Call Home the Heart (10 page)

 

 

The warm baths, hot food and late hour made them both sleepy. They
pushed the table away from the fire so they could huddle up closer
to the hearth, and sat back sipping their coffee, which Muireann
admitted was her one weakness. They contentedly gazed into the
crackling flames, their knees just touching.

 

 

Lochlainn stared at Muireann's lovely face in repose from under
hooded lids, and then remarked, "I must say, you've coped with all
of this amazingly well."

 

 

"I haven't had much choice, have I?" she replied with a shrug.

 

 

"Yes, you have, my dear. You could have gone back to Scotland today,
washed your hands of Barnakilla completely. Perhaps tomorrow you
might wish you had."

 

 

"You've coped well too, Lochlainn. I mean, all of this must have
been very hard for you."

 

 

"It has been, but I have to be strong. My sister is counting on me,
you know. Well, they all are, really."

 

 

"And now they're counting on me," she said sadly. "I only hope I'll
be up to the challenge."

 

 

"I am sure you will be, Muireann. I feel it in my bones."

 

 

Muireann rose and stretched. "The only thing I feel in my bones is a
perpetual ache after that rattling carriage ride. If you don't mind,
I think I'll go to bed."

 

 

She called down the corridor for hot water bottles and a warming
pan, and tidied the supper tray while the servants looked after the
bed and took the used dishes away. Muireann busied herself laying
out her warmest under things and stockings. She put the food parcel
near her bag and hung her sable woolen dress on the peg for the
morning.

 

 

When they were alone again, Lochlainn gathered up some cushions and
took the spare blanket off the bed.

 

 

She stared.  "What are you doing?"

 

 

"I'm getting myself comfortable in this chair for the night."

 

 

Muireann took the blanket out of his hand and threw it back on the
bed with a flourish.

 

 

"Now I've told you, Lochlainn, we share everything, and that
includes the bed."

 

 

Lochlainn blushed a furious red. "Muireann, you don't know what
you're saying!"

 

 

 "Oh, for Heaven's sake, I'm not going to have you freeze to
death in this chair or on the floor. The bed is so big you won't
even notice me in it. And if it will make you feel better, we can
run a line of hot water bottles down the center to shield your
virtue," she said with a small smile.

 

 

Lochlainn blushed again, but laughed in spite of himself. "Really,
you're the oddest girl I've ever met!"

 

 

"I thought we said we would be honest with each other. I'm tired of
pretense, of worrying about what is and isn't the proper thing to
do. I'm twenty-one, a married woman, who has lived on a farm all her
life. I have no illusions about what happens between a man and a
woman. I also happen to know it usually has to be mutual. I trust
you, Lochlainn, so just stop arguing. I'm tired and cold, and we
have to be up early in the morning."

 

 

"Why?" Lochlainn asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

 

"Because I've booked us two seats on the earlier coach, so we'll
have to breakfast and be out of here by seven."

 

 

Lochlainn rubbed his eyes wearily. "May I ask why? Look at you,
Muireann, you must be done in, poor thing," he said in a too tender
tone as he stroked one riotous ebony curl back from her face and
tucked it behind her ear.

 

 

"Because we need to get to work at Barnakilla. There's no sense in
remaining here in Virginia all day, then getting to Enniskillen
late, and probably having to stay there overnight because we can't
get a lift out to Barnakilla."

 

 

"You do seem to think of everything, little miss," he said, suddenly
stooping to kiss her on the cheek before he could stop himself.

 

 

"I do try, Lochlainn, I really do."

 

 

"You succeed, clever girl. Right, we'll share the bed, then, but I'm
sticking the pillow in between us, and this blanket, to protect your
virtue."

 

 

"Alice would say I was a hoyden who had none," Muireann giggled.

 

 

"Why?" Lochlainn asked, astonished.

 

 

"She liked Augustine, but she loathed my other suitors. She accused
me of trying to make up for my ugliness by encouraging men to pay me
unsuitable attentions."

