Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 (10 page)

He slid into her, his hands cupping her breasts. She met his thrusts and suddenly waves of ecstasy throbbed and pulsated through both of them. He pulled her tightly against him and shuddered.

Allison grew dimly aware of chirping birds, the gentle lapping of the water against the shoreline. She realized that the grass pricked her backside and she felt cold, but she didn’t care. She was wrapped in Paul’s arms. Constance Granger might be his mistress, but she was his wife. For the first time she thought perhaps he did love her a little. In time, maybe he would come to love her in the same way she loved him.

“You’re a remarkable lover,” he praised.

“I know,” she said lightly but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. After long moments of silence while they stroked each other’s bodies in contentment, they then stood up and dressed. When she finished, he turned her toward him and buried his hands into a handful of loose tresses.

“You’re mine, Allison! Totally and completely mine.” His mouth swept across hers in a possessive kiss which left her breathless.

She wished she could say the same words to him, but knew he’d not allow himself to think she possessed him. All she said was, “I love you.”

“I have chores to finish,” he said, dampening her ardor. “I’ll dine with you and my family at supper.” He turned and left her as he walked back to the tenant farms.

A burning ache clawed at her throat and she suppressed her tears. She’d never understand him, never! However, she knew one thing. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he might love her even in a small way. But she wasn’t going to let him leave her like this. Even if he didn’t love her, she loved him. She called after him and mounted her horse. When she reached him, he turned to look up at her. “I want to come with you.”

He looked baffled,
then
understood.
“To the farms?”

She nodded. “I think it’s time I saw how my tenants live. Aunt Cecelia never allowed me to visit any of them. I used to sneak away and see old Mag sometimes, but I thought her cottage was in poor condition because she was ill and frail and had no one to care for her. I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.”

She stuck out her chin belligerently. “Then mount up and show me! In all respects, I’m mistress of Fairfax Manor now, and
it’s
past time for my first lesson in running the estate.”

He started for the horse,
then
paused. “You will not find it pretty, Allison.”

“I expect I won’t,” she admitted.

Allison was distressed at what she saw. Most of the cottages were well-tended and clean, but many of them needed white-washing and some required extensive repairs and felt damp despite the hearth fires. Though the tenants nodded politely as she inspected with her husband, Paul was the one to whom they gravitated, apprising him of conditions which needed attention. They seemed to regard him as one of them, speaking freely in a way they’d never have dared speak to Cecelia or another Fairfax.

When they reached old Mag’s cottage, Allison entered without knocking, hearing a wracking cough from inside. Mag reclined on a small pallet before a smoky peat fire which was dying on the hearth. Spasms of coughs engulfed the old woman, and Allison knelt down beside her and helped her to a sitting position. When the spell passed, Mag leaned weakly against her.

“Be on your way, Miss. I’m sorry to be such a burden to you,” Mag gasped.

“Don’t be silly. You’re ill. I’ll send for a doctor.”

“Nay, I’ve no need for a leech. The coughing has stopped now. I’m much better.” Mag pushed herself up and sat against the wall, her eyes lighting on Paul. “So, this is your husband, Miss.”

Allison worried at the woman’s pallor, but nodded and took Paul’s hand. “This is Paul. Your prophecy came true.”

Mag grinned, pleased with herself.
“Aye, it did, but not completely. Not until there are babes. Remember about the name, Miss. They’ll not carry the Flanders name.”

“Yes, of course,” Allison said gently and covered Mag with a thin blanket. She remembered Mag’s original words, but she realized that Mag was old and unwell and that she shouldn’t put much stock in her predictions. Though she had accurately predicted the arrival of Paul, Allison felt the rest was absurd. “You need warmer covering. I’ll have Beth bring you heavier blankets from the house.”

Mag’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, Miss. Now be on your way and don’t fret over an old woman like me. Tend to your husband.” She lay back upon her pallet and closed her eyes, letting them know that their visit was at an end.

Allison and Paul quietly left. As they stood in the sunshine beside the cottage, she took his hand in hers. “I hope Mag’s right about children—though I don’t understand what she means about the name.”

