Ascension." Seeing his questioning look she added, "Our sister cook
at the convent. She was wider than she was tall. We used to whisper
that she tasted everything before she served it. And sometimes, we
thought, she surely must have tasted many times over."
Keane found himself smiling as he dug into his meal.
Briana broke open a steaming biscuit. At once a servant approached
with honey.
Drizzling it over her biscuit, Briana tasted, closed her eyes and
sighed. "Surely I've died and gone to heaven."
Keane arched a brow. "If you can fall into ecstasy over Cook's
biscuits, I worry what will happen when you taste her brandied
currant cake." He looked up.
"Mistress Malloy, will you see that Cook bakes one for our guest?"
The housekeeper couldn't hide her surprise. In all the time Lord
Alcott had been back in Carrick House, this was the first time he had
ever mentioned a favorite food, or requested anything in particular.
Cook had long puzzled over what to fix for him, since he ate, without
comment, whatever was placed in front of him.
"Aye, my lord." She couldn't wait to tell Cook the news. "I'll see that
she bakes one on the morrow."
"And salmon," he added. "Our guest seems to have a fondness for it."
At the housekeeper's steady look he felt compelled to add, "We have
a duty to see that Miss O'Neil's strength returns."
"I'll see to it myself." Pleased, Mistress Malloy nudged a servant with
another tray.
"Now." Keane returned his attention to the lass beside him. "You
promised to tell me about your life before the convent."
He saw her smile bloom. This, then, was something she enjoyed
talking about.
"It was a grand life. Such freedom, which I took completely for
granted. I roamed the hills with my brothers and Innis. I learned to
hunt with them, to fish with them, even to handle weapons with
them."
' 'Weapons?'
"Aye. The knife and sword. The crossbow, as well as bow and arrow.
Each day was a grand adventure."
She saw the way he was staring at her and added, ' 'On .market day I
sampled the wares from the booths, or bought lace or frills with my
mother."
"Tell me about her."
She could see her mother in her mind. It was an image that never
faded or wavered. "She's tall and slender and beautiful. And very
kind. Though she married into wealth, she never forgets that she came
to the marriage with no dowry. This then is her payment. She looks
after the women and children in the villages around Ballinarin. If they
are ill or in need, they know Moira O'Neil will come calling with
whatever they need, be it a packet of herbs, or a brace of pheasants, or
a warm cloak to ward off winter's chill. She loves the people of
Ballinarin as though they were her children. And in a way, they are.
She's fond of saying we're all of the same family."
He loved the way her eyes looked as she spoke of her mother. All soft
and warm and loving. "She sounds like a saint."
"Aye. She is that. She would have to be to remain wed to my father."
"Tell me about him."
He saw a wariness come into her eyes before she looked down at her
plate. "Gavin O'Neil is lord of Ballinarin. His word is law. His temper
is fierce. But all who know him will tell you he's a fair man."
"Was it your father who sent you to the convent?"
She nodded. "But as I've learned these last years, under the tutelage of
Mother Superior, what he did, he did out of love. Because it was
necessary for my growth and education. I was willful. And far too
proud and unyielding."
He would know a little about such things. And how such decisions,
no matter how noble the intentions, hurt. Without thinking he closed
his hand over hers.
Her head jerked up. Her eyes went wide before she managed to
compose herself.
For Keane, it was equally shocking. He hadn't meant to touch her. He
had merely reacted reflexively, hoping to offer her a measure of
comfort.
Knowing the servants were watching, he removed his hand and,
needing to do something, lifted the goblet to his lips.
Keane glanced at Briana. "You haven't touched your wine."
"It's been so long, I'm afraid to drink more than a few sips, for fear it'll
go straight to my head. And then I'd have to be carried to my
chambers."
For some strange reason, the very thought had his blood running hot.
He kept his tone deliberately bland. "That would not be a hardship,
my lady."
At the deep timbre of his voice, Briana felt a little thrill. But a quick
glance assured her he was merely being polite. He had already
returned his attention to his meal.
"You've told me nothing of yourself, except that you were educated
abroad." She lifted her goblet. "Where did you study?"
"A few years in Paris. A few more in Spain."
"How wonderful. My brother, Conor, studied there, as well as in
Rome."
"Did he like it?"
She shook her head. "I think he had some marvelous, adventures. But
he said he was often lonesome for the sights and sounds of Ballinarin.
Was it the same for you?"
He nodded. "One doesn't have to be in a convent or a prison to feel
confinement."
She thought about it a moment, then said softly, "Mother Superior
once said we all carry a prison inside our hearts. But we also carry
freedom. It's up to us to choose which door we open, and which one
we close."
