"Death to the English."
"Aye." A great roar went up from the crowd. "Death to the English."
Outside, Keane lifted her tenderly into his arms and mounted his
horse, then took up the reins of her horse, leading it behind.
As they rode through the village, the voices from the tavern faded.
Keane wrapped his arms firmly around her, drawing her against him.
He could feel the shudders ripping through her slender body. Tremors
of horror and revulsion that she no longer had the strength to fight.
"You're safe now, Briana."
She shook her head. "I'll never be safe. Not as long as Halsey lives.
None of us will be."
Though Keane wanted to deny it, he couldn't. He'd known sp many
men like Halsey. Bullies who enjoyed the killing.
They crested a hill and began the descent toward Carrick House. All
around them there was only the silence of the night.
And Keane's voice, low and fierce with passion. "Then we'll have to
see that he lives no longer."
Keane's order to the servant was issued sternly. "You'll see that the
lass has a warm bath, Cora. And then she's to go straight to bed."
"Aye, my lord." The servant studied Briana, who, beneath the
tumbled hair and garb of a stable lad, looked pale and drawn. "Has
our lass been wounded?'
"Aye. But it is a wound to her soul. She needs her rest. See to it."
"Aye, my lord." As soon as he'd stormed out of the chambers, Cora
helped Briana to bathe and dress for bed.
"What about food, my lady?"
Briana shook her head. "I couldn't. But thank you, Cora. You may go
to your room. I'll sleep soon."
"Aye, my lady." Troubled by the look in her eyes, the servant blew
out the candle and let herself out of the room.
Minutes later Keane stopped Cora in the hallway. "Is the lass asleep?"
"Nay, my lord. She seems agitated. But she asked me to leave her
alone. Would you like me to go back and sit with her?"
He shook his head. "Go to bed, Cora. I'll see to her."
At Briana's door he knocked, then entered. The room was in darkness.
But as his eyes adjusted, he could see, by the light of the fire, that
Briana was standing by the window.
"You should be in bed, lass."
She turned. For the longest time she merely stared at him. Then, in a
voice just above a whisper she asked, "Why do you call me lass?"
"It suits you."
"Nay. It suits you to call me that. It implies that I'm still just a wee
lass, and not a woman, doesn't it?"
"Is that what you think?"
She nodded.
He stayed where he was, afraid to walk closer. "You're in a strange
mood tonight."
"Aye." She hugged her arms about herself. "I suppose it was talking
about the attack of the soldiers. And Halsey." She shivered. "And
thinking again about those brave lads who'd been sent to accompany
me home."
"You said yourself they died bravely. Nobly."
"Aye. But they're dead just the same. And I'm not."
"Is that what's bothering you? That you lived?"
She shook her head. "You don't understand. They died without ever
having a chance to live. And I lived, but for what? I'm no better off
than they. What have I done with my life? I've no husband to look at
me the way Hugh McCann looks at his Bridget. No babes, clinging to
my skirts and smiling up at me with absolute trust."
"You'll have all that." Even as he said it, the thought brought a knife
to his heart. He didn't think he could bear to see another man look at
her with love. Or to hear that she'd borne another man's children.
"How can you know what my future will hold?" She took a step
toward him and saw a wary look come into his eyes. "I could face
Halsey's sword again tomorrow. And then, all my fine dreams would
be gone forever."
He reached out a hand and caught her more roughly than he'd
intended. "Don't say such things, Briana."
"And why not? Do you know, Keane, that I've never shared my
dreams with anyone?"
He hadn't meant to touch her. But now that he had, he couldn't seem
to let go. He drew her even closer, his hands moving across the tops
of her shoulders, down her arms, trying vainly to dispel her chill and
warm her with his touch. "You'll share them someday." His voice
roughened. "With someone who deserves to share them with
you."Her head came up. He could see her eyes warming, softening. "I
want to share them with you, Keane."
He could feel the blood draining from his head. And rushing straight
to his loins. "Be sensible, Briana. Any day now you'll be going home.
I'm sure in Ballinarin there are any number of men eager to be a part
of your dream."
"I don't want any number of men in Ballinarin." She stood as tall as
she could and brushed her lips over his. "I want you, Keane."
It wasn't possible to resist those lips. Perhaps, if he had been a saint,
he would have made a more valiant effort. But Keane did what any
mere man would do, taking what she offered with a greedy hunger
that rocked them both. His mouth closed over hers in a long, slow,
deep kiss, pouring out all the passion, all the desire, all the loneliness
in his heart.
She answered with equal passion and hunger.
