradle when the door to her cottage was pushed open. Startled, she turned to find Howard who was dressed in his riding attire, whip in hand, anger on his face.

  “You didn’t come for your final fitting, Beth. The seamstress is very put out. So am I.”

  She hadn’t spoken to him since the day she lost their baby, but any feelings of love were now dead. She was happily married to Patrick, and looked upon Howard as her brother’s murderer.

  Though she knew Allison was marrying him out of fear, she herself held no fear of him, only disgust. “Get out of my house, Howard. I don’t wish to see your filthy face at my door. And tell your seamstress that I don’t choose to be in your wedding.”

  “Could it be you still love me, Beth, and hate to think that Allison will soon warm my bed?” Though he said this sarcastically, he hoped it was true. His passion for her had never waned, and noting the way her high, full breasts pushed against her bodice, he knew he must claim her once again as his mistress.

  “I detest you!” she spat out. “You killed my brother. I’ll not forget that or forgive that. The authorities should come for you as they did for my father.”

  “I can’t decide if you’re more outraged by Paul’s death, or the fact that I’ve bedded many women, including yourself, and every one of you has loved it.”

  That struck a nerve, because though she did hate him for murdering her brother, she couldn’t deny that Howard had been a good lover and she had been a willing participant. She waved her hands in the air. “Get away with you!”

  Instead of leaving, he entered the kitchen and looked down at the sleeping baby. “What a fine looking fellow he is. He’ll grow up strong and healthy, yet I must admit I’m pleased to see he doesn’t resemble your husband. He takes after you with his curly brown hair.” He shifted his weight and trapped her hand in his. “Our baby would have been just as beautiful.”

  Beth trembled, because she well knew that look of desire on his face. Many times she had delighted in his passion, had eagerly sought it, but now, it frightened her. Howard was master of the estate for all intents and purposes. All he needed was the marriage ceremony to make it legal. If he wished to carry her into the bedroom and make love to her, no matter how she screamed and pleaded, none of the tenants would come to her aid. They could grumble and curse the new master, but in the end, they would all relent and do as they were bid. There was nowhere else to go.

  “That child is long gone,” she whispered, making an attempt to break his hold on her hand. But he held it tighter and drew her towa
rds him.

  “We could make another baby, Beth. I want you to have my children.”

  “How would Patrick and Allison feel about that, Howard? You don’t want my child. You just want me as your mistress.”

  “True! I think of you constantly, dream of you. You can stay married to your paddie if you’re worried about gossip, but I want you to come when I summon you.”

  “I’ll not be your whore!”

  “If I say so, you will be, but I prefer to think of you as my lover.” Imprisoning her in his arms, his lips came down upon hers in a kiss so hard she thought her neck would break. Then a hand swiftly moved inside her blouse and fondled a breast. “I love to touch you, Beth. Let me have you now. It’s been so long since we were together.”

  She squirmed, attempting to break free. “I hate you. Leave me alone!”

  “No!” he shouted. “I’ll not have you dictate to me. I want you and I’ll have you now, even if it’s in the bed you share with that stinking paddie.”

  The baby’s startled screams coincided with Beth’s as he hauled her off the floor.

  “No!” she yelled as he headed towards the bedroom, pinning her straining body against his.

  “There’s no use in protesting, Beth. No one will help you.”

  Again, she realized this was true, but they had forgotten Patrick. From atop the hill where he was tending sheep, he had watched Howard enter the cottage and knew the man would cause trouble. As Patrick bounded through the doorway, Howard dropped Beth to her feet.

  “You bloody weasel,” Patrick rasped. “I’ll kill you.”

  “So, the outraged husband appears to defend his wife’s honor. Well, she was mine before yours, paddie, and she’ll be mine again.”

  “Only if you kill me first.”

  Patrick rose to his full height, fists clenched, and for a second Howard doubted the wisdom of fighting a man twice his size, but he had killed Paul Flannery and more than anything he wanted to belittle Patrick in front of Beth.

  “Killing you would spoil my fun. I want you alive so you’ll suffer every time Beth comes to me, as I’ve suffered imagining her in your bed.”