BlackWind (3 page)

Her dreams were often of him.

She wanted to talk to him, to tell him what she never got a chance to tell him that day three years before. She wanted him to know how sorry she was about what had happened.

“Sean, I—” she began.

“What class are you looking for?” he asked.

“Mrs. Browne's English.”

“It's upstairs.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” he said and turned to go.

“What do you have for sixth period?” she asked, falling into step beside him.

“Why?”

“Just asking.”

He stopped and looked down at her. His stare was intense. “Do you ever dream about me, Bronnie?’ he asked in a silky voice.

She blinked, her face flaming. “W...what?” The heat of his body, the pleasant smell of him, was overpowering and made her legs tremble. She stared into his lean face, into the lightness of his green eyes. “I don't know what you mean.”

He leaned toward her. “I think you do,” he whispered.

She took a step back. When she did, he grinned.

He chuckled. “Go to class, Princess.”

She watched him walk away, his hands deep into the pockets of his old jeans. Fleetingly, she wondered why he carried no books.

The next time she saw him, he was sitting outside Coach Barton's office, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Reclining on the bench as though he owned it, he sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. It had been four days since their encounter in front of the library. Each day, she had diligently searched the halls for him during class changes and became increasingly frustrated when she could not catch sight of him. She had not been able to get him out of her thoughts, though she hadn't really tried.

“Hey,” she said.

He opened one eye. “Hey, yourself. How're things in the kingdom, Princess?”

She arced her chin toward the Dean of Boy's Office. “Are you in trouble?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“I'm always in trouble.” He grinned. “I'm a bad boy, or haven't you heard?”

“What did you do?”

“I punched Dave Cox in gym class,” he replied, staring into her eyes as though he dared her to rebuke him for what he'd done.

“Dave Cox,” she said in a flat voice. “My Dave Cox?”

Something evil moved in his eyes; his mouth tightened. “I wasn't aware he belonged to you,” he snapped and drew in his legs to push erect on the bench.

“He's my friend, and I know you know that.”

“Aye, I have the scars on my ass to remind me.”

She flinched. “I'm sorry about that. I never—”

“Don't apologize, Bronwyn. Don't ever apologize to me for anything.”

“But—”

The door to Coach Barton's office opened and the Dean of Boy's stuck his head into the hallway. “Let's go, Cullen,” he said, his round face hard as flint.

Sean sprang up from the bench and, without a backward glance at Bronwyn, walked past Coach Barton and into the Dean's office. The door closed behind him with a snap.

Bronwyn stood there a moment longer, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. She wanted to wait, to be there when Sean was released from the Dean's office, but she knew she couldn't. She'd been on her way to the restroom and if she dallied much longer, Mrs. Gentry would send someone to look for her.

She was about to turn away when she heard the popping sound coming from the office.

She stilled, her hand going to her mouth. The unmistakable sound of the paddle being applied was one every student recognized. Not immediately realizing she was doing it, she counted the hits: eight, nine, ten.

The door opened and Sean walked out, his jaw clenched as tightly as the fists at his side. He seemed to look right through her as he walked past, but when he got about five feet away, he stopped.

“Meet me at Burdette's after school,” he said without turning to look at her. When she didn't answer, he jerked around. “Did you hear me?”

She nodded. Her heart thundered. “I'll be there.”

Her palms were suddenly sweaty, her legs weak. She watched him until he entered one of the classrooms at the end of the hall. It was the detention class and she had a feeling he was going to be there for a few days—if not weeks—to come.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur. As the hands of the big clock on the wall of her Biology class crept slowly toward 3:15, she grew more and more restless. She had licked her lips so many times they were fast becoming chapped. Her skirt was wrinkled from the repeated drag of her sweaty palms against the fabric. When the bell rang, she nearly jumped out of her seat.

Without taking time to think, she hurried out of the classroom to the school's west entrance, where she knew her mother would be parked, waiting for her.

“I gotta go to town,” she said when she got into the car.

