Dark of the Moon (10 page)

This time she hit him. The bowl glanced off his shoulder instead of his head only because he ducked. With a furious roar he dived across the room toward her. Caitlyn turned to flee, but he was upon her in an instant, his hard hands on her shoulders shaking the daylights out of her.

"Damn it, I'll have no more of your tantrums! You break one more thing in this house and I'll take it out of your scrawny hide! Understand?" he roared. His fury was terrifying. It even frightened Caitlyn.

"Aye! I understand!" His eyes were pools of liquid fire.

"Since you won't bathe yourself, I'll do it for you! You'll learn that I'm the master here, and I will be obeyed! Aye, you'll learn, however much you suffer for the lessons!"

His anger was so fierce it had a life of its own. Caitlyn, still being shaken to a fare-thee-well, could only cry out in protest when he wrapped a hand in the worn fabric at the neck of her shirt and jerked down. As the material ripped to the waist, he stopped shaking her abruptly, his eyes on her chest widening with a dawning shock. Looking down at herself, Caitlyn saw her two small but unmistakably female breasts thrusting out at him. There was a moment of deafening silence. Then, for the first time since she was a wee bairn, she burst into tears.

"Ah, now, don't cry. 'Tis sorry I am to have done such a thing. I thought you were no more than a bairn. I see that you're not such a wee one as I supposed."

Now that the dam had burst, Caitlyn put her hands over her face and sobbed as though her heart would break. She had not cried this way since the terrible dark days after she had seen her mother borne away to be buried in a pauper's grave. In all the years since, she had not allowed herself the luxury of tears. For a child alone, the world was a hard, cruel place, and she had to be just as hard to survive in it. But the tensions and terrors of the past few days, combined with her very real fear of the man before her and what he meant to do, broke the iron hold she had kept on her emotions and set them free. It disgusted her, but she could not seem to stop crying.

"Hush, now, lassie. There's no need for such grief. None of us means you any harm." He was sounding more Irish by the moment. Caitlyn, overwrought, sobbed louder. She felt his hand brush her body, a featherlight touch on the side of her right breast, and leaped backward.

"Don't you touch me! I'll kill you if you touch me!" She hissed the words at him through her tears, her hands dropping to her sides and clenching into fists as she spoke. Female though she might be, she could still defend herself. If he thought to take her body, he would pay dearly for the privilege.

"I was just trying to make you decent, is all. You've naught to fear, I swear it." His tone was gentle as he gestured at her chest.

A frown lodged between his brows, while those devil's eyes flicked quickly back up to her face. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he was embarrassed. Looking belatedly down at her chest, Caitlyn saw that the small, pink-tipped mounds of her breasts were still exposed, and heaving with the force of her sobs. In her overwrought state, she had neglected to cover herself. Feeling unaccustomed heat creep up her neck and over her face to her hairline at the thought of his eyes on her, she pulled the torn ends of the shirt together and glared at him.

Though she didn't know it, she looked pathetic, small and dirty and defiant, with huge tears trembling on her lashes and making paths through the dirt on her cheeks as she clutched her torn shirt and scowled like a small creature at bay.

"Trust me, child. I mean you no harm. Neither I nor my brothers would hurt a wee lassie."

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her compassionately.

"I'm no wee lassie!" flared Caitlyn. Then, at the knowledge that he had every reason to disbelieve that blatant untruth, she burst into tears again. Sobs shook her thin body. She could not let go of her shirt without exposing her breasts to him again, so he was treated to the sight of tears coursing down her cheeks like rain while her mouth trembled and her nose reddened.

' 'Sweet Jesus.'' Connor sighed the words under his breath. Then, taking a step forward, he picked her up in his arms as though she weighed no more than a babe. Caitlyn shrieked, flailing. He pinned her arms and legs with ease. " Tis all right, child. I told you, I mean you no harm."

"Put me down, damn you! Put me down!" She was choking on sobs even as she fought for her freedom. Ignoring her struggles, he took two strides, then sank down into a large horsehair chair in a comer of the room with her on his lap.

