Dark of the Moon (32 page)

Cormac and Rory grinned at this sally, and after a moment Liam did too. Caitlyn felt a blush suffuse her cheeks at their masculine amusement, which she somehow felt was at her expense.

"If he wants to kiss her he can always tell us to go to the devil, you know." Rory, seeing her blush, grinned wickedly at her. Caitlyn, feeling more at ease now that one of them was treating her with the same teasing affection that they had always shown her, wrinkled her nose at him and returned her attention to her porridge, which had gone cold. After a single taste, she put her spoon back in the bowl and pushed it aside. Mrs. McFee removed it with an audible sniff.

"She's done now, Conn. You can give it to her." Cormac had noticed Caitlyn's rejection of what was left of her breakfast.

Connor frowned at his youngest brother. "This is one of those occasions on which a small amount of privacy might be called for," he said, while his eyes found Caitlyn's, who was looking at him enquiringly. His lips never moved, but she had the impression that he was smiling into her eyes with great tenderness. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away.

"Lord, Conn, don't go all syrupy on us. 'Tis scary to see a strong man brought so low, it truly is." Cormac pushed his chair away from the table, sounding hugely entertained. Connor spared a quelling look for his brother. Rory and Liam grinned, but stood up too.

"Methinks he's already gotten the knack of telling us to go to the devil," Rory said. Liam nodded agreement, and the three of them withdrew.

Connor stood up. He was wearing the rough-textured brown riding coat he often wore about the farm, over a white collarless shirt and buff breeches. It occurred to Caitlyn, watching him as he reached into the pocket of his coat, that he looked younger and more carefree than she had ever seen him. The tiny lines about his eyes had eased and his mouth was relaxed, almost smiling even in repose. Broad-shouldered and lithe and overwhelmingly handsome, he came around the table toward her, holding something in his hand.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand," he said gruffly as he reached her side. Caitlyn did as he asked. He took her hand in his and slid something over her finger. At the feel of cool metal sliding toward her knuckle, she could contain herself no longer. Her eyes popped open, then grew huge as she saw the ring he was pushing down her finger. It was an enormous golden topaz set in a sunburst of diamonds each as large as the nail on her little finger. Dazzled, she stared at it.

" 'Tis the betrothal ring of the Earls of Iveagh," he said. "My mother wore it last."

"Oh, Connor," she breathed. Then she came out of her chair to throw herself at him, her arms going around his neck. At the unexpected impact he staggered a pace backward, his hands closing on her waist to steady her. She pressed fervent kisses to his smooth-shaven jaw, hugging him fiercely. He smiled at her excitement and stroked the long tail of hair that fell down her back. Finally his arms slid around her waist to pull her close. She lifted her face for his kiss.

At the first touch of his lips she trembled, and rose up on tiptoe to press wantonly against the hard length of him. He kissed her long and thoroughly, tilting her back against his arm so that her head rested on his shoulder. When at last Connor put her from him, her knees were shaking and her breathing was uneven. A bright gleam came into his eyes as he looked down at her, and then he placed another quick kiss on her swollen lips. Held a little away from him, she gazed up into those light eyes and whispered, "I love you." His hands tightened on her arms, his head lowered, and she thought he was going to kiss her again.

The sound of clapping brought her head whipping around and made Connor lift his. At the sight of his three brothers applauding wildly from the doorway, Connor scowled, while she turned fiery red. Then Caitlyn had to smile at the grinning trio she had come to consider almost as much her brothers as his.

"Next time I'll make sure to shut the door," Connor growled, but his frown had quickly changed to an almost sheepish grin.

"We thought you might want witnesses at some later date, in case she decides to throw you over for a better prospect," Rory told him. Liam came forward to offer Connor his hand.

"We wish you happy, Conn," Liam said as Connor took his brother's hand, pumped it, grinned, and then enfolded him in a big bear hug. Rory and Cormac added their voices, hands, and hugs to Liam's. Then Caitlyn came in for her share of hugs and kisses from the brothers, who cast sly looks at Connor as they held her close and pressed their lips to her cheeks. Connor laughed and threatened, and by the time they let her go, Caitlyn was both rosy and teary-eyed with happiness.

