Secret Harbor (14 page)

“I love you ... and I cannot ... live without ...
you!
”

The
Comte
threw something he was carrying down on the floor and put his arms around her.

He held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe, then his lips came down on hers.

As she felt his mouth hold her captive she knew that this was what she had been wanting, what she had been yearning for and what she thought she would never know.

His kiss was fierce, demanding, insistent, and she felt as if she gave him her heart, her soul, her whole self.

The agony of fear she had been feeling was gone. Instead there was an indescribable rapture, an ecstasy that seemed to fill the room with a light which came from within themselves.

The wonder of it told her that this was not just human love, but something more perfect and part of the divine.

When the
Comte
had kissed her until she felt that she was no longer herself but utterly and completely his he raised his head to say in a voice that was unsteady:

“My darling I did not mean this to happen.”

“I love ... you!”

“And I love you,” he answered. “I fought against it and tried to prevent myself saying so, but you have made it impossible.”

“I ... thought I had ... lost you.”

“You will never do that as long as I am alive,” he replied, “but
ma cherie,
I have been trying to protect you from myself and from my love.”

“You ... love me?”

“Of course I love you!” he said almost angrily, “but it is something I should not do any more than that you should love me.”

“How can I help it?” Grania asked.

Then he was kissing her again, kissing her until she felt as if he carried her into the sky and there were no problems, no difficulties, nothing but themselves and their love.
A long time later the
Comte
said:

“Let me light the candles, my precious. We can hardly stay here in the dark for ever, although I want to go on kissing you.”

“That is ... what I want ... you to ... do,” Grania said breathlessly.

He kissed her again. Then with an effort he took his arms from her and walked a few steps to a table at the side of the stairs.

He lit a candle and Grania could see him. She thought his face in the light was illuminated as if by some celestial fire.

His eyes were on her but as if he forced himself not to take her in his arms he lit a taper from the candle and went into the Sitting-Room to light the candles there.

Only when the room was illuminated and looking very beautiful did he say:

“Forgive me for upsetting you,
ma petite
.”

“What happened? What was the ... boat you went to ...
i
nvestigate? Was it ... English?”

The
Comte
blew out the taper.

Then he walked towards Grania and put his arms around her again.

“I know what you have been thinking,” he said. “It was an English boat which my crew had sighted but it constituted no danger to us.”

Grania gave a cry of relief and put her head against his shoulder. The
Comte
kissed her forehead before he went on:

“But in a way it may concern you.”

“Concern me?” Grania asked in surprise.

“There must have been a battle not far from here,” he said, “perhaps two or three days ago.”

It was difficult for Grania to listen because she was so content to be in his arms.

“He is with me and I am safe,” she kept thinking to herself.

“I imagine,” the
Comte
went on, “that an English Man o’ War, H.M.S. Heroic, was sunk, because the boat which Jean came to tell us about was from that ship. It contained an Officer and eight ratings.”

“They were ... English?” Grania asked nervously.

“They were English,” the
Comte
replied, “but they were all dead!”

It seemed wrong, Grania knew, but she could not help feeling relieved that they could therefore constitute no danger to the
Comte
and his crew.

“There was nothing we could do for them,” the
Comte
continued, “except bury them at sea, but I took their papers which will prove their identity should it ever be necessary.”

He paused before he added:

“The Officer’s name, and he was a Commander, was Patrick O’Kerry.”

Grania stiffened.

“Patrick O’Kerry?” she repeated.

“I thought he might be some relation of yours, and I have brought you his papers and also his jacket and cap in case you would wish to keep them.”

There was a little pause. Then Grania said:

“Patrick was ... my cousin ... and although I hardly knew him ... Papa will be very upset.”

“We will have to let him know sometime.”

“Yes ... of course,” Grania agreed, “and he will be upset not only because Patrick was his ... nephew, but he was also ... his heir ... and now there are ... no more O’Kerrys and the ... title will die out.”

“I can understand how that would upset your father.”

“There is certainly not much to inherit,” Grania said, “but Papa was the fourth Earl, and now there will never be a fifth.”

“I am sorry about that,” the
Comte
said softly. “I did not want to upset you, my darling.”

Because his arms were around her again and his lips were on her cheek, it was hard for Grania to feel anything but the joy that he was touching her.

At the same time it seemed such a waste of life.

Her Cousin Patrick who had called to see her mother
when they were in London, had been so excited at being posted to a new ship and going out to the Caribbean. It seemed tragic now to think that he was dead.

She remembered how he had talked to her mother about the
W
est Indies and she had thought him a pleasant young man, but he had not paid her much attention as she was only a School-girl.

