Call Home the Heart (37 page)

"Please, Muireann, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I'm angry
at myself for not being able to do anything about this," he
insisted, pacing the floor anxiously.

 

 

At last she looked up. "Then why did you call our time together
mindless oblivion? I asked you to be honest with me when I first
came here in January. I can hardly blame you now for being exactly
that."

 

 

"All right, you want the truth, Muireann, I'll tell you," he said,
rounding on her furiously.  "I never know where I am with you,
what you're going to do next. One minute you're warm and loving, the
next minute you shut me out for weeks on end. You never speak to me
about the things that really matter, about the death of Augustine,
the trip to Dublin. Even worse than trying to figure out what's
going on in those dark recesses of your mind is lurching from one
crisis to the next, day after day.

 

 

"So if you want the truth, then here it is plain and simple. I'm
terrified. I'm frightened all the time. I'm convinced that one day I
will wake up to an appalling reality which is of my own making,
though not always within my control. Does that make any sense?"

 

 

She stared at him, appalled at the depth of his anguish.

 

 

"I want to do what's best for everyone, but I just don't have any
answers anymore. You and I have literally lived from day to day and
night to night, never knowing what's around the corner, or even
where our next meal is coming from.

 

 

"I feel I've let you down. That I should never have brought you
here. Part of me tries to tell myself that we will come through this
if we all pull together. The other part says we should just cut our
losses now, quit while we're ahead," he confessed.

 

 

She stared at him, stunned. "You really want us to give up, after
everything we've suffered?"

 

 

He sighed and shook his head. "If we do that we will be letting all
these people down. I couldn't bear that either. I know it was your
idea to take them in from the Colonel and Mr. Cole, but it's my duty
to make this work as estate manager, to shoulder the burden with
you.

 

 

"No, I don't want to quit. Yet I think we have to face facts. I
think we've both reached the end of our tethers now. Perhaps it's
time for you to consider selling Barnakilla and going home."

 

 

"You can honestly say that to me after all we've been through?" she
said, feeling more shocked and betrayed with every passing minute.

 

 

Though he knew he was lying, the last thing he could admit to her
was that he loved her. Not if he was going to convince her to go
home before she got dragged down along with the entire estate.

 

 

He nodded grimly. "I can't trust myself, Muireann, or you. I'm
sorry. You're like two different people, one hard and practical, the
other soft and warm and yielding. I feel that we went down this road
as lovers because I was afraid. I've hung onto you like a drowning
man in a wide empty ocean clinging to a chunk of floating debris. I
clutch you to me, trying to right my eddying world, in the hope of
staying afloat. I'm sorry if that means I've been using you. Perhaps
you've been using me as well, for the same reasons.

 

 

"But surely you see it will all have to end some time? It's a
miracle you aren't already with child. What I've done to you was
wrong, but I couldn't help it. I know it isn't an excuse, any more
than saying I needed the release I found inside you to keep me sane.

 

 

"But I do have some scruples, some dignity. It's got to end. I can't
go on being a selfish brute any longer. Not after everything you've
tried to do for all of us."

 

 

"What are you saying? That you want to leave Barnakilla? That you're
abandoning me?" Muireann asked tearfully, unable to believe that he
seemed to be telling her that he was ending their love affair.

 

 

"I'm telling you for your own good, Muireann, it's all over. Sell
this old pile of rubble, and go. Just go!"

 

 

Muireann was stupefied by his words. Certainly the potatoes had
failed, but how could he ever think she would give up so easily?

 

 

Anger welled up inside her, and the ruthless streak she had warned
him about suddenly came to the fore.

 

 

She rose from the chair and stood chest to chest with him. "I'm
sorry, Mr. Roche, but I don't accept your view of the situation at
all. Only the potatoes have gone. The rest of the estate is still
standing. I won't give in, not even to the forces of nature. I
refuse to give up Barnakilla without a fight. I told you I would do
anything to save it. You don't know even one half of what I've done
to keep a roof over all our heads!" she said, her eyes glittering
with unshed tears.

 

 

"You gave me a promise when I hired you in January, and I intend to
see you keep that promise. We've worked side by side together every
day since. I have no intention of letting you break your promise.
You swore you would never leave me as long as I needed you. I'm now
reminding you of your promise, nay, insisting that you keep it."

 

 

Lochlainn scowled and turned away to stare into the fire so that she
couldn't see the expression on his face. "Aye, I did promise you
that, Muireann. But I thought we were talking about things for your
own good. Staying here at Barnakilla is not good for you. The two of
us being lovers isn't good for you. You would only tire of me in the
end. Come to resent me being inferior to you in the end."

 

 

"I would have thought you knew me better than that!" she exclaimed,
piqued as his lack of faith in her love for him. "But this is for my
good. This is my home and no one, nothing, is going to make me
leave!"

 

 

Her voice softened then, and she looked up at him longingly.
"Please, Lochlainn, please don't abandon me now."

 

 

 Lochlainn soothed her as she broke into agonized sobs, hugging
her close and leading her to her bedroom.

 

 

He sat against the headboard of the bed, let her recline on his
chest, and kissed her softly on the temple. "Just rest, dear. It's
been a terribly emotional day for us all. Please, calm down. There's
no need to decide everything this minute."

 

 

Lochlainn struggled to keep his touch light and comforting, but as
she wept against his chest, he turned her onto her back and began to
kiss the tears away. Soon her snuffling gasps subsided, and she
began to moan softly.

 

 

Time stood still for both of them as he tugged down her underclothes
and stroked her until he felt her press down urgently against his
hand. He watched her response to him in fascination, until at last
he could bear it no longer and divested himself of his trousers.

