Briana

As if from a great distance she could hear Keane's voice, shouting,

  swearing fiercely. And then rough hands closed around her, lifting

  her, holding her.

  Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, the hands gentled. She

  was being cradled against her father's chest. He was rocking her, and

  weeping, and murmuring words that were oddly soothing. But the

  voice didn't belong to her father. It was another's voice. Low. Deep.

  Tortured.

  His name, his face, were lost somewhere in the blackness that had

  stolen everything from her mind. Everything but the pain.

  "How is she, Mistress Malloy?"

  Keane was beside himself. The sight of Briana, so still, so quiet in the

  bed, was almost worse than the bloody, broken figure he'd carried

  home.

  His clothes still bore the stains of her blood. He'd refused to change.

  Had refused to even leave her side since he'd stumbled, dazed and

  trembling, into Carrick House. He'd carried her up the stairs, while

  the housekeeper shouted orders to the servants to fetch water, towels,

  opiates and ointments.

  They'd had to work around him, since he had insisted upon remaining

  by the bedside, his hand constantly stroking her brow whenever she

  moaned, or squeezing her hand when she slipped back into

  unconsciousness.

  "She has sustained several deep cuts and her poor body is badly

  bruised. But none of those things is too serious, my lord. Still, I can't

  revive her. It appears she's hit her head, as well. There's quite a big

  lump there. It could be nothing or it could be..." She saw the hot,

  fierce look that came into his eyes and let the words trail off.

  She glanced helplessly at Vinson, who stood to one side, watching in

  silence.

  The old man approached and said softly, "You can do nothing for the

  lass, my lord. Perhaps you should see to yourself now. You might

  want to take the time to wash away that blood and change into a clean

  tunic."

  Keane ignored him and knelt on the floor beside the bed. Keeping one

  hand holding tightly to Briana's, he lifted his other hand to smooth the

  hair from her forehead.

  The housekeeper and butler exchanged silent looks. Then, signalling

  for the servants to leave, they set about stoking a fire in the lass's

  chambers, and seeing that all her bloody clothes were removed from

  the lord's sight.

  When they exited the room, Keane was still kneeling beside the bed,

  murmuring words to the woman who lay ominously silent and

  unmoving.

  "My lord." Vinson entered Briana's chambers, bearing a tray on

  which rested a decanter and goblet. "Since you've taken no

  sustenance, I thought a bit of ale might revive you."

  "Thank you, Vinson." Keane never took his eyes off Briana as the old

  man poured, then pressed a goblet into his hand.

  "Has she moved, my lord?"

  "Nay." There was a world of pain in that single word. "Neither

  moved, nor sighed, nor given any sign that she even knows I am here.

  This is all my fault, Vinson."

  "Now why do you say that, my lord?" The old man set the tray on a

  table and came to stand beside the bed. "The lass ignored the stable

  master's warning, and took off at a reckless pace. We've all known,

  since she first began to mend, that our lass is more than a bit

  headstrong. In the past few days she's been tearing around the castle

  like a little whirlwind."

  "Aye. That's just it. We've all seen that she was mending nicely. I

  knew it. But I made no move to send her home to Ballinarin. I

  selfishly wanted to keep her here with me a while longer." Forever, if

  truth be told.

  "But you couldn't have known the lass would do something like this.

  There was no way to prevent this accident."

  "Nay." He shook his head. "But I'd rather die than see her harmed."

  Keane's eyes were so bleak, they tore at the old man's heart. "Oh,

  Vinson, I feel so helpless. What can I do?"

  "When all else fails, my lord, one can sometimes find solace in

  prayer."

  "Of all people, I have no right to petition heaven. Not after what I've

  done in my life."

  The old man cleared his throat. "If you don't mind my saying, my

  lord, the prayers might be even more acceptable, coming from you.

  It's said that heaven looks most kindly on a reformed sinner."

  When the door closed behind him, Keane sank to his knees beside the

  bed, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  Chapter Ten

  Briana was crawling through a long, dark tunnel. With each forward

  movement, there was tremendous pain. Whenever she slipped back

  into the darkness, the pain would ease. But, though it seemed easier to

  surrender to the darkness and forego the pain, she sensed that she

  needed to keep crawling toward the light. She was exhausted, but

  knew she couldn't stop. There was something, or someone, waiting

  just beyond. Someone worth whatever pain it would take.

  Aye. Someone. She couldn't recall his name. But she could see his

  face. A darkly handsome man. Her angel.

  After one last tremendous effort, she surfaced, and lay, breathing

  heavily, bathed in sweat.

  She felt something soft against her hand. When she could focus, she

  saw that he was here with her, kneeling beside the bed, his head

  bowed as if in prayer. A single candle burned on the night table,

  casting his face in light and shadow. Her dark angel. Handsome.

  Mysterious.

  She brushed a hand over his hair, as if to soothe.

  At once he lifted his head and stared at her. When he managed to find

  his voice he whispered, "Briana. Oh, lass. You've come back to me."

