Briana

  From the kitchen came the most enticing aroma of beef roasting over

  a fire, and biscuits browning on a warming shelf.

  While the men talked of land and crops and weather, and the children

  continued to entertain the baby, Briana walked to the kitchen and

  offered her help.

  "Oh nay, my lady. You'll soil your lovely gown."

  "You're not to worry about my gown. Here." Briana reached out and

  took a heavy platter from Bridget's hands. "Where would you like

  this?"

  "In the center of the table, if you please."

  The two women worked in companionable silence, enjoying the

  rumble of masculine voices and the laughter of the children. Soon the

  dinner was ready, and the others were called to the table.

  As they sat, the family reached out to link hands, while Hugh led

  them in prayer. Briana and Keane followed suit.

  "We ask a blessing upon this food, this fine land, and most especially

  on our guests, who honor us with their presence."

  With her head bowed Briana glanced at Keane. But his fate showed

  no expression as he listened to the words.

  Then they began passing platters. It was simple fare. Beef. Potatoes.

  Biscuits. But the meat had been cooked until it fell off the bone. The

  potatoes were swimming in rich dark gravy. And the biscuits, spread

  with freshly churned butter, melted in the mouth.

  Keane accepted a second helping, and a third, and even Briana was

  surprised by her appetite, eating more than she could ever remember.

  When Bridget brought tea to the table, the children began to fidget, in

  anticipation of the special dessert awaiting them.

  Their father glanced around the table, then said with a smile, "I think

  it's time you enjoyed those fancy cakes Miss O'Neil brought you."

  With sighs of delight they began to eat until there wasn't a crumb left.

  "Those were the bestest I've ever tasted," little Keely said solemnly as

  she licked her fingers.

  "I'm glad to hear that, Keely." Briana laughed. "Shall I tell Cook that

  you approve of her surprise?"

  The children nodded as they drained their glasses of tea laced with

  milk.

  "If you've had enough to eat," Hugh said, "we can take our ale

  outside, where we can sit and watch the sunset."

  "What about the dishes?" Briana asked.

  Bridget scooped up the baby, who was still seated on the floor,

  playing with the new ball. "The older ones will see to them. Come,

  my lady. The air is pleasant tonight."

  They wandered outside and sat on wooden benches positioned

  beneath the branches of a gnarled old tree. Already the sun had

  dipped below the horizon, leaving a sky streaked with gold and rose.

  Night shadows were gathering close.

  Bridget opened her dress and held the babe to her breast. Seeing

  mother and child, Briana felt a sudden tightness in her throat. By now,

  all of her young friends in Ballinarin would be wed with children of

  their own. Her brothers, too, had taken wives, and would no doubt

  soon have families. And all the while, she had been suspended in time

  and place, unable to go forward with her life. In these past three years,

  the world had moved on, leaving her behind.

  Keane sipped his ale and looked off across the meadow, watching the

  flight of a hawk. "You're a lucky man, Hugh. A lovely wife, a fine

  family."

  "Aye, my lord. A lucky man, indeed. And I'd like to keep them all

  here, safe around me." He turned to Keane, daring to look him in the

  eye. "But I wonder how much longer I can do that, with the English

  soldiers roaming the land, seeking new victims daily for their

  bloodletting."

  When Keane said nothing he asked, "You've seen what these

  madmen do to our women and children?"

  "Aye. I've seen, Hugh."

  "We've no weapons with which to defend ourselves, my lord."

  Keane sipped, nodded.

  Hugh's voice lowered. "The men of Carrick wish to band together and

  form a militia, my lord. We want your permission to forge some of

  our farming implements into weapons. And we would ask you to

  teach us how to wield them."

  "You want me to teach you how to handle a sword?'

  "A^e, my lord. And a longbow and knife."

  When Keane held his silence, Hugh stood and faced him. "There was

  a time, when your grandfather was alive, that the people of Carrick

  knew such things. We were proud of our warlike abilities. But during

  the time of your father, such things were lost to us. He..." It was

  obvious that Hugh was struggling to choose his words carefully, not

  wishing to offend the new lord. But the words needed to be said. They

  burst forth from between clenched teeth. "He cared more for grand

  balls and fine dinners than he did about the people whose work made

  those things possible. There's even talk that he deliberately relieved

  us of our weapons, because he'd gone over to the English." He

  glanced toward his wife, then lowered his voice. "Forgive me, my

  lord. But after our chance meeting, I'd begun to think, that is, I'd

  hoped, that you might prove to be more like your grandfather."

  "I see." Keane stared down into his glass.

  Perplexed, Hugh McCann did the same, avoiding his guest's eyes.

  After a prolonged silence, Keane drained his glass and got to his feet.

  "I thank you for the lovely meal, Bridget."

  The young woman fastened her gown and lifted the infant to her

  shoulder. "You're welcome, my lord. I hope you'll come again."

