Call Home the Heart (47 page)

 

 

As she settled against him, he asked, "Can I stay all night?"

 

 

"Please, if you want to."

 

 

He smiled broadly. "No ifs about it, my love."

 

 

 

But all too soon the gray winter sunlight began trickling in through
the window. Muireann eased herself from his side silently as he
slumbered on, and washed herself quickly with her flannel and a
basin of water. She got dressed hurriedly, putting on several layers
underneath her burgundy woolen gown. Then she tied her cloak around
her shoulders.

 

 

She placed the small bag she had packed the night before on the step
outside, and went back in to see Lochlainn for one last kiss. He
stirred but did not open his eyes. Instinctively, he wrapped his
arms around her and kissed her warmly. Only when his hand strayed
down to cup one rounded breast did he realize that she was fully
dressed.

 

 

"Damn, another day at work," he sighed, opening his eyes drowsily.

 

 

"Not quite. Lochlainn, I hate to have to do this to you now of all
times, when things are so confused, but I had bad news when the ship
arrived yesterday."

 

 

His lids flew wide.

 

 

"My father is ill. He's had a stroke. I've left instructions for you
on the desk, but I have to go."

 

 

"What! Your father? Why didn't you say so yesterday? Wait, I'll come
with you!" He began to swing his legs out of the bed and reached for
his clothes in an instant.

 

 

She shook her head sadly.  "I would love it if you could, but
don't you see, I really need you here."

 

 

"You need my support. I know how hard this must be for you."

 

 

She stayed him with her hand. "No, Lochlainn, I don't need you with
me. I'll have my sister and mother. I'll be fine. I'll get through
this one way or the other. I need you to look after things for me
here while I'm gone, do you understand?"

 

 

He paused in his hasty dressing and scowled at her.  She could
see his anguish simmering just under the surface of his grim
expression. She had never seen him look more handsome, or more
dismayed.

 

 

"I suppose I should be grateful that you told me at all, and didn't
simply slip away. You knew last night. You knew and never once told
me! Now who is the betrayer, who the betrayed? You used me, didn't
you, for you own selfish pleasure!"

 

 

Her own anger boiled over. "I beg your pardon, but I seem to
remember giving you more than your fair share when I-"

 

 

"No! Don't say it!" Lochlainn held up a hand, and shook his head.

 

 

Then he tugged on his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed staring
at the floor, his elbows on his bare knees, his hands clasped as
though praying, a picture of abject despair.

 

 

Finally he raised his head and looked at her. "I'm sorry. I know you
have to go. He's your father, and he needs you.  I don't want
us to fight like this. But be honest with me, Muireann. Do you ever
intend to come back?"

 

 

She knelt down beside him and took one of his hands. "Lochlainn,
believe me, I want to. But I'm so tired. I can't make any decisions
right now, because I don't know what's going to happen in the court
case, with my father, anything. The only things certain in my life
are that the mortgage has to be paid, Christopher is greedy enough
to try anything to get Barnakilla, and Neil and Philip think I
should cut my losses and sell. I don't want to, but if they withdraw
all the support they've been giving us, we're done for."

 

 

He cast aside her hand impatiently, and began to pace up and down in
the tiny room like a caged panther. "That's all about the estate.
I'm talking about us!"

 

 

She blinked up at him in surprise. "You know how much you've meant
to me all these months. I thought all we shared last night proved
that. Please, don't let us part quarrelling. I don't want to fight
you. I'm tired of fighting. I don't want us to end up saying things
in anger which we might one day have cause to regret."

 

 

"I don't want you to go," Lochlainn suddenly declared, pulling her
up to him for a passionate kiss.

 

 

"I must! My father! I have to go, Lochlainn. They're waiting for me.
But I'll come back, as soon as I can. I will see you again, I
swear," she vowed, stroking his cheek.

 

 

She extracted herself from his tight embrace gently and turned
towards the door to go.