Impulsively, Paul leaned down and kissed her pink mouth. Allison looked so charming, still showing signs of disarray after their tumble by the
river, that
he felt again the surge of passion he thought he had quelled by making love to her. Would he ever get his fill of her?
he
wondered. But he also felt a twinge of guilt because of Mag’s words. He wasn’t certain if the woman had the gift of second sight or had somehow surmised who he was, but it was only a matter of time before Allison learned the truth. But he couldn’t tell her just yet, not now—not after she had made the effort to visit her tenants and had offered some suggestions on how to improve conditions.

As she stood silhouetted against the bright blue sky which matched the color of her eyes, he feared he might be falling in love with her.

Paul came to Allison’s bed every night for the next few weeks. She no longer considered Constance a serious threat to her marriage and began to feel secure in the knowledge that her husband preferred her over the dark-haired beauty. One morning she woke early to find Paul was already up and dressed.

“My, but you’re about early today,” she said, stretching cat-like beneath the sheets. Her golden hair spread across the pillow like a fan.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. There are more repairs to be made on some of the cottages.” He finished buttoning his blue shirt, which emphasized the tawny shade of his hair and deepened his tanned skin, then came and sat beside her on the bed. She immediately snuggled against him.

“We have an overseer for this work, Paul. You don’t have to supervise everything yourself.”

“I enjoy it. I’ve made some fine friends among the tenants.”

She sat up and looked at him. “You really do care about them, don’t you?”

“Do you mind?”

Her eyes grew wide and shimmered. “I think it’s wonderful. I admit I didn’t understand at first, but I was wrong. You’ve made many changes for the better.”

The morning light rippled over her ivory breasts, and Paul’s hands instinctively caressed them. “My handiwork is evident here, too, my love.”

She laughed and pushed playfully at him. They fell back upon the pillows and she clamped her arms around his shoulders. “Marriage agrees with me, or else you have magic fingers.” Moving against him, she thrust her breasts against his chest, delighting in the fact that for the first time in her life, her usually small breasts were rounded and full. She nibbled his ear lobe. “Stay awhile and accommodate your wife, sir, or I shall be forced to pour every bucket of whitewash into the Shannon!”

“I fear I’ve turned you into a wanton,” he teased, his eyes roaming over her rounded figure. He was about to protest that he had work to do, but when she unbuttoned his shirt and planted hot kisses on his
chest,
he knew the work could wait.

Afterwards, he dressed again,
then
lightly smacked her bare derriere. “Get up, wench. You’ve a house to run, and guests to look after.”

Allison pulled the sheet about her, long hair streaming down below her waist. She resembled a lovely child rather than mistress of a vast estate. “I wish Aunt Cecelia were well enough to look after things. I feel so inadequate at times. I think your mother is a better manager than I.”

“She managed our plantation, so don’t hesitate to ask her advice.” He smiled at her.

She mulled this over for a moment. “I think I shall from now on. The other day I underestimated the number of’ barrels for the wine cellar to be ordered from France, and she corrected my mistake. I still don’t know how she could have figured so quickly how much wine our cellar could stock.”

Paul withdrew his gaze from her and picked up his riding crop. “Mother is very observant,” he said casually.

Allison shook her head in disagreement. “There’s more to it than that. She seems to know where everything is around here, almost as though she had once lived here. Sometimes I think I’ve seen her before—but I know that’s impossible.”

Paul stiffened. Now was the time to tell her the truth, he thought to himself, but he still felt unable to confide in her. Too much time had passed. At first he hadn’t told her about his family’s claim to the estate because he wanted to make sure she married him; but now as he looked at her trusting eyes and beautiful face, he knew he had fallen in love with her in spite of his resolve to hold himself aloof. He believed he fell in love with her that day when they made love by the river. Perhaps he had loved her before then, but that didn’t matter now. He couldn’t tell her how he had deceived her, couldn’t bear her look of scorn or risk losing her altogether.

Paul lifted her into the cradle of his arms and kissed her so long and lingeringly that she had to break away to catch her breath. “I love you, Paul,” she whispered.

“Remember that, and never hate me, no matter what happens. Also remember … I love you, too.”

