My Enemy, My Heart (The Ashford Chronicles)

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  It rocked beneath her worse than any ship in a gale ever felt. For a moment, she feared she would overbalance and land in the water. In an instant, Kieran’s arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close to his side despite a few jeers from passersby.

  “It’s his wife, you fools,” one of the oarsmen shouted to the scoffers.

  Deirdre laughed, and the world settled. “I suppose I had better get into that dress before your reputation is ruined.”

  “Indeed.” Kieran was laughing, too.

  They climbed into a waiting carriage. Sticky from weeks at sea, Deirdre only perched on the edge of the leather cushion. “Is this from your family?”

  “No, it’s hired. Ours have velvet squabs because Mama gets cold easily.”

  “I can see why.” Deirdre rubbed her upper arms. “I don’t think I was this cold coming around Cape Horn.”

  Nor was she bounced around this much at sea. The iron wheels of the carriage jounced over cobblestones or dropped into holes where the pavers were missing. Through the grimy window, everything looked gray save for a few colorful signs and the red coats of soldiers. Enemy soldiers and naval officers seemed to flood the streets of Plymouth. Except they weren’t the enemy. This was their country. She was the outsider.

  Deirdre shivered.

  “A hot bath and hotter fire will set you right.” Kieran leaned down and kissed her. “And this.”

  “Don’t do that in public.” She turned her face away. “I need to concentrate on being a lady.”

  The carriage drew up in front of a brick structure that was a fine inn, possibly the finest she had ever seen. It rose several stories and sprouted chimneys from every corner. Smoke issued from each of those chimneys and feathered into the sky, which was still gray but no longer dousing the world with rain. She caught a whiff of roasting pork and baking apples and groaned aloud.

  “We look too disrespectable to be admitted.”

  “My dear, we could walk in there wrapped in torn sails and they would give us a room.” Kieran opened the door and leaped to the ground before anyone came to let down the steps.

  A man in dark livery approached from the inn. “Welcome home, my—”

  “You received my message then?” Kieran spoke over the man’s greeting. “Are our rooms ready?”

  “Yes, my—”

  “My wife will need assistance dressing.” For a second time, Kieran cut off the man’s words.

  And he had left Deirdre in the carriage. She could have easily leaped down in her boots and breeches, but knew he wanted her to act like a lady regardless of dress, now that they were on land. So she stayed put while he led the liveried man back toward the inn, speaking softly and earnestly. She could not see their faces, but caught the exchange of coin between Kieran and the footman.

  Annoyed with being left behind, Deirdre jumped down and strode up to Kieran. “I beg your pardon, but I would like that fire and bath you promised.”

  The footman jumped and scurried toward the inn.

  Kieran’s look was unfriendly. “You should have waited for me to assist you down.”

  “Do not leave me in a carriage like that again.” Deirdre stalked past him and into the warm, fragrant embrace of the inn.

  A plump, middle-aged matron in black dress and white cap and apron dropped a curtsy. “I’m Mrs. Sparks. You’re to come with me. I’ve my best girl Maggie ready to help you.”

  Before Kieran stepped over the threshold, Mrs. Sparks was ushering Deirdre up two flights of steps to a chamber bright with light from fire and candles, where two footmen were pouring steaming water into a copper bath. Deirdre nearly plunged in clothes and all. She managed to remain motionless and dignified until the footmen and the innkeeper’s wife departed, promising food and a maid shortly.

  Food arrived as Deirdre was wondering how she would rinse her freshly washed hair.

  “I will pour the water for you,” the maid offered.

  “But I’m, um, I have nothing to put on but my dress.” No one had ever helped Deirdre bathe or wash her hair before.

  “Like this.” As she stepped out of the tub, the maid wrapped a length of toweling around Deirdre’s hair and offered her a velvet dressing gown warmed from the fire. Behind a screen, Deirdre dried off and donned the robe, then leaned over the tub while the maid poured fresh water over her hair until the water ran clear.

  “I’ll brush it while you eat, madam. I’m Maggie, by the by.”

