Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (27 page)

“Talking might help.”

“This
will help.” His strong back arched up and he pushed his hips back on the bed, moving them both so he was propped against the headboard. Wrapping his powerful arm around her waist, his mouth met hers with unleashed power, and one thumb worried the tip of her breast.

She’d like to push the issue, certain Desmond needed to discuss what bothered him, but the man conjured ecstasy with that beautiful hand. Her body burned, needing him inside her again, to be a part of him. He increased the pressure, giving her nipple a tug to push her desire higher.

“Make me forget, B.A.” He shifted to impale her once more on unyielding flesh. In near desperation, he drove into her, shattering her mind in a thousand pieces. Not giving her space to come down, he slammed into her harder. “Again, B.A.”

Again wasn’t possible. But then he tilted a bit, moving his body with his sure strokes. She couldn’t hold back, jerking, climaxing harder, stronger, longer, shocking with its force. The beautiful agony wracked her body and escaped her in a moan.

Instead of following her into that bliss, Desmond increased the energy of his thrusts each a masterful piston of his hips dictating her release. He drove her into an ever-tightening coil, until she lost track of how many times he pushed her to climax—over a dozen. It was hard to count as one often went right into another, each magnifying the waves of pleasure of the one to follow.

“Make me forget, B.A.,” he said again. He buried his head against her breasts. He exploded within her, his climax towing her to join him once more. The velvet release went on forever.

Distantly, B.A. grew aware that tears hit her breasts.

“You scare me, Des.” B.A. stroked his beautiful back.

He sat on the bed’s edge, awoken by another bad dream. Cocking his knee, he faced her. “It’s only a nightmare. Sorry I disturbed you.”

Putting a hand to his heart, its force alarmed her. “This disturbs me. I sense things in you, dark things. It’s reflected here.” Her index finger traced the lines bracketing his mouth. “You’ve lived hard, I think.”

Stillness in him intensified. Underneath was that panther waiting to slip its leash. “Are you saying because I had a hard life, a life not as privileged as yours, I’m not good enough for Sean Montgomerie’s precious granddaughter?”

She drew back. “Where’d that garbage come from?” She would’ve chuckled, but saw he was serious.

He jumped up and went to the window. “I had it rough, B.A., but nothing compared to what my mother suffered. Hardships have a way of wearing a person down, someone like her. Frail, frequently sick, bronchitis seemed to hit every winter, turning into pneumonia. She missed work because of illness. More times than I care to recall, she was fired for it. I’m sure you noticed I’m faintly bowlegged. I had rickets as a child.”

She came to stand behind him, stroking his shoulder.

“Rickets!” He laughed, but it wasn’t in humor. “In this day and age
no
kid should have rickets. Not enough milk and Vitamin D in my diet, B.A. Know why?”

Fighting tears, B.A. trembled, fearing she wouldn’t like the answer. She was unable to speak as his intense pain washed over her.

“Often we didn’t have money for food—simple stuff… bread, milk, eggs. When my mother wasn’t looking, I divided my milk between Jago and Trev. They were babies, they needed it more. With your privileged life you’ve no idea what it’s like to lie in bed in the middle of the night, hungry. To hear your baby brothers crying for the same reason. I recall one job she had, a waitress in a greasy spoon in some jerk-water town in Alabama. She earned minimum wage—$1.55 an hour at the time. Sixty hours a week earned her ninety bucks, so she took in ironing. She came in after working ten hours and pressed clothes half the night.”

“Why didn’t she seek public assistance? Programs exist in the United States to help single mothers see their kids never go hungry.”

