Call Home the Heart (6 page)

 

 

"What about your sister? Tell me about her, unless of course it's
too personal," Muireann said shyly, recalling how brooding he had
looked earlier that morning when she had mentioned Barnakilla.

 

 

But Lochlainn smiled now. "Ciara is a very talented young woman,
bright, intelligent, excellent at sewing, cooking, cleaning. She
kept house for Augustine for a time, though of late she's been
taking in sewing and laundry."

 

 

"Oh, why is that?"

 

 

Lochlainn neatly avoided the subject by saying, "Almost there."

 

 

He absentmindedly tucked a stray lock of hair back into Muireann's
bonnet, his long, warm fingers stroking her petal-soft cheek
lightly.

 

 

He smiled. "There, pretty as a picture."

 

 

Then he nearly kicked himself as he realized he had blurted out
something so suggestive to the lady just before her husband's
funeral. But she seemed to take no notice of his compliment, and
merely thanked him as she tugged on her gloves.

 

 

He got out of the carriage first, and lifted Muireann down, holding
onto her under the arms, close to his long lean body, until he was
certain she had her feet firmly planted under her. Then he took her
arm, and escorted her to the graveside. There he wrapped her in the
voluminous folds of his cloak, pressing her close enough against his
front for her to be acutely aware of his masculine strength
throughout the ceremony.

 

 

Really, Lochlainn was the most extraordinary man, kind, tender and
smiling one moment, brooding and arrogant the next. She was glad,
however, that he couldn't see her face, for it was almost as though
the bitter weather had frozen up her tears. She remained dry-eyed
throughout the funeral, so that Father Brennan kept casting anxious
looks at her as she stood numbly, no trace of emotion apparent in
her face.

 

 

As she knelt to put the first handful of soil on the coffin, Father
Brennan caught Lochlainn's eye, and indicated he should come into
the vestry for a moment afterwards.

 

 

"Muireann, would you like to come inside, while they fill the
grave?" Lochlainn asked softly, bending his head towards hers.

 

 

"No, really, I'll be fine in the carriage," she said, the tears
beginning to well up as she wondered what she was going to do now.

 

 

He conducted her to the carriage and helped her into it.

 

 

"Settle yourself in there. I'll be back in a moment. I just have to
give Father Brennan a bit of money for the poor box for his
troubles."

 

 

 

"What's wrong?" Lochlainn asked without preamble as he entered the
vestry.

 

 

"I'm just a bit worried about that poor young girl, that's all. She
seems to be holding all of her grief in, trying to be brave. It's
not good for her."

 

 

"Well, grief takes all forms," Lochlainn said with an uncomfortable
shrug. "I can tell you she certainly cried herself to sleep last
night."

 

 

"I know, but all the same, don't let her overdo things."

 

 

He scowled blackly.  "I'm hardly in a position to tell her what
to do, now am I? After all, I'm only the hired help."

 

 

"You know what I mean, so don't be disingenuous. Make sure if she
does decide to go back to Barnakilla with you that you don't allow
her to overtax her strength."

 

 

Lochlainn sighed. "I'll look after Muireann, Father, I promise. She
doesn't deserve any of this. I'll do everything I can to help her if
she does decide to come home with me."

 

 

"Very well. Go now, before she freezes out there. Good luck to you
both then, and may God be with you."

 

 

"Amen to that, Father," Lochlainn assented wholeheartedly, crossing
himself. Then he headed back to the waiting carriage.

 

 

That unpleasant duty done, the estate manager had a far more
distasteful one to perform. He knew he would have to do it as soon
as they got back to the Gresham if they were to be out of their room
by six.

 

 

Watery January sunlight filtered though the coach windows as they
rode back together in silence.

 

 

"It looks like more snow," she observed forlornly as she huddled
against Lochlainn for warmth.

 

 

He put his arm around her. "I was thinking, you know, that we really
ought to consider heading back to Barnakilla. After all, the weather
could get worse, and you might be more comfortable there than at a
hotel."

 

 

This was a complete fabrication, of course, but it was one way of
broaching the subject of their leaving soon without disclosing the
whole truth before he was sure Muireann was ready to hear it.

 

 

She still felt uneasy about the magnitude of her decision to go to
Barnakilla. After all, it would be like cutting her last tie with
the past if she ventured into the complete unknown with this
enigmatic stranger. At the same time, she knew beyond a doubt what
waited for her back at Fintry.

 

 

She sighed and rested her head against the squabs of the seat. For a
time she stared up at the ceiling.

 

 

At length she replied, "I suppose you're right. There's no sense in
putting off unpleasant things, is there? I have to be an adult about
all this, accept my responsibilities to Barnakilla as Augustine's
wife."

 

 

"You're doing fine so far."

 

 

Muireann looked up at him and gave an uncertain smile. "I know this
might sound odd to you, Lochlainn, but I've always felt I was
destined for important things. I mean, I've never spent all my time
dreaming about who I would marry, the house I would have, balls,
parties. I always dreamed of adventure, of doing something on my
own, without my parents or anyone else dictating to me. I must sound
rather dull to you. Or arrogant."

 

 

"No, not at all. Go on," he urged.

 

 

"Well, Augustine never told me very much about Barnakilla, just that
he needed a good wife to run his household. I mean, I'm not saying I
was being mercenary, that I married him for the estate. You mustn't
think that."

 

 

"I don't." If you had, child, you certainly would be in for a big
disappointment, he thought sardonically.

 

 

"It was the challenge. I mean, here was a man who swept me off my
feet, who said he needed me, loved me. It all seemed too good to be
true for a girl like me, plain and silly as I am. I should have
known my happiness wouldn't last. But having seen this rosy vista
laid out for me in my mind's eye, how can I go back to Fintry, to my
old life? I married Augustine for a whole welter of reasons, not
simply because I thought I might be falling in love. Those reasons
still hold true. So I need your honest opinion now," she stated as
she looked up at him searchingly.