  "I feared I'd dreamed you. But I didn't, did I? You're real. And here

  with me." She touched a hand to the growth of hair that covered his

  cheeks and chin. His eyes, she noted, were red-rimmed and

  bloodshot. "I thought I heard you calling me."

  "I was. Summoning you from that netherworld that held you in its

  grip."

  "How long have I been there?"

  "Two days and nights. I'd feared you would never return."

  She struggled to sort through the bits and pieces of memory. "I took a

  horse. 1 wanted to ride with you. Oh." She clapped a hand to her

  mouth, seeing in her mind the pile of stones, the horse leaping, and

  then feeling herself falling. ' 'There was something I needed to tell

  you. Something..." She struggled to hold on to the thought, but it

  drifted just out of her grasp, like a wisp of fog.

  She sighed. "Father always said I was too reckless."

  "It doesn't matter now, lass. Nothing matters now that you're back

  with me."

  "Aye. But from the looks of you, I've put you through a terrible time."

  "I'd go through hell and back for you, Briana O'Neil." And had.

  Though she'd never know it. He'd bargained with heaven, promising

  his fortune, his health, his very life, in exchange for hers. He would

  have bargained his soul, as well, except that he'd already sold it to the

  devil years before. "Do you need anything for pain?"

  She nodded, and felt her head swim at that s
mall movement. "I'll take

  all you have."

  He jumped up and returned moments later to hold a glass to her lips.

  She sipped, moaned at the pain it caused, then emptied the glass.

  "Will you sleep now, lass?"

  "Aye. And from the looks of you, you'd better do the same."

  Instead of leaving, he crawled in beside her and wrapped his arms

  around her, cradling her to his chest. And was asleep instantly.

  "It is a miracle."

  Mistress Malloy was holding forth in the kitchens. All the servants

  had gathered around to hear the tale again.

  "Two days and two nights without a movement. But Lord Alcott

  wouldn't give up, even when the rest of us had. He'd even resorted to

  prayer, according to Cora, who saw him more than once on his knees.

  It was Vinson who found him, curled up beside her. The two of them

  sleeping as soundly as babes, they were. Lord Alcott hasn't stopped

  smiling since. I tell you, he's a changed man."

  The others were nodding in agreement.

  One of the servants bobbed her head. "He sent me to the village to

  invite Friar Murphy to make use of the chapel here on the grounds of

  the keep." She laughed. "It was the first time I've ever seen the old

  priest struck speechless. But he seemed pleased with the invitation

  and said he would agree to meet with Lord Alcott."

  Fleming, the gardener, chimed in. "I saw Lord Alcott cutting roses in

  the garden. I offered to help him, but he merely asked which ones

  were the lass's favorites, then cut them himself. He said he wanted to

  brighten her chambers."

  "That's nothing," Cora added. "He won't let me do a thing for our lass.

  He insists on feeding her himself, cutting her meat, lifting a spoonful

  of broth to her lips. He helps her to sit up, to lie down. If it were left

  up to Lord Alcott, our lass would never again lift a hand for herself."

  "All right now." Vinson, overhearing their remarks, strode into their

  midst. "Is no one seeing to the chores around here anymore?"

  The crowd of servants scattered.

  When they were alone, Mistress Malloy dusted an imaginary spot

  with the hem of her apron. "What do you make of it, Vinson?"

  He shrugged. "I think we have what we wished for. Now we'd better

  hope it's good. For us and, more importantly, for the lass. For it's

  surely done a world of good for Lord Alcott."

  "What are you doing?" Briana's lids fluttered, and she saw someone

  at the window, drawing the draperies against the afternoon sunlight.

  Keane turned. "I didn't want anything to disturb your sleep."

  "Oh. Nay. Open them wide. I want to see the sunshine."

  He started toward her. "But you should be sleeping."

  "If you had your way, I'd sleep away my life."

  He sat on the edge of her bed, studying her carefully. "Mistress

  Malloy says sleep is healing."

  "Then we'll send Mistress Malloy off to her bed.

  But I want to see the sun, Keane. And I want to leave this bed."

  He caught her hands in his, lifting each of them to his lips. "Then you

  shall have your wish."

  She felt dizzy with heat at the touch of his lips. And knew, from the

  way his eyes narrowed, that he felt it as well. But just when she

  thought he might draw her into his arms and kiss her lips, he suddenly

  pushed himself away from her.

  He crossed the room and tore open the draperies, allowing sunshine

  to spill into the room. Then he returned to her side and said, "Shall I

  carry you to the window?"

  "Can't I walk?"

  "Not yet. But I'll carry you if you wish."

  "Oh, yes. Please." She was hungry for the touch of him.

  She tossed aside the bed linens, and he lifted her in his arms, cradling

  her against his chest. It was the most natural thing in the world to

  wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her to the window.

  "You still weigh little more than a bird. I worry that you're so thin."

  "Stop worrying." She traced a fingertip over the little furrow between

  his brows. "You worry far too much about me. Besides, if Mistress

  Malloy has her way, I'll soon be as round as an old sow."

