Patrick's Promise

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Tara laughed and talked to the child, keeping up both sides of their conversation. As when he’d seen her before in the behavior lab, Patrick marveled that anyone could ignore her. And now, to hear her lilting eager voice, he was amazed his son didn’t burst through his walls and throw himself into her arms. The good Lord knew Patrick yearned to do just that. Instead Patrick held himself as still as Devlin, forcing himself to be content to watch for the moment.

  Tara was so graceful as she moved in the garden. With the sun glinting off her hair and a bright smile on her face, she was achingly lovely. The pretty day dress she wore caught the gentle breeze, now and then outlining her fetching curves. Again, he stiffened and fought her lure.

  She laughed out loud again, the sound throaty and free. A sensation struck him straight in the belly and he sucked in a breath. He recognized it for what it was. Lust.

  “Nay,” he rasped, stepping back.

  Tara didn’t deserve his attentions. She was pure and good and he wouldn’t let his sin touch her. Devlin stood there, still immobile and off-kilter in the dappled shade of one large tree. Patrick’s shoulders slumped as his ardor cooled. His sin had done this to Devlin. He’d be damned if his passions ruined Tara as well.

  Without a word to either Tara or the boy, he went back into the house to gather his things. He had to get out of there and fast. He would move into the workshop. Keep himself from his home and family. Devlin was in Tara’s capable hands. The boy would get well without his interference. And Tara would be safe without his attentions.

  He began to pull some clothes out of the wardrobe, his body’s yearnings still driving him.

  “It’s for the best,” he muttered, grabbing up an extra pair of boots. “It’s not as if it’ll be forever.” He stuffed his belongings into a satchel. “They’ll have to understand.”

  “Are you daft, lad?”

  Patrick stopped, his brush and comb in hand, and glanced over his shoulder. His uncle stood in the doorway, his bushy brows low over his eyes.

  Patrick shook his head and continued to pack his satchel. “I’ll stay at the workshop for the time-being, Uncle. It’s best.”

  Seamus snorted and stepped into the room. “And what’ll the little laddie think?”

  Patrick froze. Devlin was more aware of Patrick since first coming to the dell. And now and again he faced Patrick with a clarity in his gaze that struck him straight through to his heart. No matter. Tara and Devlin didn’t need him there.

  “He’ll have Tara, Uncle,” he said. “She’s the one to help him.”

  “So you keep sayin’,” Seamus answered. “Since you snatched her and brought her here.”

  Patrick ignored the guilt niggling at the back of his mind and turned his back on his uncle. “Aye.”

  “But what about when she leaves?” Seamus asked. “Where will the boy be then?”

  “Tara’s not leaving,” Patrick said.

  Damn. He knew the moment the words left his mouth his uncle wouldn’t hesitate to leap on them.

  Confirming Patrick’s thoughts, Seamus grunted. “That’s the way of it, then,” the old man said in a low voice. “I knew it.”

  Patrick closed his satchel and finally turned to face Seamus.

  “What?” he growled. “What, pray, do you think you know?”

  Seamus glanced toward the open bedroom door before leaning closer to Patrick. Patrick braced himself.

  “You favor the lass,” Seamus said.

  “Nay, Uncle.”

  “’Tis no shame to admit it.”

  Shame? Ah, there was that. Patrick raked his fingers through his hair, his anger fleeing. “She deserves better than a sinner like myself.”

  “But she can help you, lad. Don’t you see what’s right before you?”

  Aye. He could see Tara clearly in his mind’s eye. A sweet lass with a strong spirit. Suddenly, the marks on his shoulder began to throb, a stark reminder of all that came before. Of what would stay with him forever.

  “It’s not meant to be,” he said. “Pray, don’t speak of it again.”

  Seamus’s mouth turned down slightly and his green eyes were dark. “As you wish, lad. I only want what’s best for Devlin. And for you.”

  “Tara’s best for Devlin.” Patrick picked up his bag and walked toward the doorway. “And neither of them need me here.”

  His uncle said nothing more.

  Patrick gave a nod. “I’ll be back to get some of my things now and again.”

