She nodded. “Yes. Don’t you see what’s right in front of you?”
He looked her over, slowly and thoroughly. Desire showed in his eyes before he shook his head.
“Aye, lass. If only I was worthy of you.”
Chapter 17
Tara gasped as Patrick took her in his arms once more. All tenderness and passion now, he murmured sweet words in her ear as he ran his big hands over her back.
“Tara, lass. Do you think I’m worthy of your love?”
Tara couldn’t deny it any longer, not while he held her so close.
“I love you, Patrick.”
He pulled back, his blue eyes dark as he stared down at her.
“Ah, Tara.”
At last he kissed her, and Tara wound her arms around his neck. She felt hot all over, as if every nerve ending urged her closer to him. He danced her backwards and she felt the cot at the back of her knees. The next moment he eased her down on the cot, kissing her ear, her throat.
“You’re in my heart, lass,” he said, his breath hot on her skin. He kissed her neck, flicking his tongue out to tease her flesh. “You’re mine.”
Tara couldn’t answer, her pulse pounding in her ears as he kept up his gentle assault. He ran his hands over the front of her, and her thin dress allowed every touch to penetrate. He had such strong hands, as she’d always known. And such a tender touch she never could have imagined.
She stroked his back, feeling the muscles clenching as he pressed against her. When she reached the scar on his shoulder she tensed for his withdrawal, but he only kissed her harder.
His fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons on the front of her dress, soon easing the fabric away from her shoulders. The spring evening was cool and his mouth was hot as he kissed her breast, pulling on her nipple through the thin cotton slip.
“Patrick,” she breathed, arching toward him.
“Aye, Tara,” he rasped. “Aye.”
He kissed and teased as her hands slid down his back to his butt, pulling him against her, closer still. His body was so hard. So demanding. She wanted to give herself to him, to have this moment forever etched on her when he brought her back to Indianapolis.
He lifted his head, urgently whispering her name. Tara opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. His gaze held her, sparkling with his MacDonald charm and something she didn’t dare hope for. She touched his cheek and he closed his eyes and turned his head, placing a kiss on her palm. He faced her again.
“Lass?”
She knew what he asked. And she’d never wanted anything as much as she longed to give in to him.
“Yes, Patrick,” she said softly.
***
Patrick sucked in a breath as he looked down at her, amazed at the desire lighting her amber eyes. When she had touched his scar, he’d felt no pain, just a screaming in his body for release. He told her she was his. Aye, he knew it. This girl, from another place and time, touched his heart. Tara brought him home.
“I love you, Tara.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes clouded with cautious hope. He was a bloody fool to put that mistrust there.
He bent his head once more and kissed her, reaching down to lift her skirt. She lifted one leg, bending at the knee to draw his touch. Silently thanking the Lord for giving him this woman, he stroked the silken skin of her inner thigh. As he reached her drawers, he shook with desire. She was hot and soft and he was nearly lost.
Her fingers ran over his back again, easing around the front to trailed down his belly. She reached the buttons on his breeches, and Patrick leaned up on one elbow to allow her access. He sucked in a breath as her fingers brushed over his arousal. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Easy, lass.” He softened his warning with a grin. “You’re driving me wild.”
She smiled up at him, seductive and wanton and apparently very pleased with herself. Aye, she was worth more than all the MacDonald gold. He was a lucky man.
Bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her again as he fumbled with his breeches. He prayed for control, but his self-imposed celibacy and Tara’s delectable body and loving heart nearly caused him to disgrace himself.
One button undone.
Two buttons.
“Patrick!” Sean called from outside.
Patrick jerked as if shocked, certain he’d heard wrong.
“Patrick, what’s going on?” Tara whispered.
Tara was as breathless as he, and he shook his head at her in response.
“It’s nothing, Tara.”
He brought his mouth to hers.
“Patrick!” Sean cried again, pounding on the door. “Come quickly!”
Patrick cursed and came to his feet, refastening his breeches as he shot a warning glance at Tara. She looked up at him as he shrugged into his shirt, her hair tousled and her cheeks pink. Her dress was gathered around her waist, showing him her shapely legs and thin drawers. He’d kill his brother, he decided. He’d drag Sean’s body through the dell and—
“Patrick, what be ailin’ you?”