His hands were greedy, touching, massaging, arousing. He pressed
soft, moist kisses to her neck, her shoulder and the sensitive hollow of
her throat.
With a sigh she arched her neck and clung to him, loving the feel of
his lips on her flesh.
He continued kissing her while his hands began a lazy exploration of
her back, her sides. His thumbs encountered her breasts, stroking
until her nipples hardened.
He swallowed her gasp, taking the kiss deeper until they were both
struggling for breath. And still he savaged her mouth, wanting more,
needing more.
His words, spoken inside her mouth, were rough with urgency. "God
in heaven, Briana, what am I to do with you?"
She wound her arms around his neck and sighed with sheer pleasure.
"You could try loving me, Keane."
He lifted his head and stared down at her. She was smiling in the most
seductive way.
When had the lass learned to flirt? And why did she have to be so
appealing as she tried to ply her newly discovered womanly charms?
He took a deep breath to steady the ripple of nerves that threatened to
send him over the edge at any moment. "You don't know what you're
saying."
"Aye. I do, Keane. I want you to lie with me. And love me."
"That isn't possible." He took a step back, needing desperately to
break contact. When he was holding her, touching her, he couldn't
think. And right now, he needed a clear head, so that he could do the
right thing. The honorable thing. The only thing.
"I don't understand. I thought you..." She paused. Licked her lips, that
had gone suddenly dry. "I thought we...cared about each other."
"I do care about you, Briana. That's why I'm leaving now. This
minute. Before we both do something you'll later regret."
She felt te
ars dangerously close to the surface, and blinked furiously.
' 'Is it me? Is there something about me that you don't like?"
Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Aye. Of course. It's as
my father said. I don't know how to be a woman. I suppose that would
put off most men. But I'd thought, somehow, that you were different
from other men. That you would like me despite my... imperfections.'
He caught her arm and dragged her roughly against him. His voice
against her temple was a rasp of fury.
"Don't be a fool, Briana. You're more woman than any I've ever
known. A man would have to be a fool not to want you. But this is
about me. About what I am."
She pushed away. "And what are you, Keane? Some sort of
monster?"
"Aye." His eyes were hard. As was his voice. "You've led a sheltered
life, Briana. You have no idea about men like me. Believe me, you're
better off without me in your life."
"Don't you think that should be my decision?"
"Nay." He hated the pain and confusion in her eyes. But there was no
way he could explain. "The decision is mine. I made a vow to see you
returned to your father as I'd found you, or die trying. And, by God, I
intend to keep it."
"And my feelings don't matter?"
"Your feelings..." He lifted a hand, as though to touch her, then
seemed to think better of it and closed his hand into a fist at his side.
"Your feelings are bound to be confused, Briana. But one day you'll
see things clearly, and you'll be grateful that you saved yourself for
someone worthy of you. You're a very special woman, Briana O'Neil.
The man who finally wins your heart will be the luckiest man in all of
Ireland."
Because he could no longer bear to look at her, he turned away. "Now
go to bed. And I'll do the same."
Briana stood perfectly still, watching as he let himself out of her
room. In a state of shock she listened to the sound of his footsteps
recede along the hall. And then, with her arms wrapped around
herself to ward off the sudden chill, she listened to the silence of
Carrick House as it closed around her.
Chapter Fifteen
Filled with self-loathing, Keane paced his room. His tunic lay in a
heap beside the bed. It had given him little satisfaction to kick off his
boots and watch them bounce, one after the other, against the wall. He
had downed a tumbler of ale in one long swallow. But all it had done
was leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
As had this whole horrible night.
He stormed to the balcony to stare into the blackness, but all he could
see was Briana's eyes. The sweet lass was as transparent as glass. All
her emotions were there for him to see. The self-doubt. The
confusion. The pain of rejection.
That had been the worst. He'd hated hurting her like that. But it was
the only way it could be done. It would have been so easy to take what
she offered. In fact, it had taken all his willpower to refuse. But
afterward she would have hated him. And would have always
resented the fact that she had given herself to a man like him.
A man like him.
Aye, he thought, running his hand through his hair. This was better. A
quick, clean amputation. Like cutting off an arm to save a life.
Or cutting out a heart.
He caught the edge of the balcony at the sudden pain. He'd survived
so much. He would survive this, as well. But the pain of this loss
would linger for a lifetime.
He exhaled a long, slow breath, and allowed his shoulders to slump
for just a moment. Then he straightened and made his way back to the
bedside table, where he poured himself another glass of ale.
