Fire of My Heart (14 page)

She
shouldn’t spoil things again. But she couldn’t ignore the question hanging on
her lips since last night, refusing to go away. “Do you…do you remember what
happened in there?”

“No,” he
said with little hesitation. “Just riding toward the forest after the battle
then waking up in Donegal’s barn.”

“Waking
up?”

He shrugged
and held her tight. “It’s the only way I can describe it. I didn’t know what I was,
or where exactly. Then the burning started.”

She turned
and held him. God, what had he been through? “Burning?”

“Yes.
Hatred, black as the night began to encase me until I felt nothing but anger
and rage--if you can call that feeling.”

A lump came
to her throat. “Were you being punished?”

“I guess
so. I still don’t understand it, Ellen. All I really know is what has been
happening since you arrived. Some of my memories, my real emotions are coming
back to me. It’s incredible.”

He touched
her face, a soulful smile on his lips, then leaned forward and kissed her.
Holding his hand, she walked farther with him along the boundary. Along the
way, he pointed out and named half-dead plants and herbs.

Stopping,
she bent and plucked a specimen from the ground, examined it closely. “Nothing seems
to really grow on this estate. Why?”

Taking the
plant from her hands, Rowan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m afraid I’m not much
of a groundskeeper. I had never got around to looking after things on my own
estate.”

Brushing
the soil from her hands, she looked over at the dry fields. “So dried up, yet everything
outside is green and vibrant. It’s surprising, considering how much rain falls
here. The grounds should be a bog. Maybe the soil is bad?” She should collect a
soil sample, get it into town for testing.

The old
barn lay ahead. She went inside, Rowan following. “Is this where you live?”

He stood, leaning against
one of the old beams. Smiling, he nodded.

“I guess
you could say that.”

She
wandered around, brushing her fingers across the ancient timbers. The soft
filtered light danced about her. Through a large hole in the roof, the sky was
darkening. Bloody hell. Rain was coming again. Time to get back.

“Mmm. Dark
clouds. Honestly, it’s worse than a rainforest here. We’d better get back to
the house. Besides, I’m hungry. I haven’t had breakfast yet. Do you want any--”

Turning to
leave, she found him directly behind her, eyes dark and glistening, a wicked
smile on his lips. A lump came to her throat and her knees weakened. That look
had nothing to do with food. “Rowan.”

Before she
could utter another word, he pulled her to him, buried his head in her neck.
His hot mouth delivered kisses on her skin so untamed they left her speechless.
Oh, nice. Very nice.

But what if
she hurt him? He didn’t seem to care as he plundered her mouth, seeking her tongue,
tasting her deeply. God, he was irresistible.

With
startling aggression he clutched her around the waist, holding her tight, slid
his hand down and kneaded her buttocks. Spurs of excitement shot through her as
she reveled in his impetuous advance.

It was
getting windy, and the rain… Oh hell. She reached under his shirt, explored the
rigid expanse of his chest and stomach below, pressing her lips to his. Nimbly
he unbuttoned her shirt.

Then his
hands glided over her breasts and shoulders.

“Rowan.”
She gasped, unable to stitch two logical words together. Passion surged within
her as he took to her neck once more. One hand holding her breast kneaded it
roughly, his other was under her skirt and her underwear already lost below her
knees somewhere.

She squealed with delight as
he turned her around, still clutching her breast. The other caressed along her
inner thigh and found her warmth, wet for him.

“Yes,” she
whispered, and he pressed her to her knees on the floor. Within her the coil
wound tight, but relentlessly he stroked her to the very brink of ecstasy again
and again, and with mindblowing frequency, release came hard and fast.

While
tremors still shuddered through her, he brushed her hair from her neck and
nibbled his way down along her nape across her shoulders.

“Oh.” A groan
escaped her as her body erupted in thousands of tiny goose bumps, none from cold.
Sliding a hand across her back, he gently pushed her forward. When her hands
dropped to the ground, she arched like a cat. All the while he caressed her
breasts and kissed her back, sending shivers of delight down her frame.

As he
stroked her stomach and hips, her buttocks, he moved her thighs apart. He
seemed so powerful and sure of himself, determined to have what he wanted.

And she
wanted him too.

A cold
trickle of damp air licked around her thighs as he lifted her skirt, gathered
it around her waist. His hot hands gripped her hips then the searing heat of
his sex rested in the cleft of her buttocks. She gasped, threw back her head,
shaking with such anticipation she was almost out of control.

