Call Home the Heart (23 page)

 

 

She was just about to let go of Lochlainn when her knees began to
wobble, and his whole face swam before her eyes.

 

 

"God, I'm so tired," she murmured drowsily.

 

 

He swung her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. He
tugged down the covers with one hand before laying her down. Then he
loosened the top buttons of her dress and tucked her in under the
quilt.

 

 

"Sleep now, my dear."

 

 

She gazed up at him tenderly, stroking his lightly bristled cheek.
"Thank you, Lochlainn."

 

 

"Don't mention it." He kissed her gently on the lips. He rose from
the bed to close the shutters, and left her alone slumbering
peacefully.

 

 

 

 

 

 It seemed to Lochlainn that he had only just fallen asleep
himself when he heard a shout from the next room. The nightmares
again, he thought dazedly as he grabbed his trousers and shirt,
yanking them on as he ran into the bedchamber next door. Muireann
was thrashing about wildly on the bed. Lochlainn was terrified she
might do herself an injury.

 

 

"It's me, Muireann, Lochlainn. Wake up!" he urged, shaking her by
the shoulders.

 

 

But she continued to thrash about, so that he pinned her body down
as she shouted, moaned and wailed like one possessed.

 

 

"No, don't! Don't! You can't! You'll be sorry, you'll see!" she
shrieked over and over again.

 

 

At one point she even shouted, "Let me go!"

 

 

For a moment Lochlainn took her literally at her word. But then she
jumped off the bed wild-eyed, and began tugging at the door handle
as though trying to escape from some unseen terror in the room.

 

 

She didn't waken, but eventually, with Lochlainn's comforting arms
around her, her wailing began to subside. She gulped and sniffed a
few times, and soon her ragged breathing grew more even.

 

 

Lochlainn laid her down and got into the bed beside her, but for him
sleep was elusive. He was stunned by her behavior. Why was she so
disturbed by nightmares? Could it be she was reliving the horror of
the hotel incident?

 

 

Despite himself, Lochlainn now began to wonder if it truly had been
an accident, as he had told Father Brennan. Muireann had said the
same at the time. Surely she had nothing to hide, to reproach
herself for, did she?

 

 

Ridiculous, he berated himself as he rose from the bed restlessly.
It simply wasn't possible to think she had been to blame. Had shot
her husband...

 

 

He went back into the chamber he had been using and removed the
blankets from the straw mattress. He wrapped them around himself
before pulling up the chair by the window. He sat down with a sigh,
and stroked her tousled hair back from her face.

 

 

As he looked at the young beauty in the dim glow of the fire, he
knew she had to be completely innocent. It must have been the shock
of seeing her beloved husband dead which had affected her mind. No
doubt she tried hard to block out the vision of the gaping head
wound during the day, but at night, it came back to haunt her.

 

 

Lochlainn now grew furious with himself for having ever thought that
he might one day win her hand. How could he possibly wipe away the
love she had obviously felt for Augustine? Not that the lout had
deserved it, curse him, but Augustine and Christopher Caldwell
always had had the damnedest luck.

 

 

Alas, it hadn't rubbed off on him or his sister Ciara, who had begun
acting strangely again, he recollected wearily. She'd been moody and
odd ever since he'd told her he was going to stay up at the house
for a time to keep an eye on Muireann.

 

 

Lochlainn must have eventually dozed off, for he awoke as the first
rays of dawn were just filtering in through the cracks in the
shutters. He straightened and found he had slumped forward, and been
sleeping with his head next to Muireann's on the pillow.

 

 

Stiff as a board, he rose from the chair and dragged his blankets
away. The last thing he wanted was for her to find him in her room.

 

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

 

For the next three days, Muireann seemed more rested, and appeared
to be her normal calm self. But every night, he insisted she take
the sleeping draught. Every night she turned into a wailing banshee.
Lochlainn would run in and hold her until she calmed, and at last
lay back on the pillow and slept soundly and peacefully.

