Fire of My Heart (2 page)

Looking
about the stoop, there was no basket to be found. Perhaps she’d missed the
delivery. As she pushed the key into the rusty lock, she thought about the
pitiful little packet of airline peanuts she’d stuffed into her bag with new
found reverence. Stale snacks never sounded so good.

Half-expecting
the lock to be difficult, she turned the latch and smiled, surprised at the
ease with which it opened. Relief flooded her weary frame. At least something
had gone right.

She pushed
the door open and nudged the suitcase inside with her leg. Stepping inside, a cool
musty smell greeted her, made her rub her nose. Why did old houses always get
that odor about them? It reminded her of the second-hand clothes store she
liked to frequent back home.

Through the
doorway, the few remaining strands of daylight did little to help her see past
the threshold. It was dark in there. Straining to see further, she reached out
and felt around the inside of the doorway. Where was the light switch? She
blindly moved her hands further along the wall, but couldn’t find one.

Just perfect.

From her
jeans pocket she removed her mobile phone, which she’d often used as a torch
late at night. The light from the screen would be bright enough for her to see
until she found the elusive light switch. Pressing the power button, she waited
for a response.

Dead.

Impossible.
She’d charged it before she’d left home, hadn’t even used it yet. Tapping it against
her hand didn’t make it work either. Cursing the unit, she pushed it back into
her pocket.

She turned
to the doorway. Terrific. The sun had gone. Some choice, the darkness in here,
or dark out there. Well, at least inside there was shelter and she hadn’t heard
any wild animals--yet.

She let out
a nervous laugh.

Twenty-seven
now, she’d lived on her own since eighteen, and had taken all manner of self-defense
courses over the years. Always been able to take care of herself. So why did
she feel so unsure now?

After all,
she had a job to do.

She closed
the door behind her, turned around and waited for her eyes to adjust. After a
few moments, several large items were visible not too far away. Reaching out,
she walked toward them.

A table.
Easy enough. A wooden chair--no, two chairs. She sat down on one of them and
took a few deep breaths. This must be the kitchen. Her mood picked up. Perhaps
there was food in here.

From the
darkness came a faint shimmer.

Strange.
She hadn’t noticed the light before. The source of the glow appeared to be
beyond another doorway across the room.

Her pulse
pumped adrenaline throughout her entire body and her mouth went dry. Breathe, Ellen,
breathe. Nobody was here. Whoever left the note had likely turned a light on
for her when they’d been here, and she just hadn’t seen it because she was so
tired.

Her
imagination was going into overdrive.

Hah. All
she needed now was the creepy theme music and a guy in a hockey mask. She swallowed
hard over the lump in her throat, her bravery a façade. With no phone, she
could be in real trouble if someone undesirable lurked out there. She must go
check. Didn’t want to. But what else could she do? Wait in there all night,
afraid of what might be nothing?

No.
Something or someone must be causing that glow.

Tae kwon do
lessons played out in her mind, as she stood and tiptoed toward the inner doorway.
Peering through the exit, she entered a narrow hallway. The source of the light
was still unseen, though brighter.

With
cautious steps she edged her way down the passageway, turned a corner and found
herself in yet another hall. Unlike the one she just left, this hall was
enormous. The stronger light allowed her to see worn mosaic tiles on the floor
and the outline of large paintings on the wall.

She must be
near the entrance.

Her fear
abated as she wandered into the room, approached the source of the glow. Coming
from behind a set of large double doors at the end of the hall, fragments of
deep yellow light escaped around the edges of the frame.

The sight
held her mesmerized. There was nowhere to run now.

As she
stepped closer, a warm breeze from under the doorway swirled about her ankles, pulling
her toward the room beyond. One hand on the brass door handle, she swallowed
hard.

Nothing for
it, she was going in.

The hinges
creaked softly as she entered the room. The same warmth that tempted her out in
the hall rushed to greet her, brushed against her cool cheeks and tickled her
nose. The light and the heat came from an enormous marble fireplace in what was
a library.

Wooden
bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling. An old brass ladder hung on a
rail in the corner. In the center of the room, a porcelain oil lamp stood on a
table covered with food.

She rubbed
her eyes to dispel the dream of such a handsome feast. Though her stomach thought
it real enough and growled with enthusiasm. There were rolls and roast chicken,
cheeses and several bottles of wine. But who put it all there? And was it meant
for her?

Resisting the urge to eat, she looked around the room in search of
some answers. “Hello?”

She walked
past the desk and into a conservatory beyond she’d seen earlier from the
outside.

