Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (24 page)

Desmond started to follow, not trusting himself to be alone in this bedroom with B.A. The scent of their lovemaking still seemed to hang in the air. One breath and he’d drag her back to the bed and bury himself in her heat, the only heat to keep at bay the coldness in his soul. One breath and he’d go down on his knees, wrapping his arms around her.

He dared not touch her or he’d never leave. A tear refracting in her eye nearly undid his resolve.

“I could go with you. I won’t take time to pack. I could buy what I need.”

He forced a stiff smile. “Who’d feed Dudley?”

“The Marys will.” The quaver in her voice was an arrow to his heart.

“I’ll call.” He kissed her hard on the forehead, then started to push past, only Dudley wrapped his legs around Desmond and scaled his thigh. “Damn it, Dudley, not now!”

B.A. bent down to unstick the cat. Holding the beast tightly, she followed Desmond outside.

A crowd hovered out of range of the helicopter; even Angus was there. It touched Desmond to see the long faces. The Fraser twins came forward to help him with his bags, putting them into the back of the Sikorsky.

Both patted him on the shoulder and shook hands with him. As he climbed into the passenger side, Ian called, “Dunna fash about the lass and the wee beastie. We’ll mind them ‘til you get back.”

Hearing the question.
Are you coming back?
—Desmond nodded, unable to speak. If he spoke, he’d break. He’d need all his strength to face this coming ordeal.

Hand on the door, he caught sight of B.A. standing to the side, alone except for the fuzzy cat in her arms. He met her eyes, knowing this would be hell on her. Not just his leaving and their separation, but he was going away in a helicopter—not much different than a plane.

He stared at B.A. Could only see her. Not thinking, he climbed out of the Sikorsky and stalked to her. He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth with all the passion that burned between them, barely aware he was crushing the squirming kitty. If he could stand here and kiss her forever…

Only, there was a fragile woman whose life was slipping away second-by-second. He broke the kiss, leaning his head against the side of hers, inhaling that faint peony scent.

“I love you, lass,” he whispered, but was unsure if she heard him or not over the noise of the helicopter. Tears flooding his eyes, he stopped back. He was too damn close to losing it. And Desmond Mershan never afforded himself that luxury. Never in his whole life.

Swallowing, he reached out for the pudgy pussycat. Holding Dudley up in the air, he stared at him nose-to-nose. “Take care of her, Fuzzball.” He kissed the silly beast on the head and then shoved him back into B.A.‘s arms.

Closing the door on the helicopter, he nodded to Julian. “Get me the hell out of here.”

He watched B.A. as the machine rose higher, then Julian kicked the monster into full speed. Her small figure vanished in the gloaming.

Chapter 21

Bing… bing… bing…

That blasted hospital pager caused Desmond to grind his teeth, part of his endless waking nightmare. Desperate for a moment of solitude, he’d come out to sit in the hallway.

The doctors came and went, shaking their heads, resigned to doing little more than making her comfortable. Comfortable? What a joke. They gave her near lethal doses of morphine to ease the pain, and it blocked her consciousness. To Desmond’s deep horror, he grew cognizant it didn’t block her subconscious from being awake—and in pain. During lucid moments Katlyn succinctly repeated conversations his brothers and he had, yet she’d been knocked out at the time.

By the time Julian had rushed him to his mother’s bedside, Desmond had assured himself all his emotions were under control, reined in; questions and worry over B.A. and Falgannon were neatly labeled and compartmentalized. Even so, nothing could’ve prepared him. Laying eyes upon Katlyn’s emaciated body, his mind jumped to the conclusion they’d shown him to the wrong room. This woman was nearly bald. Her thick, wavy black hair, so like his own, was gone; only wispy white strands remained. Her skin was pale, translucent, similar to a woman in her eighties or nineties. Her face was almost blank.

When she’d opened those Irish green eyes, the floor fell out from under him. Reality slammed into him like a brick wall. She’d called him Michael. It broke his heart that she thought he was his father.

Her room was private, so they were able to stay around the clock. In the beginning they wore themselves out keeping a deathwatch. Despite the doctors’ assurances she wouldn’t last a day or two, she clung to life with a determination that amazed everyone.

They’d taken to staying in shifts. Business needed attention. The world didn’t stop because one small woman lay dying. Julian handled problems arising, saw the brothers supplied with clean clothes and dragged them off for decent meals.

Desmond couldn’t come to terms with losing her, even though she’d been under nursing care for several years. When he’d visited her in late September, she’d started chemo and responded to the treatment, so he’d hoped—damn, he didn’t know what he’d hoped. A good old case of denial. They’d warned him the chemo would likely do little to stem the tide of the cancer.

She’d had a tumor for some time, and had hid the fact until she collapsed a year ago Christmas. When they operated, it busted, sending cancer cells throughout her body. He later learned the cells hit her liver, causing a secondary cancer. When she responded to treatments he’d told himself if they could keep her alive long enough some brilliant researcher would discover that miraculous cure.

The chemo was a Catch-22. While it curbed the cancer, it destroyed her heart and kidneys, forcing the doctors to cease the treatments. Once stopped, she’d slipped into decline within weeks. His fortune could buy her the best medical treatment available, but it couldn’t save her.