 

 

He always forced himself to sit in the chair by her side. What if
she should wake up and find him in the bed with her? It would be bad
enough trying to explain what he was doing in her room.

 

 

He always made sure he left her chamber before she could waken, so
that she would not feel embarrassed about his presence there. She
seemed determined to deny that anything was wrong the few times he
had tried to broach the subject. She grew more distant from him the
closer he tried to get to her.

 

 

Muireann struggled desperately to pretend things were normal, but
the more concerned Lochlainn got, the closer he got to her, the more
she wanted him.

 

 

She tried to tell herself it was wrong, unseemly. But they were such
close companions in every other way. Surely hugging and kissing
couldn't be so wrong? She had been brought up to believe that women
who desired men that way were hussies, but her heart told her a
different tale.

 

 

She looked at Patrick and Siobhan and the other married couples
around the estate. They all seemed to be so happy, affectionate and
loving towards one another. Why did she have to deny herself what
she desired most just because she had been deceived, and because of
ridiculous class divisions?

 

 

Muireann had met many men over the years, but never one with whom
she could behave completely unreservedly. With Lochlainn, she could
talk about anything, and usually did, but she made sure that they
were seldom ever alone as they had been in the past.

 

 

I mustn't give in to the temptation, I mustn't, she thought with a
shudder, as his hand rested on her shoulder perilously close to her
breast at one point when they were out in the farmyard. I want him,
but what would he think of me?

 

 

"Are you homesick?" he asked her, at a loss to explain her puzzling
behavior. "Are you tired of Barnakilla already?"

 

 

He looked so sorrowful, Muireann quickly refuted his suggestion.
"No, not at all!"

 

 

"What is it, then?"

 

 

"What do you mean?"

 

 

"I can't understand you. You go off for hours at a time by yourself.
I hardly ever see you, and then it's only in the kitchen with half
the estate there. Please, I know there's something on your mind.
Won't you confide in me? Perhaps I can help."

 

 

Muireann shook her head. "I have to do this on my own, Lochlainn. I
told you, I don't want to be dependent upon you. I'm very grateful
for all you've done, of course I am, but I need to be strong. Mr.
Blessington's trial will be over soon, and then perhaps I'll feel
more settled."

 

 

"I'm not doing it for the sake of your gratitude!" Lochlainn spat.
"I care, Muireann, you know I do!"

 

 

"I know, or else you never would have come to Barnakilla to help out
your sister and all of your old friends," she replied, mistaking his
meaning.

 

 

"Damn Barnakilla!" he muttered under his breath, and stalked away
before he made a complete fool of himself.

 

 

It was absurd. She felt only gratitude towards him. It would be a
mistake ever to try to get close to her romantically. He wanted
Muireann to want him for himself, not for the estate.

 

 

But as soon as he framed these thoughts in his head, he realized how
absurd it sounded.

 

 

"How could she ever want me? I'm the estate manager, nothing more,"
he muttered aloud.

 

 

Lochlainn went down to the timber cutting and took his frustrations
out on a large number of tree trunks, until he was absolutely numb
with exhaustion.

 

 

Then he headed into town for some provisions, and stepped in at the
doctor's on the way back to Barnakilla. He explained Muireann's odd
behavior, and asked for Dr. Fredrickson's advice.

 

 

"It is a potent drug. It isn't really meant to allow the patient to
dream, but perhaps Muireann is reacting to the narcotic. It might be
giving her sick fancies. Give her less this time, just enough to
make her drop off to sleep, but not enough to render her unconscious
all night," Dr. Fredrickson advised.

 

 

"All right, doctor, I shall do as you say. I just hope she starts to
improve soon. I'm very worried. I don't think she can take much more
of this. Neither can I."

 

 

 

 

 

That night Lochlainn obeyed the doctor's instructions, giving her a
small sleeping draught before seeing her safely upstairs to bed.

