Emerald Desire (Emerald Trilogy) (2 page)

"I'm Dera Bren ... nan," she stuttered under his disapproving look. "I wish to speak with your mother."

"My mother is ailing. I am the head of the household. Tell me your business and then be on your way." He scowled so blackly that she retreated a step backward. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth until she found the courage to speak.

"I take care of my Uncle Timothy's books," she explained, "and your mother has paid no rent. I'm here to warn her that she must or Lord Fairfax will take her home away."

"T’would be no loss, girl! Go on home with you now. Mother has nothing to do with the rent payment. I do, and I choose not to pay. Tell your bloody coward of an uncle that if he wants the rent, he should have Fairfax come for it. But first he'll have to kill me. Now go!" He loomed over her like an untamed animal with real fire in his eyes.

"Uncle Timothy didn't send me. I came to see your mother on my own, to warn her. Where would she go if Lord Fairfax evicts the two of you?"

Why she wanted to protect a woman she had never met and her disagreeable son was beyond her comprehension, but it was something she felt compelled to do.

"What business is it of yours, Miss Busy Bee?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around in the opposite direction. Above the trees she could see a tiny portion of a chimney.

"Do you see that over there?" he asked her, his breath tickling her ear.

"Yes, it's Fairfax Manor," she said.

"Aye. That is the house my family has already lost. There is none other for us to lose. But one day I shall regain it; one day I'll destroy the Fairfaxes and reclaim what is mine, just as all of Ireland will rise up and reclaim her birthright. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Dera Brennan?"

She nodded, understanding full well his meaning. The Fairfaxes' future was in his hands and they were unaware of it.

"Tell that to Timothy while you're at it. Let him know his days as Lord Fairfax's well-fed lackey are almost done."

"No, I shan't do that."

His grip loosened on her, and he stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the manor. His brows drew together in perplexity.

"You have every right to be bitter and vengeful, yet it isn't for me to tell my uncle of plans you may never carry out.”

He laughed and raked his hair with his tanned fingers. "You're a precocious child--old for your years. I forgive your ignorance." He grew serious. "I am dead already. Ireland is dead as long as England is our master. Physical death is nothing when the spirit and soul lie buried. I intend for my people to rise like a phoenix from the ashes and slay the merciless dragon. Do you believe this?" he asked, the excitement glinting in his eyes. "Are you one of us, Dera?"

An enigmatic force radiating from Quint seized hold of her. Though she was very young, something about him touched the womanly core of her. She gave him her answer, not because she was taken by his cause, but because she was captivated by him.

"Yes, I'm one of you," she told him breathlessly.

He smiled warmly and enfolded her small hand in his large one. "Come pay respects to my mother," he said.

She followed him into the cottage. It was dark and sparsely furnished, but in the middle of a table rested a small stone jar with sprigs of heather in it. She was surprised to discover a tiny room in the back where Quint led her. A frail woman sat on some rushes and leaned against the wall, her thin hands folded in her lap. Her hair was gray, her eyes black like Quint's. They were keen and alert in her solemn face. When Quint introduced Dera to her, however, her face became bright as a candle and a sweet smile touched her lips.

"Aye, this is the one, Quint! This is she. I can die happy knowing I have seen her."

He shyly glanced at Dera, then laughed softly and grinned at his mother. Mrs. Flannery invited Dera to sit beside her on the rushes. Dera sat down, feeling baffled, but neither bothered to explain. Mrs. Flannery inquired after Caroline, telling Dera she remembered her.

"A wild one she was, but every man in the countryside vied for her attentions. She was a beauty with that flaming red hair. Now tell me, just which lad did she settle on?" Mrs. Flannery meant no harm with her question, but she was unaware that Dera's mother had never married. Color stained Dera's cheeks under Quint's dark stare, and she wished to disappear into the floor.

"Mama never married. I don't know who my father is," she said, averting her face from them.

"Ach, poor lamb," Mrs. Flannery encircled Dera in her arms. With her head resting on the woman's small breasts, Dera felt like she was with Mandy again.

Near nightfall Quint escorted her across the meadow to Uncle Timothy's in silence.

She was embarrassed and uncomfortable that he knew the circumstances of her birth. She wanted him to think well of her and not associate her with her mother's shame. They walked without speaking and then she stopped, seeing that Quint was standing and regarding her openly.

"What's the matter?" she asked him.

"It's what my mother said to you when she first saw you---about you being the one."

She stared at her bare feet, her toes curled around a blade of grass. "What did she mean?"

"Mother has always claimed to have the gift of second sight. She claims that when I was born she saw the face of the woman I will marry. She says you are that woman." He grinned at her, his white teeth flashing. "I think she may be right."

Dera blushed a furious shade of red, a feeling of pain and excitement rose inside her. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. "You're a few years older than I am. Even if she does think I'm the one, you'll probably not wait for me," she whispered.

Quint reached out and took her hand. "I'll wait for you, Dera. There is no other I wish for my wife."

His lips touched the tips of her fingers. It was a mystical moment, one she would never forget. She didn't care if she was only twelve years old and Quint a good seven years older. What they felt for one another went beyond the boundaries of childhood.

"Oh, Quint, if only I were older!"

"It makes no difference. One day you will be, and I won't approach you until then. When it is time, I'll come for you. That is my promise to you." Quickly he brushed her cheek with his lips and was gone.

After that day, whenever they chanced to meet, his head would be bowed politely, and he would wish her a pleasant day. He never sought her out or engaged her in conversation. Yet she would feel his dark eyes upon her as she passed. He couldn't risk her uncle discovering what had happened between them. For all of his courageous talk the day they met, he continued to serve Lord Fairfax because of his mother...and because of Dera.

