The Cedar Cutter (30 page)

Basking in the glow of the fire, Roisin picked the last of the fish from the bones and put the tin plate onto the ground. The strains of Slinger's fiddle wrapped around them, a sad ballad of lost love and a forgotten homeland. Jane sat at Slinger's feet, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘I'll not forget you, oh my darling! In the land I'm goin' to …' Her plaintive voice harmonised with the mellow notes Slinger conjured from his battered fiddle and weaved a special magic in the night air.

A fitting end. A farewell, Carrick had said. He sat across the fire from her with Ruan cradled between his long legs, his chin resting on the boy's head and his arms wrapped protectively around him. Ruan would miss him so much. The first man her son had ever truly known. He'd make a fine father, far better than Dankworth, no matter how much money and how many influential friends he had.

The memory of Carrick's ravaged face the night he'd told the story of Liam and Brigid still sent goosebumps trailing down her arms. She couldn't give Ruan up. Oh, she knew it happened, happened all the time. Children were adopted, taken in by families who had no children of their own. All the Irish lads and lasses fleeing the Famine left their families behind them. Sometimes it worked. They found new homes and happiness. It wouldn't happen to her son.

She lifted her eyes and met Carrick's smouldering gaze across the fire. Heat raced through her, scorching her skin. If only she could convince him to stay. She didn't want to wait for him to come back from Ireland.

‘We should take this lad home.' Carrick eased to his feet, Ruan tucked close to his body, safe and secure as always.

Slinger lowered his fiddle into its case, his scarred, rough hands a strange contrast against the delicate neck of the musical instrument. Jane closed the lid, her fingers brushing his. There was no reason the night should be over for Jane and Slinger. He'd be back once they'd cut the tree, although as much as she hoped Jane would find happiness, she couldn't help being a little envious.

‘You stay, Jane. I can manage.' The girl deserved some time and some admiration, and from the expression on Slinger's face he'd plenty to offer. ‘Stay. Carrick will help me with Ruan.'

She tucked the tin plates into the basket next to Old Pella's latest offering: a sharpened bone, a fish hook, apparently. According to Old Pella, it would draw the fish like a magnet and no one would ever go hungry again. She let out a tiny sigh of pleasure—such a relief to know where all Ruan's treasures had come from and to know that the shadows she'd seen from the window were no more than the old man's patrol as he kept his blind bunyip at bay.

The native stories sparked more than Ruan's imagination; hers had run riot. All those wasted nights staring out of the window picturing someone in the shadows, watching and waiting. Carrick's arm slipped around her shoulders, cradling her close as the three of them wandered up the path beneath the canopy of stars, clusters of scattered diamonds thrown by an unseen hand.

‘Shall I be carrying him up to his bed?' The lilt of Ireland in his voice and his fiery blue eyes stirred her blood, made her think back to the first time he'd pulled her into his arms, the touch of his hard body heating her skin, the flurry of sensations scalding her body.

‘Yes, if you would.' Alone she'd have had to wake Ruan; he was far too heavy now for her to carry up the narrow attic ladder. Standing in the doorway, she savoured the play of Carrick's strong muscles as he edged up the rungs, his body tight and taut, protecting her son.

Murmured voices drifted down to her: the creak of the bed and the rustle of blankets, sounds of comfort and caring. With this man Ruan would come to no harm. He'd give her son the space to grow and learn, to become strong, loyal, honest and loving.

Carrick eased back down the ladder and turned to her. Her cheeks grew hot and she swallowed, gulping down a breath. With his dark eyes intent on her face he stood motionless, leaning against the ladder, his head almost grazing the roof.

Sweeping her hand across her forehead she brushed her hair from her face. He moved towards her, raised his hand. She flinched, then her breath caught and her heart raced as step by step he backed her against the wall. The palms of his hands lay flat against the wall, not touching her, standing so close the heat of his body radiated against her skin.

A tangled cry slipped between her lips and she clamped her teeth.

‘Roisin, my love.' His voice, low, almost broken, cut through her panic. This was Carrick not Dankworth. She stared into his face. Nothing like the face that had haunted her dreams and filled her with terror. She didn't want to live her life that way, running and hiding, jumping at every passing shadow. She wanted to live in the sunshine, know what it was to love and be loved by a man, and Carrick was the man she wanted, the man she loved with all her heart. Dankworth would not take that from her any more than she would allow him to take Ruan.