 

 

She climaxed the instant they joined as one, taking him with her
along the dark road of passion so compellingly that he thought his
soul was being ripped from his body.

 

 

 

Despite his brave attempt to get Muireann to see reason in the face
of overwhelming odds, he knew he would have been brokenhearted if
she had assented to his suggestion.

 

 

At any rate, how could he give all this up? It would be like ceasing
to breathe. He wanted Muireann so badly, he could barely restrain
himself when he was around her.

 

 

She had thought him ashamed of her? Nothing could have been further
from the truth. He longed to tell her he loved her. His fear of
being laughed at, or her interpreting his declaration as an attempt
to try to persuade her to stay, even though it might be against her
best interests, silenced him.

 

 

 Lochlainn flipped himself over onto his back heavily and
sighed. Muireann snuggled up to him, kissing him full on the lips,
before resting her cheek against his.

 

 

"Please, Lochlainn, let's not fight any more. I'm so tired," she
admitted.

 

 

"I know, my love, I do know. I am too," he sighed, holding her
close.

 

 

"You won't leave me, will you?" she begged softly.

 

 

"No, never. I gave you my word, Muireann. Even though I've said many
a foolish thing in my time, I have no wish to take that promise
back," he said gently, and felt a great burden being lifted from his
shoulders as he made the promise.

 

 

She wanted him now. It was obvious, from her kisses, the way she
opened to him like a morning glory seeking the warmth of the sun.

 

 

Enjoy it while it lasts, Lochlainn, he counseled himself. No more
worries about the future. There is only the here and now.

 

 

Muireann hugged him close, and prayed she could one day make him
love her as much as she loved him. Surely her class shouldn't be an
insuperable obstacle? She didn't care what people thought. She only
wanted to be happy with the man she loved.

 

 

Lochlainn had advised her to go home, but she knew it was only
because he worried about her. That surely was an indication that he
at least cared a little, wasn't it? She could make this work, she
knew she could. They would have a long rest that night, and face the
future in the morning.

 

 

Lochlainn drowsily closed his eyes, and vowed he would stop
comparing Muireann to Tara. Muireann wouldn't run away. She had
never run from anything in her life. They were two very different
women, he reminded himself, and began to dream of a lovely
violet-eyed woman with raven black hair who enveloped him in a silky
cocoon of warmth and tenderness such as he had never known.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

 

 

As the Famine raged throughout Ireland, Lochlainn and Muireann faced
a hard winter at Barnakilla. Despite all of her economies, the
estate continued to be encumbered by expenses and the mortgage, and
the food restrictions she had put into force meant privation for
everyone.

 

 

When times got hard in December, some of the original Barnakilla
tenants urged her to send the newcomers away, but Muireann adamantly
refused.

 

 

"By keeping them here, you're ruining our chances of survival!" old
Thomas the slate cutter argued one day after dinner.

 

 

She shook her head. "I can't send them away, Thomas. They've all
worked so hard trying to help make all my dreams for this place come
true. I can't turn them out to die a lonely death on the roads.
Don't ask me to evict them again, is that clear?"

 

 

"Dreams don't fill our bellies!" he sniped.

 

 

She rounded on him furiously. "I never asked you for a penny of back
rent. I could have evicted every single one of you and found paying
tenants, couldn't I? So don't you dare complain to me again! If
you're so worried about your survival, why don't you get up off your
arse and go hunting and fishing?"

 

 

The old man stalked out, and she felt Lochlainn's eyes upon her
across the room.

 

 

"I'm sorry," she sighed when Thomas had gone.  "I shouldn't
have scolded him like that. He only had the nerve to say what a lot
of the others have been thinking. But I've been out hunting and
fishing every day this week in the cold, and all the carters have
gone everywhere looking for food to buy, only to come back with
nothing."

 

 

"You're just tired, my girl, that's all. Thomas has a tough old
hide. He'll be fine. It's not your fault nothing is being bought and
sold at the markets. People are hanging on to whatever they have.
It's too late now for any ship to get through, so we'll just have to
make do with the food here until the
Andromeda
comes back
again."

 

 

"We're going to have to kill some of the livestock, aren't we? If we
don't, someone will only do it himself, or try to steal them."

 

 

"I know. I've put patrols on the edges of our lands and at the
storehouses day and night. People will do anything to get food."

 

 

"We'll soon be sick of eating soup, but at least it is warm and
filling. But Thomas does have a point. We have so many mouths to
feed."

 

 

 "Do you also have to give something to every beggar who knocks
at the door?" Lochlainn asked.

 

 

Her shoulders stiffened and she got up off the bench to pump some
water.  "The Irish have always been famous for their
hospitality. I'm not going to turn them away empty-handed, not when
we at least still have a warm home to live in. They have nothing but
the rags they wear, and if they are lucky, a barn or loft to sleep
in. I'll go hunting on the islands tomorrow to make up for it. I'm
sure they won't give a damn that they're eating goat."

 

 

"There is another option, you know," he said, taking over the pump
to help her fill the cauldron.  "Let some of our tenants go to
the workhouses. They will be taken in with your recommendation, and
they are clean and hard-working."

 

 

Muireann refused to even consider the proposal. "Those places are
full of filth and disease, and the families are all spilt up, with
the husbands and wives and even the children in separate
dormitories. I've seen the workhouse in Enniskillen. It's not a
place I would wish anyone to have to resort to.

 

 

"No, I'm afraid I'm going to do the unthinkable. I hate asking my
family for help, but if it means saving us, I'll just have to tell
my father everything. Make him try to understand why I kept the
truth from him for so long. And get some money and provisions to
tide us over. Maybe even pay the mortgage."