Briana sat shivering on her balcony, staring off into the distance. She
had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, her chin resting on her
arms atop the railing. It could have been hours or mere minutes. Time
was a blur.
She hadn't cried. The pain was too deep for tears. She had thought her
father's rejection the most crushing blow of her young life. But it had
been nothing compared with this. The knowledge that she had offered
herself to Keane, and that he had refused her, left her shattered.
She couldn't let him crush her spirit, she thought as she got to her feet
and began to pace. She wouldn't permit it. Still, when she thought
about how calmly, how.-coldly he had rejected her, she had to bite
back a sob.
He'd called her feelings "confused." As though she were somehow a
child who didn't know her own heart. She-clenched her hands at her
sides and stalked around the room, fueling her anger. It was so much
better than self-pity. Anger was something she could deal with.
Confused, was she? She hadn't been confused about the things she'd
felt whenever he'd touched her, kissed her. And there was no
confusion in her mind about his reaction to her either. Oh, there were
times when he'd worked hard to bank his emotions. She'd been aware
of that. But there were other times when he hadn't been able to hide
his true feelings. When he'd crushed her in his arms and kissed her
until they were both breathless. Like tonight, before he'd managed to
compose himself.
She paused. Aye. Tonight, when he'd first come to her room, there
rough possession in his touch that left her no doubt of his intentions.
But then it was as if he'd closed a door on his emotions. He'd called
himself a monster. And hinted that she would have to live with regrets
if they should give in to their passion.'
What else had he said? She struggled to remember. At the time she'd
been so stunned, she'd hardly paid any heed to the words. Now it was
important to recall them clearly.
He'd spoken of a vow he'd made to return her to her father as he'd
found her.
She clapped a hand to her mouth. Sweet heaven. Of course. It all
made sense now. Ever since her fall from Peregrine, Keane O'Mara
had been a changed man.
Cora had told her he'd never left her bedside until she regained
consciousness. And from that moment on, he'd been so different, it
had become a matter of great discussion among all the servants.
Since that time, whenever he was in her presence he'd been
concerned, compassionate, almost brotherly. As though he'd shut
down any other passions.
She stood in the middle of the room, giddy with relief, as the truth
dawned. Her heart swelled with such joy, she feared it would burst.
Keane loved her. Loved her so much, he'd bargained with heaven on
her behalf. And now he felt honor-bound to protect her virtue, by
whatever means possible.
Without taking time to think about what she was doing, she raced out
of her chambers and down the hall.
Keane slouched in a chair in front of the fire. The room was dark
except for the red glow of hot coals.
After the day he'd put in, he ought to be sleeping. But sleep, he knew,
would be impossible this night. How could he rest knowing that all
&nbs
p; that he'd ever desired lay just a room away? And he, like some sort of
noble hero, had just cast all his dreams aside. For what?
He wasn't feeling noble right now. All he felt was empty. And cold.
So bone-jarring cold, he would probably never know warmth again.
He'd spent the past hour thinking of ways to spirit Briana away to his
chateau in France or his villa in Spain, where her love would wash
him clean, and he could put away his past forever. It was a foolish
wish. For his past was real. And sordid. And nothing and no one, not
even someone as innocent and good as Briana, could change it.
Briana. It was time he started thinking about her needs. She had a
home to return to. A family she loved, who loved her. She hadn't seen
Ballinarin in three years now. It was time he returned her to the one
place she really belonged. A place where she would be safe.
Especially from him.
He didn't even bother to look up when the door to his chambers was
opened. He pressed an arm over his eyes as light from the hall
sconces spilled into the room. "I don't wish to be disturbed, Vinson."
He heard the door close and expelled a tired breath. He leaned back,
closing his eyes. If only he could close his mind as easily.
"Can't sleep, my lord?" The familiar voice was soft, breathless, as
though she'd been running.
His eyes snapped open. He got to his feet, staring at her as if he
couldn't quite believe his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
He was barefoot and naked to the waist. Something she hadn't
counted on. It took her a moment to absorb the jolt to her already
charged system. "You once said I live my life without boundaries."
"We were talking about class boundaries, if I recall."
"You were." She took a step closer and saw his eyes narrow. The fact
that he was nervous only made her all the bolder. She laid a hand on
his and he reacted as though he'd been burned, dropping his hand to
his waist, where he clenched it into a fist. "I was talking about
crossing all boundaries, Keane."
"This is one I wouldn't advise." Needing something to do, he walked
to the fireplace and tossed a log on the fire.
She watched the way the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched
and tightened with each movement. Her throat went dry, but when he
stood, she forced herself to calmly walk to him, to boldly touch a