  "I'd not worry about that," he muttered, and turned away to avoid her

  touch. For there was a fire building inside him. A fire he was

  determined to put out before it could flame any higher.

  He had, after all, bargained with heaven. And he'd been granted his

  miracle. Now it was up to him to keep his part of it.They stared down

  at the rolling green hills and colorful valleys of Carrick.

  "You've such a lovely home, Keane."

  He turned his head so that their lips were almost brushing. "I've just

  begun to appreciate it, thanks to you."

  She saw his gaze drop to her mouth and felt a thrill of anticipation.

  Her arms tightened around his neck, and her eyes closed as she waited

  for his kiss.

  Keane tore his gaze from her and looked toward the window, willing

  himself to be strong enough to resist what she seemed so eager to

  give.

  "My lord." Cora skidded to a halt in the doorway.

  Briana's eyes snapped open. She nearly groaned in frustration.

  "What is it?" Keane turned slightly.

  "Mistress Malloy wants to know if our lass will be taking her meal

  below stairs with you."

  "Certainly not."

  "Oh, please, Keane," Briana whispered. "I do so want to leave this

  room."

  "I'll not have you risking your health."

  "How can it hurt?"

  "You could take a chill. Or tax your strength."

  "I won't, Keane. I promise I'll tell you the moment I'm feeling chilled

  or weary."

  He "knew it was impossible to deny her. Still, he tried to consider

  every argument for keeping her here to himself. Safe. All he wanted,

  all he cared about now, was that she be kept safe. Still, how could he

  dismiss the pleading in her eyes?

  At length he turned to the servant. "Aye, Cora. Tell Mistress Malloy

  that the lass will join me for a midday meal in the library. And after

  you've told her, find a suitable robe so your mistress doesn't catch a

  chill."

  "Aye, my lord." With a delighted laugh, the servant raced off to

  inform the housekeeper. It was good news indeed. For it meant that

  Briana O'Neil had taken another step back from that dark place they

  had all feared.

  "A little more broth, lass?"

  Briana shook her head. "It was most tasty, Mistress Malloy. But I

  couldn't manage another sip."

  "Perhaps a sip of wine then? It's said to stimulate the appetite."

  "I couldn't. But thank you."

  "Tea, my lady?" a servant asked.

  "Nay, thank you. No more." Briana glanced around the table. Besides

  Keane, who sat beside her, there were half a dozen servants hovering,

  eager to do her bidding. And Vinson, positioned by the door, looked

  as though he'd turn somersaults in the air if she but asked.

  "You must all stop this at once."

  She could almost hear the astonished gasp from the assembled.

  "Whatever do you mean, lass?" Keane placed a hand over hers.

  "This...treating me like some helpless infant. I'm not ill. Or frail. I'm

&
nbsp; just a little weak from my fall."

  "Of course you're weak." Keane patted her hand. "You were at death's

  door, Briana. You frightened us half to death."

  "That's just it. Now, you're doing the same to me. Frightening me

  with all this attention. I need...to be treated as I was before."

  Keane motioned to the servants, and they took two steps away from

  the table. "All right, my lady. But you must promise me that you will

  ask for help when you feel weak."

  She gave him a bright smile. "Agreed." As she got to her feet, she felt

  her head swim. She quickly gripped the edge of the table to keep from

  falling.

  At once the servants surged forward.

  Keane scooped her into his arms, a frown darkening his brow. "Cora,

  prepare the lass's bed."

  As he strode from the room he muttered, "Now we'll do things my

  way. And you'll not leave your bed again until I say you will."

  "Please, Keane. You can't keep me confined to my room." Briana sat

  in her bed, surrounded by plump pillows.

  As he had every morning for a week, Keane himself carried in her

  tray and proceeded to sprinkle sugar and cinnamon and sweet

  thickened cream over a bowl of porridge. "Try this," he murmured in

  his most persuasive tone. "I've embellished Mistress Malloy's

  recipe."

  He dipped the spoon into the confection, and lifted it to her mouth.

  She tasted, swallowed, nodded her approval. "It's very good, Keane.

  But porridge isn't enough. Even your excellent recipe. What I need is

  fresh air. And sunshine. Please."

  "One more bite, lass. And then I'll consider your request."

  With a sigh she obliged him, taking a spoonful of porridge and

  swallowing it down.

  "Well?" She drew the single word out like a plea.

  He couldn't hold back his smile any longer. "All right. I'll indulge

  your request for sunshine and fresh air. Would you like to walk in the

  garden?"

  "You'll let me walk?" She was already tossing aside the bed linens

  and swinging her legs to the floor when he caught her hand in his,

  stilling her motions.

  "A figure of speech. I'll do the walking. You'll be enjoying the

  sunshine and fresh air in my arms. And then, if the air isn't too chilly,

  on a bench."

  "Keane." She nearly stomped her foot in frustration. "I'm not a child."

  His eyes were warm with admiration as he looked her up and down.