Fire of My Heart (7 page)

The rain had begun to ease
as Ellen paused in front of the manor. As on the first day of her arrival, a
strange crawling sensation crept along her skin, accompanied by the notion
someone watched her.

Transferring
the bags to one hand, she rubbed the other along her freezing arm and picked up
her pace. She needed to get inside where it was safe.

How
strange, to think she was in danger outside. Maybe the cold had finally seeped
into her brain.

Come on.
There was nothing there. Must be imagining things. A reflection from a deep puddle
caught her eye, made her stop, look down into the swelling pool.

There were
faces in there. Distorted images of people in pain, and as each droplet of rain
rippled one face away, another took its place.

Every hair
along the back of her neck stood on end. Disbelief burned and twisted in her stomach,
the air in her lungs became as thick as clay. The once brown muddy puddle
turned blood red, and the crimson stain leached out across the gray pebbles and
ran beneath her feet.

Oh God.

* *
* *

A
thundering crack echoed across the night sky, waking Ellen with a start. Beads
of perspiration clung to her body. She nearly panted, so shallow and fast was
her breathing. Where was she? The soft glow of lamplight illuminated the space
around her. She was back in her room, in her bed. But how?

Hell. Her
head hurt just to think.

She’d
returned early from the fair, walked toward the house. It had been raining. Had
she slipped and fallen? Must have. Turning over on her side, she snuggled
around the sheet. The fire crackled away in the hearth. Rowan must have found
her and brought her in.

Rowan.

Her arms
were bare. She lifted the covers. Below she wore only her bra and underwear.
How bloody embarrassing!

“You were
soaked through.” Rowan stood in the doorway.

“Oh?” What
a pathetic response. Lord, she hadn’t been so embarrassed since she’d
accidently locked braces with Steven Trent in the third grade--her first steady
boyfriend. It had been her first real kiss, but there they were, steel against
steel. The school nurse had to take them to the hospital to have them
separated. And when free at last, Steven glared at her and stormed away.

She never
forgot the look on his face.

Rowan
strode into the room. She pulled up the covers and frowned. Bit late for
modesty now. As he approached the bed, she swallowed and clutched the sheet
tighter, shrank back into the feather pillows as far as she could.

* *
* *

Rowan
placed his hand on the bedpost and watched Ellen, peeling away with his gaze
the thin sheet hiding the source of his distraction. Long, shapely legs. Rounded
hips and slender waist.

His breath
caught and loins tightened.

Hell. He
was not supposed to have helped her. Already he’d tangled matters by kissing
her.

But she’d
been lying there on the muddy ground, the rain soaking through her shirt and
making it cling to her frame. He hadn’t been able refuse. With each passing
moment he found it harder to hold on to the bitterness eating at his soul.

Looking at
her now, he couldn’t deny his fervent desire to hold her, such a profound
feeling he’d never fathomed he could experience. Before she arrived, he
couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched a woman, smelled her scent or felt
the warmth of a female body against his.

“Thank you,”
she said in a soft voice.

“I
apologize for your appearance, but your clothes…”

“I
understand.” She smiled at him, warm and bright.

Such a
beautiful smile.

“Then I
will let you rest, Ellen. I retrieved your books and placed them in the
library. Should you need anything, just call out.” He turned toward the door.

“Rowan.” He
stopped, looked back at her, every tingling sensation within him desperate to make
him return to her side.

“Yes?”

“I…never
mind. Thank you again.”

He smiled
and nodded, then left the room.

* *
* *

How bloody
useless. There he was, the most handsome man in the world standing next to her
bed, she in her underwear, and what did she do? Nothing. Coward.

Groaning,
she picked up a book from the library shelf and sat down at the desk. She’d
already gone through so many volumes since coming downstairs, trying to
translate the words using the Gaelic dictionary she’d bought at the fair, her
eyes ached.

What had
gotten into her head? Sure, she knew Latin inside and out, but Gaelic proved to
be another animal altogether. Just when she thought she’d deciphered a few
words, another text gave a slightly different meaning. Maddening.

