In the Country of Shadows (Exit Unicorns Series Book 4)

by Cindy Brandner

  “Well, she can hardly be expected to do that in her condition, now can she?”

  “Condition?”

  Kate turned from the stove where she was stirring tomato sauce, and her blue eyes were dark with dismay. “I shouldn’t have said that, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It would have become apparent soon enough, I imagine,” he’d said. “Mr. Kirkpatrick is the father, I assume?”

  Kate sat down across from him, clearly stricken by revealing information she hadn’t meant to.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “So, is he marryin’ her?”

  “No, he can’t. He’s already married. The situation is difficult,” Kate had said, but didn’t explain further. Though she didn’t know it, Kate didn’t need to say anything more, for as much as James Kirkpatrick had kept an eye on him these last three years, so too had Noah his spies and informants who kept him aware of the man’s comings and goings, and occasionally his personal affairs. He knew exactly why James Kirkpatrick wasn’t able to do what was right by Pamela just now. He knew what the particular difficulty was. And so one man’s difficulty became another man’s opportunity.

  It seemed to him that here was one of those crossroads in life where two things met—in this case want and need. He had a decision to make. And he realized, as the sun sank down to the tops of the mountains creating the illusion that all the fields around had turned blood-red, that the decision to be made, was indeed, no decision at all.

  Chapter Seventy-three

  The Proposal

  SUMMER ROLLED OVER IRELAND in all its abundant and lush green glory, and with the surging growth in the fields and the abundant evidence of new life all around, a sense of well-being returned to Pamela. The nausea had passed about a week ago, and in the quixotic manner of pregnancy she now felt a sense of vigorous energy and purpose.

  Pat and Kate had left for Donegal this morning to spend three days at the shore, bringing the children with them. Both Conor and Isabelle had been wildly excited to be spending three days away in a cottage by the sea. She, on the other hand, had been teary-eyed watching her babies drive off, even though she knew they could not be in more trusted hands. Even Vanya was gone, pulling a double shift at the pub, and sleeping overnight in the wee room over the Emerald, as he sometimes did when he worked especially long hours. She had come inside from waving the children off and had herself a bit of a cry and then dried her eyes and squared her shoulders, deciding to use her time wisely. She had a long list of things that needed to be done around the house, and decided she would tackle a few of those items while she had this surfeit of time. She would start with the floors, for the pine planks needed to be oiled and she had put off the task for far too long now. This was the perfect time, when there were no little feet to run across them.

  She tied her hair up in a red and white kerchief, put on a holey pair of jeans that had seen far better days and an ancient work shirt of Casey’s that he’d tried to toss in the charity pile but which she had rescued for painting and other messy work. Now wearing it was a comfort and like having him with her for the day as she attended to rubbing out all the marks on the boards he’d laid with a craftsman’s precision and attention to detail.

  In the quiet thoughts of Jamie and their situation intruded. He had attended most of her doctor appointments with her and had also set up a bank account in her name and given her the pass book for it, telling her to use the money for anything she might need. When she had protested he’d simply said, “It’s my baby, allow me to do at least this much.” There was a ludicrous amount of money in the account and so far she had not touched it. Their time together had been strained, though that was to be expected. He was doing his best to look after her but he was severely constrained by his current circumstances. Pat had told her what he knew about the situation with Violet, and Pamela had felt heartbroken for Jamie. Because Kolya was not his blood son, he stood a good chance of losing him, despite the fact that Violet was a spy with a dubious history. She sighed, and pushed thoughts of Jamie away. It was a path to frustration and upset and today she refused to walk down it.

  She worked with a will and once she was done with the floor she moved on to beating out the quilts on the line outside, only to have one burst a seam in a perfect storm of feathers, much of which got caught in the folds of her kerchief and on her clothes, helped along by a brisk breeze which had sprung up along with a smattering of rain.

  Back inside, with the quilts spread out along the sofa back and over the table, she eyed the hearth owlishly. She really needed a proper chimney sweep to come out and give it a thorough cleaning. She could probably clean the lower portion a bit as she had a chimney brush and a large bucket to catch the ash in. She tied another kerchief around her mouth and nose so that she wouldn’t breathe in the ash, and set to cleaning the bottom portion with gusto.

  There was a distinct thump somewhere higher up in the chimney. Casey had built it from river stone and while it made for a very beautiful chimney, it also appealed greatly to nesting birds with its convenient rockery and built-in heating system. She peered up the chimney with a gimlet eye, wondering if the family of blackbirds had come back to rebuild their nest. Vanya had removed it a week ago, placing it in sight of the distraught and screeching mother. A puff of soot fell down just then and billowed back up into her face. She dissolved in a fury of sneezes, blinking the dust from her watering eyes while groping in her pockets for a tissue.

  At this inopportune moment there was a knock at the door. One of the local farmers was supposed to drop off a load of hay. She was a dreadful mess, but the man was always in a hurry and she didn’t want him to leave before she paid him. She pulled the kerchief from her face, but left the one binding up her hair.

