She wanted to cry some more, but the rest of her tears were dammed up inside her breast, lodging there with an emptiness borne upon the breeze that crept in through the open casement. Maryssa shifted on the hard seat of the chair, her stiff muscles shooting needles of pain down her spine. Raising bleary eyes to the night-veiled mountains beyond the window, she drank in the scent of wild heather and sea-swept darkness. Then she stared into the night until the stars flickered out beneath her heavy lashes and loneliness draped itself around her in dark gray folds of despair.
* * *
Maryssa burrowed deeper into the warmth enfolding her, her sleep-numbed brain struggling groggily to understand how the rosewood chair that had cut into her shoulders moments ago could suddenly cradle her with such delicious comfort. She had been cold. So cold. She had felt the chills scuttle beneath her skin, yet her eyelids had seemed weighted with bits of lead, far too heavy to open even enough to allow her to stumble to the bed, that was only six steps from the chair on which she had fallen asleep.
But now . . . sensations crept up her fingertips. She was suddenly aware of the sleekness of finely woven cloth, downy soft warmth snuggled about her shoulders.
Maryssa's eyes flew open, and she shoved herself upright, her gaze darting about her in stunned surprise. The partly drawn bed curtains let in trickles of sunlight to frolic among the bedclothes tucked about her with the greatest of care. One bright ray darted up her wrist to where the lace cuff of her nightdress ruffled out over her hand.
Maryssa's fingers fluttered to her throat to touch the buttons that ran down her breast. The heavy corset and layers of petticoats were gone. Each tiny ivory button on her night rail had been slipped through the loop that held it. A hazy memory of the faintest of sensations stirred inside her, as if the mountain breeze had flowed over her sleeping body in dreamlike whispers. Had the chambermaid come in after she had fallen asleep, taken pity on her, and helped her into bed? No, she had barred the door, unable to endure the thought of even that stout old woman bearing witness to her misery. Had—
A sudden chill gust of wind surged into the room, setting the bed curtains whirling in heavy sweeps against each other. Maryssa jumped from beneath the coverlets and scurried toward the open window. She slammed to a halt, and froze, her fingers a hand's length away from the window latch.
Elation and disbelief bubbled inside her as she stared at the ledge, blanketed now in a tumult of riotous color. It was as if wood nymphs had stolen great armfuls of happiness and strewn them upon the ancient stone in the guise of every wildflower that grew on Donegal's hills. Palest rose, butter yellow, crimson, and purple, myriad blossoms crowded one another among tender fronds of meadow grass, the stems of one nosegay bound with the loveliest piece of lace Maryssa had ever seen.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak as she reached shaking fingers toward the square of paper tucked beneath a half- blown primrose.
Maura-love— Maryssa felt her heart flip over as the boldly scrawled words leaped up at her. You are softer and sweeter than any angel when you sleep, but watching you, holding you, makes me want to sweep the dream dust from your eyes and fill them with wonder. Let me, Maura. Come to the lake when the sun is high. I will be there. Waiting.
Clutching the note to her breast, she whirled in a dizzying circle, a joyous laugh rippling in her throat. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she welcomed their healing wetness, welcomed the bite of the paper's edge in her palm, as if the sensations could convince her it wasn't a dream. Tade had returned, kept his promise. He had scaled the wall to her window and . . .
Heat suffused her skin beneath its thin icing of lawn at the thought of Tade's dark fingers peeling away the layers of her clothing as she slept, then easing her into the nightdress that flowed in a thin veil about her nakedness. She scooped up an armful of flowers and buried her face in their fragrant brightness.
"Asleep?" Maryssa giggled to herself. "I must have been nearly dead not to feel it.”A delicious shiver of anticipation raced up her spine. Her gaze swept out over the mountains to where the sun climbed, a sphere of liquid gold set in a cerulean sky. "I'll have to make haste if I want to be ready."
She danced to the elegant washstand in the corner and swept up the silver-backed brush to smooth it through the waves of hair tumbling past her hips. Coiling the luxuriant strands in a glistening crown about her head, she hummed a sparkling little tune, half-remembered from a day Evangeline Boucher had taken her out berrying.
Anchoring the last wayward strand with a hairpin, Maryssa turned back to the blossoms she had set on the washstand. She would weave them through her hair, splashes of brilliance against the dark tresses. A crimson bud, all but buried among butter-colored flowers seemed to beckon her. A smile touching her lips, she plunged her fingers into the bouquet seeking the stem.