Resting her
chin on her palm, she sighed. Rowan had been nowhere to be found when she’d come
down from her room. Several times she’d been tempted to take him up on his
offer of help, but what could she call for? A paper cut or another pencil? A
kiss? Pathetic. Probably he was outside, busy doing whatever it was he did.

What
exactly
did
he do through the day?

Tomorrow
she’d explore the manor grounds, if the bloody rain ever decided to let up.
Almost on cue, the deluge outside became harder, pelting loudly against the
conservatory glass.

Fabulous.

As she
sipped her coffee, she ran her fingers along the worn leather cover of the
dusty book. The deep faded gold lettering spelled out
Family Bible
in
old English. How strange. It was just what she’d been looking for.

On the
first page, an elaborate hand-painted family tree displayed at least four
generations of Donegals, but didn’t go quite back to the era she needed. Still,
it was a start.

She turned over another page
in her notebook and began writing down the information. With each name, flashes
of people’s faces came.

Not again.

She put
down her pencil, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Great.

Daydreams as well as
nightmares. Not enough sleep, that was it. Shaking her head to clear it, she stretched
her neck and began to concentrate again on her task. The faces didn’t return.

Sometime later she raised
her head. Rowan stood by the settee, looking at her. When had he come in?

“Rowan.”
She stifled a yawn, stood from the desk. “Good to see you. You’re just in
time.”

She smiled
at him, walked over to the bookshelf and did a mental assessment of how she looked.
Jeans, blue wool jumper, light makeup. Not too bad. “Up there.” She pointed to
a large book on the very top shelf. Sure, she could have brought the ladder
around, but watching him reach up for it would be so much nicer. Besides, he
had offered to help.

What a lame
justification.

“This one?”
As Rowan grabbed the volume, his tall athletic frame stretched, every muscle
outlined by the material of his clothing pulling taut. He handed it down to
her.

“Perfect.”
A subtle sigh escaped her. Her cheeks warming, she moved back toward the desk. “In
fact, while you’re here, I was hoping you could help me with something. Not
sure if I mentioned it before, but I’ve come here to research my family tree.
Aunt Kathleen never got around to finishing it.”

He followed
her to the desk and leant over her, his arms brushing along hers. Her face
burned hotter. Tingling sensations raced up and down her spine. She must focus
on her task. Which was not an easy job with such a handsome distraction close
by.

She cleared
her throat. “Okay, I’ve been reading about all sorts of things.”

“You can
read so well?”

Had she
misheard? “Er, Yes. What do you mean, Rowan?”

“Most women
I knew couldn’t read more than a few words. It wasn’t needed.”

She was
gob-smacked. Never in this day and age had she ever thought she would hear such
a remark. “Well, Rowan, I can read and very well too, actually. In fact, all
the women I know can read exceptionally well and in many different languages.
That was a very sexist comment.”

“Sex-ist?
What is sex-ist?”

Her jaw
dropped. “You know…sexist. When a man thinks a woman can’t do everything he can.”

He nodded.
“No, they can’t.”

She ducked
under his arms, stood away from the desk and faced him. Well, at least looked
up at him. Sure, they were in the country, but things couldn’t be that backward
here. Which wasn’t the point. “Oh, I can assure you they can. In fact, I defy
you to name anything a man can do that I can’t!”

He stood
his ground only a foot away. Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t about to give
in.

“Very well.
It’s men’s work to plough the fields.”

Crossing
her arms, she tipped her chin. “Nonsense. I am a herbalist and a botanist. I’m
always digging and planting in the dirt. In fact, I’ve been to places many
would consider to be highly dangerous, and I didn’t even have a bodyguard.”

He leaned
in closer to her, mere inches away.

“It’s a
man’s place to defend his home and protect his woman. And in future, if anyone
is to guard your body, it will be me.”

Her throat
went dry and bottom lip quivered. Now was not the time for her knees to go
weak, but they did as they pleased. There was something in his tone and the
dark look in his eyes. He was serious.

