Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 (21 page)

Beth’s friends greeted her warmly, and she was glad she had come to the threshing party. The music of the fiddles from the barn drifted through the air, as couples danced around the cottage grounds. She wore her simple lavender wedding dress, hoping to evoke bittersweet memories in Patrick. But as she looked around, she didn’t see him.

Mrs. Lacey and her mother called to her from the barn doorway, and both kissed her. “Oh, Beth, ‘tis good to see you,” Maeve told her, smiling. “Living in the manor agrees with you. Never have you looked
more lovely
.”

Beth knew her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes weren’t merely the result of easy living. At last she was truly in love, and grew more determined by the moment to claim Patrick for her own.

“Is Patrick about?” she asked them.

“Nay.”
Maeve lowered her voice. “He’s with that Annie again.”

This was what Beth had
feared ,
but she didn’t reply to Maeve’s comment. When Patrick didn’t show up after half an hour, Beth grew fidgety, wondering whether he was worth her love. Perhaps at that very moment he was coupling with Annie in a haystack. To imagine such a thing filled her with rage. She’d pull every hair from Annie’s head if given the chance!

Walking outside the barn and forcing smiles at her friends, she saw Patrick walking towards her with his arm curved around Annie’s waist. Beth gulped hard. He was the most handsome man in the world in her eyes, and jealousy ate through her like a rat gnawing a piece of wood. She grew aware that everyone had grown silent and ceased dancing. All watched as the couple approached Beth. Shyness overtook her and she didn’t think she could speak, but the triumphant gleam on Annie’s face emboldened her.

Sheepish surprise at seeing his wife showed on his face. “I had no idea you’d be attending the party,” he said.

“Apparently not.”

“Will you be staying long?” Annie asked, clutching Patrick’s arm almost as if she owned him.

“I’ll be staying as long as it takes to bring my husband home with me.”

Annie gaped. “You can’t be thinking that. ‘Tis plain you never wanted him or you’d not be holed up in the manor like a princess with him being forced to live alone.”

“Alone is it, Annie Donahue? How could he be alone with a whore like
yourself
to warm his bed?”

“Beth!” Patrick looked stricken, but she didn’t care. She wanted him, and she knew Annie well enough to know that Annie fought for what she wanted. She saw the blood lust in Annie’s eyes, and Beth prepared herself for the onslaught she felt sure would come. It did.

Annie tore herself away from Patrick and tackled Beth to the ground. The crowd gawked in fascination.

Beth felt Annie tug at her bodice, fingernails digging through the material. Beth’s breath was taken away from her by the sheer weight of Annie’s body, but she sensed that no one would help her. Everyone was frozen with astonishment, and Beth knew it was up to her.

Surprising Annie, Beth grabbed a handful of hair and yanked until Annie yowled; then she pushed the larger woman off her until Annie lay on the ground and Beth was above her. They clawed at one another, and Beth felt a moment of triumph when a long bloodstained streak dribbled down Annie’s cheek. But her pleasure was short-lived as Annie rolled over and Beth again found herself pinned down, clawing and kicking with all her might.

“Come on, Beth! Kick the hussy!”
came
Mrs. Lacey’s voice from the crowd.

But Beth was weakening, and when Patrick’s face flashed near her, she knew the intense anger on it was for her and not for Annie. As her strength ebbed, she knew Annie had won. Suddenly, Annie was hauled from her by Patrick.

“Enough of this foolishness!” he growled. He yanked Beth to her feet. Her bodice was torn, her neck scratched, and her hair was tousled and hung knotted down her back. Annie didn’t look much better.

Patrick’s upsetment knew no bounds, but the smirking and laughing of everyone were too much for him. His usually tanned face turned a bright red, and he grabbed Beth so tightly by the arm she thought the circulation had stopped. Dragging her roughly along behind him, he was oblivious to her pleas to release her or her apologies for humiliating him.

Jerked across the field and then into the doorway of their cottage, she practically spun around and landed against the table. Her large eyes grew even larger, and real fear was reflected on her face as he regarded her with hands on hips.
Never, never had she seen him this angry.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I didn’t mean to fight with Annie, but she provoked me.”

“Nay, you did. Annie never would have fought you,”

Further apologies died on her lips. “How dare you take up for that hussy over
me!
I’m your wife, Patrick.”

“Annie is more wife than you.”

That hurt far more than her wounds. To hear such words was unbearable, and she decided that he couldn’t possibly love her or want her. Her own love was fruitless, and it was right that God should deny her Patrick’s love now. She had sinned too much in the past to be forgiven. Losing Patrick was her penance.

She moved towards the door. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Nay!”
He grabbed her arm and positioned himself in front of her. “Tell me why you fought her.”

“I shall not.” She wouldn’t humiliate herself further, and she knew that was what he wanted.

“You still have the Flannery stubbornness, but I shall tame you, Beth. I’ll force you to tell me why you came to the threshing.”