  “Aye,” Seamus sighed. “And I’m sure Mrs. O’Grady won’t let ya’ go hungry when you drop by.”

  Patrick offered a small smile at that. He left the house, bound for the workshop.

  And his solitary penance.

  Chapter 10

  “Oh, Devlin!” Tara cried. “You almost caught the ball. I’m so proud of you!”

  The child faced her, a tiny spark of interest in his big blue eyes. He sat on the low stone wall across from her and, though her back ached from keeping the position, she still bent over and rolled the ball toward him. She felt like she’d been at this for hours. A glance at her watch told her that wasn’t quite true, but she stood and stretched anyway.

  “What do you say to having some of Mrs. O’Grady’s biscuits, Devlin?”

  The boy scrambled to his feet. Tara’s heart leaped but she refrained from grabbing him to her and smothering him with kisses.

  She simply nodded and held out her hand. “Come, sweetheart. I can almost taste those biscuits now.”

  Devlin took her hand, his fingers slack but warm in her hand nonetheless. Her fatigue and aching back forgotten, Tara beamed a smile at the boy and led him back into the house. His uneven gait didn’t match hers, but he followed.

  Mrs. O’Grady was in the kitchen, humming and fussing about. Tara called a greeting to her and sat Devlin down at the table.

  Mrs. O’Grady peeped out of the kitchen. “Oh, the little mite be hungry then?”

  “Yes, Mrs. O’Grady,” Tara answered.

  She watched as Devlin held himself straight on his pile of books on the chair. She knew he recognized the way they comported themselves at the table and mimicked the motion. Pride swelled within her, pride for all he’d accustomed himself to since she’d arrived.

  “Devlin would like a few of your fine biscuits.” Tara mimicked the boy’s posture. “Wouldn’t you, Devlin?”

  Tara saw it then, a tiny nod of the boy’s head. She nearly shouted with the joy of it. He just communicated!

  Mrs. O’Grady didn’t see the small miracle as she left the dining room, but Tara took it for what it was. Real progress. Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them away before the child could see them. She couldn’t wait to tell Patrick.

  “Isn’t Master Patrick comin’ in, Miss Tara?” the housekeeper asked.

  Tara started, and wondered if Mrs. O’Grady was blessed with second sight to read Tara’s thoughts. “From where?” she asked.

  The woman peered behind her toward the backyard. She clicked her tongue and turned toward the kitchen. “Guess he took himself back to the workshop, then.”

  With that, she left Devlin and Tara in the dining room. Why did Mrs. O’Grady think Patrick would join them for a snack? She looked out the French doors and saw no one in the yard. Certainly no Patrick, standing in the dappled sunshine eager to share their work.

  She smiled at Devlin and set his father from her mind. She and Devlin shared a few cookies that were fragrant with cinnamon as she mentally composed her notes. After their snack, the child went down for a nap in his little bed. Though he stirred quite a bit, he fell asleep after about five minutes. Tara went to her room to update her notes. And to anticipate the moment she would tell Patrick that his son was coming back to his family. To his father.

  That evening, Tara fixed her hair to better suit the pretty yellow dress she’d changed into. Mrs. O’Grady took good care of Brianna’s dresses, but if Tara hadn’t creased and rumpled today’s blue dress she wouldn’t have bothered
changing for dinner. She had no clue how to use hairpins, but thankfully Brianna had sent over some clips. Plastic, she saw without surprise. Brianna was amazing.

  She swept her hair off her neck and fastened the clip at her crown. “Not bad,” she said to her reflection.

  She couldn’t deny it. She was eager to see Patrick. He was so worried about his son, and if she could give him a bit of hope she wouldn’t hesitate. That she found him the most attractive man she’d ever seen didn’t matter. She smirked at herself and left her room. Yeah, right.

  When she arrived in the dining room Sean was already standing there, a charming MacDonald grin on his face. He was as broad as Patrick, and very handsome. But he wasn’t Patrick.

  “Good evenin’, Miss Tara,” he said with a bow.

  “Good evening, Sean,” she said.

  Tara inclined her head and looked for Patrick.

