“It will be a fine night for the fires," Devin said softly as he joined Tade.
"Aye." Tade turned his gaze away, hoping his brief answer would signal to his brother his need for silence, as it had unerringly in the days since they had lived together in the cave.
But for the first time, whether as a result of impatience with his morose companion or the conviction that Tade had brooded long enough, Dev failed to heed the warning. "Do you remember the year you strung a skeleton together with old twine?" he asked, hunkering down in a way that indicated quite clearly he meant to stay. "You rummaged around for bones in every rubbish heap from here to Derry, and at midnight you rigged it with string and made it dance over my pallet. I almost died of terror."
"Aye, and Da bloodied my backside with a butter paddle."
"Only because you gave him a fright, too. I mean, poor Da, rushing up that loft ladder, with me screaming as if the devil were carrying me away, and you . . ." Devin chuckled at the memory. "I vow, Tade, Da would have thought the jest a grand one if you hadn't made the creature swoop down on him, toppling him from the ladder."
Tade made no reply, just stared out to the distant crossroads where tiny flickers of orange flame were beginning to splash the dusk.
Yet Devin, it seemed, was bent on bedeviling him, stirring childhood memories that now only brought Tade pain. "Remember the night you scaled the roof and moaned and screamed into the chimney like a banshee?''
"Aye. I remember. I tumbled in and nigh set the seat of my breeches afire in the embers Rachel had banked on the hearth before bed."
"Well, it was lucky the worst of it was a few blisters on your hinderparts. By rights you should have broken your fool neck."
"Maybe it would have been better for Da if I had."
"Blast it, Tade, that's not true and you know it." Devin shot to his feet, exasperation in every line of his pale face. "Despite the fact that the two of you have spent the last six and twenty years ramming your stubborn heads against each other, Da loves you. And you love him. If you'd both just open your eyes and your hearts, strip away your cursed Kilcannon pride—"
"Kilcannon pride?" Tade's mouth twisted with irony. "Is that not all that matters to him? He's had nothing but contempt for me since the day Patrick Dugan was murdered." The tiniest catch in Tade's voice betrayed his pain, the infinitely patient, wearily amused face of the long-dead schoolmaster rising in his memory.
"Tade . . ." Frustration vanished from Devin's tone, and the fingers that had dug into Tade's flesh grew gentle. “That was nothing but a child's mistake you made. Master Dugan would not have blamed you. And Da has long since forgiven you."
Tade hated the stinging in his eyes, the haze that transformed the horizon into images from of the past. He could see a hank of fleece all dyed gold, its edges sewn together with a boy's awkward stitches. "That child's mistake cost Patrick Dugan his life."
"You only wanted to surprise the man with the gift you had made. Thank him for the world he’d opened up to you by giving you the book."
Tade gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, aye, I thanked him right well for putting the story of Jason and the Argonauts into my hands. I abandoned my post as sentry—"
"To retrieve the fleece you'd made from its hiding place. Blast it, Tade, you were but a child!"
"Aye, but I was a Kilcannon." Tade tasted bitterness on his lips. "Kilcannons are allowed no mistakes, no frolics. Do you know that when I cried for Patrick Dugan the night they cut him down, Da told me that if I'd had Kilcannon honor—if I had stayed at my post—I would have been able to give the schoolmaster fair warning, and Bridey Houlihan's treachery would have come to nothing?” Tade closed his eyes, the features of the bitter informer who had caused Dugan's death filling his memory.
“It was her choice to betray Master Dugan, it was her plotting, Tade. Not yours." Devin raked one thin hand through his pale hair. “It is hard to understand what moved Da to act so harsh about what happened at the cave that day. But his honor is the only legacy he has left to give his sons, the only thing that has not been crushed in him or stolen from him. He knew you had no way of knowing that the schoolmaster had been betrayed."
The terrifying memory of the child merged with the righteous rage of the man. "I vow, if Bridey Houlihan hadn't fled to France that very night, I would have found a way to repay her in like coin for what she did that day, even though I was but a lad." Tade's fists knotted. "But she was gone even before the soldiers rode in to do their butchering. It was a cursed lot of blood the vindictive bitch spilled because poor Patrick Dugan dared to love his calling more than he loved her."
