A Rose in Splendor (47 page)

“Killian!” Deirdre dropped her makeshift broom and hurried down the narrow, worn stairwell to the main floor. She gained the front yard before she remembered the pistol she had left on the windowsill, but she cast the thought of protection aside as she continued her headlong flight.

The early-afternoon sun had broken through the clouds, lighting the day in a soft golden haze that deepened the greens and sharpened the gray walls of Liscarrol. Killian spied first the golden head glittering brightly as it bobbed up and down between the hedgerows. Even before she gained the bridge, he knew it was Deirdre. As she clambered across the dilapidated planks, setting them rattling underfoot, he called out a warning; but Deirdre did not pause, and a moment later, she was on the far side of the river, running toward him with her arms outstretched.

The moment his arms closed about her and she knew that Killian was safe and well, a contrary anger rose up
within her. Before he could even kiss her, she was pushing free of him.

“You! Where have you been?” she cried.

Killian smiled at her, his laughter barely contained as he reached for her a second time. “Come, lass, will you not kiss your husband?”

She sidestepped him, slapping his hands away. “You miserable, ungrateful man! Can you think of nothing but your own pleasure? And me so worried about you I nearly died.”

Killian’s brow furrowed as he searched her flushed face. “You were not harmed? They promised me you would not be harmed.”

“They promised you, did they? And what other pleasantries did you exchange that kept you away these two days?” She brushed away the tear that dared to dampen her cheek. “Had I known you were dealing with gentlemen I’d nae have been worried at all!”

“Dee,” he coaxed as he reached for her once more. “Poor lass, you’ve had a time of it, worrying about me and frightened half out of your wits at being alone.”

“I was not frightened,” Deirdre lied and folded her arms across her bosom. “I was angry and worried, I admit.” Against her will, her gaze strayed to his bare chest where fine black hair clung in damp curls to the sleek-muscled contours. It was a fine chest, she thought fleetingly as she dragged her eyes away, but not so fine that it would make her forgo her anger.

Killian’s gaze, too, had wandered; to her bare arms and the décolletage of her bodice, over her petticoated hips to her bare ankles and feet. His eyes darkened. “You are undressed. Where are your clothes?”

The abrupt tone turned Deirdre’s complexion bright red. She opened her mouth but closed it with a snap and turned on her heel to stalk back toward the bridge.

A grin spread across Killian’s face as he watched her walk away. There was no denying that he had feared the worst for her. To find her perfectly sound had come as a shock. He well understood her irrational anger. The sentiment had risen within him also as relief had turned to chagrin.

He caught her just before she reached the first plank and encircled her about the waist and swung her off her feet and into his arms.

Deirdre glared at him. “Put me down, you great brute!”

Killian bent to nuzzle the warm damp skin of her neck. “You were frightened for me. I’m sorry, lass.”

Deirdre kicked her heels and pressed her hands against his chest to hold him away from her. “Put me down!”

Killian looked at her, reproach in his eyes of vivid blue. “Dee, lass.”

Deirdre’s hands curled into the furring on his chest. “You left me for two days!”

“It could not be helped.”

She drew her hands away. “You should not have allowed them to take you.”

An ironic smile curved Killian’s mouth. “Much as you may not believe it, I have no great desire to be apart from you, lass. As for not besting my foes, you should remember that a man is at a wee bit of a disadvantage when his back is to the door and his senses are filled with the tantalizing nearness of his bride.”

Deirdre looked up to see that desire had expanded his pupils, but she was not so easily appeased. “You do not look as though you tried very hard to resist.”

“What did you desire, bloody wounds and blackened eyes?”

“Aye!”

“Nae, lass,” Killian murmured warmly, nuzzling her neck once more.

“Put me down this instant!” Deirdre commanded sharply, but oddly enough she reached out to encircle his neck with her arms.

“
Mo cuishle
,”
he murmured thickly into the hollow of her throat.