Too bad.
She’d never relied on any man. “Really? I can look after myself, thank you.
I’ve taken more karate and judo classes than you’ve had-had, Irish stews!”
Where did that come from? Good grief. Too late. “I don’t need a man to look
after me.”

In the
silence, her rapid breathing seemed to echo through the room. He bent down
until his face was poised a hair’s breadth away. Lord, she was angry, but damn,
he exuded such dominance.

She didn’t
know if she wanted to slap him or kiss him.

A tiny part
of her hoped maybe he would decide.

Her breath
began to fog as it came out of her mouth. The room suddenly turned cold.
Rowan’s eyes shone like icy green fire, his face looked like stone. What was
happening?

“It’s not a
woman’s place to fight.” It wasn’t a statement, but a command. “Have you no sense?”

“What? Of
course I do.”

“Nae near
enough!”

“Nae? Look,
Rowan, I appreciate your concern, but we’re not in the middle ages. Most women
rely on themselves these days--” A sudden pain ached within her heart.
Fragments of her past crept through, unbidden. “…because men always want
something in return.”

Damn her
ex-boyfriend. She thought she’d buried his memory for good.

Becoming
emotional was making her lose focus on their argument. As she turned away, Rowan
clutched her around the waist, forced her to look at him. Tears welled,
stinging her eyes.

No. She was
the plant queen--cool, scientific. Logical.

In his
embrace, she felt like a child.

“I see.
And, is that what you think? If I help you, then I will expect something from
you?”

Help her?
Was that all he meant to do?

God, she
felt confused. Words caught in her throat.

He let her
go and stormed from the library. She slumped against the desk. Her legs had
turned into jelly. She’d worked so hard to keep him at arm’s length, when those
same arms were the only place she wanted to be.

Now the
fortress of lonely work protecting her from the heartache and hurt of bad relationships
kept out the only man she wanted to let in.

Time for
the walls to come down.

A crackling bolt of
lightning ripped apart the night sky and sent electrified pitchforks hurtling to
the ground, lighting up the dripping conservatory like a scene from a black and
white horror movie.

“Shit!”
Ellen placed the pillow she’d been clutching beside her, stood from the couch.
A loud banging came from the conservatory. Must be a loose window. The wind
howled outside like a wild animal, picking up speed in the deepening storm.
After her confrontation with Rowan, she’d sat there in front of the fire for
what must have been hours, trying to sort out her feelings. God, her life was
such a mess.

What was
she getting herself into?

She hadn’t
been prepared to change her ways for Bryant. What made her so certain she could
for Rowan?

Wiping her
puffy eyes, she picked up a lamp and edged her way into the darkened room, the
occasional flash from outside lighting the way ahead. Everything looked
unusually creepy, and though she wasn’t one to scare easily, Rowan had managed
to startle her on several occasions.

Amazing how
that man could just appear out of nowhere.

Then, out
of the corner of her eye, a shadow moved.

“Rowan?” Nothing
but the silhouette of the trees blowing in the storm outside. Thank goodness.

A window in
the far corner of the conservatory rattled and clanged. She didn’t need another
breakage, and must secure it. Water had trickled through the opening, making a
silvery puddle on the tiled floor.

Using both
hands, she wrestled with the stubborn lock. Finally the rusty catch gave way
and clicked into place. “There.” Odd. Being so stiff, it shouldn’t have come
open in the first place. But then, stranger things had happened lately.

Satisfied
the window had been secured, she picked up the oil lamp and walked back toward
the fireplace. What might have become of Rowan? Hopefully he wasn’t out in that
storm somewhere. Maybe he’d gone to town.

The library
door slammed shut. She jumped, her heart in her throat, the lamp teetering in her
hand. “God, I don’t need to be breaking any more of Michael’s possessions, he’s
going to kill me as it is.”

Sensing
someone behind her, she smiled. Rowan had tried to sneak up on her once again.