"Cry it out, then, child. 'Tis doubtless what you need."

Caitlyn fought frantically for a moment, sure he meant to do more than merely hold her on his lap as one would a bairn. But he contained her flailing limbs so that she could not hurt him.

After a while she gave up and went limp, resdng tiredly back against the solid warmth of his chest and closing her eyes. Tears poured down her face, and sobs shook her slight frame.

Before she knew it, she was curled sobbing against his chest.

"That's right, lassie. That's the way." His hold gentled as she ceased to fight him. His arms were loose around her, stroking her hair, patting her back. There was a kind of awkwardness about his actions that told her that he wasn't entirely at ease with the situation, that it was one in which he had not found himself many times before. As she thought of him comforting one of his brothers in such a fashion, a small watery hiccup of amusement tried to escape. When they had been hurting as children, Connor more than likely had cuffed them on the shoulder and told them to be men. But she was a female, which made all the difference. For whatever reason, he was being kind. She had never had anyone to comfort her since her mother died, and the luxury of being held in someone's arms while she sobbed and gulped and gasped encouraged her to cry out the fear and loneliness and despair that had been her constant companions for years. With her face pressed against his shoulder, she cried until there were no more tears left inside her.

Then at last she lay quietly against him, gulping and sniffing like a tired child. Her fingers had curled unconsciously in his shirt front, which was damp from her tears.

When her snifflings were reduced to no more than an occasional shuddering breath, he spoke very quiedy to the top of her head, which still rested against his chest. "Now you see I haven't harmed you, and I will not. You have no need to fear anyone at Donoughmore."

Caitlyn stiffened, sitting upright in his lap. With her tears behind her, her wariness of him returned, not as strong as before but still warning her that he was a man and she a defenseless female. Her eyes flew to meet his, huge blue pools in a tear-drenched little face. Her mouth trembled. With a conscious effort she stilled the trembling, gathering up the shreds of her pride as best she could.

Then she remembered her torn shirt, which in the face of all her unaccustomed emotion she had forgotten, and looked down to find her breasts exposed again.

Gasping, she scrabbled for the ends of her shirt and clutched them together, her eyes flying to his. He met her wary look with a slight, reassuring smile. Caitlyn was not reassured. As she had bolted erect, his hold had loosened, his arms slipping from around her so that they rested now on the arms of the chair. There was nothing compelling her to stay in such close proximity to him. She scrambled off his lap and whirled to face him, glaring down at him as she held the front of her shirt together. He looked very big and very strong sitting there at his ease, his shoulders as broad as the back of the chair against which they rested and his legs in their black breeches and boots stretched out before him. His curly black head lay back against the rose-colored horsehair, and those light eyes fixed on her face. Her eyes touched on the cradle of his thighs. Momentarily she pictured herself curled up there. A vivid scarlet blush stained her cheeks. To compensate for her embarrassment, she glowered at him. Like a man in the presence of a frightened young animal, he made no sudden moves but stayed seated, smiling wryly up at her.

"Back to yourself already, I see," he said.

"I'll not be staying here." It was a challenge. Gripping her shirt together with one hand, she swiped the back of the other over her still-wet eyes. Connor sighed and got to his feet with slow, careful movements. Caitlyn took a quick step backward, eyes widening as they fixed on him. He shook his head at her. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall, regarding her as if she were a problem the likes of which he had not faced before.

"I offered you a home, child, and employment. The offer is not withdrawn simply because you are a lass."

"Still, I'll not be staying." Caitlyn was bristling at him, desperate to get back to her lost sense of self after the demeaning weakness of tears. With the revelation of her sex, she felt as if her soul had been stripped bare. As a female, she felt vulnerable, and she hated the feeling. She longed to step back into the skin of the cocky, self-sufficient lad she had been for so long.

"So you would go back to Dublin, back to being O'Malley the thief." The words were slow, drawn out, and he studied her as he spoke.

"Aye!"