Hours later, Caitlyn was still in a happy daze. As she performed the hated indoor chores that fell to her lot because the steadily falling rain precluded the work in the garden with which she had meant to occupy the day, she took every chance to admire her ring. It was so heavy that her hand felt as if it were weighted down, and it was a trifle loose. Her greatest fear was that it might fall off and she might lose it. The thought made her shudder, and she vowed to tell Connor to have it made smaller as soon as he could. Even Mrs. McFee's scowling silence could not pierce the fog of her happiness. With the solid proof of his ring on her finger, Caitlyn could really allow herself to believe in what had happened: Connor had asked her to be his wife.

Connor too was extraordinarily cheerful as he went about the myriad tasks that were necessary to the running of a sheep farm. When, later that afternoon, he discovered that Rory had inadvertently left the lid off a barrel of seed intended for spring planting and that a pair of hungry sheep had tipped it over, destroying what they did not eat, Connor's only response was a shrug and a philosophical "Well, now, these things will happen." Rory, slack-jawed with relief, called down blessings on the power of love. This did earn him a sharp look from his brother, but a wry grin followed on its heels.

"You should be thanking your lucky stars, halfling," Connor told him. "Were I in my right mind, I'd be taking the cost of that seed out of your hide."

" 'Tis Caitlyn I'm thanking, and not stars at all," Rory retorted, smiling back at his brother.

Cormac, who was dosing sheep and had witnessed the entire incident, shook his head.

"When will it wear off, I wonder? Caitlyn is bound to put you out of temper sooner or later, and my guess would be sooner. She always does."

"Yes, but now that We're to be wed, I'm on my best behavior. I've already promised Connor that I'll make him a good wife." Caitlyn had come hurrying into the barn in time to respond.

Though she'd left countless chores behind in the house, she'd decided to let Mrs. McFee and her women's work go hang. If truth were told, she'd been unable to stay away from Connor a moment longer and had been in search of him when she'd heard his voice. Shaking out the shawl she held over her head to protect it from the rain, she smiled saucily at Connor.

"An obedient wife," he corrected with mock sternness, tapping her nose as she came to stand beside him.

Rory and Cormac hooted in unison. Caitlyn, standing in the circle of Connor's arm, stuck out her tongue at them.

"Conn, if you can stomach that impudent minx to wife, you're a braver man than I."

"I don't think that's ever been in doubt." Connor's response was dry. Rory grinned at Cormac's comeuppance.

"Well, this blissfulness is all very well, my children, but I've four more sheep down with this bloody flux. Conn, do you suppose I could borrow your intended?"

"For what purpose?"

"To sit on their heads," Caitlyn answered for Cormac, sighing as she detached herself from Connor's side to join Cormac in the stall and demonstrate by straddling the head of one thrown, squalling beast. "I'm just the right weight, you understand. Though as a Countess-to-be, I fear I may be demeaning myself."

"Ah, but there are Countesses and there are Countesses," Rory said, leaning over the side of the stall and watching the proceedings. "And you are definitely going to be one of the other kind of Countesses."

"Well, you—" Caitlyn started to retort spiritedly, only to be interrupted by Mickeen's hailing of Connor.

"Yer lordship! Yer lordship, there you be! I . . ." Mickeen was panting, shaking raindrops from his grizzled head as he hurried toward where Connor leaned over the stall beside Rory.

"Did you bear my message to Father Patrick, Mickeen?"

"Aye, I did, and—"

"And I decided to come myself to see you, Connor." The deep voice of a stranger interrupted. Situated as she was, Caitlyn could not see him, but she guessed straightaway that this must be the much-discussed Father Patrick. From Mickeen's miserable expression, she surmised that the priest's presence was what had caused Mickeen to rush in search of Connor.

He had wanted to sound a warning.

"Good day, Father." Rory's voice was deferential, even a trifie nervous. Caitlyn gathered that this priest had considerable influence with the d'Arcys.

"Good day to you, Rory. Connor, in light of our recent conversations, I was a wee bit surprised at the message Mickeen brought me. He said you're desiring to be wed? Within the week?"

"Aye."

"To the lass we were discussing?"

Though Caitlyn could not see Father Patrick, she could see Connor. He grinned wickedly.

"Oh, aye, Father."