Pain drove itself into her thumb. With a cry of surprise, she yanked her hand away, spilling the blossoms across the thick rug. Bright red, a drop of blood welled up on her skin. Maryssa's gaze flashed to the tumbled flowers. There, tangled among their satiny petals, lay a tiny spray of thorns—danger bathed in beauty. She reached down, lifted the sharp spikes, and gingerly held them in her cupped palm. Danger. Was that not what Tade faced in sending for her? And she, in running to meet him?
Her gaze strayed to the elegant silver-framed looking glass that hung on the wall. Maryssa stared for long minutes at the image peering back at her. The happiness setting her eyes a-sparkle could scarce hide the dark circles smudged beneath them, and the blush of pink now tinting her cheeks only heightened the pallor that two weeks of sleeplessness had stroked into her skin.
Nay. Maryssa banished the thought of danger, tipping her hand to let the thorns fall onto the stand's embroidered cover. Today would hold only joy. Yet when she spun back to the window, the smile that curved her lips was touched with defiance.
The sun was nearly halfway to its crest, and heaven lay in wait for her beside a shimmering lake.
* * *
"Blast it, Dee, you nearly made me lay open my jaw with this thing!" Tade jerked his razor away from his skin, steadying himself as his sister swept past him. His exasperated voice cut through the clamor of the crowded room as he wheeled away from the basin of steaming water, brandishing his razor at the thunderous countenance of his sister. "You know cursed well I need to finish in haste."
"Scrape that thing across your face with any more haste and you'll slice your nose clean off," Deirdre snapped, pushing past him. "Though I vow the loss of it might be an improvement, the way you're always poking it into the air."
Tade grinned, jerking the towel from around his neck and snapping the damp length at her skirts with a well-practiced aim. He winced, gritting his teeth against the sudden stab of pain that shot through his arm at the quick movement. But even the soreness that throbbed up into his shoulder and the serious, questioning weight of Rachel's gaze upon him could not quell his amusement as Deirdre skittered to one side. Her foot snagged on a pair of pudgy legs sprawled out from the overturned stool behind which Brody and Tamkin lay dragging wisps of twine beneath the paws of three mischievous kittens. Tade couldn't resist a burst of laughter at Deirdre's black curse as she stumbled and pitched scowl-first into the heaping willow basket at the side of the washstand.
"Plague take you, Tom and Brody!" she sputtered, extricating herself from the soiled clothing. "I've told you a hundred times to take those infernal beasts out into the yard before you kill someone! And you, Tade Kilcannon—” She wheeled and shot Tade a killing glare. “—can go straight to blazes!"
"According to most of Donegal, I'm going there as quick as I am able, thank you very much," Tade said with mock solemnity. "Of course, if you know of a shorter route . . ."
"You . . . oh!" Deirdre's small fists clenched in fury, her face washing red as her hair. "You are the most disgusting, arrogant bast—"
"Shame, shame," Tade teased, clucking like an old dowager. "Talk like that and a fairy is apt to come steal away your tongue. Perh
aps if you could uncross your eyes but a trice, Dee, you'd save getting your freckles flattened."
"I wouldn't dream of robbing the high-and-mighty Tade Kilcannon of so much amusement gleaned at my expense," Deirdre snapped, stooping to snatch up the travel-stained clothes strewn on the floor. "Maybe you should follow me down to the stream and watch me while I wash your filthy clothes. You might be fortunate enough to see me fall into the water and drown. That would send you into pure spasms, no doubt."
"Aye, no doubt, since you swim like a gannet and the stream is knee deep," Tade agreed, chuckling as he turned back to the mirror. "Now, if you'd permit me to finish my shaving before the soap turns stone-hard, I do have a most important assignation in but an hour's time."
Deirdre muttered another oath, and Tade struggled to keep from nicking himself as he drew the razor across the lines of merriment crinkling about his mouth. An hour's time. His smile faded at the memory of satiny skin beneath his fingertips, firelight glossing rose-tipped breasts, slender legs. Maryssa. Every muscle in his body was taut with the wanting . . . Waiting . . .
Tade started, the image of fire-glow and soft, yearning lips vanishing as something hard jabbed into his ribs. He looked down to see Deirdre rubbing her elbow, her mouth drawn into lines of acid contriteness.