She
prepared herself to apologize for her earlier outburst. He’d copped a lot of
pent-up anger that had never been meant for him.

She turned,
and was greeted by a vaguely familiar face. One of the men from the pub. Her smile
slipped away and insides ran cold.

Thin lips
twitching, he leered at her and shook his head. His stare made her skin crawl,
the bile in her stomach rise.

“Tisk,
tisk, me girlie. I don’t think we’d care for you breaking the goods now.” She
followed his gaze over her shoulder. Two figures were emerging from the shadows
behind her. “Would we, lads?”

Shit!

He knocked
the lamp from her grasp, grabbed her wrist and held it painfully tight.

“Oh dear,”
he cooed, looking down at the mess on the floor with his torch. “Now you’ve
done it. How’s about you say sorry and make it up somehow, eh?” The trio burst
into vile fits of laughter.

“Who the
hell are you, to come in here?” She struggled against his grip. “Let go of me,
you bastard!”

God, help
her she was scared. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like gasoline.

And where was Rowan damn it?
Did he know these creepy guys, or was he in on it? No,

he couldn’t be. Of course
not.

The man
pulled her closer and touched her cheek. She leveled him with an acid stare.

Grinning, he licked his
pimple-edged lips.

Gross.

“We’ve got
a right pretty one ’ere boys, and a foreigner to boot!” He leaned in to her
face, the odor of his foul breath making her nauseous. “I like fancy, foreign
girls.”

“Good for
you.” She kicked down hard on his instep, which made him crumple, loosen his grip
on her wrist, then slipped free of his hold. Twisting his arm against him, she
smacked his nose with the palm of her other hand. The pain made her wince, but
she kept going.

“Bitch!” he
cried out. His two accomplices stood there in shock, watching the demise of their
leader. She released her captor and took flight across the room, hurdled the
couch in one long leap and headed straight for the doorway.

“You stupid
bitch!” the injured leader bellowed, close behind her. “Colin, you stay here
and start loading up anything flash. Sean, get upstairs and hurry up about it.”

As she crossed the grand hall, heart in her throat, a younger
voice echoed out. “Bloody hell, John. Why do we get to do all the work?”

“Quit yer
bloody yap, yer piker,” her attacker panted in reply, as she headed toward the hallway.
“When I catch her, yer both can have a poke, all right? Besides, I have a score
to settle.”

Over her
dead body they’d have a poke.

Racing in
the dark, she nearly lost her footing on the polished boards in the hallway,
but grabbed the doorjamb and swung into the kitchen. Never had she been so
frightened. Where the hell was Rowan?

What a fool
she’d been, saying she didn’t want or need a man’s help. Anyone’s help.

This didn’t
count. She was outnumbered and very much alone. Wanted to shout his name out
loud, but she was too fearful the intruders might hear.

Making her
way through the darkened room, she tried not to bump against the tables or chairs.
The back door. She must find it--her only way out. Warm tears of frustration
running down her face, she reached out into the darkness for the doorknob.
Hell. She almost felt like laughing.

What a
night.

She’d gone
from turning away the best thing that ever happened to her, to running for her very
life.

She must be
cursed.

God damn,
Michael! The cheap bastard, would it have killed him to install at least a
phone? Her mobile still wasn’t working, and the battery probably long dead
anyway. Short of running to the nearest house, she had no way of getting any
help.

The door
latch. At last. She pulled at it but nothing happened. No. Shit! She’d locked it,
put the key in her jacket, which was somewhere upstairs. Such a bloody idiot.

A deafening
thud pounded in her ears. The sound of boots tramping down the hallway. She was
trapped.

Violent
tremors shook her.

With the
front door padlocked, she had to get the key. She had to make it to the
stairwell. In the darkness, she felt along the table until she found the large
carving knife she’d used to chop onions the night before.

Shaking,
she picked up the weapon, tightened her fingers around the handle. Her legs felt
like lead. Running seemed impossible.