Sean rushed into the room, screeching to a halt as he took in the scene. Tara’s eyes were wide with alarm, her mouth an O. Patrick stepped in front of the pallet, hopefully blocking the delectable Tara from his brother’s prying eyes.
“What is it, Sean?” Patrick growled.
Sean gaped at Tara as she came to her feet, her dress now more or less in order. He quickly shook his head and wore a look of alarm on his face, an expression that sent Patrick’s irritation fleeing.
“My God, man! What’s the trouble?”
“The Banshee, Patrick. She came back.”
Patrick’s heart pounded low and deep as his stomach churned.
“Nay!” he rasped.
“Where’s Devlin?” Tara asked.
Sean faced her, his eyes wild.
“She’s got him, Tara. She be holdin’ him. Demandin’ to see Patrick!”
Tara went white. He thought for a moment that she would faint as she had in the woods when they leapt here, but then that strong spirit showed on her face and he knew just what she would do a moment too late. Before he could stop her, she ran past Sean and out into the night.
“Tara!” Patrick called.
He raced after her, his fear a white-hot thing in his belly. Fear for Tara and for Devlin.
Catching up to her, he grabbed onto her hand.
“Easy, lass,” he panted.
Tara stopped and looked at him, her eyes shining.
“She has him, Patrick,” she rushed out. “She has Devlin!”
Patrick gave her a jerky nod. “Aye. But she’ll not have him. He’s ours, Tara.”
She began to protest, but Sean caught up to them before she could voice the doubt he saw in her eyes. They ran through the dell, bound for the house.
Before they arrived, the sound struck them. Whistling wind and a high wailing that sent a chill through Patrick’s soul. ‘Twas the Banshee’s call. And far different than the one she’d use to lure him to his sin four years ago.
Patrick urged Tara behind him as they entered the house. The witch was holding fast to Devlin. Patrick stopped as he saw his son. Devlin was pale and slack, and all animation was gone from his little face and slight body beneath the Banshee’s grip.
Patrick spied his uncle and Mrs. O’Grady among the furniture and books strewn about the drawing room, their eyes wild with terror. He motioned for Sean to join them, and turned his gaze to the Banshee again.
She was a beautiful as she had been those years ago, her thick golden hair wafting in an unseen breeze as she floated a few inches above the littered floor. Her dark violet eyes flashed as she flicked her gaze around the room.
“Keep away, you bloody Braunachs!” the Banshee screeched. She shook Devlin’s body like it was one of his dolls. “Keep away or I’ll kill the boy!”
“No!” Tara cried, rushing past him and into the house.
Patrick tried to grab on to her as she ran toward the Banshee
.
“Tara!”
The Banshee turned toward Tara, waving her free hand to stop Tara’s progress. Tara hit an invisible wall the witch had apparently built around her and Devlin, recoiling as shock registered on her face.
“Ya’ can’t be thinkin’ to touch him, mortal!” the Banshee laughed. “Ya’ ain’t done enough to heal his sickness, have ya’?”
Tara squared her shoulders and took a careful step toward the witch. Patrick watched as her face showed the professional caring he’d seen in the Children’s Hospital in Indianapolis.
“You’re right,” she said. “Devlin isn’t the boy I hoped for. His recovery has been poor.” Tara took a breath and let it out slowly. “He’s sick and worthless and not fit to be a MacDonald.”
“Lass, no!” Seamus cried.
Patrick knew in his heart what Tara was doing. She was smart and as cunning as a MacDonald. He caught Seamus’s eye and the older man gave a tiny nod of understanding. Now Patrick could only pray Tara’s intelligence was a match for the Banshee’s dark magic.
“Ya’ failed him, mortal,” the witch hissed. “I left him to yer care and ya’ did nothin’ for him!”
Tara shrugged, the gesture seemingly casual. Patrick saw the trembling of her hands a second before she clasped them in front of herself. Again that professional mantle settled on her.
