Virginia Henley (39 page)

A
S
autumn turned into winter, Emerald was most thankful that Ireland did not experience freezing ice and snow. There were many days that were damp and raw, and of course the hours of daylight were considerably shortened, but this made the evenings longer.

Most nights Emerald and Sean retired upstairs early, shutting out the world, needing no one but themselves. Sometimes they even dined in their bedchamber and afterward they would play chess, read together companionably, or make love.

Her pregnancy was evident now, but like many small women, she carried it well and did not look clumsy. Her plumpness merely added to her femininity. Sean became more tenderly solicitous and protective as the weeks slipped by, often carrying her, regularly massaging her back and thighs, making her feel totally cherished.

Until now Sean O’Toole had effectively held at bay all thoughts of returning Emerald to her family; it was something he would do in the future. But the future had an implacable way of becoming the present.

Sean had visited his mother’s grave every single day since returning to Ireland after his long imprisonment. He never missed taking fresh flowers and kneeling beneath the willow tree in the walled garden. Of a sudden he began to avoid Kathleen’s grave, as he fought an inner battle. During the
long nights he held Emerald for hours, needing to feel she was there as he restlessly drifted in and out of sleep.

Steeling himself for what he knew he must do was more than difficult, it was one of the hardest things he’d ever faced. He mentally counted, for what seemed the thousandth time, how far along she was. It had been May when she told him of the baby and it was now late November.

By Sean’s calculation she would have the child in February; perhaps early in February. However, he had first made love to her in April, and if she’d conceived immediately it might even arrive in January. The sea voyage could be a risk to her health if he put it off much longer. His tortured thoughts chased each other in circles. One thing was certain: He wanted her with him for Christmas, and he made a firm decision they would spend it together at Greystones. He stubbornly refused to think beyond the festive holiday.

Once his decision was made, Sean put aside all his misgivings, all dark thoughts, by sheer dint of will. As a result his mood lightened considerably and he was able to join in the plans Emerald and the staff were organizing to make this Christmas a joyous occasion.

The big house was gaily decorated with holly, ivy, mistletoe, and evergreen boughs. Tara was once again at Greystones. Maggie, Meggie, and Meagan each came for a month, then Tara insisted it was again her turn. She spent hours in the stillroom making scented candles and bowls of potpourri, as well as distilling liqueurs from pears, quince, and apricots.

All during December, whenever an O’Toole vessel arrived, the FitzGerald crews were invited in to share the festive food Mary Malone prepared from morning till night. Mr. Burke brought ale and whisky up from the cellars and Greystones rang with laughter and music.

Even Shamus allowed Sean or Paddy Burke to bring him down from his watchtower to join the merrymaking. He
teased Emerald unmercifully about being a Christmas pudding and she joined in the banter, giving as good as she got.

In Ireland Christmas Eve was a holy night and at Greystones after the evening meal, everyone went along to church for a carol service and a celebration of midnight Mass. Everyone, that is, except Emerald and Sean. Together they snuffed the candles on the tall fir tree, then Sean lifted her high against his heart and carried her upstairs.

“Do you miss going to church?” she asked softly.

He gave a short bark of laughter. “No. Religion is for the ignorant.”

“I went one day when Nan was here. Father Fitz refused me communion.”

He set her feet to the carpet and stared down at her. “Did you really feel the need to go?”

“I wanted to pray for the baby and for your safety when you sailed out in the storm.”

“You were being fanciful. There is no personal God to watch over us and keep us from harm, Emerald. Adversity taught me to rely on myself, and I have tried to pass that lesson along to you.”

“The priest is angry with you because you have not set foot in church since you returned to Ireland.”

“What did Father Fitz say to you?”

Emerald hesitated, not wanting to repeat the accusations he had flung. Sean cupped her shoulders with compelling hands. “Tell me.”

“He said your soul is blackened with sin, yet you show no contrition.”

Sean laughed, his voice sounding harsh. “He spoke the truth. What else did the old incense-swinger have to say?”