“Now!” she answered less steadily.

The grass was lushly green on the riverbank. She sank into it as easily as into a feather tick when Killian lowered her onto the ground. He was smiling at her, a new cocky grin that she had never before seen on his face.

“You’re very certain of your welcome,” she challenged.

Killian did not answer. Instead, he reached for the row of tiny bows on her bodice.

Deirdre giggled. “We stand in fearsome company. What if you’re attacked again?”

Killian opened her bodice and plucked loose the lacing that held her corset closed.

“You would not?” she whispered in scandalized tones.

The corset parted as easily as her bodice and he brushed one rosy peak with a finger. “You’re an uncommon lass, Lady Deirdre. Not many a gentlewoman would bare herself in the open light of day, however hotly passion runs in her veins.”

Deirdre tried to close her bodice but he caught her hands, laughing at her outraged face. “Lass, lass, do you not yet know when a man’s delighting in your wantonness?”

“Release me, you
spalpeen
!”

Killian threw a leg over her until he straddled her waist. “Does it shame you to want a man so?”

“I do not want you, Captain MacShane. You’re too conceited by far. Killian? Do not—Killian!”

His cheeks were dark with whiskers and they lightly abraded her skin as he tenderly suckled her. Deirdre shut her eyes against the pleasure as a shameful blush warmed her skin from cheeks to belly. His actions were shocking, reckless, scandalous…and very, very exciting. As his lips moved from her breasts to her abdomen, she felt his hands on her thighs raising her petticoats.

“Can ye nae manage a place of shelter that ye must be rutting under a bush?” questioned an exasperated voice.

Deirdre squealed in fright and tried to throw Killian’s weight from her but he would not budge. He looked up, more startled than frightened, for he knew the owner of the voice.

Fey stood a few feet away, her hands on her narrow hips and a look of pure disgust on her features.

“Fey, lass,” he greeted with a lopsided grin as he lowered Deirdre’s petticoats to a more respectable level. “I apologize. I had forgotten about you.”

The truth of his statement did not have the desired effect. Fey turned on her heel and stalked away.

Killian looked back at Deirdre. “I fear I hurt her feelings.”

Deirdre watched the girl’s retreating back. “We both did,” she answered quietly, “more than I had realized until now.”

She did not question why the girl should be here in Ireland. The answer of how did not seem important for the moment. Fey had crossed an ocean and the reason was as plain as the look that had been in her eyes as she gazed at them sprawled in the grass. The girl was in love with Killian MacShane.

She looked at her husband and put a hand to his cheek. “I think perhaps we should rise, my love.”

“We have not finished,” he answered with a prodding reminder.

She smiled and tweaked his nose. “
Musha
,
my love! If we rise now, I’ve no fear but what you’ll rise again later.”

Chapter Twenty

Deirdre paused in her sweeping to adjust the strips of linen that Killian had wound about her palms to protect them from further blisters. She smiled as she remembered the look of horror on his face when she told him of her labor. He had been impressed, she could see, but a little ashamed that his wife had taken on such a menial task. After berating her for damaging her hands, he had strictly forbidden her to work. That had been three days ago. Since then she had cleaned the solar room on the upper floor, carted away most of the debris from the Great Hall, and cleaned the plasterwork of the small chapel, while Killian worked to repair the roof on the third floor. When he finished, they would finally be able to sleep in a private room, away from the tense silence of their guest.

Deirdre glanced at Fey, who lackadaisically moved her broom over the slate floor without accumulating any dust. The girl rarely spoke, and when she did, it was with a dagger-point gaze which rebuffed any attempt at friendliness.

The rumble of Deirdre’s stomach reminded her that Killian had gone to check the rabbit snares he had laid in the grassy fields beyond the river the day before. Food was their most constant problem. If they were lucky, they would have roasted mountain hare for supper.

The sound of heavy boots in the hallway brought a smile to her lips before she raised her head. “You’re back so quickly. Did you have luck then?”