Bing… bing… bing….

Desmond leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to still the noise inside his head. He was tired. So bloody tired. Sounds about him receded as darkness claimed him.

He stood trembling, cold. He was scared, though unsure why.

Strange men had come to talk with Father. Fraught with emotion, their voices had been raised, angry. He sat on the upstairs landing, his face half stuffed between two stair rails, eavesdropping. The discussion escalated to shouting, then the men stormed out of the house.

Mother went in to soothe Father. She’d always had a magical touch to make him smile, though often no one could do that for her. Father’s low mournful words, his mother’s voice—edged with hysteria warned one of her moods was upon her. Their murmurs spoke of a desperation that carried to him.

Abruptly, the library door flung back, and Mother—so beautiful in that red velvet gown—dashed down the hall and into the drawing room. Heavy mahogany doors muffled her wracking sobs. Des stood helpless, his heart clenching with each moan torn from his mother.

He glanced toward the library, seeing the door half-open. Maybe he should go tell Father that Mother was so sad, though surely Father heard the crying. Still in Mickey Mouse slippers, his feet carried him into the library.

Father was on the phone, talking to someone, pleading. He listened to the words, thick with emotions foreign to Desmond’s sheltered world. The whispered desperation grew louder.

“Montgomerie, you can’t do this!” He held up pieces of paper. “You put up the land on Falgannon, the Kentucky farm and Colford Estate as collateral. Don’t tell me you didn’t understand the land wasn’t yours to promise. You knew, damn you. The only thing that can save me is the lands you promised. You lied! Sean Montgomerie, I hope you rot in hell!”

The receiver dropped from his father’s hand. Michael Mershon sat there, a waxen figure like the ones in Madame Tus-saud’s. He didn’t seem to breathe, just sat holding the papers.

Desmond walked toward that big desk with the carved lion heads.“Father?” he queried, uncertain, needing reassurance. Hesitantly he tugged on his father’s sleeve, trying to gain his attention.

Michael Mershan turned, seeing his son and yet clearly not comprehending the young boy’s panic. His chest rose and fell. Relief flooded through Desmond with that small movement of normality in the man he so loved. Soon, his father would lift him up on his knee, ask Desmond what was wrong and then make everything all right.

Michael Sinclair Mershan did none of those things. Warmth left Desmond as he saw a tear rolling down his father’s cheek. His father was crying!

Upstairs, one of the twins wailed. Barely a year old, both babies were cutting teeth and cranky, but no one went to answer the fretting.

“Desmond, you’re such a handsome lad. So strong. You must be a big boy now. Go to your mother and help her. Promise you will take care of her and your brothers now.”

Desmond nodded, unable to force the words past his tight throat.

His father seemed to shrink within himself. Dismissed, Desmond turned to walk away, hearing a drawer open behind him. He stood trembling, hidden by the tall winged-back chair, his father likely thinking he’d gone. In Desmond’s mind, he could see his father open that big deep drawer he kept locked and had forbidden Desmond to open.

Desmond had, once, when both his parents were gone. Putting the key in the brass lock he’d opened the drawer. Inside was a heavy box with a gun with a pearl handle. He’d known better than to touch it.

Apprehension slithering up his spine, he looked around the chair as his father raised his right hand and placed that gun to his temple. Frozen in horror, Desmond heard a sharp report—oddly muffled by the thousands of books covering the library walls—then his father’s body jerked.

His mind couldn’t absorb the enormity of his father’s action. At age seven, he had no way of comprehending how that single moment would so shape his future.

Father’s hand fell over the chair arm, twitched, then the gun dropped to the floor. For a shattered instant, the distant eyes struggled to focus and seemed to see his son hiding by the chair. His mouth trembled, trying to form a word. He never spoke it, though Desmond always believed his father had been trying to say,
Sony
.

Distantly, over the strange buzzing in his head, his mother’s scream reverberated through the house… through his mind. Beyond a child’s awareness, Desmond sensed his world die in the same instant his father drew his last breath.

Bing… bing… bing.

He jerked awake, blinking against the harsh brightness of the hospital. The damn dream. No, not a dream—nightmare. One that had haunted his whole life. Now, he lived through another. And once again, he was helpless and failing to protect his mother. He’d promised Father he would. He’d promised.

“Mr. Mershan.” The nurse materialized before him and said with hushed urgency, “She’s asking for you.”

Rain fell steadily, though Desmond little noticed. He had no concept of time; he’d walked endlessly. Fleeing his inner demons.

He was tired. So bloody tired.

He found himself standing before a small store—a jewelry store—but he had trouble seeing the items in the window. After minutes, it dawned why he couldn’t focus clearly—he was crying. Strange, not to know when one cried.

He blinked away the tears, his eyes fixing on the display of gold Irish wedding bands. One in particular called to him, with the words
Mo Anam Cara
. He sounded out the words.
My soul mate.
The band wasn’t expensive. He could afford to give B.A. diamonds that would make Liz Taylor envious. He doubted that would interest her. A second one had a golden topaz, making him think of her whisky-colored eyes.