  “I’m Deirdre.”

  The girl giggled. “I know, but I won’t be calling you that. Now sit and eat. It’s simple fare, but we didn’t have much notice.”

  It was ambrosia fit for a king as far as Deirdre was concerned. While Maggie brushed her hair, Deirdre indulged in a pork pie with pastry as light and flaky as meringue. She followed that with an apple tart frilled with cream and washed it all down with new cider. Several slices of warm bread and fresh butter accompanied the food, and she consumed every one of them.

  “So nice to see a lady with appetite.” Maggie smoothed the brush along a length of Deirdre’s hair. “This is so beautiful it’ll be a pleasure to pin it up for you.”

  “I just braid it.”

  “No, no, His—your husband has sent up combs.”

  They were silver studded with seed pearls. Deirdre stared at them with eyes narrowed and jaw set. She didn’t want such fripperies from Kieran because now she had to wear them. Not to do so would make people question her fitness to be his wife, as no lady turned down pretty baubles—except for her.

  “They won’t hold up my hair.”

  The maid’s eyebrows shot up. “I have pins for that.”

  “And I’m going to freeze in that dress.” Her tone was sharp, her guilt emerging.

  “You have a warm cloak.” Maggie stopped brushing Deirdre’s hair long enough to lift a spill of deep blue velvet from the bed.

  White fur edged the hood and made up the matching muff.

  “You won’t be cold in this cloak and with that man as your husband.” Maggie’s bright blue eyes sparkled.

  Deidre thought perhaps the girl was speaking out of turn, but recognized the friendliness for what it was—kindness to a stranger in a strange land—and tears filled her eyes.

  If Maggie knew how Deirdre intended to betray England, she might not be so nice.

  Annoyed, Deirdre dashed her eyes on her sleeve. “I’d better get ready then and not keep him waiting.”

  “No, madam. He’s downstairs pacing already.”

  They hurried as fast as anyone could when two dozen hooks marched up the back of Deirdre’s dress, for all its simplicity, and her hair needed further brushing to dry it. But in the end, Maggie declared her beautiful. Deirdre thought herself more like a sow’s ear someone tried to pass off as a silk purse, with nothing to be done about her height and rolling stride.

  She descended the steps to find Kieran was indeed pacing the lobby between taproom and coffee room. He stopped at her approach, stared for a moment, then smiled and came forward, hands outstretched.

  “You will do better than well, m’dear. Shall we anon?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the waiting carriage without anyone so much as mentioning the reckoning.

  A footman waited for them to climb in. He let up the steps and closed the door, bowing as he did so. Then the carriage set off to the east with the sea on one side of the road and the land on the other.

  Deirdre suddenly wished she hadn’t eaten quite so much. She crossed her arms over her middle and pressed her back into the corner of the squabs. “Is your family expecting us?”

  “They are.” Kieran waved a creased sheet of parchment at her. “This is my father’s response to my message announcing our imminent arrival.”

  From his grim expression, she knew the response was not good.

  “He’s not happy about us?”

  “He is not happy about me.” Kieran balled up the letter and tossed it across the carriage, where it landed on the opposite
seat. “He does not know about our marriage yet. I thought I should deliver that news in person.”

  “You aren’t delaying because you’re ashamed of marrying me?”

  “No.” He laid the back of his hand against her cheek. “I am ashamed of obtaining a letter of marque. I am ashamed of having caused your father’s death. I am ashamed that I am the cause of eleven good men now heading to Dartmoor. But if anything will redeem me in Tyne’s sight, it is marrying you.”

  “So you’ve said.” Deirdre blinked back too-ready tears. “But he may reject me out of hand.”

  “You are a lady bearing the Ashford name. I cannot guarantee that my father will love you. You are hindered a bit by being my wife, since he does not love me. But I can and do promise that he will protect you with his life because you are an Ashford.”

  “How could a father not love his son?”

  “Because he finds me feckless and lazy and immoral.”