"Passions can be like a madness in our souls—love, jealousy, hate, rage." Devin turned his gaze to the steady banner of flame now unfurling from the distant bonfire. "Trapped within those passions, we can be less than the most savage beast that stalks the wilds or, rarer still, we can touch such splendor as angels seldom know.''
"What am I, then, Father Devin? A beast because I dared to mate with a woman I would die for? A woman I love and who loves me? Are Maryssa and I accursed, then, because of some paltry law thought up by some pope sitting on a gilded throne in a gilded palace a hundred years ago?"
“It is no paltry law, Tade, especially here in Ireland. I wish I could tell you to take your Maryssa, cherish her as I know you would, but the faith we hold is much battered in these times. It is a war we fight here, without weapons, and each of us must be certain about which side we are fighting on."
"I've fought your cursed battle since the day I turned seventeen, but I fought it with weapons, Dev. I bought your God's safety with my blood. But now—” Tade's eyes flashed up to meet the pale blue of Devin’s. “—I’m casting down my sword. I'm taking Maryssa away. Away from her bastard father, away from Ireland."
"Tade, you can't—can't mean that!" Twilight painted bruised hollows in Devin's thin face. His eyes looked stricken, stark with disbelief and despair. "Where would you go? How would you feed her, clothe her, keep her from her father's grasp? Do you think Bainbridge Wylder will let you simply sweep away his only daughter without taking rash measures to stop you?"
"I doubt Wylder will even know Maryssa is gone, unless he turns to beat her. And if he does give chase, it will give me the greatest of pleasure to repay the cursed bastard for the bruises I saw on Maryssa's cheek."
"Despite the fact that Wylder has used her harshly, she is still his only child—heiress to all he owns. Even if Maryssa would willingly go with you, he'd hunt you down."
"By then he will be too late. She'll be my wife, Dev, perhaps with my child growing inside her."
"Tade—"
"Nay, Dev. I'm taking her, riding to the coast, and from thence setting out for Cannes. Once I wed her, I'll contrive some way to build a life for us there. Perhaps French Louis has need of a strong sword arm among his armies. If that fails, I'll ply my skill at coloring gaming cards."
"And when you get shot for cheating some drunken Gaul, what will happen to Maryssa?"
Tade's voice dropped low. "She will still be my wife, Dev, joined to me as one. And if ill befalls either of us, it will be worth the pain to have known that bliss." Tade raised his gaze to Devin's, needing desperately for this brother, whom he had tormented and teased, but whom he loved more deeply than any other member of the embattled Kilcannon clan, to understand.
Devin cleared his throat, and the eyes that darted away from Tade's were filled with tears. His chin dropped to his chest. "When I was in the cane fields and the Barbados sun was beating down on me like the devil's breath, I used to make a game of remembering your pranks," Devin said softly. "I recounted them all, Tade, in the months I slaved there. It was those memories that held me strong—aye, more, sometimes than the faith to which I am pledged."
He raked one slender hand slowly through his moon-gold hair. "I thought you would never change. That you would always be a half-wild boy, driving us all mad with your scrapes."
"I vow I'll have to be getting myself out o
f them without your help from now on," Tade said. Throat knotting with emotion, he unfastened the pouch at his waist and withdrew a thin silver crucifix affixed to a loop of dulled beads. "I want to give you something before I sail," Tade said, turning the rosary in his hand. "Most likely it will be years before. . . before Maryssa and I can return to Ireland."
He fixed his eyes on the rosary, knowing that he might well never return home. "When I'm gone, MacGary and the others will continue to ride—to guard the mountain. There is a man coming, an English huntsman named Dallywoulde, whom Maura warned me about. I've told Neylan and MacGary about him. They'll be waiting at the ready."
"I'll depend upon them."
"You can, Dev. I'd not go if I didn't believe that you—all of you—would be safe. If you should ever find yourself in need of aid, send this to Reeve Marlow. He'll know how to reach the men I leave behind."