Then his
hard heat slid back, making her breathless, and the tip of his swollen shaft
eased just into her sex. It teased her, a taunting that had her giddy with
delight until he thrust himself home, and then she couldn’t breathe at all.

“Oh, god.”
Her tight channel tensed around him, but he pushed again, deeper, harder.

Clasping
her breasts, he growled in her ear, “You could enslave a man,
tine mo chroi
.”

Arching her
back and straining against him, she panted, let out a lustful moan. “I intend
to.”

Playfully
he bit her shoulder. Reared up behind her, he anchored himself to her hips, and
drawing her firmly against him, lunged harder.

Again. And,
again.

Relentless
he was, until her mind was just a tingling mass of…nothing.

All she
knew was the indescribable pleasure building within her, surrounding her,
driving her higher and higher. A selfish creature, she demanded more of him.
Her need for release became all consuming as she fought to move against him.

Dipping her
back, she drew him in and he let out a deep groan that echoed throughout the barn.
Clutching both breasts, he thrust with renewed energy until she clenched around
his shaft in a mind-shattering climax.

And there
he stayed for a moment, his throbbing sex still buried deep within her,
groaning, shaking as aftershocks of her climax rippled around him. The sudden
rush of blood ebbed away, leaving her head pounding.

“God, woman.”
He rolled to the dusty floor.

She gasped
and dropped down into his arms, panting. “Are you all right?”

The makings
of a laugh escaped him. He licked his lips and swallowed, turned and looked at
her. The gold flecks in his eyes gleamed through the green.

“I love
you, Ellen Donegal.”

“Well.” She
sighed wistfully as she lay in the crook of his arm. “As long as you are okay, because
I couldn’t very well lift…what did you say?”

“I said, I
love you.
Tine mo chroi
.”

“Rowan.” Emotion
choked her voice as she whispered back, her heart filled with elation.
I
love you
. She’d heard those words from other before, but never had she
realized how meaningful they could be until now. He loved her.

Her.

She reached
over and tasted his ever-tempting lips. Resting on his chest, she sighed.

Echoes of his past crept
back, and the smile faded from her face, her happiness shattered.

There was no escaping what
he was. Although she didn’t care, her love might not be enough. But what else
could she do?

She could
never let him go.

As Ellen changed her
clothing, Rowan sat on the edge of the bed watching her, smiling as bits of
grass and old hay floated to the floor. Her long auburn locks fell untamed
about her shoulders, sweeping down to the lace covered device she’d called a
bra--an interesting type of corset that held her soft, plump breasts perfectly.

Fascinating.

His groin
ached at the thought of her warm skin. He shifted on the bed, uncertain if she
would approve of his desire to bed her again so soon.

Now she
zipped up her unusual breeches. He didn’t quite understand her preference for wearing
men’s clothes. Not that they didn’t look good on her, but he liked her in
skirts, for various reasons.

As she
slipped a tight blue shirt over her head and pulled it down her chest, he
couldn’t help smiling. She looked a sweet, tangled mess--and he was just the man
to untangle her.

“Rowan.”
Head tilted, she regarded him as she buttoned her shirt. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes,
mo
chroi
?”

“What are
we to do?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “About us, I mean?”

He sighed
and looked down at the floor. “Ellen…”

“It isn’t
fair! Why do I finally get to have someone who loves me, only for it all to be impossible?
Michael will sell this place sooner or later and I don’t know for how much
longer he’d appreciate a freeloading distant cousin squatting here until he
does.”

Standing up,
he took her hands and held them to his lips. He hated to see her cry. “Ellen,
if I know anything at all, it’s that nothing is forever. Not even us.”

“No, it
can’t be.” He looked down at her, but she avoided his stare. “What if I...I
made a way for us to be together?”

Touching
under her chin, he turned her to face him once more. Her eyes were wide, frightened
and full of doubt. He frowned, not liking where the conversation was heading.

“What do you mean? What are
you thinking?”

“You know
what I do. I’m a botanist. I know all about herbs and plants. I can drug
myself. It will be quick and painless.”

He dropped
her hands and stepped away. “You wish to die to be with me?”

Tears
trickling down her cheeks, she turned and faced the window. “I don’t know of
any other way and I can’t live without you, Rowan. I won’t!”

“Don’t dare
even think it.” Rage filled him. “Haven’t I caused enough bloodshed without adding
you to it?”

