“You already regret it,” he said in a flat voice.
“Regret making love with you?” she asked, leaning up and pressing her elbows into his belly, earning a grunt of discomfort from him. “Why would you believe that?” She shook her head, her wild mass of auburn hair flowing around her. “It’s because you regret it.”
“No!” he snapped, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Never.” He paused, opening his eyes, so he could stare deeply into her gaze. “I will never regret a single thing that occurs between us. Unless it is an argument that causes misunderstanding and pain.” He waited for her to speak. “Are you afraid of me now?”
“Afraid of you?” she parroted.
His expression softened, as he reached up and grasped a strand of her silky hair. “Beloved, we won’t have much of a conversation if you repeat everything I say.” He sobered, when he saw her perplexed expression. “Maggie?”
She bent forward, pressing her chest against his and crawling up him, until she could press her forehead against his. “I never knew I could feel such joy. Such passion.” She paused. “Aye, it hurt, but Niamh assured me it only hurts like that the first time.” She flushed at speaking so bluntly.
“One time is too many,” he whispered. “I hate the thought of causing you any pain.”
She shook her head, her fingers stroking through his long locks. “Don’t you see how you eased my fears? You soothed me and helped me feel like I had a choice. Like what I wanted matters.” She smiled. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I’m not the woman who—” Her eyes widened as his hand covered her mouth.
“Stop, Maggie. Stop speaking such nonsense.” He tilted his head, kissing her softly. “Only because you are an innocent do you not realize how much pleasure you brought me.” He looked deeply into her brilliant blue eyes, shining with an incandescent trust. “You are the woman I want. You are the woman I desire. You are the only woman I’ll ever feel such passion for.”
She gazed at him with a childlike hope. “Truly?”
He groaned and pulled her down, so he could wrap his arms around her, resting her head against his chest again. “Truly.” He buried his face in her hair. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“I’ll always trust and believe in you, Philip. You are honorable and good.” She ran her fingers over his chest, earning a shiver. Once, she would have thought that meant he was cold, now she suspected it was due to an entirely different reason. Rather than fear niggling at her, she felt a rising excitement that she could arouse her husband with a mere touch. “I know of no better man, Philip.”
He stilled, leaning back into his pillow so he could meet her sincere gaze. “Not even your father?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not even him. I trust and love him, but you are my husband. And I love, honor, and cherish you, above all others.”
His expression belied deep emotions, as he pulled her close, unthinkingly rolling her over so he could kiss her soundly. At her soft groan, he swore and pressed himself up. “Forgive me for mauling you again,” he rasped, as he pushed himself onto his arms, holding himself over her.
She moaned in distress, arching up to press against him, and tugged at his shoulders. “No, don’t leave me. Come back,” she whispered. Her gaze filled with delight. “I’m not afraid of you. I want you to show me what we can have. Please.”
With a groan, he fell forward into her arms, any doubts or trepidations soon forgotten.
Chapter 13
“No!” Maggie screamed, thrashing from side to side. She punched out, screaming again, as a hand touched her arm, holding her against the bed. “No, I will not let you,” she cried, as she kicked out and fought. Her panic made her deaf to anything but her fear, which she was thankful for, as she had no desire to hear his mocking laughter, as he held her down. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her terror, stilling as she breathed deeply. The scent was familiar. Rather than the stink of an unwashed man and onions, she breathed in the scent of soap, horses, and the clean scent of a man. She sniffed again. And the hint of a forest. They were all the scents that reminded her of Dunmore. Her Philip.
“Maggie,” his deep voice said, as though through a tunnel. “Maggie, come back to me.”
With a groan, Maggie forced her eyes open and saw Dunmore—her husband—staring at her, deep concern in his gaze. She frowned in confusion, as he appeared near tears. Raising a hand, she stroked his cheek. “Shh, love,” she breathed. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
He moved to pull her close and then stilled, frozen by indecision. “I want to hold you, but I don’t want to frighten you. Please, beloved, let me comfort you.”
Nodding, she pulled at him, so he lay beside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. When his strong arms were around her, she slung a leg over him and pressed against him, needing to be as close to him as possible. Strong tremors racked her, as she battled her nightmare’s hold over her.
“Can you talk about it?” he asked in a whisper-soft voice, his hands tracing over her back and soothing her fear. He kissed her head, his quiet acceptance of her terror easing any shame she felt.
“I was back on the riverbank,” she said. She pushed up to look into her husband’s gaze, turning her head into his soft caress, as he brushed aside strands of her hair loosened from its braid. “I knew that this time I wouldn’t escape. All I heard was his laughter. His voice telling me that I deserve whatever pain befell me because I had the gall to bar him from my room and to run from him three years ago.”
“Lies,” Dunmore said, his gaze gleaming with impotent fury. “You know he speaks lies to make you ashamed of what you should take the most pride in.” He waited for her to argue, smiling with relief when she nodded.
“I know,” she admitted, resting her head on his chest. “I know I should feel proud that I fought and that I have the life I always dreamed of. But I can’t dispel these fears. They won’t go away until I know he’s …”
Tightening his hold on her, he murmured, “Dead.”