Devin took the rosary into his hand and ran the tip of one finger over the engraving that graced the back of the crucifix. "A falcon," he said softly as the waning light touched the carved image, bathing its patina in a rose glow.
"Aye. I fear it is far from polished, what with my neglecting my prayers so much of late. But it is one of the few things in my possession I've not gotten by slitting some rich Englishman's pursestrings or by dicing at some inn."
Devin's fingers closed about the gift, his sensitive mouth quivering in a smile full of love and sadness. "I'll use it to pray for your blackguard soul," he said, attempting to lighten his tone. "But perhaps Maryssa will have more luck in saving it than I have."
The jest had a hollow sound. Unable to bear the feelings of love and loss that were dragging both him and Devin down, Tade strode into the cave that had been home to the brothers these last days. From a niche in the stone wall, he pulled a blanket-wrapped bundle bound with strips of leather, which he slung over one broad shoulder. It contained the possessions of a lifetime. Crude forbidden weapons he had seized during his raids, the leather mittens Deirdre had worked for him last Christmastide, one ragged-bound book, its embossed letters long ago worn away by grubby hands and a boy's tears, and one faded leaden soldier.
He turned back toward Devin, seeing the twilight carve deep shadows into the beloved face that had once seemed so serene. Tade swallowed a lump of pain in his throat, feeling as though, somehow, he were cutting away a part of himself in this leaving, deserting this man who seemed now, not the steadfast priest filled with strength, but rather an innocent, groping in some abyss Devin alone could see.
"Tell Rachel and the babes I love them," Tade said. "And Da . . ."
Devin raised his hand as if to bless Tade, but the pale fingers froze in the air. With a choked sound, Devin lunged forward and crushed Tade in his arms. "Go with God, Tade."
Tade caught his brother tight with his free arm, feeling he had abandoned Devin to some private hell. "Dev," he began, "if there is anything troubling you, Maryssa and I . . . we can wait—"
"Nay." Devin gave an empty laugh. "The demons I wrestle this night can be bested by me alone. It is time for you to think of yourself before any other. It is growing dark, Tade, and your love will be waiting."
Torn and confused, Tade shifted the burden to his other shoulder, his fingers worrying the end of one leather thong. But as though Devin sensed the turmoil loosed within his brother, he divested Tade of the bundle and strode with it upon his own narrow shoulders to where Curran stood tethered. Tade watched, silent, as Devin fastened the rolled blanket behind the saddle.
Giving the leather strips one last tug, Dev took hold of the bay's reins. "Beware the ghosties as you ride," he said, his mouth twisting in a crooked smile as his eyes swept the faraway flickering of the bonfires.
"I will." Tade's fingers felt chill and numb as he gripped the saddle and swung up on the bay's back. "Don't forget to say farewell to Rachel and the babes for me. Aye, and Da."
"You'll not be telling them yourself?"
"How can I?" Tade's fingers clenched on the reins, the pain at not being able to see each round child's face, Rachel's loving smile, or his father's proud countenance washing over him afresh.
“It would prove a mite awkward, now that I think on it." A flat laugh broke through Devin's lips and died there. "I'll give them your love. Be happy, Tade." Devin's face turned up to meet his gaze, the rising moon casting a translucent pallor over the gentle, beloved features. "I need—need to believe you are happy."
Tade felt loss claw into his heart, as though half of his soul were being wrenched from his breast. But though he wanted desperately to tell this man about the special place he held in his heart, the words seemed to snag in his throat. "Dev, all these years . . . You . . . I never told you how much I—"
"I know, Tade." Devin's smile widened, the tiniest flicker of strength touching his gaze. "I know." His words were a blessing, a benediction. A farewell. "Now, go tend to your Maryssa before she sets after you with a butter paddle for being late." Devin raised one hand and gently slapped Curran's glossy rump.
The stallion jolted into motion, driving its way through the undergrowth. But Tade did not spare the horse's path a glance. He swiveled in the saddle, straining his gaze back to the inky opening of the cave and the man silhouetted against it. A shiver of foreboding prickled his scalp as the waves of the Samhain darkness broke over Devin's gentle face. The shadows gnarled mountain trees cast over his brother formed the crude shape of a cross.