He lifted her from her feet, sat down in a chair and turned her over his knee. Hiking her gown over her derriere, she immediately knew his intentions.
“Patrick, no!”

“Tell me why you humiliated yourself and me.”

She looked up at him, unable to admit her love for him now that he intended to punish her like a wayward child. “I won’t.”

“Then take your punishment.”

“I’m not a tyke, Patrick! Take your hands off of me! “

Her plea went unheeded. Her undergarments were peeled away, exposing the smooth roundness of her buttocks. She prepared herself for the sting of his hand, not understanding what had gotten into Patrick, why he felt he had to treat her like a disobedient child. Tears gathered in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. “Please, Patrick. I’m not a child.”

She expected a slap and she tried to move away from his hand. Instead his hands wandered to her buttocks, massaging her flesh with trembling fingers, then straying to another part of her anatomy. “Patrick,” she moaned, desire rushing to warm her.

He turned her over, lifting her astride him, and she was eager for him, needing to be possessed by him. She pulled her bodice to her waist, her breasts full and ripe for his touch. His mouth devoured each of them in turn, and her moans of pleasure increased his passion. “Let’s go to bed, Beth.”

“Nay.
Right here.
Now.”

“In the cooking area?”
He was incredulous.

“Aye. ‘Tis as good a place as any to make children.”

After both hastily had stripped off their clothing, he positioned her again on his lap, clasping her to him while she parted her legs. The exquisite torture of their coupling nearly drove them both insane with need until a shattering climax brought release. For minutes afterwards, neither one spoke.

However, it didn’t matter. They loved one another! And somehow—though she could never know for sure—Beth guessed that was the moment in time she conceived their son.

A month later, a spring snow storm passed over the area, and Allison went into labor. Doctor Curry assured her she had nothing to worry about, but Paul couldn’t bear her suffering as each pain wracked her until she gasped for breath. However, Doctor Curry didn’t seem the least disturbed, smiling as if he had a great secret to which only he was privy.

Paul stayed beside her through most of the labor, and his mother was invaluable in fetching for the doctor and comforting Allison.

“I’m here if you need me,” Paul told his wife at one point. She only looked at him and nodded. He knew she was exhausted, but he felt she was still punishing him for some unknown offense. What could be the matter with her that she would be so distant when she bore his child?

It was shortly after midnight when a swirling snow had started to fall that she gave birth to not one baby but two—a girl and a boy, born three minutes apart. No one was more surprised than she, and her exhaustion gave way to delight as she held the tiny creatures in her arms. Paul was stunned, but Dera was ecstatic and rushed to tell Quint.

“I knew it the whole time,” Doctor Curry said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He left the new parents alone with their offspring.

Paul knelt beside the bed and placed a large finger in the tiny hand of his daughter. “They both are dark-headed,” he said.

“They must take after your mother, but most babies have dark hair at birth.” Tears swam in Allison’s eyes. “Would you care to hold her?”

“I’m afraid I’ll drop her.”

A small smile curved around her lips. “Sit on the bed and hold her.”

Gingerly he cradled his daughter in his huge arms, and Allison felt a surge of love for Paul which she hadn’t felt in days. But why shouldn’t he love his children? They were his flesh and blood, and he’d never willingly hurt them as he had harmed her. But a fleeting image of Constance in Paul’s arms caused her heart to harden. Kissing her son on his forehead, she handed him to Katie when she waddled into the room.

“Don’t you wish to hold him any longer?” he asked.

She resented the tone in his voice that somehow implied she was inadequate as a mother. “No, I’m tired,” she said crisply. “Put the baby in her crib.”

His eyebrow arched.
“As you wish.”

After he had made certain that the babies were warm and safe, he turned back to her. “What shall we name them?”

“Douglas and Kathleen, after my parents.”

His voice was soft. “I like that.
Douglas and Kathleen Flannery.”

“Yes,” she said and remembered that old Maggie’s prophecy had come to pass. Her children didn’t carry the Flanders name. Though she knew he had something further to say, her eyelids grew heavy, and in a matter of seconds, she was asleep. She never knew that Paul kissed her with gentle tenderness and whispered he loved her.

Going downstairs, his face was alight with happiness. As soon as Allison recovered from the births, he’d convince her of his love. But his smile faded when he entered the drawing room to find Daniel with his mother.

Daniel rose formally from his chair, his stance stiff and quite unlike him. “Congratulations on the birth of your children. I knew Allison was an unusual woman.”

“You of all people don’t have to remind me of that.” Paul crossed the room and poured a brandy from the decanter which rested on a sideboard.

Dera’s face tightened at the cool tones of her sons and knew a fight would likely ensue. They had been so close as children, now they seemed to hate each other. “Don’t start trouble, either of you. I won’t tolerate it.”

Paul downed his drink and refilled his glass. “Mother, I have no intention of being unpleasant to Daniel. He is my brother, and I’m glad he feels he can just drop all of his artistic endeavors and pay us a visit. How long do you intend to stay?”

