His Heart's Home (5 page)

“Settle down there, sweet one,” he said gently, taking a curious step in the direction that Sean and Ciaran had disappeared, “Your mama will be back soon.”

Thankfully, Mary did as she was told, sticking her fist into her mouth and suckling it vigorously.  In the silence, Duncan craned his ears
- and wished that he hadn’t.

“…don’t! Please! It isn’t what you think!”

“
Lying witch…with me own eyes!”

Duncan’s breath caught in his throat, and his stomach clenched in dread as he
thought
he heard a sound of crashing, and then a muffled sob.

Sean
wouldn’t
hurt Ciaran - would he?

Duncan’s heart began to beat more quickly in his chest as he pondered the question. No one had mentioned that
Connelly had a violent temper, but, no one knew him very well. It would certainly explain a lot.

“
-on your back…all you’re good for
!”

Duncan’s hands balled into fists as he heard another crash and a terrified shriek
. He had to do something. Duncan took three steps into the woods - and then stopped. What would happen if his suspicions were wrong? How would he explain the intrusion, and could it make matters even worse? Duncan was painfully conscious that his presence was the trigger for this outburst. His meddling might only make matters worse. Besides, even though it left him sickened and went against everything he’d been taught about honor and respect, it was still a man’s right to beat his wife if he deemed it proper. He should probably leave them alone. There were the children to think of too, but what if Ciaran was suffering because of
him?
It was against his nature to abandon a woman in distress.

Duncan felt sick with indecision.   He was still debating what to do when Sean stalked back out of the woods.

“Stay away from my wife, MacRae!” he spat simply, and then continued on without a backwards glance.

He was p
robably in a rush to get back to his bottle,
Duncan thought with distaste, smelling the whiskey on the other man and noticing his unsteady gate as he walked back in the direction he’d come.

Duncan
itched
to go after Sean.  If he hadn’t still been holding Mary then he might very well have done so.
To what end, though?
The question taunted him.  Ciaran
was
the man’s wife, much to Duncan’s disgust, but even that didn’t wholly explain the fact he had taken a strong, instant disliking to the man.  Duncan’s
thoughts
might not have been entirely honest towards Ciaran, but his
actions
had been completely innocent.  Sean Connelly didn’t have any grounds on which to base any supposed offense, and Duncan didn’t think he could turn a blind eye to the slur that had been cast against his character.

“I’ll take Mary back now.”

Duncan was scowling after Sean, but he turned at the sound of Ciaran’s voice.  What he saw made him start with horror.

“My God!”

The words flew from Duncan’s lips before he could stop them.  Ciaran’s lip was split and bloody, and the side of her face had obviously been struck.  Her skin was an angry red at the moment, but it would be bruised black and blue in no time at all.  She had loosened her hair and kept her head bowed, but it was impossible for her to hide all the evidence of the beating she must have just endured.

“Can I have Mary please?” she demanded, her voice shaking but sharp.

“I- I didn’t-” Duncan stammered, but he could hardly remember how to speak.  He didn’t think that he had ever seen a woman’s beautiful face bloody and bruised before. The knowledge that it was because of
him
made him physically ill. He wanted to kill Sean Connelly, but his own sense of self-loathing had paralyzed his limbs.

“Please?”
Ciaran begged, holding out her arms for the baby.  She took the child from Duncan’s unresisting grip and called Aidan closer to her.  “Go now,” she said to Duncan, not able to meet his eyes.  “You can’t be here.”

“But-”

Duncan still didn’t have full control over himself.  He couldn’t believe any man could raise a hand against this defenseless woman.  He knew there were men out there who considered it their right, but he had never imagined such a small thing might stir a man to such mindless anger.  How could he leave Ciaran, knowing her husband was liable to come back and do the same again?

“Please?”
Ciaran implored him, and Mary started to cry.  She held the baby close, cradling her in trembling arms.  “Please go?  Before you make it worse?” she begged breathlessly.

“I didn’t know I’d done wrong,” Duncan said regretfully, his soul aching for the pain he had unwittingly caused her.

“Go,”
Ciaran sighed.  “And please don’t say anything to anyone?” she asked quietly.  “Sean- Sean isn’t- he isn’t a
bad
man,” she added, although she didn’t sound terribly convincing.  “It was my own fault.”  Duncan was too affected by
that
claim to even find his voice.  “Now please, you must go!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go,” Ciaran repeated, raising a hand to her forehead in despair.

The Scotsman hesitated a moment longer, but she refused to meet his eyes
, ignoring him completely in the hopes he would take a hint. Her entire body sagged in relief when he finally turned and walked away. A wave of humiliation crashed around her in his wake, the pain of it was almost harder to bear than the physical punishment Sean had rained down on her body. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. What must MacRae think of her? That she was peasant trash? That she was the whore Sean accused her of playing? That she had gotten what she deserved?

No!

The denial rose instantly in her mind.

Whatever he might think of
her
, the disgust MacRae felt for her husband’s behavior had been clear.

It was
his
fault
another voice argued, struggling against the desire to think well of the Scot.
 
That much was true. Why hadn’t Duncan simply sent Liam on his way? The boy wasn’t really hurt badly after all.

Ciaran knew the answer to that question
too. At least, she thought she did. What she couldn’t understand is why the thought of Duncan MacRae lusting after her body didn’t fill her with disgust the same as when other men leered at her chest and propositioned her with their eyes.

Duncan was
different
.

Ciaran was ashamed of the thought, but she couldn’t quite dismiss it. There was a kindness in his eyes she wanted so desperately to believe was genuine
. He was a man - therefore, not to be trusted - but it was still true some men were better than others, and she felt, intuitively, that Duncan was better than most.

