Call Home the Heart (26 page)

 

 

Lochlainn longed to believe her, but he couldn't quite suppress his
doubts. Nor could he suppress his desires as he took her lips in a
soul-stirring kiss. He nuzzled her ear and murmured, "Are you
finished with business for tonight?"

 

 

"Aye."

 

 

"Then what about some pleasure?"

 

 

Muireann met his eyes, and melted. She rose from his lap, kissing
him lingeringly, then took his hand to tug him to his feet. Blowing
out the candles on the desk, she and Lochlainn walked up the stairs
with their arms around each other's waists.

 

 

Once in her room, she turned to face him, and they tumbled into each
other's arms, barely able to make it to the bed, so overwhelming was
their passion for one another.

 

 

"Muireann, I'm sorry about the past few days--" Lochlainn began,
stroking the petal-soft skin of her stomach.

 

 

Muireann silenced him with a kiss. "No more words, Lochlainn. When
we talk, all we ever seem to do is disagree."

 

 

"But surely you'll regret this one day," he sighed, pressing his
cheek against hers as he held her tightly and felt desire burning
within him.

 

 

"I don't want to think about the future. When I'm here like this
with you, Lochlainn, all I want is the here and now," she breathed,
rolling him onto his back and lying atop him.

 

 

Desire raged within them both, and Lochlainn wondered how it was
possible to yearn for Muireann even in the throes of their passion.
Their devouring kisses, ardent strokes, all seemed so satisfying,
yet frustrating at the same time.

 

 

He had been passionately involved with Tara, or so he thought. This
went beyond passion, to near obsession, as he rolled her over onto
the sweat-soaked sheets and tasted every inch of her flesh, until
her head rolled from side to side. She clutched his hair and cried
out his name, arching up off the bed so violently that she nearly
hurled him onto the floor.

 

 

He hung on hard, and joined with her at last. Their climax was
explosive, all encompassing, a plea for love and understanding, and
above all for a future they could hardly dare to guess at, but knew
they could never endure without the other.

 

 

"Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly, rolling off her slick body
some time later, still panting.

 

 

"I'm fine, really. Wonderful."  She smiled up at him lovingly.

 

 

When at last she had calmed, he held her close and felt tears on her
cheeks.

 

 

Muireann laughed then and kissed him, opening her arms like an
enveloping blanket to warm the dark chilly night, and they settled
down to sleep.

 

 

Lochlainn told himself it was too good, an incredible dream that was
bound to come to an end sooner or later. Like Tara, Muireann would
fly too.

 

 

He struggled hard to keep away from her the next day, but the
following night, unable to sleep, he paced up and down the cottage
floor until at last he flung open the door and made his way to the
kitchen of the big house.

 

 

Taking a candle from a holder by the door, he searched for Muireann
in the study and library, and at last made so bold as to ascend to
her room. There she was just banking the fire, clad only in her
nightdress. Her heavy hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and she
smiled invitingly as he entered.

 

 

"I was hoping you'd come," she said with a soft smile.  She ran
into his arms, and wrapping both her arms and legs about him, she
tumbled him onto the bed joyously.

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

The affair between Muireann and Lochlainn continued unabated
throughout the whole of March. Both wondered how long it could
endure without their having to face the consequences of their
passionate actions, but neither was willing to give up the other. It
became an unspoken rule between them never to talk about the future,
just to enjoy the present as it unfolded moment by moment as they
made love to each other throughout each dark but ever shortening
night.

 

 

As the days passed, Lochlainn realized that he was a little
intimidated by the daytime Muireann, so cool, calm and rational. He
wanted, nay, needed to keep that Muireann separate from the woman he
held in his arms during the night when, unable to help himself, he
went to her room to seek a few hours' solace in her company.

 

 

Muireann, too, wanted to treat the Lochlainn who came to her in the
night differently from the daily companion with whom she shared all
of her triumphs and trials. They had to deal with a million and one
problems during the day. Together they ran the businesses and tried
to balance the books, but the evenings were a magical time for them.
Hovering between sleeping and waking, their lovemaking took on a
life all its own.

 

 

Nothing was too daring or shocking as they explored each other,
laughed, and loved unreservedly until the first rosy rays of dawn
came to flood their secret retreat from the rest of the world.

 

 

But all too soon, the rooster would summon them to their
never-ending round of chores. They would give each other one last
warm kiss, then have nothing but their memories to hug close until
the next time they were able to snatch a few precious hours alone
together.

 

 

Lochlainn tried not to think about the future, but he felt he could
never be certain of Muireann always being there by his side. A ship
might come from Scotland with her father on it, and she would vanish
without a trace. Yet while she was with him, he was determined to
enjoy every second they could be with each other. Often he made love
to her desperately, almost as though it were the last time. She met
his passion kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, and left them both
hungering for more.

 

 

Yet despite their mutual desire, Lochlainn waited for her to tell
him it was over, that she had made a mistake. It seldom occurred to
him that through his mistrust, he might help to bring about the
fulfillment of his own prophecy and one day drive her away.

 

 

Muireann also tried not to think about their future, but she
wondered how it would all end. She loved Lochlainn, she was sure.
But how on earth could they ever be happy together? No sooner did
they manage to surmount one problem when another took its place.

 

 

Moreover, Lochlainn always seemed so sure that he wasn't good enough
for her. She was sure he compared her to Tara continually.
Muireann's awareness of her inexperience, and the insecurity which
resulted, also served to drive a wedge between them. She believed
Tara had been the one great love of Lochlainn's life, and that she
was merely a friend, a companion, someone for Lochlainn to pass the
lonely nights with.