  “’Tis just me this evenin’,” Sean offered. “And my uncle and nephew, of course.”

  Tara turned to find Seamus leading Devlin into the room. The boy stared up at his great-uncle, though little else showed his awareness. His features were blank, his mouth set. But she glimpsed a similarity between the two of them, one she hadn’t noticed before.

  Seamus had a sparkle of something, an air of crackling energy around him. But Devlin… Again, she saw a touch of something uncanny about the boy.

  “Patrick’s stayin’ at the workshop,” Sean said, interrupting her strange thoughts.

  She saw Devlin look toward the door and felt his disappointment herself. Had she imagined the longing on his little face?

  “Oh?” she asked, keeping her voice even for the child’s sake.

  Sean opened his mouth to say more, but a quelling look from his uncle stilled him. He stood there, his hands held stiffly at his side.

  “’Tis kind of you to set aside your questions, lass,” Seamus said. “But my daft nephew… Ah, let’s not speak of it now.”

  He perched Devlin on his chair beside her and they began their meal. Sean settled his big frame across from Tara after she took her seat.

  Sean was a lively dinner partner. Charming, and very attentive and bright.

  “You looked lovely tonight, Miss Tara,” Sean said.

  Seamus cleared his throat and again Sean grew quiet. But a smile teased Sean’s generous mouth, and Tara smiled in return.

  “Thank you, Sean,” she said. “Brianna’s dresses are just so pretty, I’m sure they take the credit.”

  There was a spark of something in Sean’s green eyes, a masculine appreciation she hadn’t seen in years. Even Mark had never looked at her like that, like she was the only person in the room. But she missed Patrick, both his speaking to his son and sharing warm glances with her. Sean’s bright green eyes were nothing compared to the memory of Patrick’s brooding blue-gray ones.

  “Devlin almost caught the ball today,” she announced.

  “Did ya’ now?” Seamus asked the boy with a grin. “Soon you’ll be playin’ with your uncles, I wager. And your cousin Bryce.”

  Devlin eyed the man and Tara believed he longed to speak to him. His mouth quivered but still he said nothing.

  “And tomorrow we’re going for a walk,” she said.

  “A walk?” Sean asked. “Where, pray?”

  She shrugged. “Around the village. It looks utterly charming.”

  Sean shook his head, his black brows drawn together. “Nay, Tara. ‘Tis unwise to go about the dell.”

  Tara began to voice her objections when she caught Seamus’s gaze.

  The old man gave a slow nod. “The people in the dell, lass,” he began. “They… Devlin’s new here, is all.”

  Sean lowered his voice as he leaned closer to Tara. “Aye, when we went to church last Sunday more than one person said to make sure the little devil stays away.”

  Tara felt anger simmer in her belly. The ignorant residents of the dell still believed the boy a devil? Patrick had told her that much, but still?

  “Of all the narrow-minded…” She couldn’t finish her thought, her throat tight with the unfairness of it all. Devlin was watching her so closely, she didn’t dare voice her anger at the petty villagers.

  “You speak the truth of it, aye,” Patrick’s uncle said. “But there it be.”

  She nodded, turning a bright smile on Devlin. “Why, we’ll just have to content ourselves in the backyard, Devlin. It’s a lovely yard, isn’t it? The pretty green trees and the lovely flowers growing along the walk.”

  The boy said nothing, just chewed mechanically on a piece of Mrs. O’Grady’s fresh bread. She was relieved to see he didn’t recognize the prejudice. No child should have to feel like an outsider. The sting of that rejection still struck her now and then.

  More than ever she wanted to bring him out of himself, to show the outsiders that he was worthy and good. Tears choked her throat.

  “I’ll come and play with you, Devlin,” Sean said. “That is, if Miss Tara doesn’t mind.”

  Tara started. The interest on Sean’s face wasn’t threatening, but she was still uncomfortable with the man’s attentions. This was amazing, since whenever Patrick looked at her so intently she only felt pleasantly warm.

  “That would be nice,” she said at last.

  Her gaze fell on Patrick’s empty chair. Why did he stay away? Was he angry with her? Did he distrust her therapy?

