Call Home the Heart (3 page)

 

 

While Lochlainn could not pretend to feel any grief for Augustine,
at the same time he knew how harmful it would be to try to bottle up
all of one's misery inside oneself. He decided to broach the subject
of Augustine's death as delicately as possible in order to test her
reaction.

 

 

He waited until she had finished the soup and he had put the tray
outside their room.

 

 

"Mrs. Caldwell, I know it's late and you're obviously upset and
tired, but some decisions are going to have to be made about
Augustine and the funeral," he remarked quietly.

 

 

Muireann's chin began to quiver. Her voice cracked in several places
as she said, "I've never had to deal with any of these sorts of
affairs before. What would you suggest?"

 

 

He took her tiny hand in his own. "I think you have to do the whole
thing quickly and quietly. There's no question of a wake under the
circumstances. We might have some difficulty in even persuading a
priest to bury Augustine in a churchyard."

 

 

Her hand trembled as she heard his words, but she looked at him
frankly and nodded her agreement. "Ought we to bring him back to
Enniskillen with us?"

 

 

He shook his head. "No, no, it would be worse there."

 

 

Lochlainn didn't want to tell her that they had barely enough money
to pay for their hotel room and food, let alone the cost of
transporting a coffin back to Barnakilla.

 

 

"If you'll allow me, I shall speak to one of the priests up here,
Father Brennan, an old family friend who now has a town parish, and
see if he would be so kind as to take care of the matter. If you're
not up to it, you don't have to attend."

 

 

"It would seem so disrespectful somehow. But at the moment I feel as
though I'm falling apart," she confessed frankly, starting to
shudder again with cold and dread.

 

 

He felt her hand quiver in his. Though he knew he would have to tell
her the truth sooner or later, for now the only thing the poor girl
needed was comfort and a few kind words.

 

 

So he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back resting against
the headboard, and put one arm around her. As the tears began to
fall, he held her close, feeling the heart-rending sobs wrack her
slender body. He thought once more how lucky Augustine had been, and
how foolish.

 

 

As she wept, Muireann wondered to herself how she could ever live
with the immense guilt which threatened to engulf her. I'm an evil
person, she reflected sadly. How can I possibly feel so relieved
that he's dead? How can I possibly think of myself at a time like
this? But I have no idea how to cope! What on earth will become of
me? What shall I do?

 

 

These questions echoed in her mind over and over again. The past two
weeks had been like her worst nightmare transformed into a hideous
reality which she had no idea how to confront.

 

 

She wept as though her heart would break.

 

 

As she wept, Lochlainn damned Augustine for having left his lovely
young bride in such a state, abandoned in Ireland with no friends,
no family, no estate, and most likely no money to support her if his
past habits were anything to go by.

 

 

He had quickly gone through her things—if she did have any money, it
was certainly very well hidden.  He would have to sort through
Augustine's property later.

 

 

He had asked Mr. Burns if the couple had left anything valuable in
the hotel safe, and received a negative reply. She was weeping now.
Just how bad things were for Muireann financially he had no idea,
but he had the feeling her sorrow was only just beginning, and about
to get far worse if he didn't keep his wits about him.

 

 

"It will be all right, Muireann, you'll see," he heard himself say
as her arms looped around his neck.

 

 

He allowed himself to relax and even take comfort from the warmth
and affection of another human being, despite her being so
grief-stricken she couldn't possibly know what she was doing.

 

 

"I'll look after you. Trust me. It will all be fine, you'll see."

 

 

Eventually her sobs began to die down, and she moved lower in the
bed, further under the covers.

 

 

"Cold?" Lochlainn asked quietly, his lips pressed against her raven
hair.

 

 

"A little."

 

 

"I'll go bank up the fire."

 

 

"No, stay with me, please. I'm warm enough like this, really," she
said in a small voice.

 

 

He didn't need a second invitation to stay put. He was so weary
himself, he felt as though he could lie down and sleep forever. He
moved down lower in the bed too, and tucked the top of her head
under his chin.

 

 

"There, is that better?"

 

 

"Mmm," Muireann murmured, drifting off.

 

 

"The doctor left you some medicine. Would you like some?"

 

 

"No, really, I just need to sleep, Lochlainn. The boat crossing was
so awful, and there wasn't a cabin to be had."

 

 

No wonder the poor child was beside herself, Lochlainn reflected
angrily. She had been pitched and tossed for three nights on the
steamer from Scotland.

 

 

He tugged the spare blanket up over himself to keep off the chill as
he lay there in his shirtsleeves. But despite his best efforts to
keep awake to make sure Muireann was all right, he soon drifted off
into a sound slumber, his arms wrapped around her as though he would
never let her go.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Lochlainn stirred slowly as weak winter sunlight filtered through
the window. God, but it was cold, came his first thought. He
snuggled more warmly under the covers and let out a soft yawn. A
small movement next to him brought him fully awake, as he suddenly
realized he had fallen asleep next to Muireann.

 

 

He was about to ease himself away from her side quickly before she
discovered his presence and took offence, when he saw that her deep
purple eyes were already open.

 

 

She smiled up at him drowsily. "My, and I thought I was a heavy
sleeper."

 

 

"Have you been awake long?" he asked, moving his hand up to check
her temperature. She seemed to be cooler, and in better spirits than
the night before.

 

 

"Long enough to be grateful that you don't snore."

 

 

"I'm sorry about . . ." he started to apologize as he tried to rise.

 

 

She rested one hand lightly on his chest. "Don't be. You fell
asleep. And we'd both be frozen now otherwise," she said, closing
her eyes again.

 

 

Slightly less embarrassed now, he couldn't resist the temptation to
linger in the bed a few minutes longer. The room was now so cold he
could see his breath when he spoke, and he hadn't been with a woman
for so long.