 

 

Totally exhausted himself by the hard work he had been carrying out
during the day in the forest, as well as the long vigils he had been
keeping every night, Lochlainn stripped off all his clothes wearily
and collapsed onto his pallet.

 

 

At about two in the morning, Muireann's sleeping draught wore off,
and she experienced the worst nightmares she had ever known.

 

 

First Augustine stood before her dripping gore, pointing an accusing
finger at her.

 

 

Her next vision was of herself alone at Barnakilla, but it was more
of a tomb than a mansion, dark and foreboding. She felt as though
she had been buried alive in a desolate grave.

 

 

She called for help, and could sense movement in the shadows. It was
Lochlainn, but he was abandoning her, leaving her alone with the
terrible threatening presence she sensed but could not see.

 

 

Muireann shouted loud enough for all the county to hear as she was
gripped by the terrifying dream

 

 

"No, don't! Stop it, please!" she shrieked, struggling desperately
against the tight grip which held her prisoner.

 

 

"No, I won't let you!" she bellowed as she twisted and turned,
wrenching the covers off the bed as she tumbled to the floor,
dragging her assailant with her.

 

 

"For God's sake, Muireann, it's me, Lochlainn! You're safe. There's
nothing to fear. You're safe with me!" Lochlainn repeated over and
over again, until at last she opened her eyes and saw her own little
room, and Lochlainn's concerned face hovering over her.

 

 

 "I thought I was. . . Oh, thank God you're here. I thought
you'd left me," Muireann wept. She threw herself into his arms and
kissed him full on the mouth.

 

 

Lochlainn stiffened for a moment. Was she really awake?

 

 

But as the kiss deepened, he decided he simply didn't care. His arms
looped around her, hugging her tightly. His brain suddenly became
acutely aware that the two of them had landed on the floor in a
tangle of bare limbs. The kiss and the feel of her in his arms was
simply too enticing for him to resist. His body, so long deprived,
took over of its own accord.

 

 

Lochlainn struggled to control himself, but it was impossible. He
had wanted her in his arms like this from the moment she had stepped
off the ship from Scotland. He had been tormented night and day with
fantasies of having her beg him not to leave her.

 

 

The reality was even more exciting than his imaginings. Though he
might be damned for it on the morrow, he simply could not give up
this one chance of making Muireann his own. His mouth deepened the
kiss possessively as he lifted her back onto the bed, and began to
fondle her all over.

 

 

Muireann was fully awake by now, and aware of Lochlainn's every
move, his every touch. Far from being dreadful or repellent as her
sister Alice had described, this was the most thrilling experience
she had ever encountered.

 

 

Every kiss, every tender caress only left her wanting more. God
knows she had struggled against her passion for Lochlainn
desperately, but she wanted him.

 

 

She didn't know why or how he had come to be in her room, but she
was certain that this was what she desired above all else, even if
she paid for it eventually. So much pleasure couldn't be so wrong,
could it?

 

 

The merging of their minds, bodies and emotions was a cataclysmic
one. Each strained with the effort of trying to get as close as
possible to the other. Lochlainn tugged the top of her chemise down
to her waist to feel her full feminine softness, and Muireann
caressed his bare chest boldly. In his hurry to reach her when she
had begun to scream, Lochlainn hadn't had time to pull on anything
more than a pair of breeches. She reveled in his smooth skin, and
admired it as it gave off a creamy glow in the moonlight pouring in
through the open shutters.

 

 

The seams of her gown began to strain as he fondled her, until she
broke off the kiss long enough to disrobe. She then fingered the
waistband of his trousers boldly, until he yanked them off
impatiently and stretched out his full length on the bed beside her.
He was sure she was awake now, and despite his compelling need for
her, he wanted to hold back a bit longer, to savor the moment. He
kissed her neck and breasts. She laced her fingers through
Lochlainn's thick lush hair and sighed softly. He teased each rosy
peak in turn, until she pulled him up for another kiss. Then,
placing both her hands on his hips, she guided him to her.