She did not repeat any of the deadly sins the priest cataloged, nor that he said Sean’s god had become vengeance. She was afraid that Sean would freely admit it was all true. Emerald decided to close the subject. She went up on tiptoe
and placed her lips against his. “He told me to use my influence on you.”

“You do that every day and every night.” His voice turned from harsh to husky.

“Ah yes, I have a vast influence on you, right down to your reading material.”

Sean grinned at her and picked up two books from the night-table. One was
The Inferno
by Dante; the other was
The Prince
by Niccolò Machiavelli. Sean resolutely put the books down and picked up the one Emerald was reading. It was
The Decameron.
“Mmm, Boccaccio. Why don’t you use your influence by reading to me?”

He threw the bed pillows down on the rug before the fire and began to disrobe. Emerald undressed and slipped a soft wool robe over her nakedness, not bothering with a night rail. Then she picked up her book and sank down before the inviting fire. Naked, Sean lay down beside her, propping his chin on one powerful fist as his dark gaze licked over her.

Emerald began to read, but her eyes kept straying from the page, drawn to the magnificent male body stretched out beside her. Firelight flickered over his taut belly, long, lean flanks, hard-muscled chest, and wide shoulders.

She returned to the book and read a few more paragraphs. Boccaccio was both sophisticated and candid about the love-laden essentials of romantic mastery. From the corner of her eye she saw Sean’s phallus, which lay along his thigh, awaken and stretch. The head came out of its cowl and Emerald abandoned the book, watching with fascinated delight as he lengthened and thickened.

The desire to touch him and taste him flared in her. Her hands ached to weigh his heavy, hot sac, her fingers wanted to encircle the thick shaft, and her lips longed to kiss the smooth, velvety head that the flames turned to carmine. His eyes had the look of a predatory male animal, which emphasized
his tempting masculinity. He knew what she wanted to do.

“Come,” he invited.

She saw his pulse beating in his throat, then her eyes traveled down his lithe, hard body to watch the pulse throb in the head of his long shaft. She knelt before him and cupped his whole sex in loving hands. Then she brushed her lips across the velvet, sweetly kissing, then gently blowing on him until he began to quiver.

“Go on your knees for me.”

He drew in a swift breath and raised himself so that he was on a level with her beautiful mouth. She began gently, delicately, with the tip of her tongue, touching the tiny opening, then swirling in ever widening circles until she licked the entire engorged head. Holding his testes in one hand, the root of his shaft with the other, she opened her mouth and took him inside the hot, dark cave. She alternately sucked and tongued him, making love sounds that were so erotic, he felt he must explode or die.

Sean tried to hold on to his control to make the exquisite pleasure last all night, but Emerald was so sensually provocative, his control shattered into a million shards. She tasted the first drops of his pearly climax before he arched backward in the throes of release, sending his white-hot seed spurting up across his belly. Emerald opened her robe and pressed her breasts against his hard body until they were slick with his musky male essence.

Sean reached down between her legs to give her release and was amazed to feel her orgasm into his hand the moment he touched her. “My little beauty, you give so generously.” They lay before the fire wanting to stay in each other’s arms forever. Finally, she stirred from her drowsy dreaming.

“I have a gift for you, too, but first, let me bathe you.” “If you like,” she murmured, touching his cheek.

“I like,” he said, scooping her up and carrying her to the bathing room.

The warm bath water was delicious. He held her in his lap and soaped her lavishly, marveling at the satin texture of her smooth skin. “I adore the feel of you against me. You have the most tempting back in the world.”

Emerald smiled. “My front is a little less tempting these days.”

His hands slid over her luscious ripe breasts. “Not true, my beauty. I can’t wait to dry you and rub your satin skin with the rose oil.”

“I can’t wait either,” she admitted.

Sean wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the fire. With infinite patience and tenderness he dried her with the soft towel, then warmed the oil for her massage. When he was done, Emerald reached a languorous hand to caress his cheek. “That was the loveliest present I ever had.”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “That’s not your present.” He got up and went to the drawer of his night table, then came back to kneel before her. “This is,” he said, placing a velvet box in her hands.