She lived for the day Quint would come for her and make her his wife.

CHAPTER TWO

It was the morning of the Ballinasloe Fair. Dera heard Timothy bellowing. "Are you ready, girl? Lydia is already in the cart. Why do you dawdle?"

She retied the russet ribbon in her hair for the tenth time and smoothed down her emerald colored gown, liking her reflection in the mirror. Almost five years had elapsed since Quint had given her his promise, and in that time, she had bloomed into a beautiful woman. Her girlhood had ceased to exist the moment she fell in love with Quint Flannery in the meadow. It was only a matter of time before Quint would know it was time to come for her.

Uncle Timothy waited in the doorway and grumbled. "You women are all the same, primping and smiling at your own reflections. A man hasn't a chance."

She laughed, her heart floating. "You're right. Today I intend to capture a man's heart."

"And have you one in mind, my fine lady?" he asked, a tinge of suspicion crept into his voice.

Suspecting he wouldn't approve of her choice, she lied to him. "I have no one in mind."

"Aye, lass, that is good! Not that I don't wish you to marry, but I hope for you to make a good match and not shame me like your mother."

Heat rose in her face. In all the time she had lived with Timothy, he had never mentioned Caroline. Sometimes she forgot she had a mother. Timothy had been apparently dreading the day she became a woman as much as she had been anticipating it.

He shuffled his feet and gently touched her shoulder with his hand. "It's just that you've grown into a beauty, Dera. Already the men make comments about your looks. I don't wish black shame brought upon my humble house. I must protect Lydia and the coming child."

Humiliated, Dera felt that all the years spent keeping his ledgers, helping Lydia around the house and the farm, hadn't changed his opinion of her. She was still the unwelcome intruder, still her mother's daughter. She shrugged his hand off and moved away.

"No, uncle, I give you my word. I shan't shame you." They joined a very pregnant Lydia in the cart and rode to Ballinasloe in silence.

Bright banners atop the stalls, waving in the breeze, greeted them and made an otherwise overcast day seem warm and pleasant. Ireland's great lords presented their horses at the fair, just as they had at the High King's Castle at Tara in olden times. Some of the finest horseflesh in Ireland had already fetched high prices for their owners. She knew Quint would be there attending to any new mounts purchased by Lord Fairfax---and she assumed he had taken the job of groomsman against his will.

She alighted from the cart and wandered away from Timothy and Lydia. Lydia called out to her, but Dera ignored her, intent upon looking for Quint in the surging crowd.

Peasants mingled with the aristocracy, purchasing what little their coins could buy. A stall displayed brightly colored ribbons and silks; a golden ribbon danced in the October wind like an enchanted fairy. Dera decided to buy it and wear it the day she and Quint married. While she searched for the appropriate coin, a hand clamped upon her wrist. "I shall buy this favor for you," the man said, his bright blue eyes leered at her.

She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but he refused to loosen his hold. "No, Jem McConnel. I'll pay for this myself. Now let go of me," she insisted. Jem was widely known as a bully and a ruffian, and though he and Quint were friends, she disliked him. He was a crude-looking man with dark stubble on his chin and a long face like a horse. His clothes were always stained and smelled of sweat. There were rumors that he belonged to a secret rebel band, but up until that time, nothing had occurred in their village to frighten the English out of their complacency. However, what bothered Dera most about him was that he acted as if he had the right to touch her.

He let her go and grabbed the ribbon. "You will let me pay for it, Dera. I wish you to accept this from me as a token."

"I take no tokens from a man, especially not from you!"

Jem regarded her in silence and paid for the ribbon. Then in one swift movement, he pulled her behind one of the stalls and tied the ribbon to her wrist. Roughly he put his huge hands on her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. She wanted to cry out in pain, but she was more angry than hurt. She felt her temper rising.

"How dare you treat me like some doxie!" she hissed. "You've no right to touch me. Wait until I tell Quint!"

His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled into a sneer. "Quint is it? Well, Dera, you'll be waiting many days for Quint to rescue you. He has other things on his mind."

"Quint and I love one another and we're to be married soon. You'd do well to leave me alone." She thought this information would force Jem to release her, but she had miscalculated. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against him, his shirt buttons digging into the thin material of her gown. She felt his breath on her face and smelled the stench of ale as he kissed her roughly. A callused hand reached into her bodice and cupped her breast.

"Don't fight me, Dera. I know you've been doing this with Quint if you expect him to marry you. I always figured you'd be giving something to somebody. Now give it to me."

She tried to pull away, tried to make some sort of sound, but he was big and very strong. She endured his caress until his head moved away from her face and trailed lower upon her neck, then she let out a tremendous banshee howl.

"Stop your noise!" he ordered. Again, he tried to silence her with his mouth, but this time she bit his lips, drawing blood. "You she-devil!" he rasped in pain. "Now your teasing has gone too far!" He clasped her arms behind her back in a painful manner, one strong hand holding her two together. With a free hand, he positioned her head so she would be forced to look up into his frosty eyes and see the lust mingled with malice. "No woman scorns me," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. In vain she struggled against him as his mouth came down hard upon hers. Just as she thought she would faint from the pain in her arms and the rough pressure of his lips, she was suddenly free and staggering backwards, and Jem lay sprawled on the ground.

Lord Avery Fairfax stood above Jem, his gold-headed cane touching Jem's throat ever so lightly. The look of undisguised hatred in Fairfax's eyes indicated that if he were provoked, Jem would never utter a sound again.

"Has this bully been bothering you?" Lord Fairfax spoke calmly despite the contempt reflected on his face. "Just tell me and I'll have him carried off to Dublin for attacking a defenseless woman."