She
clenched her fists and turned to face him. “It’s the only way.”

“The hell
it is!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. What was he doing? He could never be angry
with her, but what she contemplated was madness, and he to blame. “I won’t let
you do this.”

“You can’t
stop me.”

“If you
have any love at all for me, Ellen, have any regard for what we have together,
you will not attempt such a fate.”

She
crumpled against him, buried her head and sobbed as held her tight. What
comfort could he offer her?

“That’s not
fair.” She whimpered and clung to him. “You know how much I love you. Don’t make
me stay away, Rowan. Please.”

Fingers
clenched in her curls, he hugged her and rested his chin gently on her head. “I
don’t even know if it would work,” he reasoned softly. “But it doesn’t matter.
You’re not going to do it or I will leave you now and never return. I won’t be
responsible for harm coming to you,
mo chroi
. I couldn’t bear it.”

Red-faced,
eyes puffy from crying she looked up at him. Her jaw clenched then she struck out,
pounded his chest.

“Why? Why
did you have to come into my life?” She burst into tears and covered her mouth.
Fierce sobs heaved from her chest.

“I don’t
know, Ellen. I don’t have all the answers. I’m sorry.”

Closing his
eyes, he sighed, and as a new and desolate feeling gripped his being, turned
his back to her. He knew what he had to do. To keep her safe, he would have to
let her go. Reaching the bedroom doorway he paused and was about to glance
back, but decided against it.

There was
nothing he could say.

* *
* *

After their
argument, Ellen retreated to the library, needing time to think. Rowan had disappeared,
to the barn most likely. Resting her head upon her hands, she stared down at
the messy desktop and released a heavy sigh. She felt like shit. Here they
were, from different worlds centuries apart and yet they fought like any other
couple. God, who was she kidding? Most couples argued over what color to paint
a lounge room wall or who spent too much on the credit card.

They’d
fought over life and death--literally.

She wanted
to go find him. Perhaps though, it was best they both cooled off. She’d never seen
him so angry with her, but what else could she do? The alternatives staring her
in the face gutted her insides. Life without him would be unbearable at best.

Not wanting
to think about it, she buried herself in her work, re-reading letters and
translating sentences. It was long and frustrating work.

Swallowing
a mouthful of Shiraz, she sighed and picked up two of the older, slightly faded
letters. They were written by different people, that much she was sure of, and
by the strength of the hand, both were men. During her research, she’d managed
to string together simple sentences.

“You…can’t…lie…to…me,”
she read aloud her broken translation. She…seeks…you. You…shall…not…have….her.”

Was this
from the elder Lord Donegal? The letter seemed tainted will jealousy.

She turned to the other one.
“Help….herbs...you must…give…them.”

“Bloody
hell,” she muttered. This must be the original correspondence between the two warring
lords. The break she’d been looking for. Spurred on by her discovery, she began
looking up more words, changing ones she’d written, cross referencing them with
other ones she’d seen.

It was
exhausting work.

After what
seemed like hours, she stretched, scratched her head. What time was it? Like
she would know, with her watch on the blink. Why she bothered to keep wearing
the blasted thing, she didn’t know. It never worked.

Taking
another sip of wine, she held the glass with both hands and looked over at the fireplace,
staring into the flames without seeing them. “Weird. If they were after certain
herbs and she had tuberculosis, nothing would have saved her. Even draughts
made from powerful plants in strong enough doses would have only eased her
pain. Perhaps even made her symptoms worse. But, they wouldn’t have known
that.”

In fact,
she felt certain nothing back then would have made a difference. Rowan, Lord

Donegal, they’d fought over
something that could never have helped. The fight over the herbs only hid a
deeper problem. The fact her ancestor had refused to help.

His reasoning
still eluded her.

Her
translation might be off, though. She grabbed the old dictionary. Depending on
the context, several words had different meanings. One of her translations
wasn’t accurate, if the other words in fact were right.

“There.”
Crossing a few words out, she wrote another, re-read the sentence. “You must
help her. The herbs, you must take them.”

Take them?
That didn’t make sense, not if Donegal was refusing to help. Re-reading the letters,
she went through her translations again and again, until at last she’d gotten
it.

And horror swept her in a
rush.

Oh my God.

The legend
was wrong.

* *
* *

“Ellen.” It
was Rowan.