She lifted the lid slowly, then gasped at the magnificent jewels within. “Emeralds!” she breathed with reverence. The flames made the gems glow with green fire.

“Happy Christmas, sweetheart.”

Her green eyes were liquid with unshed tears. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I should. No one deserves them more. Emerald, you have given me so much.”

“I hope I can give you a son.” As she put on the earrings and bracelet she did not see the shuttered look come into his eyes. He moved behind her to fasten the necklace about her throat. His voice roughened. “Get some rest, tomorrow will be a full day.”

*   *   *

    
O
n Christmas morning they dragged in the yule log, then it was time to give the staff their gifts. The tenant farmers and their families dropped in one after another, all bearing gifts and receiving the customary O’Toole largesse, which was a generous tradition. Midday, the
Silver Star
docked at the jetty and her crew was invited to Greystones’s Christmas dinner; a feast beyond compare, where the family were joined by the staff.

Captain Liam FitzGerald brought the best Christmas present Sean O’Toole could have wished for. The newly appointed head of the British Admiralty, acting on tips from the FitzGerald captains, had intercepted two vessels belonging to the Montague Line smuggling in illegal French brandy. Because England and France were at war, the Admiralty seized the ships and were about to levy a crippling fine as well.

The captain also had brought a letter from Johnny Montague confirming the information. Sean tucked it into his shirt and went off to look for Paddy and Shamus, wanting to share the news with them immediately. It took him an hour to locate Mr. Burke, whose face looked haggard. Sean recalled he had been in high humor at dinner, sharing toasts and proposing one of his own.

“What’s amiss?” Sean asked the steward.

“It’s Shamus. I can’t find him; he’s gone missing.”

“Strange … he can’t have gone far,” Sean assured him, thinking of the condition of his father’s legs. “Maybe one of the lads took him back to the watchtower.”

They went together, searching the gatehouse and the tower, but found no trace of Shamus. “Christ, ye don’t think he fell down the cellar steps?” Paddy asked with alarm.

“Come on. You check the cellars; I’ll go upstairs.” Sean searched methodically through every room at Greystones, without success. Then, from an upstairs window
overlooking the walled garden, he saw something that knotted his gut. His father’s body lay prone on the ground.

Sean bolted down the stairs, then through the elegant receiving room’s French doors that led to the walled garden. Judas, how long had Shamus been lying on the cold earth? Sean’s steps slowed as he neared his father; the disquieting sounds he was making were terrible to hear.

Shamus lay beside Kathleen’s grave, sobbing uncontrollably. Sean went down on his knees to him, reaching out strong hands to comfort him, but Shamus was inconsolable as he grieved for his beloved wife. Sean intended to carry him away, but the aging man was adamant. “No! I want to be here. I’ve failed her! I vowed to make Montague suffer for what he did to her sons. That broke her heart and she died from it.”

“Father, you are upset because it is Christmas; you miss her more than usual at this time of year.”

“Shut yer mouth! Don’t you understand I miss her every day, every hour? She was the heart and soul of Greystones, the center of my life. They punished me through her. They used my woman to make me suffer; she was my only vulnerability.”

As Sean knelt beside his mother’s grave, guilt’s savage fangs sank into his throat, almost choking him. He knew exactly what his father was talking about. When he first saw his mother’s grave, Sean was so outraged at what their enemy had done, he swore a sacred oath on his knees that he would pay them back in kind. The Montagues would suffer through the woman at the center of their lives. Daughter to one and bride to the other, Emerald was the perfect vessel for his vengeance.

He took Shamus in strong arms and held him close in a powerful embrace. “I pledge you we won’t fail Kathleen FitzGerald O’Toole, Father.”

Shamus’s heart-scalding sobs eventually wore him out.
Sean picked him up and carried him to his bed in the watch-tower. Paddy Burke put heated stones to his feet and Sean called Tara to administer a powerful sleeping draft that she distilled from whisky and the ground-up seed of the white poppy.

    
C
hristmas night Emerald tumbled into bed, exhausted but happy. Sean, Paddy, and Tara conspired to remain silent about Shamus to keep her from unnecessary worry, and Emerald fell asleep immediately.