Cripes, now
or never. A deep breath in, and she made a dash for the hallway, reached the doorway--and
collided with the intruder’s chest with a painful thud. She fell back, landing
on the cold stone floor.

“Argh.” The
wind had been knocked from her lungs, immobilizing her.

The impact
had forced the knife from her grasp, sent it scattering into the darkness.
Shit! Gasping for breath, she slowly sat up. The hefty oaf came toward her, the
small torch he held casting an evil glow on his smirking face. She tried to
scramble backward.

“Perfect,”
he snarled with triumph and spat at the floor. “Just where I wanted you.”

“Drop dead,
you creep.” A nasty stinging sensation pulsated from her palm. As she rubbed her
hands together, the pain of another graze on her elbow began to throb. Her
backside would have a terrific bruise tomorrow. She ached all over. “You’re
real brave, fighting a woman aren’t you?”

She backed
up against the cupboard doors. There was no way out. “Rowan,” she screamed, with
every ounce of energy she had. “Rowan, where are you?”

“Rowan,
where are you?” The bastard flattened his palms against his cheeks, mocking her
in a singsong voice. “Who the hell is he, then, yer boyfriend? Don’t you worry
none. Me and the lads will take good care o’im. Though, after you’ve ’ad me, I
don’t think you’d want ’im anymore!”

He grabbed
at her ankle, and she tried to kick him away, but couldn’t. Her injured leg
muscles had stiffened up from the fall, leaving her unable to strike back.

“Rowan,
please!” Sobs wrenched her. Still no sign of him, only the distant shouts of
laughter as the other two assailants cheered their comrade on. Bastards.

Pinning her
ankle under his boot, he set the flashlight on the table and began to unbuckle the
belt on his jeans.

“Stay
still, bitch. You got this coming for what you did, and I’ve got somethin’
special in mind how’s you can make it up to me.” He lowered his pants.
Disgusting. When she tried to kick out again, he leaned over and laughed. “Come
now girlie, you know you want it. We could have a real party, you and me. Hell,
you might even like it--”

He stopped
and stood up, turned his head toward the doorway as though someone called his
name. But there was only silence from that direction. His carousing friends
could no longer be heard. Frowning, face pale in the torchlight, he darted a
look around the room. He seemed perturbed, even hesitant. Then he turned back
to her.

His
underwear had barely reached his knees, when she felt an icy mist creep around
her fingers where they lay on the floor. The bastard looming above her had
paused. Perhaps he was aware of the sharp coldness chilling the room too. In
the dim light, subtle fog billowed from his mouth. A shiver gripped her body.

His eyes
widened.

The torch
went out. A deep, muffled cry sounded from somewhere in the darkness. Then, nothing.

Fear
quickened her breathing so her lungs refused to pull in air. Drawing up her
bruised legs, she wrapped her arms around them and tried to keep a clear head.
Which was impossible. What had happened? The intruder. He’d vanished, but to
where?

“Rowan?”
she called out in shaky tones. “Are you there?” Fighting her body’s protests,
she dragged herself up and leaned on the kitchen bench.

“Argh!” A
surge of pain seared through her leg, making her clench her teeth, and it took several
deep breaths through her nose until her lungs finally gave way.

A shred of
moonlight peeked through the kitchen window, outlining the table and chair. Using
the furniture as a crutch, she hobbled to the hallway door. It was locked.

Wait a
minute, there wasn’t even a latch, so how could it be locked? No! Only a little
claustrophobia. It had been all she could do to get on the airplane without
sedation. Hypnotherapy had done the trick this time. Going to the Amazon had
required valium. But, standing there with a dark, eerie silence around her, she
felt the room closing in.

Placing her
ear against the timber, she strained to hear what might be going on. Nothing.
No footsteps or talking. Even the storm seemed strangely mute. A torrent of
tears fell as she pounded on the door in earnest, her grazed, bloody hands
becoming bruised. Then her body sagged to the floor.

“Rowan!
Rowan, please answer me...please.”

She didn’t
want to be alone. For the first time in her life, she was truly afraid.