  Whatever she thought of his status as her enemy, her benevolent jailer, if Kieran were all that immoral, he would have tried to seduce her without benefit of marriage. She liked to think she wouldn’t have succumbed, but couldn’t be sure. Much to her shame, she hadn’t resisted his attentions once his ring was on her finger.

  “What does the message say?” she asked instead of sounding like his champion.

  “Nothing new.”

  Deirdre switched sides and picked up the parchment, smoothing it out on her lap.

  Of course you may bring this young woman to Bishops Cove. Whether or not you may stay depends on how I assess why she is in your company in the first place. Your behavior is, once again, reprehensible, and I shall deal with it accordingly.

  That was all. No greeting. No affectionate or even courteous close, just recriminations and promises of unpleasantness and a grudging welcome to her.

  Deirdre screwed the paper into a tighter ball than Kieran had and thrust it into her muff. “What if you are wrong and leg-shackling yourself to me makes him more angry with you?”

  “Mama will bring him around. To him, I have been an abominable son, but Mama thinks all her children are angels.” He glanced out the window. “And there is Bishops Cove.”

  Deirdre looked out of the window, too. All she saw were acres and acres of rolling pastureland with a clump of sheep and a distant patch of woods. “I don’t see any house.”

  “That is not for another four miles. We have several thousand acres here.”

  “Several thousand—” She clasped her knees, unfamiliar beneath velvet, muslin, and petticoats. “Here?”

  Kieran sighed. “Yes, and another monstrosity of an estate in Northumberland and a small one in Hampshire.”

  “And your mother’s plantation in Georgia? Oh, dear.” Her head spun. She lowered her face to her knees. “I didn’t know you were that rich,” she mumbled into her lap.

  “I am not. My father is. I have nothing that he does not give me.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “Except for the prize money from the Maid and her cargo.”

  Deirdre made herself breathe slowly, deeply. “It’s a generous dowry.”

  “More than generous.” He leaned across the carriage and took her hands in his. “Whatever the circumstances, I will try to keep you from being unhappy here.”

  At that moment, as the carriage slowed and turned between two tall, iron gates, Deirdre doubted that anyone could keep her from being unhappy. Her head felt as though someone were using it for bowling practice.

  Kieran seemed to grow a bit pale, too, though between the mist and the bare, yet heavy, branches of trees stretching up on either side of the long drive, she couldn’t be certain. When the carriage stopped and he jumped down, she could be sure. He looked as he had when suffering from seasickness. Her own heart pounding faster than the hooves of a racehorse, she took his hand and allowed him to assist her to the ground at the foot of three fan-shaped steps.

  Behind those steps rose a wide oak door with long windows on either side of it and a fan-shaped window above it. Broad wings stretched in either direction, gray stone covered with green ivy and soaring to meet the leaden sky.

  Deirdre could not breathe. Black spots danced before her eyes.

  The front door opened, and she gasped. Three men emerged. Each wore fine blue-and-gold livery and hair powder. Each bore some kind of infirmity. One sported a peg leg, one an eye patch, another a pinned-up sleeve. Yet their posture was straight and their faces strong and warm.

  “Mr. Kieran, that is, my—”

  Kieran waved the man with the peg leg to silence. “We will see to the greetings later, Addison. Please let us get this lady inside. She is not used to our climate and is freezing.”

  She wasn’t sure her shivering was entirely due to the cold.

  “Of course.” Addison held the door open and motioned the other two men in their blue-and-gold livery to stand aside. “Go on into the gold salon. Everyone is waiting there.”

  Deirdre gripped Kieran’s arm as though it was all that could hold her upright as her head began to swim. He covered her fingers with his and proceeded into a hall that, upon first impression, seemed large enough to fit the entire Maid of Alexandria, including the mainmast. The air inside the hall was a degree or two warmer than that outside. It smelled of lemon oil, damp stone, and—

  “Dogs?”

  Kieran smiled. “Yes, Mama usually has half a dozen or so. She will have them locked away until you are settled. Unless you do not like dogs, in which case she will keep them away from you.”