 

 

Muireann's warmth and openness were too tempting. He couldn't help
himself. He stroked her hair back from her delicately curved cheek,
and rested his head next to hers on the pillow again, deeply
inhaling her clean crisp fragrance soft, feminine, like roses, but
with an alluring hint of musk.

 

 

Muireann was content to be held by Lochlainn, feeling no fear of
him. But when he moved his hand down from her face in an attempt to
rest it on her uncorseted ribs near her waist, she flinched away in
agony.

 

 

"Good Lord, did I hurt you?" he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright as
she sucked in a pained breath.

 

 

"Really, Lochlainn, it's not your fault. I told you, I fell on the
ship. That's why I can't wear stays."

 

 

"You should get a doctor to look at you," he said lamely, as he
watched her rise from the bed and walk over to the screen.

 

 

"Doctors cost money," she said over her shoulder, "and they wouldn't
tell me anything I don't already know. I'll heal in time."

 

 

He recalled with a pang all the unpleasant truths he had been
shielding her from since the terrible events of the day before, and
lapsed into a gloomy silence.

 

 

When she came out from behind the screen, she poked the embers of
the fire, then began to add more coal.

 

 

"Here, let me. You shouldn't be doing that. Not when you're ill," he
declared, hastily rising from the four-poster.

 

 

"I'm bruised, that's all, not ill," she replied a trifle stiffly as
she tried to keep hold of the coal scuttle.

 

 

"I know, but you might be, well . . ."

 

 

She looked at him sharply, and laughed. "My goodness, but you're a
worrier. I noticed that about you from the first moment I met you,
at the docks. You constantly scowl and look severe. You're meant to
be the estate manager, not the grim reaper."

 

 

He rose to his full height and towered over her. "I take my
responsibilities seriously, Mrs. Caldwell. There are many pressing
concerns back at Barnakilla which, if you will forgive my saying so,
you know absolutely nothing about. After Augustine's death, you
would hardly expect me to act overjoyed, now would you?" He again
began to glower at her in his usual fashion.

 

 

She sighed to herself and handed over the coal scuttle. Perhaps she
had been foolish to think of him as an ally after all. Like all men,
he was one thing by day, and another by night...

 

 

She went to her luggage and opened the first valise that came to
hand. She pulled out the garment on top, a warm burgundy and black
large-checked woolen gown. She tugged some fresh under things out of
her smaller black bag, and went behind the screen to dress.

 

 

Lochlainn searched for his own discarded clothing and looked outside
the door for some hot water.

 

 

She emerged from behind the screen a few minutes later, her raven
black hair clouding around her slender shoulders, cascading down to
below her waist in an ebony wave.

 

 

He stared at her open-mouthed, arrested by her beauty.

 

 

She misunderstood his stare completely. "I know, it looks a fright,
doesn't it. My sister Alice is always telling me I should cut it.
That makes me more determined than ever not to," she admitted with a
small smile as she tugged her hair into a thick long plait down her
back without even looking in the mirror, and flipped it over her
shoulder as though her coiffure didn't matter in the least.

 

 

"No, it's not terrible, it's lovely. Hair like that would earn you
the envy of any woman," he said as he practically ran behind the
screen to avoid her. What was wrong with him?

 

 

His former fiancée Tara had been beautiful--every man in the
county had sought her hand. With her blonde hair and buxom good
looks, she had had more proposals than any woman in Fermanagh. But
she had chosen him, much to Lochlainn's surprise. One day she had
caught him alone in the barn and made the nature of her interest in
him all too plain.

 

 

Lochlainn certainly hadn't rejected her advances. He had been thirty
at the time, and had begun to think it was about time he settled
down with a wife and family. Their affair had lasted two years. Two
passionate, tempestuous years. Though they had been engaged almost
from the first, he could never seem to get Tara to fix a date. He
had hoped she would get pregnant, but no child ever appeared. And
then one day she had just vanished.

 

 

"Are you all right?" he heard Muireann ask.

 

 

"Yes, fine. Why?" He popped his head above the screen to look at
her.

 

 

"You groaned, that's all. Here, you forgot the hot water. Stop
splashing about in that cold, you silly man. You'll freeze to
death."

 

 

"I'm surprised it isn't frozen in the basin," he remarked, as he
came out for his shaving things, then quickly tackled the bristles
on his chin, while Muireann tidied a few things in the room and made
the bed.

 

 

She moved over to sit on a small low stool by the fire, where she
warmed her hands and waited for him to get ready. She glimpsed his
bare flesh as he removed his shirt to shave, and then took his clean
one, draped over the top of the screen, to don it.

 

 

My, but he's handsome, even if he is always so serious, she thought
with admiration. But then as he had so rightly pointed out, there
were things about the Barnakilla estate of which she knew nothing.
Sooner or later, Muireann knew, she was going to have to make a
decision.

 

 

But not now, not quite yet. She needed to be sure first. She needed
more information, which unfortunately only he could give.

 

 

But how could she confide in him? No, it was unthinkable. She did
have some pride left.

 

 

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of their breakfast.

 

 

"Could you open the door, Muireann? I'm nearly finished here."

 

 

"Yes, of course," she answered, as the enticing aromas filtered in
under the door.

 

 

She took the tray and laid it down on the small table in front of
the fire. She moved the two chairs up closer to it.

 

 

As she laid out the dishes and then uncovered the serving bowls, she
ventured hesitantly, "Lochlainn, about what I said before, about
your being so grim and serious. I'm sorry. It was frivolous of me to
tease you in that way. After all, I don't really know anything about
you, now do I? I don't usually behave so inanely. I suppose I'm just
trying to block out what's happened. But telling myself it was all a
bad dream isn't going to make it go away, now is it?"