“Pride. Fear. After my father’s death we lived with her father on a farm in Ireland. Life was harsh—worse after he died. I was working before I turned nine, got a job weeding flower gardens for a woman, Grace Delacourt. Like your Willie, she was a romance writer, was there for a year while she wrote her next book. She was kind, caring. My mother became her housekeeper and when it was time to return to the United States, she sat Mum down and discussed sponsoring her for permanent residency in the States. Grace took us with her. Life was good for a while: steady pay, food, a roof that didn’t leak over our heads. Before my eleventh birthday, Grace was killed in an accident. Life wasn’t so good after that. My mum feared they’d deport us to Ireland, so she moved—and moved. Anytime we were in a town long enough for someone to ask questions, we’d move again. She worked menial jobs. She wasn’t strong physically. Always sick, she never went to a doctor because it’d take the few dollars she had for food. Worse, she needed treatment. She was manic-depressive. Her moods…”

He tilted his head upward, blinking back tears. B.A. stared. Her insides were raw because this pain was his. Her arms encircled his waist. She laid her head against his back, cradling him with her love.

“She lived, one moment bright and gay, telling me the good things that’d happen to us when she got a better job. Next, she’d cry as if she’d never stop.” He snorted in disgust, but she felt the quiver of pain lance through him. “You can’t imagine how it was. Not enough food to last from one payday to the next. I was old enough to understand. The twins were toddlers. You can’t explain to a child who’s hungry he has to wait. Luxury was having a mustard sandwich for supper Thursday nights.”

Desmond wrenched away from her, but B.A. slid her arms around him. Her tears fell on his back.

“When I was fifteen I worked in a construction crew. I intended to quit school, work full-time. I didn’t want my brothers wearing hand-me-downs as I had. When the time came to return to school, I asked to be kept on. The owner, John Bentley, asked why. I explained I had to help my mother raise my brothers. He made a deal—stay in school and I could work five hours every night and a full day on Saturdays. I forced Mum to get medical treatment, refused to give in to her panic when her black moods hit, when she wanted to pick up and run. Even after John helped me straighten out our legal status, she often slipped into irrational fear we’d be sent back to Ireland or the authorities would take the twins away. When I turned eighteen, John paid my college tuition. I went to the local college so I could live at home, still work…” He trailed off, his tale done for the time.

B.A. hugged him tightly. “I’d wish for something better for you. But it’s who you are, what made you the man you are.”
The man I love.

And then B.A. cried more, seeing what Desmond was doing in his mind. Her soul twisted with that child’s anguish, that pain he’d carried so long. She wished to comfort that frightened, hurt boy. The Child Desmond was still very much in pain. She prayed that time and her love would help heal him.

Chapter 25

Desmond’s arm hung loosely around B.A.‘s shoulders as they watched the pontoon plane cut its engine and coast toward the harbor mouth. Keen to see B.A’s sister, the Fraser twins were in a dinghy, already rowing out to fetch LynneAnne.

Desmond was unsettled by the visit. LynneAnne had chosen to come to Falgannon for the holidays instead of Colford, and this was the first time Desmond had faced any of B.A.‘s siblings. While thankful it was a sister and not one of her six brothers, he was leery of Lynne Anne’s reaction to him.

Dismissing his anxiety, Desmond teased, “You have another female for matchmaking.”

B.A. slid her arms around his waist. “I thought of Ian and Brian long ago. She adores them, but as brothers. Though both would’ve been good choices for her.”

Desmond laughed. “Both?”

She chuckled, too.
“Either.
Leave it to a man to latch on to that.”

“Sorry, men wish for twins, not to be one sharing a woman.”

“Don’t spin dreams of my twin and me.” She dragged her finger down the middle of his chest and lower. He snatched her wrist, preventing the wandering digit from moving past his belt. “When we sisters each turned thirteen, Maeve gifted us with little curved knives.”

“Yeah, I noticed yours. It’s on a plaque by your desk.”

“They’re replicas of ones Pictish women carried. After Viking raiders were defeated, the women used the knives to castrate prisoners.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead. “Understood. No fantasies about twins.”

The dinghy pulled alongside the dock, everyone anxious as LynneAnne climbed up the wharf’s ladder. When she popped over the edge, B.A. rushed up to her. Desmond gritted his teeth. Having experienced B.A.‘s welcomes, he feared both ladies might end up in the drink.