“What I think very surprising,” the
Comte
said, “is that your cousin was dark. Somehow I expected that all your relations would be fair like you.”

Grania gave him a faint little smile.

“There are fair O’Kerrys like Papa and me, and there are also dark ones who are supposed to have Spanish blood in them.”

She thought the
Comte
was surprised and explained: “When the ships of the Spanish Armada on their way to invade England, were wrecked on the south coast of Ireland many of the Spanish sailors never returned home.”

The
Comte
smiled.

“So they found the O’Kerry ladies attractive.”

“I suppose they must have done,” Grania replied, “and they certainly left their imprint on the future generations.”

“No wonder some are dark and some are fair,” the
Comte
said, “but I prefer you fair, and one day,
ma belle,
you can revert to looking English. But I am afraid whatever the colour of your hair you will be French.” Grania looked up at him questioningly and he said: “You will marry me? I thought I could pretend you were my cousin, and keep you at arms’ length, but you have made it impossible.”

“I do not ... wish to be at ... arms’ length,” Grania murmured, “and I want ... to be your ... wife.”

“Heaven knows what sort of life I can offer you,” the
Comte
said, “and you know I have nothing to give you but my heart.”

“I do not want anything else,” Grania answered, “but are you quite ... quite sure I shall not be an ... encumbrance and you will ... regret marrying me?”

“That would be impossible,” the
Comte
said. “I have been looking for you all my life and now I have found you, whatever is the right and proper or sensible thing to do, I know I cannot lose you.”

Then he was kissing her again, and it was impossible to think, but only to feel.

A long time later the
Comte
said with a sigh:

“As soon as Henri arrives to prepare our dinner, I will go and see the Priest and arrange that we shall be married first thing tomorrow morning.”

He kissed her before he asked:

“You will not mind a Catholic wedding, my darling? It would look very strange if my bride belonged to another church.”

“As long as we are married, I do not care what sort of Church it takes place in, but as it happens I was baptised a Catholic.”

The
Comte
looked at her incredulously.

“Do you mean that?”

Grania nodded.

“Papa was a Catholic, but Mama was not. They were married in a Catholic Church, and I was baptised in one.”

The
Comte
was still looking astonished and she went on:

“I am afraid Papa was not a very good Catholic even when we lived in England, and when we came to Grenada he realised that the British were very much against Catholicism because of their anti-French feelings and so he did not attend any Church.”

She thought the
Comte
was shocked and went on quickly:

“When Mama was in St. George’s she attended the Protestant Church and sometimes she took me with her on a Sunday, but it was a very long way to go and because it upset Papa when we left him alone it did not happen very often.”

The
Comte
held her close to him.

“When you marry me, my precious,” he said, “you will become a good Catholic, and together we will thank God that He has enabled us to find each other. I have a feeling that from now on He will protect us both and keep us safe.”

“I feel that too,” Grania said, “and you know I will do ... anything ... anything you ask me to.”

The way she spoke made the
Comte
kiss her again, and they only drew apart when they heard Henri come into the kitchen and knew he was preparing the dinner.

When the
Comte
left to visit the Priest Jean arrived with one of Grania’s trunks and she started to change her clothes.

She had a bath which was very cooling after the heat of the day, and although she protested to Jean that she should not be taking the
Comte’s
bedroom from him he told her that those were his Master’s orders and after that she did not argue.

She only remembered as she undressed that tomorrow they would be together and she knew that God had not only saved her from marrying Roderick Maigrin but had given her the man of her dreams.

“How can I be so lucky?” she asked herself.

Then she was saying fervently Catholic prayers which she knew were the ones that the
Comte
said and which would be hers in future.

When he returned she heard him go to another room where Jean had laid out his evening-clothes.

By this time Grania had found a pretty gown into which she could change, and she arranged her hair in the smartest fashion she knew.

She could not help wishing that it was fair again, but she knew nothing mattered as long as the
Comte
loved her and that she must remember what he had said to
her, to think French and to be French, so that nobody would suspect for a moment that she was an enemy.

“Once I am the
Comtesse de
Vence there will be no need for pretence,” she said to her reflection in the mirror, “for then I shall have the most beautiful title in the world.”

She was still looking in the mirror, but thinking of the
Comte
when there was a knock on the door and he came into the room.

“I thought you would be ready, my precious.”

Then as she rose from the stool in front of the dressing-table he held out his arms and she ran towards him.

He did not kiss her but there was an expression of infinite tenderness in his eyes.

“It is all arranged,” he said. “Tomorrow you will become my wife. We will sleep together in the bed which belonged to my grandfather and was so much a part of my home that I could not leave it behind.”

“I thought that was what it must be.”

He came a little closer and Grania asked:

“Are you really going to marry me?”