When he remained silent, she knew which door, he had chosen to
open.
"What did you study, while in France and Spain?"
He shrugged. "Much as you at the convent, I suppose. History,
literature, mathematics. My father wanted me to be prepared to take
over the family estates."
"And what did you want?"
He turned to her and saw the understanding in her eyes. "I didn't
know what I wanted. I only knew I didn't want what my father wanted
for me. When he told me to go left, I went right. When he told me to
sleep, I defied him by staying awake all night." His voice lowered.
"And when he ordered me to join him in England, I went. But I did
everything I could that was harmful and hurtful."
"Perhaps your father should have sent you to a monastery."
Despite his dark mood, he had to smile. "Hearing your tales of the
convent, I wonder if I would have survived. In my earlier, arrogant
days, I would have been horrified if I'd been forced to shovel dung in
a stable."
"Oh, you'd have survived. And you would have returned, like me,
humbled and work-worn."
"Is that how you see yourself?"
She nodded. ' Or perhaps I should have said chaste and chastened."
Chaste. His laughter died. If only he could make such a claim. He
would have been spared untold misery.
Seeing his sudden grim mood, Briana took a sip of wine before
setting down her goblet. Though the meal had been excellent, she
could
feel her strength beginning to ebb.
The housekeeper approached. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
He glanced at Briana, who shook her head.
"Nothing more, Mistress Malloy." Then, for no reason he could
fathom, he felt compelled to add, "Everything was perfect. You'll
give my compliments to Cook."
"Aye, my lord." Bursting with pride, the housekeeper motioned for
the servants to leave, then followed them out the door.
Lost in thought, Keane sipped his wine and stared at the closed door.
Across the room, Vinson cleared his throat.
Keane looked up with a frown, wondering what he had forgotten to
do or say.
The butler glanced toward Briana, then at Keane. "Perhaps the lass is
growing weary, my lord."
Keane turned to her. Seeing her pallor, he shoved back his chair and
got to his feet. "Forgive me, my lady."
"There is nothing to forgive." She accepted his hand and stood beside
him. "I only wish I were stronger. But for now, I must go to my
chambers and rest,';
He offered his arm, and she leaned on him as they crossed the room
and bade good-night to Vinson. The old man held the door and
watched as they moved slowly down the hall.
"I detest this weakness." When the words slipped from her mouth, she
gave a sigh of annoyance. She had thought, after the years of
coaching by the good sisters, that she could keep such thoughts to
herself. It would seem that within mere days of freedom, her old
nature was returning. Or perhaps, it had always been with her,
awaiting the chance to show itself.
"I know you are impatient for your strength to return." His voice was
so close beside her ear she had to struggle not to shiver. "But you
have been through so much, Miss O'Neil. Be patient just a bit longer."
"Is patience one of your virtues, my lord?"
"If only it were."
By the light of candles burning in sconces along the walls, she turned
to study his profile. It showed a proud, haughty man. She had a
feeling there was much more to Keane O'Mara than mere pride and
arrogance. She sensed an underlying sadness in him, as well. A deep
and abiding wound that had never healed.
At the door to her chambers they paused.
She turned to him, her face tilted. "I never properly thanked you for
saving my life. Cora told me how you fought for me when she and the
others had thought me beyond saving."
"You were the one who fought your way back to life, Briana O'Neil."
It occurred to him that hers was the loveliest name he'd ever spoken
aloud. "I knew, the moment I saw you fighting to hang on to the
smallest thread of life, that you had the heart of a warrior. But I'm
glad I was here to help."
Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I can never repay you."
"You already have." He took her hands in his. "Your presence tonight
was more than enough payment. You shared your past with me. For a
little while, you made me forget about my own. I don't remember
when I've had a more pleasant evening."He lifted her hands to his lips
and kissed one, then the other. It was the merest brush of his lips to
her flesh, but he felt the sizzle of excitement and found that he
couldn't release her just yet.
Turning her hands over, he pressed kisses to each of her palms. He
heard her little intake of breath and knew that she had been
unprepared for this. As had he, if truth be told. But there was a demon
inside him that had suddenly taken over his control. Without giving a
thought to what he was doing, he released her hands and lifted his to
frame her face.
"Have I shocked you, my lady?"
"Aye." She started to draw away and found herself backed against the
door.
"Forgive me. But I've never before seen a woman with amber eyes.
They fascinate me." He drew her closer. "You fascinate me, Briana
O'Neil."
And then, before he could reconsider, he lowered his head and
covered her lips with his.
Briana stood absolutely still. Though her heart was racing like a
runaway carriage, and her blood was pumping furiously, she didn't
move. Couldn't.