"What do you suppose would happen to you if your sex were discovered in Dublin, as it inevitably would be? 'Tis not something a lass can conceal forever. You've been lucky so far because you're not much more than a child. As you mature, the secret is bound to come out.

What then?"

"No one will find out. No one ever has."

"We found out, just because my nitwit brothers were joking around with you. If we can discover your secret, so can others. Others who might not scruple to hurt a wee lassie. What if you were taken up for thieving? Do you not think that they would find out you were a lass as soon as you were put into the gaol? Not that it would keep them from hanging you, but they'd have fun disporting themselves upon you first. You do know what I'm talking about? Ah, I see you do. I guessed as much, from your fear of men."

Caitlyn stared at him, chewing on her lower lip with a kind of desperation. There was sense in what he said, but she didn't want to see it. With every fiber of her being, she longed to go back to being the lad she had been.

"We won't harm you, child, but others might. You should thank your patron saint that you landed in a safe berth. You can make your home with us and be a lassie without fear of aught."

He paused for a moment, taking a long look at her. Then he added, almost indifferently, "But if you truly wish to go back to Dublin, back to being O'Malley the thief, I'll not stand in your way.

The decision is yours, but I'd be having your answer now."

Caitlyn swallowed, her eyes huge and uncertain as they searched his face. In the short time she had known him, those lean dark planes had become almost as familiar to her as her own features. It struck her suddenly, irrelevantly, that he was a very handsome man. The question was, did she trust him? Her heart drummed wildly. She was afraid to abandon the lad she had been, afraid to be a female for all to see. But if he had wanted to take his pleasure of her, he could already have done so and she could not have prevented him. Instead he had been kind.

Against everything she had ever learned in her life, she almost felt she could trust him. Licking her lips, drawing a deep shuddering breath as anxiety over the decision squeezed her chest like an iron band, she said, barely above a whisper, "I'll stay."

He smiled at her, his eyes warming. The last flicker of distrust Caitlyn had been harboring wavered. If it did not fall entirely, it crumpled a litde. She did not quite smile back at him, but she came close.

"A wise decision." He was as crisp as if he were addressing the lad she had been. Dropping his arms, he moved toward her. Caitlyn, instinctively alarmed, backed away. He raised his eyebrows at her as he walked past where she hugged the wall and headed toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back to face her.

"I know it will be difficult for you to get accustomed to garbing yourself as a female, but 'tis necessary. Mrs. McFee, to say nothing of the rest of the folk around here, will be scandalized if you continue to wear male clothing. So you will oblige me by soaking in the hot water there and then dressing yourself in the things Mrs. McFee found for you. When you're dressed, come down to the kitchen. From the smell of it, breakfast is nigh ready. After you have some food inside you, we'll see what more there is to be done."

"I don't want to wear female clothes." She wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

But she was damp, and cold, and the thought of getting into dry clothes of whatever persuasion was tempting.

"I know. But as I said, 'tis necessary. You are a lass, after all, and now that everyone knows it, you could not wear breeches. It would not be proper."

Caitlyn scowled. Connor d'Arcy was bloody accustomed to giving orders, that much was clear. What he would have to learn was that she was not accustomed to taking them.

From his position by the door, he looked at her speculatively. "It would please me greatly if you would don skirts, child." He smiled at her, a lovely coaxing smile that could have charmed a bee out of its hive.

Caitlyn wavered. Put like that . . . She was conscious of a sudden strong desire to please him.

"Very well, I'll try the clothes," she said ungraciously.

"Thank you." He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Then, bethinking himself of something, he turned back to her. "Have you a name besides O'Malley?"

"O'Malley'U do." She was loath to surrender so much so fast.

Connor smiled serenely at her. His eyes were as placid as summer pools in that dark face.

"If you have none of your own, we'll call you Bridget. I've always had a fondness for that name."

Caitlyn's scowl deepened as he started out the door.

"Caitlyn," she said abruptly. "Me ma called me Caitlyn."

He sent a quick glimmering look over his shoulder at her. There was laughter in the aqua eyes, but they were also kind.