 

 

"Wait a moment. At least let me get dressed so I can walk you down
to the dock."

 

 

"No don't, please. It would be far too difficult. Let's just say
goodbye to each other here, without a hundred other people staring
at us."

 

 

"Because you're ashamed of me!" Lochlainn accused bitterly.

 

 

She shook her head. "No, because it is no one's business but ours. I
don't want anyone to spoil things by criticizing the feelings we
have for each other," Muireann said, gazing up at him lovingly.

 

 

Lochlainn kissed her upturned mouth, and she clung to him like a
drowning woman.

 

 

"I'll be back, darling, I promise," she whispered against his
questing lips. "Wait for me?"

 

 

"‘Til all the seas gang dry, my dear.'"

 

 

She smiled at the quote by Robert Burns. "I'll hold you to that
promise when I next see you, Lochlainn."

 

 

"And you, Muireann?" he asked gently. "Will you wait for me?"

 

 

"Poor man, I'm beginning to think you never should have laid eyes on
me at the Dun Laoghaire wharf," she tried to joke lightheartedly
before she kissed him one last time, and fled from the room.

 

 

Grasping her valise, she ran all the way down to the dock. Only as
she stood squarely on the deck and they lifted the gangplank did she
dare to look around.

 

 

At the top of the hill she saw Lochlainn standing, his hand raised
in a farewell salute.

 

 

Muireann raised her hand high above her head to wave back. She kept
on waving until the house was a mere speck on the landscape.

 

 

Then she turned to the prow with a sigh.

 

 

Her brother-in-law looked at her closely, and she shrugged. "It's
been my home long enough. I shall miss it."

 

 

"You're coming home now, Muireann," Neil insisted, placing an arm
around her shoulder.

 

 

She withdrew from his embrace and shook her head. "No, I'm not.
Barnakilla is my home, Neil. Lochlainn and the people there are my
family too. And I know you think you're arguing logically, but there
are some things more important than logic. There's love too, and the
knowledge of the heart. No matter what you say, I shall fight until
the last breath in my body to save them."

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

 

 

Despite Neil's fears of wintry storms, the
Andromeda
made
good headway, reaching the coast of Scotland in four days.

 

 

For the first few days after Muireann arrived home at Fintry, all of
her time was taken up in nursing her father. He had suffered cruelly
from the stroke. He was paralyzed on his right side, and unable to
speak. He had to have all his needs tended to day and night, and
Muireann did all the chores the nurse indicated to her without
complaint.

 

 

Certainly her mother and sister noticed the huge change in her.
Muireann was no longer the rounded, rosy, cheerful young girl they
had last seen on her wedding day. She was more serious and sober
now, with a wiry strength and determination that actually made them
slightly in awe of her. She was as lean as a whippet, and twice as
sharp.

 

 

At first Muireann was convinced her father would get better, and she
did everything to make his life more comfortable, and to help him
recover. She read to him, chatted with him, and though he never did
anything other than move his eyes, Muireann was certain he
understood her.

 

 

Always on hand to help were Neil and Philip. Philip in particular
seemed to follow her around everywhere like a lovesick puppy, so
that even Muireann, preoccupied as she was with Mr. Graham's
illness, couldn't fail to notice his attentions.

 

 

Since he was such an old friend, she did not feel any great alarm.
It was mild admiration, nothing more, she told herself. Surely he
couldn't think that she would ever… No, the thought of marrying
Philip was too absurd, and she shuddered with dread, and prayed she
was wrong.

 

 

The few hours that Muireann did manage to get to herself were spent
either sleeping, or writing lengthy letters to Lochlainn about the
estate. She tried to keep her letters polite and formal, though she
longed to pour her heart out to him and tell him how much she missed
him. But it was impossible. How could she be sure he loved her for
herself, not for her wealth? She had been sadly deceived with
Augustine, hadn't she?