“Not today,” her mother replied, starting the engine. “I promised your Aunt Doris I would—”

“Mama, please! I
have
to go to town!”

“To do what?”

“I gotta go to Burdette's.”

“Again, to do what?”

She locked eyes with her mother. “To see a boy.”

Deirdre McGregor's eyebrows shot up into the thick chestnut of her bouffant hairdo. “Oh, really?” she drawled. “And just who is this young man?”

“He's my soul mate,” Bronwyn said fiercely. “The man I am going to marry one day!”

Her mother sat back in the seat. “I see. Is this someone of whom you believe your father and I would approve?”

Bronwyn's face puckered in a frown. “Probably not, but it doesn't matter.”

“Oh, I'm quite certain it
will
matter to your father.”

“Mama, please! I have to meet him. I swore to him I would. I have to keep my word!”

Deirdre shook her head. “I'm not ready for this,” she said with a long sigh and put the car in gear. She cast her daughter an exasperated look. “You'd better tell me who he is.”

Bronwyn crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt. “Sean Cullen.”

Deirdre pulled out into the traffic. “The butcher's son.”

“I love him, Mama.”

Her mother made no comment, but Bronwyn couldn't overlook the tightening of Deirdre McGregor's hands on the steering wheel or the look of shock in her hazel eyes.

“Mama, please?” Bronwyn beseeched.

Deirdre chewed on her lip for a long moment, remembering something her older sister had once said about her own daughter:
"When I forbid Siobhan to do something, she always finds a way to do it anyway. Saying no is like waving a red flag at her, like you're daring her to do whatever the heck she wanted to in the first place. Teenage-girls are like that, DeeDee, especially where boys are concerned. Forbid them to see a boy she thinks she can't live without and she'll end up pregnant just to spite you! I've learned to let her date whomever she wants and just hope he does something to show her his true colors before it's too late."

“Mama?” Bronwyn pressed.

“This is against my better judgment,” Deirdre said.

As she pulled in front of the ten-cent store, Deirdre clenched her jaw. She was not good at parallel parking and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she managed to angle her car into the slot.

Bronnie leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you!”

She was out of the car before Deirdre could reply.

He was sitting at the lunch counter when Bronnie entered. He did not look at her as she took the seat beside him. “We'll have trouble with your mother and father,” he said, poking his straw up and down in his Cherry Coke.

Bronnie nodded. “You may be right.”

“I know I am and you know it, too.”

She swiveled her stool to faced him. “How does that make you feel, Sean?”

He turned his gaze fully upon her. “It doesn't matter. I'm used to people telling me what I can and can't do. What I can and can't have.”

“What is it you want?”

He smiled. “To be with you.”

Bronwyn blushed and ducked her head. “I want to be with you, too.”

“We'll be together one day, Bronnie. I swear.”

She looked at his unsmiling face. “Do you believe in destiny?”

He leaned his arms against the counter. “I believe what is meant to be will be.”

“So you think you and I were meant to meet?”

“As surely as the wind blows, a
ghrá mo chroí."

Bronnie grinned. “That's Gaelic.”

“Aye. Do you know what it means?”

“
Chroí
means heart,” she replied, proud of her knowledge.

“
Ghrá
means love,” he said softly. “The phrase is ‘love of my heart.'”

Her eyes widened. “Love of my heart.”

“As you will always be,” he said, holding her gaze.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I love you, too.”

He looked down the counter and his eyes narrowed. “Hey!” he called out. “You have a customer down here. You think you can tear yourself away from lover boy long enough to take her order?”

The waitress turned away from the uniformed Air Force serviceman with whom she was flirting. “Hold your water, sonny. I'm coming!”

“Did you hear me?” Bronnie asked, a little embarrassed by his rudeness to the waitress, but exhilarated by his show of authority. She was not prepared for his answer.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you. You are mine, Bronwyn McGregor.”

A chill went through Bronnie; she shivered. “You think so, do you?”

“You understood that long ago.” He glanced at her. “Didn't you tell your mother so?”