The smile froze on her face as a man moved to fill the doorway. He was huge, larger even than Darragh or Conall. And hairy. Bright red hair sprouted from his head and chin, ran in tangled skeins down his massive forearms, and curled forth on his half-bared chest. A pistol was stuck in his waistband but something more surprising riveted her gaze. The jeweled hilt of the O’Neill dagger, lost when her horse disappeared, was sticking from his belt.

“Forward, the lass is, and without the bashful eye of a maiden.” Laughter bellowed forth from the giant. “
Musha!
Had I known I’d be made so welcome, lass, I’d have come all the sooner.”

A flush of embarrassment flooded her face as she met his leer, and she gripped her broom handle in both hands. “And who would you be, that you enter this house without knocking?”

The big man smiled expansively and lifted both arms wide. “Why, yer neighbor, lass, come to welcome ye.”

Deirdre saw now that he held a brace of pintail ducks in one hand and a reed basket slung over his other arm. “There’s ale inside,” he said, lifting the basket higher. “Butter and oakcakes, and honey as well.”

Deirdre did not answer though her stomach turned over at the thought of bread and honey; and when she glanced at Fey, the girl was looking at her with interest for the first time in three days. “We’ve little enough to offer a guest,” she began carefully, her eyes on the doorway beyond the stranger. “My husband will return at any moment. You may deal with him.”

He walked toward her, his jack boots ringing on the slate tiles. “I’ve an eye for a winsome lass and ye could do nae better than to make friends with Oadh O’Donovan.”

Deirdre’s mouth was suddenly dry. She had heard that name before, in the tavern in Kilronane. This was the man
the English soldiers sought, the man they had tried to flush out by hanging others, including his own child.

O’Donovan’s smile widened until it seemed his face would split under the pressure. “I see ye’ve heard of me.”

Deirdre quickly quelled a shudder at the ghastly memory of the child. “Aye, I’ve heard of you,” she answered stonily, “and none of it was to your credit.”

O’Donovan’s red brows peaked above his nose. “Ye know the name O’Donovan and have no fear in the hearing of it. ’Tis a rare one with so much courage, for all I’m known for a soft spot for the lassees.”

Deirdre lifted her broom. “You’re not welcome here, O’Donovan.” She sent Fey a beseeching look, but O’Donovan caught it and turned to the child in breeches and coat.

“Here, lad. The ducks are nae half so fine till they’ve been plucked and gutted. Take them into the yard so the feathers will nae fly about yer mistress’s head.”

To Deirdre’s dismay, Fey took the proffered ducks and basket, and with a last smirking glance, turned to leave the room.

“Fey!” she cried, but the girl ignored her. O’Donovan’s triumphant grin provoked her too much for her to repeat the plea for help. She squared her shoulders. “You’ve come to the wrong place for pleasure. Take yourself to where there are willing lasses.”

“Now there’s a saying, lass, that there’s no unwilling lasses, only untutored lads.”

“They lied,” Deirdre maintained stoutly, but her hands trembled slightly on the broom as he continued toward her.

“Ye’re more than passing fair,
colleen dhas
,
but ye’ve nae the look of a
bean sidhe
.”

“Why do you call me that?” she asked. Her eyes darted toward the window. Had she seen a man crossing the bridge?

“They told me ye were a daughter of the Sidhe. Where are yer fairy companions, then?”

He reached for her, but Deirdre twisted away, bringing her broom handle down hard. It cracked in two where it met the hard bone of his shoulder. She twisted away but he swung her around by the shoulder to face him.

“Let me go!” she said through gritted teeth and brought her knee up sharply.

O’Donovan was adept at sidestepping such a blow and her knee harmlessly struck his thigh. “A fine try, lass, but Oadh’s nae so slow or careless as Cuan O’Dineen.”

Deirdre stilled. Cuan had been with the men who captured Killian. He was one of O’Donovan’s comrades.