He watched, curious if the sister shared B.A.‘s sex appeal. Likely, Julian knew, having spent several weeks trailing her in New York, reporting on her life. Desmond’s glance flickered to his friend. Speculation flashed in Julian’s dark eyes, but his expression remained typically aloof.

LynneAnne wasn’t as tall as B.A. Her build was similar, with well-rounded breasts and shapely hips. Her dark auburn hair was in a French-braid, reaching past her waist, the style accenting her lovely face. She had the same features—that Montgomerie chin, the model’s cheekbones—though the witchy cat look to her eyes was stronger.

Sisters linking arms, they walked forward. Desmond felt the incisive power of LynneAnne’s amber eyes, her gaze direct, assessing.

“Ian and Brian blethered on about Vikings invading. Looks more like pirates have overtaken Falgannon.” Her shrewd gaze skimmed over Julian, then dismissed him with a flick of her long black lashes. She zeroed in on Desmond, noting Kitty curved around his ankle. Stepping close, she met his stare. “Cats are good judges of character. But then, Dudley isn’t a cat.”

Desmond couldn’t resist. “What about the two-legged kind? Are they a good judge?”

Her eyes shifted to B.A. and back. “Tell me, Desmond Mershan, has my sister told you the legend of the
Cait Sidhe?
”

“I know about the selkie and kelpie—but I don’t ride a bicycle so I’m not worried.”

Her smile spread. “Women of our line supposedly descend from the
Cait Sidhe
—”

“A race of Pictish witches, I recall.”

“It’s told how females of Maeve’s line came from one woman—”

He cut her off, to irritate her. “I’ve been to the Lady Stone.”

“Have you?” Her dark brow lifted. “And planted a white rose?”

B.A. slid under his arm, hugging him. “We did.”

LynneAnne grinned as the Michaels came over to hug her. Then she winked at B.A. “So are the lads taking bets if the rose blooms?”

Michael the Story tugged her braid.“‘Tis not a betting topic, lass.”

“He dunna ken about the
Cait Sidhe,
Michael.” She shook a finger at him. “You’re falling down as
seanchaidh
. Ashamed you should be.”

“LynneAnne, say hello to Julian Starkadder.” B.A. did the pretty, “Julian, this is my younger sister. She builds—”

“Carousels.” He extended his hand. “Someone mentioned it.”

LynneAnne’s expression turned cool. “What do you do as Mershan’s pet pirate? Force his enemies to walk the plank?”

Desmond shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Wrong move, LynneAnne.” Julian took her hand. A blush tinged her cheeks as he held it. She blinked, losing the staring contest. Julian smirked. Instead of kissing her hand, he faintly nipped it. “What do I do? I
biter

LynneAnne shivered. “Mershan, I hope you see he gets his shots.”

*

Desmond lifted LynnAnne’s suitcases out of the Rover and said to Julian, “B.A. told me about her curved knife. They’re based upon ones Pict women carried. After battles, they castrated prisoners with them. I’m thinking of hiding B.A.‘s.”

“She was telling you this… why?” Julian laughed.

“Admonishment to keep my baser male fantasies in check—but also, I surmise, so I’d pass the advice on to you.”

“Never fear, after seeing the effect Montgomerie sisters have on you Mershan brothers, I want no part of one.” Julian shoved a piece of gum into his mouth. “You got the pick of the litter. Someone who spends days carving wooden horses must be boring as dirt.”

Desmond hesitated, seeing LynneAnne come up behind Julian. He waggled his eyebrows at his friend. When Julian looked behind him, she flashed him a look that’d kill.

“Give this boring-as-dirt woman her suitcase.”

She reached for it, but Julian took it. “Allow me.”

“Let go. My suitcase is probably boring, too,” she snapped, trying to wrestle it from him.

Desmond stepped back. This was like standing between two spitting cats ready to tangle.

“I’ve got it. Stop the hissy fit,” Julian ordered.