“I tried, I admit.” She looked at Devlin and Patrick saw the love she felt for his son, and the fear she had for his safety. “He’s a pretty thing,” Tara went on. “But his soul is damaged.”
Patrick saw Sean open his mouth to protest, but Patrick waved a hand to silence him. Hoping that Devlin was in no condition to hear the false, hurtful words, Patrick added his own to Tara’s trick.
“It’s true, witch!” Patrick said. “We don’t want Devlin here in the dell.”
The Banshee narrows her eyes on Patrick. “’Twas yer doin’, MacDonald. Ya’ ain’t the pure soul I believed all those years ago.”
It was Patrick’s turn to shrug.
“It’s your fault, witch. You seduced me, didn’t you?”
The Banshee laughed, the sound both musical and frightening.
“Aye, Braunach. I seduced ya’. Was passin’ easy, too.”
“It’s your fault, then,” Tara put in. “It’s your fault Devlin is the way he is now.”
“Nay!” the witch cried. “I wanted a MacDonald to sire me babe, ‘tis true. To cleanse me family lines.”
Keeping an eye on Devlin, Patrick eased closer. He fixed a glare on the Banshee.
“You planned this, then?” Patrick asked.
“Aye!” the witch laughed. “I lured yer willin’ body into the woods, MacDonald! Time and again.” She flicked her head at Tara. “Did you tell yer little mortal whore how ya’ came to me? Beggin’ for it after but a couple o’ times?”
Guilt slashed through him at the truth of the Banshee’s words. He had gone to her, willingly seeking the sick pleasure she gave him as she took something else entirely from him. He didn’t dare look at Tara, damning himself for a coward.
“You had your baby, didn’t you?” Tara asked. “That’s what you wanted.”
The Banshee’s lips curled in a sneer. “Aye. And when he was born I saw he had it still, the weakness of mind that doomed so many in me family.”
“You left him with your kin, then?” Patrick asked. “You abandoned your son?”
The Banshee waved one slender white hand. Patrick stared at it, still stunned that such beauty could hide such wickedness.
“The daft old witch took ‘im,” the Banshee said.
“You abandoned him,” Tara stated firmly.
Devlin’s mother glared at Tara and it was all Patrick could do to hold himself in check.
“Don’t be sayin’ that to me, mortal!” the witch cried. “He be sick, and yer magic was supposed to heal him.”
Tara gasped.
“You sent Patrick to find me?”
The Banshee laughed.
“Nay! I didn’t know the Braunach found somebody to help the boy ‘til I learned the old witch died.”
“Why now, then?” Tara asked. “Why have you come for Devlin now?”
“I been watchin’ ya’, mortal. I saw how the boy was.” The Banshee shrugged. “’Twas time for me to claim ‘im.”
Patrick steeled himself for the lie.
“Take him, then,” he said.
Chapter 18
Tara eyed Patrick with shock, but one glance from those crystal blue eyes told her he was playing the Banshee as Tara had been. The witch appeared to be all impulse and emotion, and there would be no true reasoning with her. She’d seen children locked in an endless loop of highs and lows, but nothing in her studies or her work could have prepared her for this encounter. Still, for Devlin—and for Patrick—she would make certain that they put this bitch out of their misery before she could do any more harm to her family.
And they were her family. The MacDonalds were everything she’d ever wanted and this was her home. Standing strong and sending Patrick her strength in the only way she really could, she caught his eye for a brief second. She saw it. He was just as determined to grab their son from the Banshee.
“You believe I would take him like this, Braunach?” She shook Devlin again and Tara held back her protest even as her heart leapt to her throat. “Yer son be damaged now.”
Tara wanted to pull the fine golden hair from the witch’s head. She held Tara’s dear boy in her tight grip, and all light was gone from Devlin’s eyes as he stared blankly back at her. He was as lifeless as the dolls they’d often played with, and she could hardly stand it.
“You take him, Banshee,” Patrick said, putting a dose of glimmer into his words. Tara could feel it. That magic of his. “You wanted the child so badly.”
“Not like this!” the witch cried.
“Take him,” he said again. “He’ll never be a true MacDonald.”