She snatched a breath as he murmured her name again and again, as if he wanted to imprint it on his mind, then lifted his hand to cradle her cheek. A long, low tug of lust curled in her belly. It was her choice. The past or the future—and she made her decision. She leaned forward and laid her cheek against his chest and his arms came around her, pulling her into his embrace, the base of his throat so close she could reach up and touch it with her lips. The man she loved by choice not by force.

She could smell him, the pungent scent of the timber and heat and man. His scent raced through her senses, feeding the heaviness in her limbs and the lightness in her head. The first man she'd ever wanted. Her treacherous body gave a wiggle of delight.

He raised her chin with his hand and bent down until his mouth rested against hers. ‘I never thought I could love again. Never wanted to open myself to the pain of losing. You've stolen my heart, Roisin, and I'll not be the same again.' He breathed the words into her open mouth, turning her legs boneless, twisting her heart inside out.

‘Will you have me when I return? Tell me.' He tightened his grip on her arms and pulled her close, so close his lean, hard body crushed against her, sending her pulse into a frantic spiral, filling her head with a rhythmic thud that drowned out all reason. A wave of heat stole the breath from her lungs as his lips roamed her face, awakening a hunger she didn't know she possessed, desires she'd never imagined.

From somewhere deep inside her came the answer to Carrick's question. ‘Not when you return.'

His lips stilled, his eyes dark and questioning.

‘Now, Carrick, before you leave.'

‘Don't be tempting me, my love. It's not the time.' A sigh came from deep inside him and he dropped his gaze to her mouth, then removed his hands from her cheeks and shook his head.

She lifted her hands and cupped his face. The longing in his eyes was plain to see and behind that, deep into his soul, was the spirit of the only man she'd ever love. Sliding her hands into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, she stretched up onto her toes and brought his lips back to hers. His rumbling groan echoed against her breast, vibrated on her lips. ‘Yes, tonight.' She murmured the words against his lips and his body stilled.

‘And if I don't return?'

‘You'll come back. To build our house. You promised me.'

A frown flickered across his brow and she smoothed it with her fingertips. It was time. The only time they had. Beneath her palm his heart beat steadily and his eyes never wavered.

‘Wait, wait until I come back, then we will—'

She stilled his mouth with her kisses. She didn't want to wait, wouldn't wait. ‘Tonight, Carrick, before you go. Leave me memories to cherish.'

He reached up and gently pulled the pins from her hair. One by one he removed them, letting her hair fall down across her shoulders. His eyes searched hers and she didn't look away, just stared deep into his blue, almost black, eyes. He trailed his fingers through her hair, sighing softly, then took her face between his hands.

‘I want to be with you.' Even as she spoke his hands moved over her, as though he couldn't help himself. His body tightened, pressing against hers, telling her all she needed to know. There was no need for words. She couldn't think of right and wrong, of the future, of what might be, of tomorrow, there was only now. Need rose within her, strong and urgent, making her tremble as she wrapped herself around him, extinguishing the little niggle of fear inside her. Soon their skin would touch, their bodies communicate. It was all she wanted.

Roisin slid away from him, stretched out her hand and led him to her bed. His arms encircled her, his breath fanning her face, then his lips crushed against hers, his tongue darting and enticing. His hands slid down to her waist and he lifted her, cradling her to his chest as he laid her on her shimmering, silken quilt.

Goosebumps flecked her skin and her fingers trembled as she reached for the tiny buttons running down the front of her blouse.

‘You're cold.' His lips curved a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

‘Not cold.'

She let her hands fall to her side and he finished unbuttoning her blouse, sliding it from her shoulders, kissing her skin softly.

Their mouths met, sweet and hot. Even as her pleasure rose she sensed him holding back. His fingers, sometimes unsteady, skimmed over her as if he feared she might break. Then his hands were on her legs, sliding slowly up beneath her skirt. A flash of panic swirled inside her.

‘Would you be wanting me to stop?' His fingers trickled across her skin. ‘You tell me.'

And he kissed her so gently it made the tears trickle down her cheeks into her hair, damping the pillow beneath her head. She was here in his arms, in the arms of the man she loved. Her choice.

‘I want you,' she murmured, then his mouth found her breast, making her body glow and prickle with anticipation. She had such a hunger for him, something she didn't know existed. Something greedy and desperate.

She pushed back into the familiar softness of her quilt and raised her legs around his waist. When he entered her a flicker of shock swept through her, making her hands fist on the quilt. She bit back a cry as the pain diminished and desire replaced it.