  ' 'And I hope one day you will accept the hospitality of Carrick

  House." He took Briana's hand and helped her to her feet.

  When he turned, Hugh said, "You'll think on what I've said, my

  lord?"

  "Aye, Hugh. I will."

  The children gathered around the doorway, calling their good-nights.

  Little Keely ran up to hug Briana, who, in turn, lifted her in her arms

  and kissed her soundly before setting her down.

  Keane helped Briana into the carriage. With a wave of their hands,

  they took their leave.

  Briana waited until they were some distance from the cottage before

  turning to Keane. "Tell me the truth. Do you love this land?"

  His voice, so close beside her in the darkness, vibrated with feeling.

  "You know I do. But soon enough it will be bathed in the blood of its

  people. How lovely will it seem then, I wonder."

  Her voice trembled with anger. "Do you hear yourself? Do you know

  what you're saying?"

  "Aye." He nodded. "Would you have me lie to myself?"

  "I would have you care enough about your land to do something

  about it. Hugh McCann made a simple request. Arms for his people,

  and someone to teach them how to use them."

  "What would you have me do, Briana? Should I encourage all of

  Carrick to die for their country? Would I then prove to you how much

  I love Ireland?"

  Her voice lowered with conviction. "I would rather die for my

  country than turn my back on its troubles."

  "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

  "Isn't it?"

  He didn't answer. Couldn't. For in truth, he was no longer certain just


  what he was doing.

  He..had returned to Ireland simply to put his affairs in order. And then

  he had fully intended to leave this unhappy land with its unhappy

  memories, and never look back. Now he found himself tempted to do

  what he'd sworn never to do again.

  And all because of this fiery little woman who had fought her way

  back from the dead. And would no doubt fight until the day she

  breathed her last.

  Dear heaven, he was sick of the fighting. He cursed the day he'd ever

  stumbled across Briana O'Neil. Were it not for her, he would already

  be on his way to Spain or France. To safety. Not to a life of inherited

  titles and lands and debts, but wealth he'd earned with his own two

  hands and clever mind. To a life of untold wealth and ease. With no

  demanding little female like a millstone around his neck. A female

  who made him think too much. And want too much. And ache for

  things he could never have. Like respect and respectability. And love,

  such as he'd seen between Hugh McCann and his Bridget.

  Aye, love. It was the one thing he'd always wanted in his life. And

  had despaired of ever finding.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Keane leaned a hip against the balcony, watching the sunrise. He'd

  slept badly. All because of a certain female, who was taking up

  entirely too much of his time lately.

  He ought to be grateful for their harsh words of the night before. At

  least he hadn't been tempted to ravish her. It was probably the first

  night since she'd been under his roof that he could make such a

  statement.

  He was still angry with her. She had him tied up in knots. She'd

  questioned his loyalty. His integrity. His courage.

  What's worse, he was now questioning them himself.

  What right did she have to plant such seeds in his mind? Hadn't he

  suffered enough? Paid a high enough price? And all because of some

  misguided sense of duty to the land of his grandfather. To atone for

  the sins of his father.

  No, by God. He slammed an open palm against the balcony. He'd

  paid his dues. He'd be damned if anyone would question such things

  again. He was done with all that. He had no intention of paying a

  further price for his father's weakness.

  He watched a horse and rider top a ridge in the distance. Sunlight

  glistened on a cap of dancing curls. If he didn't know better, he would

  think it was Briana. But that couldn't be. She wouldn't attempt to ride

  again after the horrible fall she'd taken on Peregrine. Would she?

  He turned away and slipped into a tunic, then pulled on his boots.

  That done, he strode down the hall toward her chambers.

  The door to her sitting room was standing open. Inside, Cora was

  tidying the room.

  She looked up as he entered.

  "Where is Miss O'Neil?"

  "I know not, my lord. She left here not long ago, dressed for riding. I

  assumed that she was joining you."

  His eyes narrowed as a sudden thought intruded. He swung away and

  stalked toward the library. Inside he stared at the mantel where his

  ancestral swords usually hung. The space was empty.

  With a muttered oath he stormed out the door and headed toward the

  stables. Minutes later the stable master confirmed that the lass had

  indeed gone riding, "with the lord's permission." With a look of fury

  Keane took off on his own mount, following the direction Briana had

  taken.

  It didn't take him long to figure out where she was headed. The

  McCann cottage.

  Tigers, it would seem, never changed their stripes. And his resident

  tiger, Briana O'Neil, had decided to take matters into her own hands

  once again, and fight the English in the only way she knew—by

  leaping into battle without a thought to the consequences.

  When he got his hands on her this time, he'd throttle her within an

  inch of her miserable little life.

  "Nay, Hugh." Briana, standing atop a hillock in a neatly plowed field,

  held aloft her weapon and shouted commands at the man who was

  attempting to disarm her with his upraised sword.