  “I don’t know if I do. I’ve never been around one much. We had a ship’s cat, but it disappeared in Canton.”

  “Uh, yes, well, do not tell Mama that.” He headed for a staircase wide enough for an army to climb in formation and led her up the green strip of carpet in the middle. She would have preferred walking on the stone edges where she could grab hold of one of the carved mahogany railings for support.

  They reached the next floor, the first floor, she remembered the English called it. Kieran pushed open a carved oak door to the right. Warmth, color, and a chorus of voices met them on the other side.

  Two young ladies, who looked nearly identical save for their eye color, swooped forward and flung their arms around Kieran’s neck. “You are home, you terrible, handsome, adorable brother.”

  “Did you bring us any presents?”

  “You are in such trouble.”

  “Papa should absolutely beat you, but I will not let him. Oh, I am so happy you are alive.”

  Laughing, he hugged them back, then held them off at arm’s length. “Give over, children. Let me present you to our guest.”

  Instantly, the girls backed off.

  “Deirdre, these scapegraces,” Kieran said, “are my sisters.” He indicated a golden-eyed beauty. “Chloe, the elder, and Juliet, the baby.”

  The girls curtsied, though gave their brother quizzical glances.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Lightheaded, Deirdre managed a smile and an inclination of the head. She had learned to curtsy ten years earlier, but didn’t dare attempt it at that moment for fear she would land on her backside.

  Her lack of the curtsy met with disapproval, for the young ladies flicked their glances to her, their expressions changing from curious to astonishment, as though she had grown an extra head.

  “Who is she?” Chloe leaned toward her brother to speak sotto voce. “A foreign princess?”

  “You are all forgetting your manners.”

  Chloe and Juliet stepped back to make a path for a tiny, middle-aged lady with lovely gold-brown hair with touches of silver and Kieran’s golden eyes. She came forward and hugged him around his waist. “You’re still in one piece with all your limbs attached.” She spoke in a gentle drawl, then a sob broke from her lips.

  Kieran shot an anxious glance to an older man who hadn’t moved or yet spoken from his position ten feet away, then wrapped his arms around his mother and held her close. “I have all my fingers and toes, too.”

&n
bsp; “Perhaps not once Papa gets hold of them.” Juliet giggled. “You are so beyond the pale.”

  “And we are beyond rude.” Kieran’s mother stepped away from him and turned toward Deirdre. “Do present this young lady to your parents.”

  “This is Deirdre.” Kieran took her hand and drew her a step closer to his mother and, presumably, father. “She is the daughter of Daniel MacKenzie, who was the captain of the schooner we captured.”

  Deirdre held her breath, expecting him to add “And my wife.” But he heaved a gusty sigh. “And since you don’t know this and my sisters have already marked that I broke protocol in how I introduced you, you may as well find out now, m’dear, that my parents are the Earl and Countess of Tyne.”

  Earl and countess. His father was a peer of the realm.

  Blood roaring in her ears, Deirdre turned on Kieran, a demand for him to explain why he hadn’t told her surging to her lips. But the gold and cream of the room, the five Ashfords, and the slate-gray sky beyond the long windows began to spin like a bouquet in a whirlpool, faster and faster until she was sucked into the vortex and the world went black.

  Chapter 13

  Kieran caught Deirdre the instant she began to fall. The girls cried out. Mama’s hand flew to her lips.

  “What have you done now?” A white line around his mouth, Tyne started forward at last.

  Mama stepped between them. “Not now, Garrett. We need to get this young lady upstairs.”

  “That was unkind of you not to tell her Papa has a title.” Chloe scowled at him.

  “Why would you not?” Juliet looked bewildered. “Have you acquired revolutionary ideas and are now ashamed of our titles?”

  “My reasons are my own and good enough.” Kieran picked Deirdre up in his arms. “Which bedchamber have you prepared for her?”

  “You should just lay her on the sofa,” Juliet said. “That’s what they do with the heroines in—”