Maggie pressed even closer against him. “Yes,” she admitted in a small voice. “I know that makes me a horrible person. I don’t know how you can esteem me.” When she heard the rumble of a chuckle in his chest, she raised her head to stare at him in confusion. “How can you laugh?”
“What you feel makes you human, beloved, not a bad person. If you didn’t want him dead, then I’d worry about you.” He paused, as she stared at him for a long moment, as though assessing him to see if he spoke truth or was merely attempting to soothe her. With a long sigh, he blurted out, “Do you think less of me because I fantasize about all the ways I can torture the man?” When she gaped at him, he flushed. “Forgive me.”
She clung to him, when he moved to slip out from underneath her. “You do?” she asked in astonishment.
“Why are you so surprised?” He looked at her, with a hint of disappointment. “If someone hurt Niamh, what would you want to do?”
“Slip a bit of poison in their drink,” Maggie said, without thought. “I wish I’d known what a monster Connor was. I could have eased her torment sooner.”
Dunmore bit back a bark of astonished laughter. “Never admit that to anyone else. Promise me, Maggie.” When she shrugged and nodded, he sighed. “The sheriff would be only too happy to look into suspicious deaths.”
Rolling her eyes, Maggie rested her head down again, her fingers playing in his chest hair. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s investigated three murders in the past year, and you know as well as I do that at least three men die a week when the steamboats are in town. The sheriff has a penchant for becoming deaf and dumb, if he’s offered enough of an incentive.”
Dunmore sighed. “Aye, an’ he knows the men guilty of murder would string him up as easily as they did the men they murdered. I think he has no desire to become the latest resident in our town cemetery.” He paused and shook his head. “Back to our original discussion. Do you think less of me for wanting to punish B
ergeron for hurting you?” He had discovered that Maggie didn’t react as violently if he used Jacques’s last name.
“Of course not.” She bit her lip and looked away.
“Beloved?” he asked, tilting his head to better see her expression.
“I feel embarrassed because you would want to act in such a way for me.”
“Embarrassed?” He rolled, so she was on her side, and he could better look into her eyes in the darkened room, only lit by the faint light of the moonlight entering a window. “My desire to defend you embarrasses you?”
She gripped his shoulder and smiled brightly. “No, of course it doesn’t. I’m embarrassed it brings me so much delight. That you love me so much that you’d want to act in such a way.” She traced a finger over his eyebrow. “To know that you are as affected by your feelings for me as I am for you.”
“Of course I am,” he breathed, arching down to kiss her.
She kissed him back, gasping when he broke the kiss. “I shouldn’t relish the thought of you beating him to a pulp.”
“Of course you should,” he murmured, kissing her again. “And, if I don’t do it, one of your brothers or your father will. You have many champions.” He deepened their kiss, his hands roving over her. After they were both breathless, he rolled to his side, “Come. I should let you rest.”
“Or you could help replace all the nightmares with the best of waking dreams,” she teased, as she ran her hands through his long hair and caressed his head. “Now I know what Da is talking about when he asks if we are in the midst of waking dreams. He’s been in one since Mum returned.”
“I’ve been in one since the moment I saw you,” Dunmore whispered, lowering his head for another kiss, and soon they were lost to their waking dream.
* * *
A few nights later, Maggie sat beside Dunmore at her parents’ table. She glanced around the crowded table, smiling at how little had changed. The younger boys sat at one end, jabbering away and laughing, as they recounted and embellished stories from the summer. Niall and Lucien had formed a tight bond and spoke in soft undertones, as they waited for supper to be served.
Samantha, the woman who had traveled with Declan as his wet nurse to baby Gavin and now worked as a nanny, sat near Niall and Lucien, and Maggie couldn’t determine which one she favored. Both of her brothers treated her like a good friend, but Maggie wondered when that would change and wondered if there would be sore feelings when Samantha chose the brother she desired.
Pushing aside that thought, she watched Eamon flirting with Phoebe, as she held their one-year-old daughter, Orla. Ardan cast furtive, worried glances at a very pregnant Deirdre, as though afraid she’d go into labor at any moment. She, in turn, stroked a hand down his arm in an attempt to soothe his concern. Declan and Lorena canoodled like newlyweds, even with Gavin settled on Declan’s lap. Kevin and Aileen sat near Seamus and spoke with him and Dunmore. Finn attempted to appear jovial, but he was unable to hide the sadness in his gaze.
“Finn,” Maggie murmured, as Dunmore spoke with her Da. “Are you well?”
He forced a smile and then sobered, when she stared at him with patient understanding. Her steadfast stare prevented him from prevaricating. “No,” he said in a low tone. “I feel alone in a sea of people.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and her gaze filled with compassion, as she reached out to grip his hand. “I know how hard that can be, Finn.” She sighed, casting a quick glance in her husband’s direction. “Although my period of disillusionment was short, I know how painful it can be.”
“The worst thing is hope, Mags,” he murmured. “I can’t help but hope she’ll return next season. Changed for the better.” He shook his head, as he ducked his head and closed his eyes. “I’m such a fool. I know better.”