 

 

 

One day about a fortnight after Muireann had arrived, her father
took a sudden turn for the worse. His breathing grew ragged, and he
began to foam at the mouth. He thrashed about for a few moments, and
then lay still. Muireann held his hand as it gradually went cold.

 

 

The rest of the family, tired of being cooped up in the house for so
long, had gone out for a short drive in the carriage. They returned
several hours later to find her still sitting by the body, dry-eyed
and silent.

 

 

"It's all over. He's gone," she whispered.

 

 

Her sister Alice immediately swooned, and Neil carried her away to
her room. Her mother, silver-haired and rigidly dignified, went over
and kissed Mr. Graham on the forehead, and then took his other hand
and sat with him, stroking it gently as her tears silently fell.

 

 

Muireann was surprised at her mother's response, for she had never
seen her parents exchange any affection in public. She suddenly
blurted out the question she had been wondering ever since she had
been so cruelly deceived by Augustine.

 

 

"Did you love Father?"

 

 

 Her mother blinked her damp eyes in astonishment. "Of course I
did. He was the whole world to me. In our social sphere, marrying
for love is considered the height of folly. But I did love him. We
may never have shown it. He wasn't an affectionate man. But we
admired and respected each other."

 

 

"But aren't affection, hugging and kissing, the er, physical aspects
of marriage, important?" she asked with a blush.

 

 

"Really, Muireann, I thought I explained all this to you, about men
and women!" her mother exclaimed impatiently.

 

 

"No, that isn't what I mean. I understand the physical aspect. I've
seen enough horses in my day, haven't I? I've been married. What I
mean is, how do you know when someone really loves you?"

 

 

Her mother frowned, suddenly worried by Muireann's persistent
questions, her distraught expression. "Why on earth would you ask
that? Surely you and Augustine were happy before he died?"

 

 

Muireann was tempted for a brief second to lie automatically. But
even though this was not the best time to choose, it was her only
chance to confess the truth to at least one other person in the
world. The secret she had kept bottled up inside her for so long
just had to come out.

 

 

"He never loved me, Mother, nor I him. It was all an act. He
pretended to be the besotted swain in order to get his hands on my
wealth. He used me cruelly. He was debauched, drunken and
dissipated. I hadn't spent ten minutes alone with him on our wedding
trip to Ireland before I realized what he really was. He deceived us
all."

 

 

Her mother stared at her, appalled. She had always been stern with
Muireann, thinking her too headstrong and hoydenish, but now her
love for her daughter came bubbling to the surface like a fountain.

 

 

She sat down next to Muireann on the low couch and put her arms
around her lightly. "My dear child, is that why you look so thin and
wasted, because he was cruel to you?"

 

 

Muireann shook her head. "Not really, though that was part of it.
No, the estate was foundering and I was too ashamed of my own
stupidity to admit what a mistake I had made. Perhaps I've
compounded the mistake by staying in Ireland, but the people on the
estate needed me. I just couldn't turn my back on them. Now we're on
the brink of starvation because of the Potato Famine. I just don't
have any more answers.

 

 

"And it isn't just the Famine. It's Augustine's cousin Christopher,
determined that I shall marry him so he can get his hands on the
estate. Otherwise he shall take me to court to try to get himself
declared the legal heir. Oh Mother, I think I'm about to lose
everything I value most in the world part from you, Father and
Alice, and I don't know how I shall bear it." The tears began to
fall at last.

 

 

Mrs. Graham felt a small burning of indignation that her daughter
had obviously been keeping a great deal from her, but she tamped it
down hastily. It was all too apparent that the child was at her
wits' end if she was now confessing what she had taken great pains
to conceal for almost a year from her beloved family.

 

 

She did not inquire into Muireann's motives for having done so, as
she longed to, but instead asked, "Why don't you tell me about it,
so we can see if I can help? It's what your father would have done
once he got over the shock, and what he would want me to do."