  She followed Devlin’s lead and ate her food in silence, her mind working.

  ***

  Patrick set aside his plate, empty now of its bread and cheese and cold meat. He could well guess the meal served in their house right now. Some of Mrs. O’Grady’s fine fare would serve him quite nicely. But Tara would be there as well, more tempting than anything set before him on the table. Again, lust licked along his nerves. He would keep to the workshop. He would keep to himself. ‘Twas best for everyone.

  The place had been busy this afternoon, which was a blessing in itself. Time and again he had seen Tara in his mind, so lovely and sweet there in the sunlight. And Devlin, so still in spite of her encouragement, standing in the shadows. Would the girl reach through to him? He prayed so. For not only would Devlin have a chance at a real life, but Tara would go back to Indianapolis and live her own life. She would be safe then, without the danger Patrick would cause no matter how hard he tried to separate from her.

  He ran his fingers over his scarred shoulder, and felt the skin pucker and burn. Aye, her leaving would be for the best. He dropped his hand and fisted it. Then why, pray, did his heart feel like it was ripping in two?

  ***

  Tara walked through the dell, stopping at the pretty little shops and nodding greetings to the people who watched her so closely. She’d been here for nearly three weeks now, and her borrowed dresses and shoes seemed as comfortable as her abandoned jeans and sneakers. As nice as Seamus’s house was, it was good to get out on her own.

  These walks had become a routine for her over the past few days, giving her the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts. She longed to bring Devlin on her walks, but she agreed with Seamus that doing so would expose him to the irrational fears of the people here. The folks here were narrow-minded people, unable to see the scared little boy hidden deep inside Devlin.

  The butcher peered at her out the wide window at the front of his store, his mouth set in a grim line. She stared openly at him, daring him to step out of his shop and give voice to the venom she could read in his eyes. As she passed the blacksmith’s she heard the pounding hammer still and felt the man’s eyes on her back. Another dose of negativity sent her way. Did they watch her because she was helping Devlin? Or was it because she dared to walk through the village without escort?

  “Too stinkin’ bad,” she muttered to herself.

  She had no clue about the social rules of this time, this place. And what was more, she didn’t care.

  She never hesitated to walk around Indianapolis by herself. She wasn’t going to let these old-fashioned people dictate
her actions. Smiling at her choice of words, she shook her head. She was a woman of the future. A woman of her own mind. The people here in the dell were at home as she never would be. As incongruous it should seem, the thought filled her with a pang of longing.

  The dress shop was ahead, the one place she felt comfortable in the dell other than Seamus’s house and gardens. The woman who owned the store was pleasant, and reminded Tara of Mrs. O’Grady. She was very matter-of-fact but friendly, and had only nice things to say. Tara pushed open the door and stepped into the cool interior, the crisp scent of clean linens and lemon oil reaching her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Tara!” the dressmaker called.

  Tara smiled at the little brown-haired lady, her expression the first she’d dared to show on her face since leaving the house to walk through the dell.

  “Hello, Mrs. McKay,” she answered.

  Two women who looked younger than Tara stood in the store, running their fingers over the ribbons draped along one wall. She’d seen them in the dell before, though they kept to the other side of the street whenever she passed. They were pretty girls, with blond hair and fair skin, and looked enough alike to be sisters. They ran their pale blue eyes over Tara and she felt a chill dance over his skin.

  They both clicked their tongues and faced each other. “There be the MacDonalds’s guest,” one of them said, her voice sneering on the last word.

  Her meaning wasn’t lost on Tara, though as a modern woman she shouldn’t care about her supposedly-tainted reputation.

  “Yes,” she answered, stepping closer to the pair. “I’m staying with the MacDonalds.”

  The girls continued as if Tara hadn’t spoken, merely flicking their eyes at her for a second.

  “She’s pretty enough, I wager,” the second girl put in. “Surely Patrick MacDonald brought her here for his own dark reasons.”

  Tara began to turn away, knowing she could say nothing to halt their gossip. People here were no different than in the future, eager for gossip and ignorant of the pain they could cause. She half expected to see a hateful post on Facebook, if it existed in this time and place.