  Standing around in a semicircle was a cluster of more than a dozen

  farmers and their sons, watching and listening intently.

  "If you charge directly toward me, I'll be able to run you through with

  my blade. Don't you see? You must twist, turn, dodge. Whatever it

  takes to avoid injury."

  "Unless you'd like to die a bloody, and very painful death," came a

  familiar deep voice from behind.

  Briana whirled. And found Keane advancing toward her, with a look

  of fury smoldering in his eyes.

  "My lord." Hugh McCann stepped forward, holding out his sword. "It

  was kind of you to permit us the use of your ancestral weapons. At

  first we thought Miss O'Neil was jesting when she said you'd sent her

  to teach us to fight. But now that we've seen and heard her, we are

  most grateful. The lady has real skill with a sword."

  "Aye. She does, doesn't she?" Keane accepted the sword, testing the

  weight of it in his palm for several moments before turning to Briana.

  The murderous look ki his eyes had her backing up as he said softly,

  "Let's give them a demonstration of your skill, Miss O'Neil."

  She was aware of the temper that flared in his eyes.

  Was aware, too, of the deadly softness that masked a blazing fury.

  She would show him that she didn't fear him or his temper. She lifted

  her chin a fraction. ' 'Aye, my lord. As you wish."

  She raised her sword and waited. Keane did the same, his gaze never

  leaving hers. When she advanced, he moved to one side and easily

  deflected her thrust. But she surprised him by turning on the balls of

  her feet, and striking out quickly, catching his arm with the point of

  her sword.

  The stab wasn't enough to draw blood. It merely sliced a long tear in

  his sleeve. But it was enough to make the crowd gasp. For they

  realized that these two had no intention of holding back. If it was,

  indeed, a mere demonstration of skill, it very nearly resembled a true

  battle.

  "You're quick, my lady."

  "Thank you." She smiled as she backed away from his thrust.

  It was true. What she lacked in strength, she more than made up for

  with speed and grace. She was, he realized as he backed her across the

  hillock, a worthy opponent.

  As the fight took them across toward a stand of trees, the crowd of

  farmers moved with them, watching each thrust, each parry with avid

  fascination.

  "But what will you do when I pin you?" Keane brought his sword up,

  catching hers in midstrike. Metal clanged against metal, and Keane

  could see, by the look on Briana's face, that she had felt the blow clear

  to the tips of her fingers. She'd had to, since his own were still

  vibrating from the force of it.

  Still, to her credit, she didn't drop her sword andbreak into tears as he

  had half expected. That would be the way of most females. But this

  one was like no other.

  "I was taught to never surrender." Her breath was coming hard and

  fast now as she danced, spun, avoided and, wh
enever possible,

  charged . ' 'And never retreat."

  He deflected another thrust and tempered his blow with the flat of his

  blade, knowing that if he were to use all his strength, he'd send her

  facedown in the dirt. He didn't want to humiliate her, after all. He

  merely wanted to test her skill. Though the thought of inflicting just a

  little pain and a little embarrassment, was tempting.

  "Most unwise, Miss O'Neil," he said between clenched teeth. "For

  sometimes retreat is necessary, in order to live to fight another day."

  She felt the rough bark of a tree against her back and knew she'd gone

  as far as she could. No more evasive tactics. Now she would have to

  stand and fight.

  "A true son of Ireland would rather die than retreat from the sword of

  an Englishman, my lord."

  His smile was dark and dangerous. ' 'Tell that to the sons of Ireland

  who lie buried beside the chapel. And tell it to their widows, and their

  children, who now have no one left to provide for them or defend

  them."

  "They have me." She lifted her sword, prepared to make one last

  valiant effort in her own defense. "And soon they'll have these brave

  men, who have come here to learn how to defend, not only their own

  loved ones, but all of Ireland as well."

  "Then I suggest they watch closely." Keane easily brought the point

  of his sword to her hand, and in one deft movement disarmed her.

  Her mouth dropped open in stunned surprise as her weapon fell to the

  earth at her feet. Before she could bend to retrieve it, Keane caught

  her roughly by the shoulder and dragged her in front of him, holding

  the sharp blade of his sword against her throat.

  "And that is how you disarm your opponent and render him helpless."

  He gave a sardonic grin to the circle of men. "Or in this case, render

  her helpless."

  The men roared with laughter, before doffing their hats to

  congratulate Lord Alcott on his superior skill.

  Keane released her and picked up her fallen sword, jamming both

  weapons into the earth at his feet in a symbol of victory.

  As she stepped back, heat stained Briana's cheeks. Even her brothers,

  Rory and Conor, who were perhaps the most skilled swordsmen in all

  of Ireland, had never managed to disarm her without so much as a

  drop of blood being shed. To fight and win without inflicting serious

  wounds demonstrated a superior skill such as she had never before