  She cast a hasty glance in the mirror in the boot room, only to see bright green eyes staring back at her out of a mask of soot, so that she appeared rather raccoon-like. Not to mention there were feathers stuck in mad profusion to the kerchief on her head. Oh well, there was no time to fix it, the farmer would just have to take her as she was.

  She opened the door to find, somewhat to her horror, Noah on the step. He looked oddly nervous, which was so completely foreign to his nature that she was immediately nervous, too. Frankly, she did not want to know what it took to touch this man’s nerves.

  “Come in,” she said, wishing she had taken the time to at least rinse her face before opening the door.

  He came in and then stood on the mat as if he had never been inside the house before.

  “Are ye alone?” he asked. He was apparently unperturbed by her odd appearance; in fact she wasn’t sure he was seeing her at all.

  “Yes, the children are away with Pat and Kate. Here, give me your coat.” His jacket was shiny with raindrops so she hung it over the chair nearest the Aga so it would dry.

  “I was about to have a cup of tea, would you like one?”

  “Aye, that would be grand.”

  She wet the tea towel while the kettle was heating and wiped her face down, and then shook her head over the sink to get rid of as many feathers as possible. She left the kerchief on, deciding it was better than the mess her hair was likely to be.

  He’d followed her into the kitchen, and sat down at the table while she poured out the tea into two mugs, a prickling tension all along her skin, which she could have sworn emanated from him. When she brought his mug to the table and put it down in front of him, he looked her in the eyes and began to speak.

  “I have somethin’ in particular about which I would like to speak with ye.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, feeling like she was made of loosely-knitted wool and someone had found a trailing end and was slowly unraveling her joints.

  “Will ye sit down?” he asked, “Only I think it’s best if ye’re not standin’, when I say what I’ve come to say.”

  “Noah, you’re really frightening me now.”

  “Just sit, it’s not bad news or anything of the sort.”

  She
sat, sneezing three times as she did so. He handed her a perfectly starched handkerchief and then plucked a feather from her collar, setting it politely on the table. She clutched the handkerchief in her fingers, feeling she needed its starchy support just now.

  He smiled at her and then clasped his hands together on the table’s worn surface. “I’ll just go straight to the point, I think that’s best.” He cleared his throat and then proceeded to shock the hell out of her.

  “I’m goin’ to preface what I’ve come here to say with the fact that I know ye’re pregnant with Mr. Kirkpatrick’s child. Kate told me, she didn’t mean to, it just slipped out, though truth be told, I realized ye’ve the look of it about ye.”

  “I—” she began, but he held up his hand to halt her.

  “If ye’d just hear me out for a minute or two, I’d appreciate it.”

  She nodded, stunned by his words.

  “Pamela, ye need to realize that it was one thing to live as a widow with two children. But to carry an illegitimate baby—that’s another thing all together. The women of the village will not take it kindly. If ye marry me, they’ll presume the child is mine an’ none will dare to give ye guff over it.”

  “You’re…you’re asking me to marry you?” The words sounded so preposterous that she had to stifle a hysterical laugh as she said them.

  “Aye, I am,” he said, and though he looked serious enough, she kept waiting for him to laugh, to say he was taking the piss. “It seems to me ye’re in a position where acquirin’ a husband is a good idea. Kate said,” he added, “that Mr. Kirkpatrick is not in a position to do right by ye.”

  “Do right by me?” she echoed, feeling like she had a scarlet ‘A’ tattooed to her face rather than a smattering of soot and feathers.

  “Aye, so as he cannot, I thought perhaps ye’d consider marryin’ me.”

  She wasn’t quite certain there was a term adequate to describe her current state of shock.

  “Look, Pamela, I know ye had a marriage of great love an’ passion, an’ clearly that is not what I’m offerin’ to ye here. What I am offerin’ is security an’ safety, for yerself an’ yer children.”

  “So that disposes rather neatly of me,” she said, tea tasting suddenly sour to her tongue. “What about you?”

  “What’s in it for me, is that what ye’re askin’?”

  “Aye,” she said, “that’s what I’m asking.”

  “I’m fond of ye, Pamela. I’m sure ye know that by now.”

  She nodded. Yes, she had known he was fond of her, that he considered her a friend, that he desired her, but marriage was not something she would have anticipated.

  “It’s not the sort of thing I say lightly, so take it as such. I’m askin’ ye to marry me an’ that’s not somethin’ I’ve been compelled to do before in my life.”

  “You’re serious?” The man was certainly not one for the soft pedal approach.

  “Aye, I am.”

  He was too, she could see that clearly. She had not noted it before, but he was nicely dressed in dark wool pants and a clean blue shirt that sharply highlighted his eyes. He smelled of expensive cologne and his hair was freshly cut.

  She took a deep breath and tried not to look like someone on the verge of hysteria.

  “It’s not the most romantic proposal,” she replied.

  “No, but I figure ye’ve had romance, an’ it would be suspect comin’ from me. I’m not a romantic man, ye know that well enough. I will keep ye safe an’ fed, an’ do right by the children. If they’ve a notion to go off to university one day, I’ll fund their educations. It would allow ye to keep the construction business as well, an’ I know that means something to ye. I’ve money, Pamela, ye could quit work all together, stay home an’ tend to the babbies if ye’d like. I’m offerin’ ye the protection of my name an’ person, forever.”