 

 

"About what, my dear?"

 

 

"Am I making a mistake in thinking that a foolish girl like myself
could make a difference to Barnakilla? Is it just stupid pride that
makes me believe I might actually be able to run an estate, if you
were willing to teach me, and pick me up when I stumble and fall
flat as I shall no doubt do?"

 

 

The coach pulled up in front of the hotel just then. Lochlainn
looked at her earnestly. Taking one of her delicate hands in his
own, he vowed, "You're not ugly, foolish or silly.  I know you
can make a difference, Muireann. I'm certain of it. And I promise,
I'll never leave you, not for as long as you ever need me. I give
you my word."

 

 

Her amethyst eyes gazed up into his steel-gray ones which stared
down at her so piercingly, and all her doubts melted like snow in
the sunshine.

 

 

"Then let's go upstairs and pack. Tell Paddy the driver to get a few
items ready for our journey."

 

 

Lochlainn swung her down from the coach then, and trailed after her
up to their room. Once inside, she immediately moved to pack her
case, but he took her gently by the arm, and asked her to sit down
with him for a moment.

 

 

Muireann blinked in surprise. "If you're worried about my having
made my mind up too abruptly in the coach . . ."

 

 

"I am, but not for the reason you think," he said as he seated her
by the rapidly dying fire. "I have to be honest with you. I want our
relationship to be completely candid if I'm to help you through
this."

 

 

"Fine," she agreed, suddenly feeling a prickle of unease at the base
of her spine.

 

 

"All right. I hate to have to tell you this so soon after
Augustine's death, but the truth of the matter is that Barnakilla is
nearly bankrupt."

 

 

Muireann's eyes widened and she began to laugh bitterly.

 

 

He was too astonished for words at her strange reaction. He had
expected horror, dismay, but never amusement.

 

 

"It isn't funny, you know! The estate is in desperate shape. If you
don't try to help us, Muireann, we'll all be turned off the land!"
Lochlainn rose to pace the floor in his agitation.

 

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." Muireann shook her head. "It's
just that, well, I couldn't imagine how things could get any worse
than they were just a minute ago. Now I know. You see, I'm penniless
as well. My father gave Augustine thousands for my dowry, and he
went on a gambling spree and frittered it all away as soon as we
were married. I have virtually nothing in my purse. I hate to even
think where I'm going to get the money to pay for the funeral."

 

 

"I've taken care of that," Lochlainn said quietly, trying to ignore
his churning stomach and the bile which had risen to his throat. If
Augustine hadn't already been dead, he would most assuredly have
strangled him with his bare hands.

 

 

"And the hotel bill?"

 

 

"That as well, but we have to be out of here by six."

 

 

"I knew it was too good to be true, like a fairytale." She sniffed.
"And to think, all my life my father tried to protect me from
fortune hunters, only to let one walk right through his door and
carry me off to God only knows where!" She began to laugh again,
shaking her head ruefully.

 

 

"Muireann, I'm sure that Augustine--"

 

 

"No, Lochlainn, don't even start to try to make me feel better about
all this," she practically shouted, hugging her arms to herself as
she gazed bleakly into the fire.

 

 

"Well, what did I expect," she sighed after a few minutes. "I made
my bed, I'll have to lie in it. I wasn't blind to Augustine's
faults. I married him, and I'll just have to suffer the
consequences."

 

 

"No you don't. You can go back to Scotland, admit you made a
mistake."

 

 

"That's the last thing I would ever consider doing!" she said in
exasperation as she rose and moved to look out the window at the
snowy streets below.

 

 

Suddenly the room began to close in around her. And Lochlainn had
said they would have to leave that night.

 

 

As he came to join her by the window, she asked him bluntly, "What
did you use to pay all the bills?"

 

 

"All of Augustine's clothes and jewelry," he admitted.

 

 

"I see."

 

 

"I would have told you, but you seemed so devastated," he apologized
lamely, spreading his hands wide.

 

 

She shrugged one shoulder. "I can't blame you. You did what you felt
needed to be done. You were only trying to protect me. Did you at
least get a good price for them?"

 

 

 He nodded. "There's a fair pawn broker in Sackville Street who
gave me a good price."

 

 

"Is there any money left?"

 

 

"Enough to put us up in a modest inn on our way back to Enniskillen,
but no more."

 

 

She digested this information for a few minutes, drumming her
fingers on the window pane, like a tiny bird futilely trying to peck
its way to freedom.

 

 

After a few more minutes' contemplation, she said, "Tell me, is
there a good livery stable here in town?"

 

 

He looked down at her inquiringly. "Aye, there are two or three that
I know of personally."

 

 

"And is there a public coach to Barnakilla?"

 

 

"It goes as far as Enniskillen. The estate is another nine miles
from there."

 

 

"How does the coach travel to Enniskillen?"

 

 

"It goes through Virginia Town, where the passengers spend the
night."

 

 

She gave a last look out the window, and moved to where her trunks
stood. "What time would it go?"

 

 

"There are two each day. The last one is at two. But why?"

 

 

"Never mind that now, come help me with these bags," Muireann said.

 

 

"Why, what are you going to do?"

 

 

"Sell it all."

 

 

"But Muireann, your clothes," he protested, shocked.

 

 

"They're all new, my trousseau. I didn't even want them, but my
mother and sister insisted. I don't need so many dresses. All of my
most important items are in these two small bags here. I have this
dress I'm wearing, so if I take two or three more warm practical
ones out of the bags, and my more personal items, we can sell the
rest."