“Soul mates,” she agreed, liking the sound of the words. “Destined to be together.” She didn't question how he knew what she had told her mother, even though another chill traveled down her spine.

He reached out to cup her right cheek. “Never fear me, Bronnie. For as long as we draw breath, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“What can I getcha?” the woman behind the counter asked as she sidled up. Popping her gum, she pulled the order pad from the pocket of her apron.

“A Cherry Coke to go,” Sean answered for Bronnie. He wasn't looking at the waitress, but through the front window of the variety store.

“Is my mama staring at us?” Bronnie asked.

“If looks could kill, I'd be a pile of ashes,” he said and turned so he faced the back of the counter.

“Daddy will no doubt have a talk with me tonight,” she sighed.

“About the unacceptable company you won't be allowed to keep.”

“I don't care what they say, Sean,” she said fiercely. “If we have to hide our love, then—”

The waitress came back with Bronnie's drink. “You got a real anxious boyfriend here, sweetie,” she said. “He ‘bout wore a hole through the glass lookin’ for you.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the counter and affording Sean a good look down the front of her white uniform. “'Course if I had a boy as cute as this one a'waitin’ on me, I'd make sure I hurried up to get to ‘im.” She flicked her tongue across lips.

“Get out of my face,” Sean sneered.

“Care to try a woman instead of a little girl, handsome?” the waitress cooed.

Sean glared at the woman, but she just winked at him, laughed, and headed back to her serviceman.

“That's what my mama calls a brazen woman, I guess,” Bronnie said, her face flaming. She took a long sip of her Cherry Coke.

“That is what your mama would call a whore,” Sean countered, digging into the pocket of his jeans for money to pay for Bronnie's drink. He slapped the coins on the counter.

Bronnie didn't reply. She sat there sipping her Coke, her eyes glued to the ice in the glass.

“If I gave you a token of my love for you, would you wear it?” he asked.

Bronnie was stunned, completely unprepared for the question. She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Aye, I'm serious, woman.”

She turned to look at the nearby jewelry counter, where several rows of friendship rings twinkled in the glass case.

“Not one of those,” he said irritably. “This.”

She looked down at his outstretched palm. Nestled there was an octagonal silver disk, its edges braided with intricately intertwined Celtic knot work. At the top of the pendant was a trinity triangle: three triangles interlaced into one. Below that were symbols that looked familiar to her.

“It's called a Claddagh,” he told her. “This is a very special Celtic wedding amulet.”

She cocked her head. “I think my granny has a ring with these symbols on it.”

“She most likely does. But this one is one of a kind. It belonged to my grandmother. Her husband was a silversmith and he made it for her for their Joining day.”

“What do the symbols mean?” She reached out to trace the engraved hands, heart, and crown on the charm.

“Will you accept it?”

She looked into his eyes, her finger still on the charm lying in his palm. “Yes.”

“And all that it means?”

“Which is?”

“Put your trust in me, Bronwyn. And know I will never do anything to harm you.”

She took a deep, quivering breath. “All right. Yes, I will accept it and all that it means.”

“The amulet is silver, for that is the metal of purity to designate love in its purest form. The intertwined knot work around the edges represents eternity, the linking of our lives through the ages. It was placed there to remind the one who wears it that the love of he who gave it would never end. The unbroken lines of the Trinity Knot triangle symbolize spiritual growth, eternal life, and never-ending love. It also symbolizes the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Celts believe all life is reincarnated, that we are continually re-born after we leave this world. If you love a woman in this life, you will love her in the next.”

He took her wrist, turned it, and placed the amulet in her palm. He closed her fingers around it.

“I have bared my heart to you, Bronwyn Fionna McGregor. From my hand into yours do I place it, crowned with my eternal love and devotion.” He squeezed her fingers. “Wear my heart close to yours and we will never be apart, for where my heart goes, so will I.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “Let love and friendship reign,” he whispered.

Tears filled Bronnie's eyes. She could feel the warmth of the amulet tingling in her palm. When he released her hand and turned away, she wanted to throw her arms around him and press her mouth to his.