A gasp escaped her and she trembled so violently she thought she might faint. Perhaps she had misunderstood. “I can’t believe you finally said it! Do you mean it? Really truly mean it?”

His lips tenderly brushed hers. “I love you, Allison. Forgive me for the way I’ve treated you in the past. I know I haven’t been the best husband…”

She placed her fingertips on his mouth to silence his further words. “Don’t apologize for anything, my darling. That’s all over and done with. I love you and accept you as you are.”

“I hope that will always be the case,” he said and kissed her quickly again. Then he left the room, seemingly unable to say anything further.

Allison sank back against the pillows, a heavenly glow lighting her face and she hugged herself. He loved her! Her prayers had been answered. “
Thank you, God, for making him love
me,” she whispered. Her hand traced the slight swell of her abdomen. “And thank you for giving me his child.”

~ ~ ~

“Oh, your ladyship,
please!”

Dera heard Katie’s wail as she passed along the hall outside of Cecelia’s room. The door was open and she poked her head in. “What’s the trouble?” she asked and immediately saw the reason for Katie’s distress. A bowl of broth lay on the Persian carpet, the liquid soaking into the expensive fabric.

Katie was close to tears. “Mrs. Flanders, ma’am, I’m too old for these carryings on. Lady Cecelia refuses to eat a single bite! She knocked the bowl from my own hands with her good arm.”

“Now, calm yourself,” Dera said firmly. “Find one of the servants to clean up the mess and bring another bowl of broth for her ladyship.”

“Aye, ma’am,” the woman said in a shaky voice. “I was trained to be a lady’s maid, not a nursemaid,” she grumbled as she left the room. Dera took a deep breath and entered. Cecelia was sitting up in bed, her frail form supported by a mound of pillows behind her and on either side. Her face was turned away, her eyes tightly shut, giving Dera an opportunity to gaze around the room which had been hers so many years ago when she had been married to Avery Fairfax.

She found there had been many changes in the furnishings. The wallpaper was different, and the drapes were no longer beige but deep purple. Dera thought the room resembled a darkened catacomb for the woman who rested upon the bed. However, the tapestry of the stag hunt still graced one wall, and she smiled in reminiscence. The tapestry belonged to the Flannery family; the stag was part of their coat of arms in ancient times.

Turning around, she started when she realized that Cecelia watched her. Suddenly she felt like the young, ignorant girl she had been so many years ago who had allowed herself to be cheated out of her husband’s property. If Cecelia hadn’t been so conniving, Paul would never have had to marry Allison to claim his father’s home. The Flannery family would have lived here these past twenty-five years in peace. But she wasn’t a stupid girl any longer. She was a grown woman with her own home an ocean away and married to the man she loved. Cecelia couldn’t hurt her ever again. The woman was only to be pitied, not hated and feared.

She inwardly composed herself and managed a small but polite smile. Cecelia’s eyes narrowed in the familiar way Dera remembered, shooting sparks of instant recognition. Her mouth remained twisted. “I gather you remember me, Lady Cecelia. I don’t believe I’ve changed overmuch—just a few gray streaks in my hair.” Dera moved closer to the bed. “I’ve asked Katie to fetch another bowl of broth. You must be hungry. It really was rather rude of you to knock the bowl from her hands. She is only trying to help you, and you’re lucky that anyone wants to help you at all.”

A flicker of anger passed across Cecelia’s eyes. Dera was immediately sorry for saying such a horrible thing to the paralyzed woman but refused to apologize. A part of her still wanted to wound Cecelia. “My son married your niece—but you know that. I don’t approve of his choice, though I have nothing against Allison personally. But as we all know Flannery and Fairfax blood doesn’t mix. I don’t condone my son’s methods, but I can’t control his life. However, as I recall, you loved to control other people’s lives. I haven’t forgotten or forgiven you for what you did to me all those years ago.”

Dera stood above her, wondering what Cecelia would say to her if she could speak. There was only a spasmodic movement of her left hand as she grasped the bed cover in impotent rage. “However, my lady, you did me a great service when you illegally claimed this house. Your greed allowed me to have my heart’s desire, my Quint. If I had remained in Ireland, we would have been permanently parted, and that would have been worse than anything. But I forget that you have love for only one thing: Fairfax Manor. People mean nothing to you.”