More like a
mausoleum, the room was filled with dry, dead plants long forgotten by a
thoughtless gardener. What a shame. This place must really have been beautiful
once. She loved plants, that’s why she’d become an herbalist and botanist. One
of the best in her field, many said, though she’d never agree. And now her work
was all she had left. Tears stung her eyes.

Cripes, not
again.

She took
out a handkerchief, wiped her nose and examined an old blue and white china flowerpot.
Wait. Lord Donegal’s note. Perhaps the spread had been laid out for her by the
local grocer, anticipating her late arrival. Yes, that must be it. Who else?
After all, she was in a different land and had seen lots of movies showing how
in these small villages, people often took it upon themselves to lend a hand.

Realizing
the key was still in her hand, she placed it safely in her pocket. Nice enough
to have all this waiting for her, though she didn’t like the notion of
strangers inviting themselves in while she was alone.

Had she
locked the kitchen door? She placed the pot back on its shelf, only to have the
fragile display give way. The precious antique crashed to the floor along with
several others.

“Oh, crap!”
Pieces of porcelain scattered about the room, dry soil clouded the air. She coughed
and waved the heavy dust away from her face. “Michael’s going to kill me.”

She tucked
a long lock of hair behind her ear, bent down and began the task of picking up the
pieces. With a heavy sigh of impending doom, she calculated the possible
replacement cost of the precious heirlooms, according to the last antiques show
she’d seen on television. Good grief.

Perhaps her
cousin wouldn’t be too hard on her. After all, they were related.

Boy, was
that pushing the whole ‘blood is thicker than water’ thing. On her knees, she
gathered the last of the large fragments and was about to stand up when she
noticed a pair of worn brown boots close beside her.

That was
odd. She hadn’t seen them there before. They must belong to someone, maybe a
gardener. She looked up, and her mouth dropped open.

Someone was
standing inside them.

The pottery fragments slipped
from her fingers, and the sharp crunch of porcelain on stone shattered the
silence, caused her to wince.

“Shit,”
escaped her lips before she could stop it. Nice one. Above the boots were two
sturdy, muscular looking legs in old-fashioned suede breeches. She brushed the
dirt from her hands onto her jeans and stood. The broken pot could wait. “I’m
sorry, I didn’t see you there Mister....um…”

As she
raked long curly strands of hair from her face, his linen-clad chest came into
view. God, he was tall. Must be six foot five at least, maybe more. A tilt of
her chin, and her breath caught.

Staring
down at her were the most incredible emerald green eyes. Vibrant. Breathtaking.
They mesmerized her, made her forget all about the trail of destruction strewn
across the conservatory floor.

“You are
not Kathleen,” the incredible vision said in a deep, masculine voice that shook
her from her blissful daze.

With almost
painstaking effort, she forced her attention from his eyes, and her gaze landed
on his lips. They were full, determined and far too distracting.

For
heaven’s sake. Don’t just stand there gawking, say something! Something clever,
sophisticated… “I broke a pot.”

Real
smooth.

Eloquence
was not one of her more enduring qualities. No wonder she couldn’t keep a boyfriend.
Plants never talked back though, and they never criticized.

“Uh, I’m
afraid you surprised me just now Mr....er…what did you say your name was again?
I didn’t hear you come in. Do you work here?” Lord, he must think her an idiot.
And, being on her own, she should be more careful talking to complete
strangers.

He couldn’t
be the grocer from town. No. With his country, outdoors-style clothes and broad
muscular shoulders, he looked far too rugged for such a mundane job as stocking
shelves. So, who was he then?

She wanted
answers.

Holding his
gaze, she pulled a rubber band from her pocket, gathered her long hair behind her
and secured it into a rough ponytail. While he stood watching, she crossed her
arms and moved toward the lounge in the library. She should be afraid of a
stranger appearing out of nowhere, but for some reason curiosity beat out fear.
Besides, if he tried anything, she’d be ready.

She shifted
her stance as the awkward silence continued.

He should
have said something by now. And did he have to keep staring?

He seemed
to take in every detail, from her jeans to her shirt, rumpled and hanging out
of her waistband. The longer his unwavering gaze remained fixed on her, the
hotter her cheeks became.

She was
embarrassed?

No.
Certainly not. Her appearance was good enough for her colleagues. It would have
to be for him as well. She’d just been thrown out of her comfort zone by this
stranger, that’s all.

“Excuse me?”

His handsome
face remained expressionless then he turned and walked away. How rude.