“Mershan, tell the hired help to keep opinions to themselves. Besides, for a man with an earring in the wrong ear, he shouldn’t care if a woman’s boring or not.”

Julian blinked, puzzled. “It’s in my left ear.”

“Right is wrong, left is right,” LynneAnne quoted in singsong tone.

Julian shrugged. “Right.”

“See?” She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him.

“Right is wrong
means a guy is gay, LynneAnne.”

“Precisely, it’s in your right ear.”

He tugged on it.
“My
left, not yours.”

“So you’re not gay.”

He slowly shook his head. And leaning close he added, “Want to find out what else I do besides bite?”

Yanking her case from his hand, she muttered, “Bloody pirate.” Then she headed inside.

Desmond took the last case out and slammed the back door on the car. B.A. came storming out of the house, hands on hips.

“What did he do to my sister?”

Desmond commented to Dudley, “Looks like the hols won’t be boring, Fuzzball.”

Four nights later, Desmond surveyed The Hanged Man, jam-packed to both welcome LynneAnne and celebrate Yule. To Desmond’s relief most of the males, save Cedric, were in pants. And for the first time in six years, new women were scattered among Falgannon’s lads.

Desmond lifted B.A.‘s hand to his mouth and kissed it, watching her beam with delight.

Cassie had stayed. The “Morn, B.A.” Club were running bets when Willie and she would make the announcement. The two were inseparable.

The first three prospective brides had returned home, but Amanda Taggart was coming back to Falgannon after she settled things in the States. Two new candidates were present, as was the daring gal Jeannie Burroughs, who’d Jet-Skied to the island claiming she was carried off by Splendid Mane.

Wulf’s sisters—Ingrid, Raghild and Astrid—were white-blond Viking goddesses. They’d led B.A.‘s lads on a merry chase since arriving yesterday on the ferry, Falgannon’s second Viking invasion for the year. They’d blown Thursday night poker all to Hell.

“Get a mop. Your lads are drooling again,” Desmond teased, watching Callum, Hamish and Patrick making cakes of themselves by dancing attendance on Wulf’s sisters.

Under the table, B.A. nudged his leg with her foot. “Hush, Michael’s starting.”

Indeed, the handsome man with long sandy hair and poet’s eyes claimed the attention of all as he began his tale of ancient lore. Standing before the fireplace, he hypnotized with his words. “Lore holds that the Daughters of Anne are descended from the
Cait Sidhe,
Faery Cats—Pictish witches with magic in their blood. Each possesses the ability to transform into a catamount nine times. She may change eight times and retain her human form by never taking the shape of a cat again, but if she morphs into a feline the ninth time, she is condemned to remain as such for the rest of her life. Anne, daughter of Anne, married Thane Fhitich. When the Northern invaders came, Anne and Fhitich led their people in a fight for this isle. In the heat of battle, Anne discovered her husband surrounded by the Danes. Fearing his slaughter, she transformed into a catamount and frightened them away, saving Fhitich. Unfortunately, she’d transformed eight times before, and was thus was condemned to remain a cat for the rest of her life. The Auld Ones were touched by her deep love and sacrifice for her husband, so they granted her the power to come to him in human form on the seven nights of the full moon. On Lughnasadh, the first of August, she was permitted to remain in that form for the whole day—the only time she could walk in sunlight as a woman. To this day, the females of the line are reputed to have this ability. Scoff, but look in their eyes, you’ll see they are truly cats having assumed human form.”

Desmond arched his brow at LynneAnne. “This is what you wanted me to hear? B.A. is half-cat?”

LynneAnne grinned, wiggling in her seat. “What did you think, Mershan?”

Desmond snorted. “A load of cobblers, worse than tales of green-eyed men.”

LynneAnne stared at him, then laughed. “Mershan, you’re whistling past the graveyard. I bet he’s a good poker player—nearly as good as The Cat Dudley, B.A. You should ban these two from playing cards with your lads. Your lambs aren’t prepared to handle such cutthroat pirates.”