Lifting her
head from the side of the sofa, she yawned and blinked. After looking for him everywhere
to discuss the letters, she must have fallen asleep by the fire. Why were men,
even male ghosts, so damn stubborn? “You’re not angry with me anymore?”

“Yes,” he
said seriously, helping her sit up and planting a deep kiss on her lips.
Blushing, she smiled, and licked her lips, tasted him there. “I just haven’t
decided how to punish you yet.”

“Oh.” She
gave him a quick peck back. “Well, any chance I can be sent to the barn?”

Then she was in his arms and
his forehead rested on hers, her face cupped in his hands.

“Oh, I’d
say there’s every chance,” he whispered. She went to pull away, but he held her
against him. “Ellen, promise me one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever
do anything foolish with your life.”

“I
promise.”

He nodded,
kissed her again and let her sit back. Tingles rushed down her spine. She struggled
to remember what she’d been about to say.

“Oh. I
needed to talk with you. I think I have a breakthrough. Wait here.” From the
desk she grabbed the letters, her Shiraz and notebook, returned to the settee
and sat down. “You have to read these.”

He sat
closer and put his arm around her. God, he felt good. “What is it?”

“A very
good question, but where to start?  I think there are some things about what
happened back then, before the battle, you may not know about.”

“What I did
was wrong, but I had my reasons.”

“I know,
but listen. These are letters between your father and the older Lord Donegal.
They’re dated over a few months, all before your mother passed away. I’ve have
been researching possible ailments your mother may have had. From what you’ve
told me of her symptoms, I have a strong suspicion it may have been
tuberculosis, er, consumption? Well, pretty much, without modern medicine there
was no cure for your mother…not even with the herbs your father sought.”

He glared
at the letters in her hands, stood and leaned on the mantel, staring into the
fire. “Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact Donegal refused
to help her.”

“There’s
more. I translated the old letters and, I don’t know how to tell you this, but
I believe you were lied to.”

He turned
and faced her, his expression as dark as the storm outside beginning to rage. A
cold shiver skittered ran across her, and for the first time, she felt
uncomfortable in his presence.

“What do
you speak of?”

“At first I
didn’t understand Seamus Donegal’s wife’s letters, some of the things she said.
Reading these now, it all makes sense. There’s no easy way to tell you
this…Your father deceived you. Donegal wanted to help.”

“No! You
lie!” His eyes narrowed, gleaming with emerald fire that sent adrenaline
pumping wildly through her veins.

On shaking
legs, she lurched to her feet. “No. It’s the truth. The letters say that when
he first heard of your mother’s illness Donegal offered to help in any way he
could. But your father refused. Look at his letters. Read them for yourself.”

“Why?” He
stepped toward her, a glowing tower of accumulating rage. She fought to hold her
unsteady ground. “Why would he do that?”

“He was
jealous, Rowan. They both wanted your mother, but in the end she chose your father.
She loved
him
. Your father always believed her to be secretly in love
with Donegal and he with her, but it wasn’t true.”

“You are
making this up.”

“No, I’m
not. It’s all in there.” She offered him the letters, but he merely looked at
them in disgust. “Your father refused the offer of the herbs because he thought
Donegal was going after your mother. He let his pride and jealousies ruin
him--and hurt you.”

“Liar!” he
roared, making her jump. “You are a bloody Donegal. I should never have trusted
you. Deceitful wretches…their poison fills your veins, flows from your tongue
like water.”

She slapped
him. He only blinked. “How could you say that about me?”

“It is the truth.” His eyes blazed down at her.

Eyes
stinging and throat tight, she nearly choked trying to speak. “Damn you!”

“Your
ancestors already have.”

Before she
could think, she grabbed an oil lamp and smashed it into the fire. Cursing the moment
she met him, she turned and ran out of the room. Her aching heart pulsated,
ready to explode, and she fought to even know where she was going.

Rushing
through the kitchen, she collided with the back door, wrestled with the old
lock.

“Come on,
come on.” She cursed through clenched teeth. The rusty latch finally opened and
she dashed out into the storm.

Fuelled by
anger, she turned and ran blindly down the driveway, toward the main road. Then
she couldn’t see any longer through the darkness. The rain pelted her with icy
needles. Slowed to a stop, she crouched and tumbled to the muddy ground,
wailing into the thundering night.

“Why?” she
screamed out, threw a handful of clay at the blackened sky. Pulling herself off
the ground, she got to her feet. “Who the hell do you think you are to go
screwing around with my life?”