"A thousand pardons for disturbing you. I didn't mean delay you from your assignation! Tade the magnificent! The great high king! Not burdened by the rules of the household like the rest of us poor lowlings," she trilled, dipping him an insolent curtsy.
"Last Monday when Shane forgot to throw his soiled bawneen into the willow basket before I went to the creek, Ma made him suffer a whole week without it. But you? Oh, nay. You sashay in after two weeks—two weeks—and she expects me to spend half a Friday afternoon washing your stinking—"
"For shame, Dee." The tiniest edge to Rachel's ever-gentle voice made all eyes in the room turn to where she leaned over the cradle. Her angular features were creased with concern, and Tade could feel her gaze sweep the slight thickness of the bandage hidden beneath his shirtsleeve. He shifted, to hide the telltale bulge from her view. Yet it was as if those soft brown eyes could see through the layers of fine linen and bloodstained cotton to the gouge a Sassenach bullet had carved beneath.
Rachel turned to Deirdre, the patience that usually glossed her features marred by tight lines about her lips. “It is a fair enough exchange, I think," she chided. "An hour of washing clothes for the shoes Tade brought you from Derry."
"Oh, aye," Deirdre sniffed, her mouth quivering with resentment. "And such lovely shoes they are, too. Heavy as a cow's hoof and well nigh as appealing. I may die of gratitude every time I don them. Most likely Tade scarce had time to spend at the cobbler's, though, what with the hours he must have wasted plying confectioners with his coin." She glared at where little Katie leaned chubby elbows on the table's edge, her round baby eyes wide with delight as she stared, transfixed, at the sugar swan gracing the center of the table.
Tade turned, a smile tipping one corner of his mouth as his eyes skimmed the cunning creation. But it was not the sugar swan he saw, wrought as perfectly as a sculptor's masterpiece amid carefully unfurled petals of thick wrapping, but rather its image reflected back at him in eyes as fathomless as the deepest lake, alive with the wondrous hues of his mountains.
"Don't pay her any heed, Tade."
The vision of Maryssa's face faded at the sound of Brody's call, and Tade turned to see the ten-year-old thrust his head from beneath the stool. "Dee's been cross as a stinging bee since Phelan took Aileen to the dancing at the Dalys’s. And I heard her brag to the other girls that you went to Derry 'specially to buy her something that'd turn Aileen sick with envy."
"Brody Kilcannon if you don't close you're mouth, I'll—"
"Come, now, Dee, I could hardly know you wanted frills and furbelows when you didn't see fit to tell me," Tade interrupted in his most cajoling tone. "And I doubt Phelan would be smitten with a girl who lost her toes at first frost."
"You seem smitten enough with that dull English dishrag of a girl to make a complete dolt of yourself. Perhaps if I minced about with my eyes fixed on my toes and my mouth barely peeping open to whisper 'aye, sir,' and 'nay, ma'am,' Phelan would hurl himself at my feet."
"Well, little sister, at least if he does, he'll not be staring at bare skin." Tade nodded toward the sturdy new shoes, which lay in an ignominious heap in the hearth corner. He grabbed up the towel and wiped the remaining lather from his lean cheeks, then draped the length of linen over one shoulder. He grinned as his gaze strayed to the table where Katie's tiny nose was a hair's breadth from the sugary temptation of the swan's outspread wing. The child's pink tongue peeked out of her mouth.
"Nay, nay, Katie, treasure, that sweetie is not for you," Tade said gently, sweeping the child up in his arms. "I brought that back from Derry town for a very special lady."
"See-na?" the child asked dejectedly, her little face crumpling. "See and De'dra’ll never give me a lick."
"Well, neither one of them will get so much as a taste of this treat," Tade said, tweaking Katie's rosy cheek. "That swan is for the prettiest lady in Donegal, next to you."
"Pwitty?" the imp echoed.
"Aye. Her name is Maryssa, and she has the sweetest face God ever put on a woman."
"You—you didn't drag home that sugar monstrosity for that cursed English witch?" Deirdre gasped, jabbing a finger at the swan.
A frown touched Tade's brow, and only the sudden hint of fear in the girl's eyes saved him from anger. "Nay, I dragged home that sugar monstrosity as a gift for the gentlest woman— English or Irish—I've ever known," Tade offered with forced lightness. "But it is obviously most fortunate I had the confectioner slip a packet of peppermints for you in with the sugar-teat I brought back for Ryan. Your disposition is in great need of sweetening."