The hands framing her face were the gentlest of prisons. But they held
her all the same. As did the kiss.
And oh, what a kiss. His mouth moved over hers with-such sure,
practiced ease. This was a man who'd had a great deal of experience,
if his lips were any indication. They nuzzled and coaxed and tasted
until, on a sigh, she returned the kiss. And became lost in it.
He tasted of wine and tobacco and some other, darker taste that was
distinctly male. And purely intoxicating.
Years before, she'd been kissed. By village boys, eager to impress the
daughter of the O'Neil. By friends of her brothers, who'd taken care
not to anger the powerful O'Neil men. But none of those chaste kisses
had caused this strange ripple of feeling that had her feeling as if her
entire world had suddenly tipped upside down.
She reached out to steady herself, and her hands made contact with
his waist. As soon as she touched him, she heard his little moan.
Whether of pleasure or impatience, she knew not. She responded with
a sigh of her own.
Keane could have told himself that this was unplanned, but it would
have been a lie. He had thought of nothing but this all evening. From
the first moment she'd walked into the library, he'd wanted to kiss her.
To feel the heat. The fire. To feel her heart pounding in rhythm to his.
He knew he'd shocked her by his boldness. It couldn't be helped. Just
being around her made him want things he had no right to. And her
sweetness, her innocence, only made him want them more.
On a moan he took the kiss deeper. His fingers tangled through her
hair, drawing her head back. He heard her little sigh as she brought
her hands to his chest. But instead of pushing him away, her hands
clutched at the front of his tunic.
Dear heaven, he was starved for the touch, the taste, of one as sweet
as this. He hadn't known his heart could respond like this. He'd buried
his feelings deep, consigned to the grave forever. But now, with the
simplest touch of her, the merest taste, he could feel his heart
beginning to beat again.
He knew he had to end this, but not just yet. He wanted, needed one
more moment, one more taste.
Her sweetness, her innocence, aroused him as nothing ever had.
Dangerous, he knew. For he was far from innocent. And the thoughts
he was entertaining at this moment would shock and scandalize this
unspoiled, untouched lass.
Finally, detesting this weakness in himself, he lifted his head and took
a step back, breaking contact.
When she put a hand to the door, he covered it with both of his, to still
her movements. Inside, he knew, Cora would be awaiting her
mistress. What he wanted to say was for Briana's ears alone.
"I'm sorry if I've shocked you. But I can't say I'm sorry for the kiss.
Given the chance, I'd no doubt do it again. So beware, Briana O'Neil.
For, as I'm cer
tain the servants will tell you, you're in the home of a
man with no conscience."
She looked up and met his gaze. For the past three years, the virtue of
honesty had been preached on a daily basis. She wasn't certain if this
was the time or place for it, or just how other women would deal with
this situation. But she wasn't other women. And so she said the only
thing she could.
"I can't say I'm sorry either." Her lips curved in a most beguiling
smile. "And if that be a sin, it was a most enjoyable one, Keane
O'Mara. One I'd gladly commit again."
She shoved open the door and walked inside without-^ backward
glance.
As the door closed behind her, Keane stood perfectly still. Then, as he
began to walk along the hall, he threw back his head and roared with
laughter. Briana O'Neil was the most unexpected surprise. An
absolute delight.
He was still laughing when he reached his own chambers.
It was a sound the servants at Carrick House hadn't heard since his
return from England.
Chapter Six
"Good morrow, my lord." Vinson entered Keane's chambers and
found him standing on the balcony, naked to the waist, wearing only
his breeches and boots.
The look on his face was dark and bleak as he turned to his butler. "I
learned something last night."
"Aye, my lord? And what might that be?"
"Briana O'Neil is not a nun. She took no vows. She was merely a
student at the convent."
"Is that so, my lord?"
"Aye." His scowl deepened as the elderly servant helped him into his
tunic and removed a waistcoat from the wardrobe.
After a sleepless night, he'd come to several decisions. As pleasant as
he found the lass's company, he needed to avoid any further contact
with her. He had no right to lead the lass on. She was completely open
and guileless. And he...
If she were to learn the truth about him, she would run, "Weeping and
praying, back to the safety of the convent.
He'd best walk a very wide circle around Briana O'Neil. And see that
he returned her to her family as he'd found her. Untouched.
Unspoiled. With her trust—and her heart—intact.
"Though the village elders have been requesting a meeting, I've been
putting them off, Vinson. Perhaps it's time I saw to it."
"Aye, my lord. If you'd like, I'll send a messenger. When would you
like to meet with them?"