A plastic sign in the window said, open, so his feet carried him inside. Bells tinkled as he entered, reminding him of Falgannon’s store. He missed B.A. Missed that silly cat.

“We’re closing,” the lady called in a musical lilt, coming from the backroom. Her eyes took in his appearance, softened with concern. “Sir, are you all right?”

He blinked, unsure why he’d come. The ring. “Won’t take long. It’s a sure sale. The
Mo Anam Cara
.”

“‘Tis a lady’s ring you’d be wanting?”

“Oh aye.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the island cant slipped naturally into his voice. “The one with the topaz heart.”

“Do you know her size?” She pulled out various rings in a velvet tray.

Fool. It had never crossed his mind. Then he glanced down at the thin band of gold with the peridot on his pinkie. He’d taken it from B.A. the last time they’d made love. Reluctantly, he pulled it off. “Match that.”

On the third try, she found one.
Third time’s the charm.
He needed all the luck he could get. She passed it to him and he slid it on his finger. It went on and then off with the same amount of resistance as B.A.‘s ring.

“Will that one do?”

“Perfect.” He replaced B.A.‘s ring, feeling the comfort of the warm metal, a tangible piece of her he could hold. Taking out his wallet, he removed his Platinum American Express card. “Do you have engagement rings?” Strange, he glanced over his shoulder expecting the words had come from another.

“I’ve put them away. If you give me an idea what you’re looking for, a price range…?”

“An oval diamond would look lovely on her hand.”

She locked the front door. “I have a 4.3 carat that may be what you’re looking for. A loose stone. ltd need mounting. I could have it by tomorrow afternoon if you’re in a rush.”

“I am.”

She came back with a velvet box. Opening it, she took out several small pouches. The third and fourth were nearly the same size. Perfect oval diamonds.

“Have the smaller set in a simple platinum band and the larger as a pendant. Can both be ready tomorrow afternoon?”

She pulled out her receipt book and wrote up his order, chuckling again. “Your lady is lucky. Rarely do I get to supply a perfect stone for a perfect lady.”

“I don’t deserve her.”

She handed him the sack with the soul mate ring and the receipt. “Most men aren’t worthy of a woman. Ask yourself one question—are you willing to give up
everything
for her? You answer yes, you’re worthier than you think.”

An hour later, Desmond was still asking that question when a car pulled to the curb. Wipers running, Julian turned on the flashers and waited. Desmond opened the passenger door and slumped into the seat.

“How did you find me?”

“Sherlock Starkadder at your service. I figured you’d head for a jeweler. Second choice was a pub. Lots of pubs in this neighborhood, fewer jewelers.”

“I’m tired.” Desmond closed his eyes, listening to the rhythmic slap of the wipers.

“You’re also twisted with grief and depressed, my friend. So, how much did you spend?”

“I bought a gold Celtic ring and a special stone for a special lady. I hope she won’t throw them in my face.”

“I doubt it.” Julian smiled. “She’ll love them. Now… something to consider when you have to confront what you’re going to do about your plans—Jago’s in love with Asha, about as bad as you have it. Trevelyn’s in over his head and refuses to admit it, but I wouldn’t like to come between Raven and him. These Montgomerie sisters really must be something special. I feared the four of us would grow old together, doddering codgers everyone hates. How many are left? Three sisters?”

“Kat recently married. Britt’s twin is battling an old flame from the past. But there’s always LynneAnne in New York and Paganne, the archaeologist.”

“Rule out the archaeologist, she’d bore me to death. And I’m not setting foot in New York again, not even if delicious LynneAnne was waiting naked and wrapped up with a big red bow.”

“Wulf and Dennis are retiring, both moving to Falgannon,” Desmond said absently.

“Cool, I can come visit for the hols and your kids can call me Uncle Julian.”

“Children?” Desmond sat up so fast his head crashed into the top of the car. “Gor, B.A. has the power to cause me peril even at a distance.”

“You’ll get used to the idea, Daddy Des.”

It had never occurred to him to ask B.A. if she used birth control. He doubted it. And his package of condoms sat untouched in his suitcase. Desmond leaned back, calling himself a bloody idiot. He had never let that detail slip before. The image of B.A. pregnant made him feel strange inside. Scared him spitless.

Yet, something stronger rose inside him, as powerful as the demons that haunted his soul. He’d never imagined himself a father. Never wanted to be one. In many ways he’d been both a mother and father to Jago and Trevelyn; raised them, saw they had the best life he could give.

Desmond thought back when he turned fifteen and landed a job with Bentley Construction by lying to the owner and saying he was seventeen. He’d needed money—not teenager’s wages, but a man’s pay. The twins had needed glasses and new clothes for school in the fall. He’d wanted to see them with the best, not hand-me-downs as he’d had. He recalled coming in after a long day of hammering, his body aching with every fiber.

Yes, he’d used up all his fatherly urges before his twenty-first birthday. Contrarily, a grinding hunger now awoke within him, one that hoped B.A. was pregnant. It was a tie that might bind them when he destroyed her family’s holdings.