  She thought about the small pile of letters that she kept tucked away, fearful of letting them go, though each one felt like it soiled her skin and mind as she read it. She thought of the threats and how they seemed to be building and building, and how the writer appeared to be losing his grip on reality. There had been four in the time between Paris and now. She was pregnant and about as vulnerable as possible between that and the children she already had. Running to Jamie, as she so often had in the past, was no longer an option. The police would be of limited help and could not rescue her in the wee hours of the night if that was when this mad person decided to come at her. There was, in truth, only one man who could keep her safe. Somehow she thought he knew that and had sensed her fear.

  “What sort of a marriage are you talking about? Beyond seeing to the needs of the children and myself?”

  “I assume ye’re askin’ about sex? Ye could come to my bed or not as ye saw fit. I’d prefer it if ye did, obviously, but I’ve no interest in havin’ sex with a woman who has no desire to be with me. I think ye’re not a woman who can live a life without it entirely. There are some who can, an’ do, an’ see themselves as none the worse for it. However, I think yer blood runs hotter than that.” He said it almost fastidiously, but she didn’t mistake his meaning. “Should ye choose to lie with me, I would make certain to keep ye satisfied.”

  She was too surprised to even blush. She wasn’t even certain there were words fit for such a statement.

  “Could I take a bit of time to think about it?” She was surprised to hear the words coming out of her own mouth, but realized as she said them that it wasn’t the worst idea she had ever heard. Marriages had been made of less and flourished.

  He regarded her with those cool gentian eyes for a long moment, during which she felt as if every thought that flitted through her head was as plain as rice on a black sheet to him.

  “Aye, take a bit of time. But not too much longer, because yer belly is beginnin’ to show an’ tongues are goin’ to wag. I can put a stop to that if we announce the banns. There’s little I can do to stop it otherwise.”

  She didn’t reply, for he was right and there was little point in arguing with the man. She didn’t think she had the fortitude for it just at present.

  “I’ll go then, an’ leave ye to think on it,” he said, standing up from the table.

  She walked him to the door, somewhat lightheaded, though whether it was her normal pregnancy lightheadedness, or shock from Noah’s most unexpected proposal, she could not tell.

  He surprised her by taking her hand, and putting it to his mouth. He kissed it briefly and held it as he said, “We’re friends, an’ that’s more than many marriages begin with.”

  After he left, she looked at the clock. She thought about the various chores she had planned to get done today and gave them up as a lost cause. Noah’s proposal had knocked the wind from her sails. She was still shocked to realize she was considering it.

  Her mind was blank as she walked back to the table and sat down, putting her hands palm down on the table in an effort to keep the world on its axis. She would consider his offer, as he had made it—in a cool, calculating light. Seen in that fashion it was a good idea. He had presented it bluntly and she considered it thusly. It would save the company and it would keep her safe so that her children wouldn’t end up as orphans. She could stay home if she chose, which sounded like a bloody relief at this point. She would still have money coming in, though it wasn’t likely to be a great deal, once her book on the Troubles was published.

  She was not a woman to accept an offer of marriage without knowing it would have to be a full marriage, or as full as the two of them might manage. It would be patently unfair to live under his roof, accept his care and protection and not go to his bed at night. It wasn’t something she could comfortably live with and so would not. So that decided, she considered how palatable she would find sex with Noah. He was an attractive man, fit, well set up as the country parlance went. Viewed from an entirely physical aspect, yes, she could imagine going to bed with him. He was right, her blood did run hotter than that of a woman who could do witho
ut sex permanently. Viewed from an emotional aspect, well, she supposed she could close her eyes and think of Ireland if necessary. There would not be the desire that came with love, there would not be that terrible longing that possessed her every time she thought of Jamie, nor the ache she still felt and always would, from Casey’s absence. It would be the stuff of comfort, perhaps some nights merely duty. She could do that, she had done worse and survived it. It would not be that bone deep need that went right to the marrow of her, to take her man to her and have him helpless in her arms, to be helpless in his arms too, and know it to be the most utterly right thing in the world. But she’d had that, and fat lot of good it had done her—here she was unwed with two children and a third on the way, the father of whom was married to a Russian spy. She laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of it, the sound echoing hollow beneath the thick exposed beams.

  Noah had not said he loved her, and it was a relief that he hadn’t, it made it easier to keep this as an exchange and something simple in its terms. His desire in trade for the security of her children and herself. His bluntness had kept it clean in that respect. She did not love him, did not fool herself into thinking she would grow to, either. He was smart enough to know that.

  Unbidden, an image rose up in her mind of the bed in Paris, the sweet unending heat of it, the love and the laughter and how she had thought for a moment, a brief bittersweet stop of time that she would have it again—desire, passion, and love, most of all, love. But if she were honest, painfully honest with herself, she knew she had not been ready, Russian wives notwithstanding, to let Casey go entirely in the way that would be necessary to love Jamie as he deserved, as indeed, she too deserved. She might never be able to let Casey go and it was this fact that made sense of Noah’s offer more than any other. Because for a man to whom it did not matter, half a loaf would be enough.