“As long as it takes for Allison to recuperate.
Then I’ll take her and the children away from here—away from you.”

“Allison and the children are mine. You can’t actually think I’ll allow you to spirit them away and live life like gypsies while you try to make a living painting. Allison loves me, and I love her. You’re daydreaming again, Dan. She’ll always belong to me.”

At that point, Paul’s cockiness undid Daniel who bolted forward until he was inches from his brother’s face. “If she loves you so much, why did she write to me to come and fetch her? Why did she tell me she was miserable with you?”

Daniel triumphantly pulled her letter from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Paul.
A grimness
settled over Paul’s countenance as he read of her need to leave him, her desperate unhappiness. He handed it back to Daniel and masked his hurt with a blank look. “I still won’t allow her to leave.”

Dera sensed Paul’s shakiness and read the inner turmoil behind his eyes. She loved both of her sons, but she knew that of the two of them, Paul was the more sensitive yet most unable to show his true feelings. She was about to intervene when Quint rushed into the room.

“Paul, Dr. Curry wants you! Allison is very ill.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Paul rushed into the room to find the doctor administering cold cloths to Allison’s forehead.

“She’s running a high fever.” He spoke abruptly as he went about his ministrations. “Some sort of infection has set in.”

“But she was fine just a short while ago.”

“She’s extremely ill now, so we’ll have to do the best we can.”

Paul took her hand and gently placed it to his lips. The heat from her fingers seemed to scorch his mouth. When Doctor Curry told him he should leave, he shook his head. “I’ll stay until she’s out of danger.”

“Son, she may not make it if her fever keeps climbing.”

He ignored the doctor’s pessimism. She would make it, he told himself. She had to!

~ ~ ~

Paul sat by her bedside for hours. Dera would look in and help bathe her forehead, but still the fever climbed. More than once Dera watched as Paul took some small dried leaves from a pouch, decorated with brightly colored beads, that he’d withdrawn from his valise in the bottom of the wardrobe. He mixed the leaves into a glass of water and somehow managed to gently pour drops of it down Allison’s throat. When Dera asked him what it was, Paul replied that it was a “remedy”. Dera didn’t know what kind of remedy and didn’t ask any more questions. She could tell that her son was frantic with worry.

Allison’s face was a mottled shade of red, and realizing that the remedy he fed her wasn’t
working,
Paul prayed for the first time in years and struck a bargain with God. If she lived, he would give her her freedom. Once he had loved a woman and had tried to hold onto her even as death wove its insidious claws around their love and tore them apart. That was when he decided never to love again—not until he reluctantly fell in love with Allison. He loved his wife enough to free her rather than risk losing her to the cold earth, if only God would grant his plea.

When Dera entered the room later that evening, she bore a tray of strong tea and freshly baked bread. She stood still in the doorway and watched Paul as he chanted strange words over his wife in a singsong voice. It sounded almost heathenish. “I’ve brought you something to eat. I’ll bathe her brow.”

He stood up from his hunched position by the bed and looked from his wife to his mother. Only minutes before Allison had been writhing upon the sheets, her fever so high that he felt the heat radiating from her body. Now she lay still, mumbling unintelligibly. “She must come back to me,” he told Dera.

Dera put down the tray and dipped the cloth in the bowl of cool water. “Doctor Curry doesn’t seem very optimistic. Perhaps you should prepare yourself for the worst,” she said slowly.

“She will live! I told the old fool to go home. I shall take care of her.”

“Paul, you don’t know how to care for her!”

I know that if her fever breaks, she has a chance. And that’s what I intend to make happen.”

He raced out of the room into the snowy afternoon like a mad-man and barked orders to some of the help. Then he rushed back upstairs and threw the covers off Allison. Dera was about to protest, but the determined jut of his jaw stopped her.

Daniel raced into the room just as two servants pulled a heavy wooden tub into the middle of Allison’s bedroom. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, as three more servants entered with pails of chopped ice taken from the frozen Shannon.

Paul ignored Daniel and lined the bottom of the tub with a blanket. Then he went to Allison and ripped off her nightgown. Daniel tried to stop him, but Paul pushed him aside. Quint, who had heard the disturbance, had to bodily drag Daniel from the room.

“Get the pillow for her head,” Paul ordered Dera who instantly did so, placing it over the tub’s rim. Paul laid Allison gently on the blanket. Then he took the ice and began to layer small chunks of ice across the length of Allison’s body until she was covered in it. After the ice was in place, he knelt beside the tub and bathed her fevered brow with the icy water. Finally he hummed over her, chanting the same strange words Dera had heard earlier.

After many moments had passed, he instructed Dera to make a pallet on the floor beside the fireplace. When she had done so, he drew Allison from the tub. She was so still that Dera wondered if she were still alive. Placing Allison on the makeshift bed, he then covered her with heavy blankets. Though it was cold outside, the room was unbearably hot, and Dera could stand no more. She left Allison in Paul’s embrace as he curled beside her next to the fireplace.

“Come back, come back,” he crooned
.