“Hey, I’m
talking to you,” she said.

He kept
going.

“Wait!” She
called out, not expecting him to stop. But, he did. Yes! Now what? A heady
thrill rushed up from her toes, unsettling her to the core. Since when did she,
the plant princess, start acting like some gooey-eyed school girl with a crush?
Last time she’d felt this giddy, she’d just discovered a new species of fungus
growing in the depths of the Amazon jungle. Most exciting.

“Er...you
mentioned Kathleen. Kathleen Donegal. You were expecting her perhaps?” She
paced the floor, arms crossed.

The man
tilted his head to the side, as if considering his reply. “Aye. If I had but
realized you weren’t her, I would not have made myself known.”

Who was he,
and why was he so secretive? Was he single? Just why that thought popped into
her head, she didn’t know. No ring on his hand. She frowned. Probably gay. No
one that good-looking could be unspoken for. Shaking her head, she dismissed
her foolishness.

He turned
slowly and walked toward her, stopping inches away from her chest.

Her stomach gurgled and
twisted, her pulse quickened.

“You know
of Kathleen?” His face, with those sculpted cheekbones and aquiline nose, showed
little of what he might be thinking, but one thing was obvious--her aunt had
meant something to him.

She nodded,
stepped back from him and stood before the mantelpiece, her mouth suddenly dry.
“She is, I mean
was
, my great-aunt, but you still haven’t told me who
you are. Did you come from town? Are you local? Of course, you’d have to be.
What was I thinking?”

About to speak, she halted.
He appeared so sad, lost somehow, as he gazed into the fireplace.

His jaw looked more relaxed,
the lines in his face had softened.

“O’Connell,”
he said plain and clear, his voice echoing in the quiet room. He turned his
head toward her, his eyes like green fire. Gorgeous. “Rowan David O’Connell. I
watch over these lands.”

“I see. So
you’re the caretaker?”

“In many
ways, perhaps. I am responsible for your family’s welfare.”

“I’m sorry?
You mean Lord Donegal’s family? Well, yes. I guess you could say I’m one of them,
though very distantly related.”

“Aye. His
blood flows through you.” The cold conviction in his voice caused goose bumps
along her skin. Okay, creepy. The fact she was Lord Donegal’s cousin seemed to
bother him.

Ignoring
this, she relaxed her guard and held out her hand. A cautious smile creased her
lips.

“I’m
pleased to meet you Mr. O’Connell. I’m Ellen. Ellen Quinn.” If there were
issues between her cousin and his employee, she didn’t want to get involved.
And from the look of the house so far, she wouldn’t be surprised if Rowan had
been angry about the lack of basic necessities—like electricity. She sure would
be. Her cousin must be a real miser.

He moved
closer to her, stared down at her out-stretched hand, took it gently and
brushed the back with his lips. Whoa. Her hand trembled. The brief kiss was
cool, like a breath of icy mist, though she’d hardly noticed at the time. Hell,
the Earth around her could have been in meltdown and she wouldn’t have cared.
Which wasn’t like her at all.

She’d
expected a handshake at most, but for some reason his touch took her breath
away, left her knees weak. Her cheeks began to burn.

Crumbs.
Blushing. At her age.

Removing
her hand from his, she cleared her throat. “Mr. O’Connell, there is something I
must tell you. If you were familiar with my aunt then you’ll recall she was
quite old and not very well these past few years.” What was wrong with her?
She’d never had such trouble expressing herself before, even delivered an hour
long speech--
The Effects of Phytophthera Infestans Pathogenon Food Crops in
the Northeastern United States
--to four thousand colleagues. Maybe, it was because
she hated giving bad news. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down? No? Okay. How do I
say this? I’m afraid Kathleen has passed on, Mr. O’Connell. She died about
three weeks ago.”

Leaning
back against the arm of the lounge, she waited for his reaction.

Nothing.
Had he heard her?

“They said
she didn’t suffer any pain. A massive stroke. It occurred while she’d been sleeping.
I’m…I’m sorry.”

His gaze
remained fixed upon her for the longest moment. Did he think she’d lied to him?
Then he broke off and glanced toward the feast on the desktop.

“You must
be hungry, Miss Quinn. Kathleen was usually famished when she arrived at Banth.”

Despite the
gravity of the situation, she couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, well, she was
always hungry. Gosh, I remember one Christmas when she devoured half a boiled
fruitcake every day, and became rather cross if there weren’t a decent amount
of glace cherries in it.” She stopped. Rowan no longer looked at the food, but
had fixed his gaze on her.