At that moment Katie arrived with the broth. “Now, your ladyship, please don’t be giving me a hard time of it. Drink your nice broth,” she pleaded, warily eyeing the old woman.

“I’ll take it,” Dera said and took the bowl. “Her ladyship will eat for me.”

“Oh, ma’am, I don’t think you should. Her ladyship is peculiar about such things.”

“Then her ladyship will have to learn when one is unable to feed oneself, one either lets oneself be fed or starves to death.” Dera shot a sharp, penetrating glance at Cecelia. “And I doubt very much if her ladyship wishes to die.”

Dera pulled a chair close to the bed, filled the spoon with the liquid and raised it to Cecelia’s mouth. The woman closed her eyes and clamped her lips in defiance, and Dera wondered if she would refuse to swallow or if the bowl would be knocked from her hands. With difficulty, she fitted the spoon between Cecelia’s lips. “
Swallow,
your ladyship!”

Dera’s commanding tone caused Cecelia’s eyes to snap open and, acknowledging defeat, she reluctantly swallowed the broth.
“Very good.
Now again.”
Each time, she did as she was told, and Dera knew how much it hurt Cecelia’s pride to be fed by her like a helpless infant. The tables were indeed turned. Now Dera had the upper hand. When she finished, Dera gave the bowl back to Katie who hovered near by, then stood up and briskly rearranged the pillows around Cecelia. “I hope you realize how precious life is, your ladyship.
Even yours.”
She turned and left the room, unaware that a single tear slipped down Cecelia’s wrinkled cheek.

As Dera descended the staircase into the entrance hall, she passed a servant polishing a table nearby and bade her a good morning. She heard laughter coming from the drawing room and, opening the door, she found Quint and two of the tenants toasting one another. “To your son and his wife,” one of the men proposed.

“Aye, I reluctantly drink to that. The marriage restored my home to me,” Quint said. “Now I have a toast. May the devil take all the
Fairfaxes!
”

“Aye, and keep them,” they agreed with one voice.

“Quint!
Are you mad?” Dera cried as she rushed into the room. “Allison is your daughter-in-law, and this is her home!”

Hot sparks emanated from her violet eyes, and Quint sheepishly grinned. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I got carried away.” He patted one of the men on the back. “You remember Sean Lacey, and old Dabney Donahue. These fellows were my staunch supporters when we lit the torch to burn the English dogs from their homes.”

They bowed. “Good day to you, ma’am,” said Sean. “I guess you don’t remember us.”

“Yes, I remember you both.” Dera was very upset. These men could easily betray Quint to the authorities if they wished. How many other people on the estate had recognized him and could point the finger at him, accusing him of Avery Fairfax’s murder?

“I’ll see you lads later,” Quint said in a low voice, realizing that Dera was considerably perturbed.

“Aye,” Dabney said, and Sean wished Dera a good day, patting Quint on the back.

After they left, Dera stood rigid with arms akimbo. “God, Quint, you’re a fool to show your face!”

“They’re old friends, my sweetheart. They won’t be turning me in.”

“You can’t be certain. Remember, you thought Jem McConnell was your friend and he betrayed you and your cause to the authorities.”

He swaggered over and pulled her against him. “Jem was scum. Sean and Dabney are honest and trustworthy. They’re the only ones who know who I am. I have to see some friends while we’re here, Dera. You don’t expect me to sit with Lady Cecelia hour after hour and while away the time, do you?”

“I just visited with her. She is pitiful, Quint. I never thought I’d say this, but I feel sorry for her.”

“The bitch got her just desserts. Did you speak to her?”

“Not much—but I helped feed her. She can do nothing for herself.”

Dark fury stained Quint’s face, and he grabbed her arms. “You fed that bitch her lunch?”

“Yes,” said Dera evenly, meeting his glare with a steady gaze.

He looked so baffled that she almost had the inclination to laugh. “I’ll never understand you, woman!”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his warm lips. “And I’ll always understand you,” she said, smiling.

He relaxed a bit, and his expression softened as he nuzzled her neck. “Let’s go upstairs and you can show me just how much you do understand, Dera Flannery.”