 

 

 Lochlainn frowned, suddenly feeling unaccountably jealous.
"And what unsuitable attentions might those have been?" he asked
sharply, his eyes glittering.

 

 

Muireann shrugged. "Oh, dancing, riding horses, hunting, talking."

 

 

Lochlainn visibly relaxed. "I can't see that there's anything wrong
with any of those things. My sister does the same all the time, and
her virtue is without question."

 

 

"I'm glad to hear it. It's nice to know I'm not abnormal after all.
You're a good person to talk to. Very, well, understanding.
Sympathetic. Alice doesn't talk, she issues orders," Muireann said,
lifting her nose in the air in imitation of her sister.

 

 

Lochlainn laughed as he unfastened the top of his shirt and then
rolled the blanket into the center of the bed. "I knew someone like
that once myself. But I think I'm beginning to see why Fintry isn't
as attractive as I imagined. Though you are. Certainly not ugly." He
reddened and turned his full attention to the blanket.

 

 

"Very kind, I'm sure.  I suppose it's a question of how strict
one's family is," Muireann explained as she unbuttoned her robe.
"Believe it or not, being wealthy does have its disadvantages,
though I don't expect any sympathy. It's like . . ." She paused for
a moment to gather her thoughts.

 

 

"Like what, Muireann?"

 

 

"Like being asked to perform the same role in a play day in and day
out," she said as she got into bed. "I don't want to play that part
any more. I just want to be myself. I accepted the marriage part
because I met a man who made me feel like I was someone important
when he courted me. I thought I was the most precious object in the
world to him. But it was all an act, wasn't it?"

 

 

Lochlainn swallowed past the lump in his throat, and it took all of
his self-control not reach out to kiss and comfort her. "I'm sure
you were precious to him, Muireann. It couldn't have been an act."

 

 

 "Nay, Lochlainn." Muireann shook her head bitterly, spreading
her black tresses across the pillow in an ebony cloud. "Barnakilla
was and always will be more important, wouldn't you say?"

 

 

"Muireann, I don't think--"

 

 

"Let's go to sleep, shall we?" Muireann said as she pulled the
covers up to her chin and turned her back on him.

 

 

Lochlainn paused just long enough to turn down the oil lamps, then
got into the bed and at last closed his eyes. But he was haunted by
images of Muireann laughing, weeping, in despair. He was also 
acutely aware of her presence only inches away from him, her soft
warmth, the delicate sound of her breathing. All he had to do was
reach out one hand and….

 

 

For a seemingly endless time, he lay aching for her, and despite his
weariness, sleep eluded him.

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

It grew bitterly cold during the long winter's night. As the blazing
fire in their hearth gradually died down, both Muireann and
Lochlainn instinctively moved towards one another in the bed,
seeking each other's comforting warmth.

 

 

By the time they awakened groggily in response to the maid tapping
on the door at six to give them time to get ready for the seven
o'clock coach, the dividing blanket between them had been pulled
over their bodies. Lochlainn opened his eyes to find himself lying
on his side, with Muireann on her back tucked tightly against him.

 

 

Again, her face in repose was an arresting sight. Her lips were
curved in a small smile. Lochlainn could never remember having seen
Tara in the cold light of morning. They had always met furtively,
briefly, in the outbuildings or in the woods during the summer
months.

 

 

Tara had said it was all part of the excitement of being in love.
Lochlainn, now in his mid-thirties, wondered as he soaked up
Muireann's warmth, if there were more important things than the
thrill of sensuality. There was tenderness, affection too, things he
had never known since his mother had died many years before, when he
had been only two and his sister a newborn.

 

 

"Mmm, I smell coffee," Muireann practically purred. She opened her
eyes and gazed up at him.

 

 

His head lowered then, and he kissed her on the lips, forcing
himself to be gentle as his emotions nearly spiraled out of control.
He recalled her pain the morning before when he had touched her
midriff, so he simply stroked her face and hair.