The Banshee gaped at him, opening her mouth to let out a scream that broke the windows in the house. Tara covered her ears, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the confrontation between Patrick and his dark lover.
A howling wind began, and the books and papers on the floor circled the drawing room. Patrick visibly ignored the threat and crossed his arms, fixing a look of disinterest on his face as he braced his feet apart.
“Your screams don’t move me now, Banshee.”
The witch changed her tack in a flash, turning her seductive wiles in his direction. Tara felt the heat radiating from her supple form. In this instant, she was beautiful and compelling and all things sensual. Tara would be jealous of the Banshee’s talents if she didn’t know just how vile the creature truly was.
“Ya’ wanted me, Patrick MacDonald.” She ran a hand over her own curves. “Time and again ya’ came to the woods, hard in yer breeches for me.”
Tara fought hard to ignore the image of her Patrick going to the beautiful witch again and again. She knew he was a passionate man. Hadn’t she been oh so willing to surrender to that passion barely an hour ago?
“You won’t move me now, witch.” Patrick’s voice was firm. Cold.
Incredibly, the Banshee smiled, a radiance coming from her odd purple/black eyes. Even Tara felt her sensual pull in her chest, it was so palpable.
“Ya’ want me still, MacDonald,” the woman purred. “This pale mortal ain’t be the one to ride ya’ to yer pleasure.”
Tara exchanged a look of worry with Sean, but Patrick’s brother could only stare at the witch. His eyes were unfocused and his body held rigid. He must feel the pull of the Banshee, too. There would be no help there. Her eyes fell on Devlin then, still so limp in the witch’s grasp. Anger boiled within her, anger that the Banshee would use her own son to exact revenge on her former lover. She wouldn’t use Tara’s beloved boy this way.
“Aye, witch,” Patrick said, his voice so smooth now it struck Tara as a living thing. “You were incredible there in the woods.”
The Ba
nshee blinked, visibly affected by the full force of Patrick’s charm. Tara knew then that he was only using his power to snare the witch. She would take the opportunity it gave her.
She crept closer to the child’s slack hand, praying Patrick’s potent charm would hold the woman’s attention long enough. It seemed whatever barrier the witch had erected was gone for the moment.
“Come to me, Banshee,” Patrick urged, his eyes sparkling.
“N-nay…,” the witch faltered. She shook her head, her blond hair swaying. “Nay, MacDonald.”
Patrick grinned, that same dazzling smile Tara couldn’t ignore. The Banshee gave a jerk and Tara leapt toward Devlin.
She grabbed on to his hand and his eyes focused on her.
“Tara,” Devlin said, his voice very small.
Tara pulled hard and wrenched the boy from his mother’s grip.
“Nay!” the Banshee screamed.
“Over here, lass!” Seamus called.
Tara tugged Devlin along with her as she scrambled into the waiting arms of Seamus, who shielded them both from the Banshee. Devlin buried his face in her neck, sobbing as she rocked him.
“It’s all right, Devlin,” she whispered, feeling the burn of his tears against her neck. “I’ve got you now.”
The witch howled and spun on Patrick. “Ya’ charmed me, Patrick MacDonald!”
Patrick’s beguiling grin was gone as he faced his former lover. “Aye, witch.”
She screamed again. “Ya’ tricked me! You and yer mortal.” She shot a look of hatred in Tara and Devlin’s direction, and Tara held the child closer still. The Banshee faced Patrick. “Ya’ be havin’ yer son now, Braunach.”
Patrick gave a nod. “It’s as I want it, Banshee.”
The witch blinked in confusion. “What?”
Patrick smiled at Tara, and it wasn’t anything like the false expression he’d used on the witch. No. This was a true smile that filled her with his love. Then he turned and faced the witch again.
“I love my son, witch,” he said simply. “Despite his mother, I love Devlin.”
Her shock was palpable. “Ya’ can’t be meanin’ that, Patrick MacDonald!”
“I do,” Patrick went on. “I promised the boy I’d help him. I made a promise to myself and to Devlin to see that he has the chance at a real life.”
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