All men wanted the same thing.
Ciaran shuddered as she replayed the too-recent memories of Sean’s hands groping her as he used her body, but even the thought of
satisfying
Duncan MacRae’s carnal lust (she was a wicked, unchristian woman to even have the thought!) sounded bearable in return for his good qualities.

He was handsome
. That was a shallow consideration, but still true. Sean had been a fine looking man once, but time and drink had aged his face. By the time he dragged Ciaran into his bed, he was already haggard and worn.

Mr. MacRae didn’t have a problem with drink, at least not that she’d heard
. The group was cohabitating so closely she thought she knew almost everyone’s foibles by now. That was another mark in his favor. How wonderful it would be not to deal with a mercurial temper, or to spend every night sitting up, wondering when your husband would make it home from the pub, and secretly praying he
didn’t
.

Duncan MacRae was
a kind man, or at least he had been kind to the children. Liam was afraid of most men. His father had taught him that, but Duncan slipped through his defenses and made him smile. Ciaran
had
to like him for that, even if he
was
using the children to get to her, he seemed to genuinely care.

It was no wonder that the MacRae’s respected Duncan so much. They revered him as their leader, even now
, and Ciaran had to admit, she was attracted to his power. Even in his prime, Sean Connelly had never been the sort of man others would follow. She liked the idea of the control the Scottish Laird could wield. She thought it would make her feel safe. It had been so long since she’d felt that way.

Ciaran shuddered as she pulled her head back out of the clouds, back to the harsh reality of what her life actually
was
, rather than what she wanted it to be. She had to finish the washing, and then get supper on. Sean was in such a foul mood. His temper was like black powder, the tiniest spark of inconvenience might set him off again. She didn’t fancy another beating, and she’d especially hate to risk his lighting in to one of the kids! He’d been so hard on them lately, Ryan especially. She was afraid of what he might do. So, pushing Duncan MacRae firmly out of her mind, Ciaran got back to work.

..ooOOoo..

Duncan was still shaking with unspent rage when he wandered back to camp. His eyes darted around the camp, and he was grateful he didn’t see Sean. He was afraid of what he might do if he did.

The sun was beginning to set. A party of men who had gone hunting returned with their afternoon
catch. They had taken a fine twelve-point buck that they set to dressing and preparing for the evening meal.

This was the last night they would all sleep easy. In the morning, when they forded the river, they were truly in the frontier. Indian country lay on the other side, conjuring up stories and visions which made even the most dauntless man wary, Duncan included.

One of the Irishmen took out a fiddle, and Frasure Cameron found his pipes.  Together, the musicians picked out a lively jig, and a few of the couples began to dance. Laughter and the smell of food filled the air, creating an atmosphere of merriment Duncan couldn’t join. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ciaran.

There had to be some way to show her how sorry he was, to make her understand that he hadn’t meant any harm
. It would be easiest simply to apologize, but he didn’t dare go near her again.

He
tried once again to push her out of his mind - but that was far easier said than done. He wanted to protect her, to
save
her, even if it wasn’t his place.

Duncan sat on a fallen log and put his head in his hands, trying to devise a plan. He wasn’t left alon
e long enough to find success. He was seated for less than a moment before Ross hailed him and invited him to join them all for supper.

“In a moment,” Duncan called back. He wasn’t hungry
, but he knew better than to skip a meal. The daily travel was grueling, even from the back of a horse, and he needed to keep up his strength. He stood and walked to his saddlebag, then reached inside to retrieve his plate and spoon and paused when his fingers brushed a little burlap bag.

It was a gift of
lemon suckets, presented to him by his little nephew, Samuel, who was horrified by the notion that there would be no sweetmeats in Ken-tuh-keh. Duncan didn’t care much for the sugary fruits, but he was too touched by the gift (he
knew
with so many mouths to feed, his younger brother didn’t afford his children much of an allowance) he hadn’t been able to turn it down. Perhaps Ciaran’s children would like to have them? It wasn’t
exactly
an apology, but it was a start.

Deciding on this course of action, Duncan glanced across the clearing at the Connelly wagon. Ciaran hadn’t returned from the riverbank, and Sean was sitting by the fire, drinking and laughing with some of his friends. Duncan decided to seize his chance. Hiding the bag in the palm of his hand, he hurried to the wagon and, using its bulk to hide his frame, peeked beneath its oilcloth cover. It didn’t take long to spy what he was after. Four rambunctious boys left Ciaran with a mountain of mending. Almost every night she took out her little basket and worked as she sat by the fire. It was the only place Duncan could think of to leave the gift where only she would find it. He lifted the lid, slipped the candy inside, and then hurried back to his own side of the camp, half hidden behind a wagon wheel so he could watch and wait unseen.

Evening was drawing in when Ciaran returned to camp. Mary was slung across her hip and Aidan clung to her skirts while Ryan carried the washing and Avery and Liam walked beside the others. In his observations, Duncan had witnessed a similar scene two dozen times. Tonight, however, the entire family seemed muted. He wondered if something had happened to the boys as well.

Ciaran’s hair was still unbound.  He wondered if she’d washed it in the river, because it hung around her hair in long heavy streamers that looked dark now that the sun was nearly gone.

The dimness hid most of the woman’s injuries, though she was walking with a faint limp. Duncan pursed his lips in concern and kept watching as she draped the clean laundry over the edge of the wagon to dry, and then went to stir the pot of stew she’d set on for supper before she left.