 

 

Muireann's lips parted with a sigh, deepening the sweet kiss into
someting much more compelling as he raised one hand to hold her chin
tenderly and explored her mouth with a leisurly thoroughness which
thrilled them both to the core.

 

 

At last Lochlainn lifted his lips, knowing he couldn't hide his
throbbing desire for her forever. But she seemed untroubled by the
kiss, stroking her hand down the long column of his neck with her
eyes closed.

 

 

"God, it's cold," she murmured, seeking his warmth again as he tried
to pull his lower body away from hers before he shocked her. "I wish
we could stay here a bit longer."

 

 

"We can have another five minutes," he suggested, as Muireann
sleepily rolled over onto her side, putting her back to him. She
stretched, her full length pressing up against his front.

 

 

 His hand moved down under the covers to hold her gently around
the waist. He warned himself to be careful, to just enjoy the
moment, for he would never get another like it again. A moment
later, she turned her head to look at Lochlainn sleepily.

 

 

"How long will it take us to get to Enniskillen?"

 

 

"We should be there by tea time if we have clear roads, but then
we'll have to hope for a lift out to Barnakilla," he whispered
against her silken soft hair, now a mass of curls which he tousled
with his hands, savoring the soft feel of her all over.

 

 

Like a rose without thorns. The thought came to him suddenly, and he
found the simile apt.

 

 

Muireann nodded, and stroked the hand around her as she turned her
head back onto the pillow. She reflected somewhere in the back of
her drowsy mind how wonderful Lochlainn felt in the bed beside her.
How they just seemed to fit together.

 

 

She had had the strangest sensation when she had first met him on
the docks in Dun Laoghaire, and their hands had touched in greeting.
She had trembled then as though the ground under her were shaking.
Strangely, she had felt almost as if she had come home, though of
course she had never before set foot in Ireland. It was as though
they belonged together for all time…

 

 

"I hope we get a lift out to the house as soon as we arrive," she
murmured. "It'll be good to be home."

 

 

Lochlainn looked down at her, wondering if she were asleep, so
little sense did her statement make. She had never been to
Barnakilla. Nor could she possibly imagine a run-down and bankrupt
estate as home.

 

 

Also, her response to his kiss and his presence in the bed also
began to worry him. Was she a complete wanton, or had she somehow
lost her wits? Or worse still, had she somehow confused him with
Augustine in her mind?

 

 

Lochlainn's unease grew as she rolled over onto her back again, and
his arm came into intimate contact with her breasts. Struggling for
control, he knew he had to test her.

 

 

"Muireann, are you awake?" he asked a trifle too loudly, moving away
from her a short distance in the bed.

 

 

Muireann opened her eyes and glanced up at him with some irritation.
"Of course I am, Lochlainn. You said five more minutes." She
wondered why his tone seemed so sharp.

 

 

"But I suppose you're right," she sighed, as she planted a peck on
his cheek and swung her long legs over the edge and onto the floor.
"We have to go, and breakfast will be here soon."

 

 

She padded across the room to the screen. In a few minutes she
emerged fully dressed. Gathering up her discarded hairpins, which
she placed between her ruby lips, she hastily brushed her cloud of
raven hair and tugged it forcefully into a short, severe roll at the
nape of her neck, jabbing her hairpins into it as though attacking
an enemy.

 

 

 Lochlainn watched her from the bed, and noted that the whole
procedure took less than a minute.

 

 

She went to the door and fetched the can of hot water, and for a
minute splashing sounds could be heard. She emptied the basin into
the slop bucket, and went over to the door to fetch the breakfast
tray, which the maid had just placed outside.

 

 

Muireann turned to Lochlainn and said, "Right, lazybones, your turn.
I'll lay out the breakfast while you shave."

 

 

There was porridge, toast, bacon, eggs and sausages. Again Muireann
made sandwiches out of the meat and bread they didn't eat, and
wrapped them in another clean cloth. She then packed her things,
placing the food parcels in her large purse, which she laid next to
her cloak and the traveling rugs.