"Before I can agree to officiate at such a ceremony, I must make as sure as I can that it is in the best interests of both parties. I would talk with the lass, if you've no objection."

At that precise moment, Caitlyn was sitting precariously astride the head of a struggling sheep. As she realized that she was about to meet the priest who had counseled Connor to rid himself of her at all cost, Caitlyn lost her concentration. As a result, the sheep with a mighty toss of its head managed to send her sailing over its ears. Her head banged into the side of the stall, and she saw stars as she fell backward to land smack on her backside in muddy straw. It was ail she could do to bite back an oath. Cormac, who had spilled half the sticky medicine down his shirtfront because of her fall, was not as fortunate. He swore roundly, condemning the sheep for its obstinacy and Caitlyn for her clumsiness in the same breath. Then, remembering the presence of the priest, he colored to his ears.

"Sorry, Father," he muttered, shamefaced. Connor had opened the stall and crossed to Caitlyn's side. Concern darkened his eyes as he crouched in front of her, brushing errant strands of hair out of her face with gentie hands.

"Are you hurt?" he asked low-voiced, his fingers touching the reddened spot on her forehead where she had made contact with the wall.

"N-not really." Caitlyn shook her head, then smiled at him. "Just my dignity."

"In future find someone else to sit on the blasted sheep," Connor said over his shoulder to Cormac as he helped Caitlyn to her feet. Though she was recovering by the second, she was content to lean against Connor's side, supported by his arm. At least she was until she looked up to meet the grave gray eyes of the portly, balding priest, who was regarding them steadily through the stall's open door.

"I've no doubt at all that you are Caitlyn. Hello, child. I hope your head does not ache too badly. I am Father Patrick."

"Hello, Father. Connor ... has spoken of you more than once." Caitlyn pulled away from Connor's side, self- conscious with the priest's weighing eyes upon her. She smoothed back her hair with both hands, wishing that she had tied it up with more of an eye to security than beauty that morning. Even before her disastrous encounter with the sheep, it had been escaping from its ribbon. Now it was entirely loose, flowing freely over her shoulders and down her back. Her ribbon, she surmised, was somewhere in the stall with Cormac and the sheep. Her dress was a mess too, stained with earth and straw where she had fallen. Her hands were not entirely clean either, since they had broken her fall. But there was nothing she could do about her appearance, so she straightened her spine and walked toward the priest with the dignity of a Duchess.

Connor was close behind her.

"Would you care to come and talk with me a little, child? I must confess to some misgivings about this start of Connor's, but perhaps you could set them at ease. And I could use a spot of tea."

"If you'll come into the house, Father, I'll be happy to talk with you and get your tea too."

Caitlyn looked steadily back at the priest, chin high. Whether he approved or not, she was going to marry Connor. She would climb over the carcass of the devil himself to get to Connor if she had to. But she sensed that Connor valued the priest's opinion, so she very much wanted him to approve.

Father Patrick smiled and tucked her hand in his arm. At closer range, Caitlyn saw he was a homely man, with a round red face and undistinguished features not aided by the fringe of gray hair that ringed his head just above his ears. His height rivaled Connor's, but his girth was such that in the flowing black robe he appeared immense.

"We'd be pleased if you'd stay to supper, Father, and then perhaps afterward—" Connor had fallen into step at Caitlyn's other side. The priest's nod interrupted him.

"Aye, Connor, and I thank you for the invitation. But for now, we've no need of you, have we, lassie? We'll do far better on our own."

Connor frowned and glanced at Caitlyn, who was dwarfed between him and the oversize priest. "Caitlyn .. . ?"

" 'Tis all right, Connor. I'll be perfectly fine with Father Patrick, I'm sure."

"Sure, and the lass has more sense than you. I'm beginning to think that you led me a mite astray in this instance." Father Patrick gave Connor a mildly censorious look over Caitlyn's head.

Connor met Father Patrick's look with wry comprehension. "Perhaps I did, Father, perhaps I did. Whenever I came to you, it was because I had been sorely tried."

This exchange made absolutely no sense to Caitlyn, but as she looked from one to the other she could tell that Connor and the priest understood each other perfectiy.

"Go on about your business now and let me talk to the lassie in peace. We'll have a quiet tea and get to know one another."