“Pirate? I thought I was a Viking.” When Dudley fussed to get in his lap, Desmond gave in and settled the beast on his thighs. “A prince, at that.”

“One with Sinclair and Fitzgerald blood,” B.A. agreed. She hooked his calf with her stockinged foot and secretly ran it up the inside of his leg.

“Sinclair
and
Fitzgerald? Impressive. Shame he scoffs at The Curse.” LynneAnne’s witchy eyes studied him. “Viking Prince? Pirate? What other masks do you wear, Mershan?”

B.A. pushed her foot the rest of the way up his leg and against his groin. Des reached for his drink, but B.A.‘s sensual foray and LynneAnne’s cat eyes boring into him shattered his composure and he spilled his whisky. It spread across the table and into Julian’s lap. Julian jumped back, dabbing at his thighs with his napkin while B.A. rushed to the bar for a towel.

LynneAnne nearly purred, thrilled.

Desmond leaned forward and crooked his finger for LynneAnne to come closer. “You try coming between B.A. and me and I’ll tie you up, gag you and toss you into the peat bog,” he warned.

She didn’t look worried.

Later, B.A. and LynneAnne hung the ornaments everyone brought forward. The tree in The Hanged Man was the “family” tree. Each person had their name and a small image of them hand-painted on the bulb. At Yuletide, these were hung. Oona’s grandmother had created the oldest ornaments. Oona kept up the tradition.

B.A. eyed the door, waiting for the men to return. They’d gone to fetch the Yule log. Desmond had made noises the rite was nonsense, but she saw it pleased him to be included.

She asked her sister, “What did Des say to you?”

LynneAnne glanced up from tying a decoration.“The louse threatened to stuff me in the bog if I interfered between you!”

“Good,” B.A. chuckled. “He needs a tough skin to deal with us meddling Montgomeries.”

LynneAnne stared at her. “I’m glad Desmond broke through that wall you built…”

“But?” B.A. prompted.

Her sister shrugged. “He’s a lot of man—the kind sane women run from. I worry about you. I don’t want you hurt.”

“I won’t be,” B.A. assured. “Only thing Des could do to hurt me is leave. Of course, then I’d stop the ferry from running and keep him as a sex slave. Do you think he’d threaten you if he dinna care deeply?”

LynneAnne shrugged.

B.A. stopped, worried. “Do you
like
Desmond?”

“I don’t know him. He gives off pheromones, which make me uncomfortable, itchy. That’s why I poke at him. He’d make a ninety-year-old granny itchy. I see that silly cat adores him, the way your lads respect him. That tells me a lot.”

The truth hit B.A.“You dinna like Evian. LynneAnne…”

“Okay, I kept my mouth shut and always regretted it. He wasn’t good enough for you.” LynneAnne sighed. “Desmond is always looking at you, touching you. I wish a man would feel that way about me.”

The door opened and the men pushed through with the log, Dudley capering at Desmond’s feet. The men dusted snow off their hair and shoulders.

LynneAnne snorted. “You call that a Yule log? It’s pitiful, like that tree in the old Charlie Brown cartoon!”

“Don’t be insulting our log, lass,” Ian warned, “or Angus will be saying you should’ve been beaten regularly.”

“Tell Angus to stuff it. No man ever raised a hand to a woman on this isle. Everyone knows that.”

B.A. smiled at Des as he snaked his arm around her waist and kissed her. She leaned into him, relishing the taste of man and whisky. All else faded as she clung to him, their kiss so tender, so sweet, tears came to her eyes. Her mind whispered,
I love this man, love him, love him
.

“Da, our Viking’s pillaging again,” Wee Gordie called at Desmond’s elbow.

He glared at the smiling kid. “If I bribe this munchkin, will he go bother someone else?”

B.A. stroked Desmond’s cheek, noticing the shadows still haunting his eyes. She dusted the flakes off his hair. “It’s snowing?”

He nodded. “Heavy.”

“I want to go enjoy it, but first you must put your ornament on the tree.”