* * *
Maryssa drew deeper into the shadow of a jagged boulder, her numbed fingers clutching the folds of her cloak more tightly about her throat. Despite the heat emanating from the tongues of flame writhing up from an All Hallows fire a little distance from where she stood, she felt nothing but the chill of despair and the jeering touch of the wind soughing down from Tade's night-shaded mountains.
In the days since the mass at Christ's Wound, she had been torn between railing at the fate that always pulled her and Tade apart and succumbing to the temptation to disregard all except the passion she felt for him. To meet him here at the fires and clutch to her a future bright with the love that he had promised.
Yet whenever the tug of a future at his side pulled too strongly, she only had to remember the ragged cluster of mountain-folk in the tiny glen or the image of Kane Kilcannon's ravaged face.
She twisted a tendril of hair that had slipped from beneath her hood, and bit her lip to still its trembling. She had no right to steal Tade away from those who needed him so desperately, who had no other champion to stand between them and disaster. And yet, to turn her back on the promise of such joy, when her own life had been so barren of pleasure, to exchange Tade's offer of happiness for the chill promise of Ascot Dallywoulde's bed sickened her.
Maryssa shuddered, clenching her teeth. Even if she never again knew the sweetness of Tade's touch, even if her father railed at her and beat her, she could never become Dallywoulde's bride. And yet, if she were to ride away with Tade this night, would not the years to come prove to be a more subtle torture than any her father and Ascot could deal her?
Always she had sensed the honor Tade possessed, the pride and soul-deep nobility that gave his lightsome features such inner beauty. What would become of that pride during years of playing the fugitive from her father's wrath? How savagely would the lash of his honor flay him in some foreign land, bound by the knowledge that he had deserted those who needed his strength and courage so desperately? He would come to resent the woman who had dragged him away from his duty, perhaps even come to hate her.
Shrill laughter pierced the rollicking music of harp, pipe, and fiddle, and Maryssa's gaze flicked to where the ring of dancers writhed and whirled about the bonfire's flames, which clawed at the black curtain of the night like the fingers of Maryssa's own dread. No, she thought, it would be far better to drive Tade's love for her from his heart with a clean, hot blaze like that of the Samhain fires, banishing the emotions that tempted him to betray his own destiny—and in so doing, condemn her to the fires of
a hell far worse than even Satan could devise.
She clenched her mittened fingers as she caught a glimpse of Deirdre Kilcannon's bright hair. The girl, her shoulders drooping, sat huddled beneath a shawl some distance away from the dancers, her face almost as forlorn as Maryssa knew her own to be. She steeled her spine, wishing she could go to Tade's sister and comfort her, but knowing that Deirdre would fly into her face, searing her with hatred. All Maryssa could do was to return to the girl that which Deirdre felt she had stolen—the love of the brother Deirdre adored, the peace of the family that had cherished the copper-haired firebrand from the day she was born.
Tade Kilcannon had given Maryssa so much—love, a budding faith in herself, the wonder of days spent in such beauty that the memory of their joy would hold her through a lifetime. Now he needed her to be strong enough to let him go.
Her eyes caught the lithe, sensual movements of Sheena O'Toole's sleek form as the girl twirled around the leaping flames, and Maryssa bit her lip, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
Of all the agony to come—her loss of the tender ecstasy Tade's love could bring—the greatest would be the knowledge that Tade would need to find someone else on whom to shower his abundant love. He would need a wife and a cottage full of babes to kiss and cuddle and hold in his arms. In time, he would forget the plain English girl who had not had the courage to risk all for his love, and he would take another to his bed and to his heart.
A steel blade twisted in Maryssa's breast, tearing her with a sharp edge of jealousy. But she fought it, forcing her chin high, clenching her teeth against the sob that swelled within her chest. Above all, Tade Kilcannon had blessed her with strength. Though she lost all else, she would cling to that one special gift.
The sound of more revelers approaching drew Maryssa's gaze to the shadow-shrouded ribbon of road winding off toward the base of the mountain. Shouts of recognition and ribald greetings were flung to a rider as he burst forth from the night astride a huge bay stallion.
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