Flames
licked her cheeks. Her palms grew sweaty. Babbling. Another of her less desirable
traits. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away.” On legs like jelly, she
turned to the couch and sat down.

If only her
mouth wouldn’t run away with her so much. “It was very kind of you to go to all
that trouble. I am, in fact, rather hungry. It was a very long flight and you
know what airline food is like. I mean, you can only eat so many peanuts.” She
laughed and smiled, but his face remained void of any discernible expression.
Pity. Because, for some reason, she would’ve given anything to see him smile.

Bother. She
took a deep breath. She’d have to try something else. There was still much she didn’t
know about him, but she couldn’t force him to stay. What was she doing? She’d
never been at odds with her feelings before.

“Are there
any bedrooms upstairs you can take me to?” The sudden thought had manifested itself
into speech and escaped from her lips before she could stop it. God! Are there
any bedrooms? That must have sounded like such a come on. “Sorry, what I meant
to say was--”

“Aye, there
is a chamber you can use.” He didn’t seem perturbed by her comment. Thank goodness.
“It is in the South wing. Your aunt would stay there when she visited.
Goodnight, Miss Quinn.” He moved away from the fire and turned to leave, and
she swore she saw the faintest flicker of a smile. At least, that’s what she’d
let herself believe.

“The South
wing?” She stood to follow him, grabbed an oil lamp along the way. His steps were
fast as she jogged to catch up with him, careful not to tip the glass shield
from the lamp. How could he see his way in the darkness? “South? Is that up the
stairs?”

“Aye.” He
continued along the narrow hall, moving toward the kitchen where she’d come in.
Perhaps he lived there. In some sort of servant’s quarters. Not that she’d
think of him as her servant. She followed closely behind him. “How will I know
which one?”

Glancing
behind at her as he walked, he said, “There is a fire in there for ye. It’s too
cold without.”

Good. A
fire. Hold on. Where was he going?

“Please,
slow down a moment Mr. O’Connell.”

He stopped,
turned, and she collided hard with him. Knocked from her hand, the oil lamp hurtled
toward the floor.

Waiting for
the inevitable crash, she squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth.

Nothing.

With great
reluctance, she opened her eyes. He’d caught it.

Shaking,
she stared in wonder at the lamp. “How did you do that? I mean, I didn’t even see
you reach for it.” She beamed in appreciation. Shadows and soft lamplight
played across his rugged, handsome features. He seemed surreal. “Thank you so
much. The last thing I needed was to explain another breakage to my cousin.”

In his
eyes, the green became more like black. Something was wrong. He didn’t seem to recognize
her at all.

“Mr.
O’Connell?” Swallowing dryly, she began backing away from him.

He
followed, his dark, glittering gaze locked on her. Her stomach tightened.

“It’s
Ellen. Ellen Quinn.” She smiled in the hope it would make a difference. Damn.
He continued his advance. A glance around showed the wall mere inches away. “Is
there something the matter? This isn’t funny. Why don’t you answer me?” Her
back bumped against the wall. A gasp escaped her.

His
powerful physique pressed against her smaller frame. If he tried anything,
despite her self-defense lessons, she’d be no match for him.

He raised a
hand, rested it above her head and leaned in, his face brushing against her
hair. Fear mixed with excitement, sending ripples of anticipation through her.

Her
heartbeat pounded in her ears. What was he doing? Why didn’t he say something?
He acted like some curious animal. She should strike him, make him back away.
No. She couldn’t. Damn it! She wasn’t making any sense. Any other time she
would have screamed for help or tried to run, but the longer he stood there,
the more overpowering his presence became.

Like
nothing she’d ever felt before.

A shimmering
sensation ran its course, flowing through every nerve, every fiber of her being--coercing
her into subtle submission. Not intimidating, more intoxicating, overwhelming.

She closed
her eyes as her thoughts began to spin like a gyroscope out of control, losing all
sense of direction. Above the chaos, the low, steady rush of his breathing
forced her to match his rhythm.

Slow.
Hypnotic.

Her limbs
relaxed, became weightless, and her head tilted back, touched the wall. From
the tips of her toes an eerie coldness enveloped her like an icy blanket,
wrapping itself around her and leaching away her warmth. Her pulse slowed and
breathing grew shallow. Wisps of mist escaped her mouth.

Then, calm
and peaceful, she seemed to be floating, and able to look down at herself. What
was happening? Her pink skin had paled, become almost luminous in the weak
light. Her lips had turned a deathly shade of blue.