"Tade, you—you can't mean to—to woo Wylder's daughter! He would . . . will . . ." Deirdre gulped.
“Have to become accustomed to seeing a Kilcannon once again about Nightwylde?" Tade finished, shooting Deirdre a mischievous grin. "What you you think, Dee? Would I not strike a fine figure standing on the turrets? Or should I say dangling from them?"
He saw Deirdre flinch, her face becoming tinged with gray. A small hand tugged on his open collar, and he turned away to where Katie's eyes feasted on the swan's sugary wing, their wide blue depths bright with wistful yearning. "Tade, is your 'Ryssa gonna eat the sweetie on the terpets?" she asked.
"Nay, love. I'm meeting her at the lakeshore. Most like she'll nibble on it there."
"Where y' taught me an' Tamkin how t' puddle about?"
"Aye." Tade's mouth widened in a smile. "Come to think of it, I vow Maura could use a few lessons in puddling herself." The sun-drenched memory of Katie and Tamkin splashing about in the water shifted, and Tade could almost feel the cool water lapping at his naked flesh, feel Maryssa in his arms, warm, sleek, and willing.
"Tade?"
He mentally shook himself, vaguely embarrassed as though the child could somehow see the scene he had imagined and sense the tightening in his loins. "Aye, Katie?"
"Does your 'Ryssa like little girls?" she asked in a tiny, hopeful voice.
Tade looked down into her round little face for a long moment, then grinned and brushed one finger over the tip of her nose. "Aye. And if she were here, I'm certain she'd break off a wee piece of the wing for my favorite little sprite," Tade assured her, reaching down with one hand to chip a delicate scallop from the base of the swan's wing. He popped it into Katie's mouth, whispering in a voice just loud enough for Deirdre to hear, "Maryssa has a much more agreeable temperament that either Sheena or Dee can boast."
Tade stifled a laugh as Deirdre snatched up the laundry basket with a vengeance. One bentwood handle slammed into the washbasin, sending the metal container careening to the floor, spraying soapy water to the four corners of the room. Yowling noisily, the kittens streaked out the open door, Tom and Brody shri
eked and scrambled up from the floor, their sopping wet shirts and breeches rimed with soapsuds, and little Ryan set up a piercing wail that set the very rafters shaking.
In an instant, Tade had set Katie down upon the edge of the table and grabbed a fistful of clothes from Deirdre's basket to swab up the mess. He looked up at her, words designed to tease her into laughter on his lips. But the jests stilled at the oddly stricken expression on her face.
He watched as Deirdre's tear-bright gaze swept from the graceful swan, safe upon the table, to the rivulets of water running merrily across the newly scrubbed boards to stain the leather of the shoes in the hearth corner. Tade dived for the shoes and whisked them out of harm's way, then turned, holding them aloft with a smile. But Deirdre only flung him a look of stark betrayal and then, clutching the basket, spun and ran out the door.
Tade stared after her, scarcely noticing when Brody and Tom stomped into their bedchamber to peel off their sodden clothes. "I warrant I should have told her about the gown I sent back with Reeve," he said, turning to Rachel with a rueful sigh. "But I hadn't time to match slippers to it, and Christa promised—"
"She'll see the dress soon enough, Tade." Rachel scooped up Ryan and cuddled him to her shoulder. "Some days do not know what that girl needs more, a good shaking or a month's worth of hugs."
"Well, whichever it is, she's of a certainty not getting it from me," Tade said, moving to scrub the last of the dampness from the floor. "It seems that she spends every minute I'm home either shrieking or staring at me as if I'd just drowned her pup. She used to romp and laugh, flinging back just as good as I dealt. But now every time I open my mouth she bursts into tears or—"
"She misses you," Rachel interrupted with a sad smile. "We all do."
"But I stay home as much as possible, and even when I'm gone, it is only for a few weeks’ time. I have to go.”
"I know." Rachel bent to lay Ryan in his cradle. "But each time you go, it shows us how empty this cottage will be when you finally leave for good. We've always depended upon you so—me, the little ones, and especially Dee. It seems to her that you've committed the most unforgivable sin of all. You've grown up, Tade, and left her behind."