 

 

Muireann dealt with the crisis of the tax money by selling every
single luxury item which had come in the shipment from Scotland. She
even parceled up the coffee into brown paper wrappers to sell at the
various markets. Lochlainn gave Patrick the money for two of the
packets, and gave one of them to Muireann as a present, saving the
other for her birthday on the thirtieth of April.

 

 

"Really, you shouldn't have," she said, kissing him warmly.

 

 

"Now we're even. You shouldn't have kept the sideboard," he said
with a grin, pointing to where it stood in her bedroom.

 

 

She smiled shyly. "It was too beautiful to sell without a second
thought. You made it with your own two hands, and it reminds me of
you, and the first night I ever came here."

 

 

"I would hardly think you needed a reminder of that horrible time.
As for reminding you of me, isn't the real thing good enough?" he
teased, tickling her so that she wriggled in his arms and laughed up
at him.

 

 

"More than good enough," she said, kissing him lingeringly.

 

 

Ciara came into the chamber at that moment looking for advice, and
they separated abruptly.

 

 

His sister frowned her disapproval of their behavior, and did
whatever she could to discourage her brother from spending time
alone with Muireann.

 

 

Muireann couldn't blame her. She was simply worried about her
brother getting hurt again. All the same, though, it didn't bode
well for their relationship if his only living relative didn't
approve of her. What her own family would say if they knew about
Lochlainn, she didn't even dare contemplate.

 

 

 

 

 

By the end of March, some of the money Mr. Blessington had stolen
was returned to her. Muireann spent most of it on paying off part of
the mortgage and most of the taxes. The rest on new livestock,
especially sheep for wool. They were sturdy beasts, and could graze
even on the worst ground on the estate. For a time she began to feel
optimistic that things were finally starting to take a turn for the
better.

 

 

But stunning new developments occurred in the middle of April, when
Mr. Cole, her neighbor to the southeast, announced that he would be
converting all his farmland to sheep pasture, and served eviction
notices on every one of his tenants.

 

 

Even worse, Colonel Lowry, her neighbor to the north, was prepared
to pay the passage money for all of his workers to go to Canada, so
that he could avoid paying the high taxes which the government had
imposed.  The taxes were based upon large numbers of tenants
who were supposedly paying vast rents for their tiny cottages and
minute potato plots.

 

 

"The Devon Commission calculated the rents coming in early in 1841,
before the potato crop failed that October," Lochlainn explained to
Muireann as she sat at her desk trying to make sense of their own
tax figures.

 

 

"They added up all the rents which were on the books then, without
even taking into account the amount of arrears were owed. Some of
the people have left, some have died since, and of course, more
children are born all the time, which boosts the tax figure even
higher. Unfortunately, the women and infant children can't bring
much money or wealth into the family, so there are more and more
mouths to feed, and thus less cash. That's why the Colonel and Mr.
Cole are cutting their losses now, before the situation reaches
crisis point in another few years' time."

 

 

"But where will their tenants go? What will they do? Sheep are all
very well and fine, but you need people to work with them, shear
them, card and dye the wool, and spin it into cloth!" Muireann
exclaimed. "Or herd them and slaughter them for food."

 

 

Lochlainn advanced from the doorway where he had been standing. He
looked more grim that she had ever seen him.

 

 

 "I can't believe this is happening!" he declared as he flung
himself into a chair dejectedly.

 

 

"I know this must be hard for you, Lochlainn. I'm sorry."

 

 

 He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I've known many of
those people since I was a boy. Some of them are far too old. They
can't emigrate. Most of them would never survive the passage! It's
like signing their death warrants. Even if they do survive the
passage, what then? They'll have to try to make a fresh start in a
land very different from their own. It's too horrible even to think
of. I certainly know how hard it was in Australia. I wouldn't wish
that fate on anyone."

 

 

"But you were successful," Muireann pointed out.

 

 

"I was fortunate to even survive the passage!"

 

 

"Oh my."

 

 

"Indeed.  And even then, yes, I worked damned hard to get what
I did have, but a lot of it was luck as well. How lucky are all of
them going to be? More and more emigrants are heading for Canada all
the time compared with Australia. Few of them have any skills, and
barely even the clothes they're standing up in. It's like signing
their death warrants."

 

 

Muireann listened carefully to Lochlainn's bitter tirade, and looked
down at the figures in front of her pensively. Then she put the
ledger to one side, and laid a fresh sheet of paper on the blotter.

 

 

"How many are there on the Colonel's estate?"

 

 

"A hundred or thereabouts."

 

 

"And on Mr. Cole's?"

 

 

"About the same, maybe a few more."

 

 

"Out of these people, how many of them have any skills, you know,
carpentry and so on?"

 

 

Lochlainn scratched his head thoughtfully. "I don't know. My guess
is most of them are farmers, but there must be some carpenters and
builders, I'm sure."

 

 

"From both estates?"

 

 

 He frowned, puzzled. "I think so. But why are you asking?"

 

 

Muireann checked up her calculations carefully before replying.
"Because I want them to come and live here."

 

 

He half rose from his chair, his eyes wide. "Are you mad? We could
never--"

 

 

"I know what you're going to say, Lochlainn. Please hear me out
before you fly off the handle completely. I know it won't be easy
for us here at Barnakilla, but in a few weeks' time those poor
people will either be homeless on the road, or dying on the long
trip over to Canada. These are men, women and children we are
talking about. If we take them in-"