Maggie squeezed his hand, as she had no words of wisdom for him with regard to his unceasing devotion to Winnifred Mortimer, the third Mortimer sister. Although Lorena and Phoebe had married into the O’Rourke family, Winnifred had proven to be manipulative and mean. Seamus had forbidden her to have any more contact with the family a year and a half ago and had sent her back to Saint Louis. Finally Maggie murmured, “I never understood how much you mourned her.”
His smile was filled with self-recrimination and loathing. “You weren’t supposed to. I need to find a good lass, who won’t try to kill her sister or to play the part of a Temptress.” He sighed as he swallowed whatever other bitter words he would have said, as their very pregnant sister, Niamh, arrived with Cormac and their two children. She was to have their child in the early days after the New Year.
Soon everyone had settled, grace was said, and food was passed around. Laughter, stories, and a sense of well-being filled the room. Maggie listened, relishing in hearing old tales refashioned again, as she always felt stories gave her a tie to her past and were a bridge to her future. After she had eaten her fill, she lowered her hand, brushing her fingertips against Dunmore’s. Unable to hide a smile when his fingers clasped hers, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “I love seeing you so happy.”
“I love having you here with me. Not as my friend or my suitor, but as my husband. Knowing you are an integral part of my family too.” She gazed into his eyes a long moment, only breaking away when Declan cleared his throat.
Before Declan spoke, Dunmore whispered into her ear, “You are my family, Maggie. Never forget that.”
She shivered at his words before focusing on her brother.
“I have an announcement to make. I don’t mean to take away from little Orla’s birthday celebration, but we are all together, and it seemed appropriate.”
“Get on with it, Professor,” Finn teased, earning a chuckle from all present.
Declan flushed and smiled at the ribbing. “As you know, Lorena and I had a challenging time this summer. Thankfully Lo is much improved.” Everyone at the table murmured their agreement and thanks that Lorena had recovered after the attempted kidnapping. He took a deep breath, his brilliant blue eyes shining with wonderment. “We are to have a baby.”
The room erupted in pandemonium at the news, supper forgotten, as Declan and Lorena were swarmed and showered in hugs and kisses. Maggie approached them, holding them close for long moments. “I’m so happy for both of you,” she whispered.
She stepped aside, so Niamh could give her felicitations. Glancing around, she saw Aileen smiling, although with a deep sorrow in her gaze. Kevin was busy pounding Declan on his back, so Maggie sidled up to Aileen and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “All will be well, Aileen. Somehow, I know it will. Just be patient.”
Aileen turned into her embrace. “Thank you for believing that, but I have trouble maintaining my faith.” She squeezed Maggie tight before letting her go. Aileen swiped at her eyes rapidly, concealing any of her grief during this time of rejoicing.
Maggie gripped her arm for a moment. “You know I’ll always help you. All you need to do is ask.”
Aileen nodded, before moving away to stand beside Kevin, wearing a brave smile for all to see.
* * *
That evening, Maggie relaxed in the wooden bathtub before the stove, sighing with pleasure, as a deep warmth permeated her sore and tired muscles. Dunmore was on the porch in the freezing cold, intent on allowing her a few moments of privacy. Although Maggie appreciated his consideration, she was reminded of snippets of conversation—from the night she returned home, after her harrowing time with Jacques. She remembered Deirdre and Aileen teasing her that she would one day find pleasure in Dunmore’s attentions, while she was in the bath. Her mum had said that Maggie would enjoy having Dunmore wash her hair.
Maggie ran her hand through the water, imagining what might happen, if Dunmore were to enter their cabin. She smiled as she thought about it being their cabin. With her knees bent and her arms wrapped around her legs, she glanced around the small living space. Although it was tiny compared to the large O’Rourke house, it fel
t like home. Simply because Dunmore was here with her.
Gathering her courage, she let out a breath and then called out, “Philip?” When she didn’t hear any movement on the front porch, she raised her voice and called out again, “Philip?”
As the door burst open, she turned her head to smile at him, her breath catching at the concern in his gaze. She smiled mischievously, delight filling her to see the concern transform into passionate interest.
“Beloved?” he asked in his deep voice. “Is there something I could do for you?”
Nodding, with strands of her wet auburn hair scraping against her arm and over the water in the tub, she murmured, “Would you wash my hair?”
“Your hair?” he repeated, shucking his coat, scarf, and boots. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “You’re all warm, and I’ll make you cold.”
Reaching an arm out, she wiggled her fingers, sighing with pleasure when he approached. “Let me warm them.” She wrapped both of her hands around his fingers and kissed them. “I’m sorry you felt it necessary to wait on the porch in the middle of winter.”
His gaze glowed with devoted passion, as he stared at her. “There is little I wouldn’t do for you.”
After one hand had warmed, she grabbed his other hand, gasping at how cold it was. By this point he was kneeling by the side of the tub. “I fear I’ll get you all wet,” she murmured, before flushing and ducking her head.
He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “We are at home. I’ll gladly strip naked and cuddle under a blanket with you later.” He winked, and she blushed beet red.
Pioneer Devotion: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Six Page 18