Alaina's Promise Part 8

"I couldn't leave Daddy."

"He'll be fine, la.s.s. I'll keep an eye on him while you're gone."

"But-"

"Nay, I won't hear another word about it. We can't have you getting sick on us as well, can we now?" Maggie laid a warm hand on her arm and smiled. "I find fresh air and exercise are often the best cure for what ails you."

Maggie never ceased to amaze her. The woman had the keen instincts of one well acquainted with human frailties, yet, Alaina doubted the woman had any herself. Her gentle and forthright nature held a world of compa.s.sion.

"Thank you," she replied after a moment. "I think I will go out for a bit."

"Good. Follow the paths and you should be fine. The way west leads to the cliffs, eastward is the Burren. One or the other ought to make for a nice bit of exercise on a fine day as this. But mind the sky. A storm can brew quick and fierce."

"Thank you, I will," Alaina said with a smile and went to her room to change her slippers for boots. Minutes later, she strode down the broken pavements toward the western sh.o.r.eline; her cloak billowed about like a ma.s.sive shadow. She smiled up at the clear, blue sky, her heart lighter than it had been for weeks as her feet moved to the beat of her heart. Maggie had been right-this was so much what she needed. Time to think, air to breathe, quiet and peace beneath the warm spring sun.

At one point the path forked in two directions. One, the more worn, she thought must head into town. The other lay still, almost forgotten as plants sprung up from the cracks in the limestone slabs. She wondered if this were the more direct route to the cliffs she'd seen upon entering the harbor?

With a slight turn on her heel, Alaina struck out down the second path, her boots forging a new route as she walked over bright green seedlings and skirted around bunches of delicate flowers growing among the rocks and furrows. The path seemed to incline and each step became more labored. Her breathing more difficult and shallow; it was a while before she noticed the strong smell of the sea and the way the wind picked up force. It swirled around her like a dust devil as it clawed at the loose bun she'd twisted her hair into earlier. Soon she relented and reached up to remove the pins from her hair before they became inexorably entangled in the thick ma.s.s.

She could barely catch her breath by the time she reached the edge of the cliff. The sight that stretched out before her nearly made her lose it again. Hundreds of feet below, the ocean rolled forward to the edge of the deep blue of the horizon. Islands to her left looked like huge stepping stones lifted by giant hands and set, just so, in the churning white foam of the blue-gray waters. The cry of gulls filled her ears along with the rumbling pulse of the waves that crashed upon the rocks below. A soft, mournful sound punctuated the endless rhythm and it took a moment to realize it was the howling of the western winds.

She stood, mesmerized by the sights and sounds, filled with the earthy beat and fragrant aroma of the sea. This was what her father had tried to describe when she had always asked him of Ireland. These were the images, the feelings he had attempted to convey. And yet, he'd never come close. Alaina knew this was something that must be experienced for oneself. The feeling could never be captured by mere words.

"'Tis a fine view."

She jumped in her skin and spun about, heart pounding in her ears. The sight of his handsome face, gazing down at her with a guarded expression, did not calm the inner tumult. To her utter distress, Torin's presence had quite the opposite effect. Her heart raced faster, her stomach flipped and churned into an enormous knot and she found it difficult to breathe.

She stood alone, on one of the highest cliffs of all of Ireland with a man who some thought a murderer. But the only fear came from the thought that he might try to touch her and forever crumble the careful barrier she'd spent years forging around her heart. Alaina feared he might make her care, might make her hope for the one thing she may never have-a husband's love.

His eyes narrowed as she took a panicked step sideways. "I won't throw you off, if that's your worry."

For a moment his words, and the hurt behind them threw her into confusion. Then she realized what he must be thinking. "I know." She moved back toward him, eager to overcome her fear and banish some of the pain that lingered in his gaze. "I know you've never hurt any woman."

He searched her face, her eyes, like a man seeking the secrets of the universe. After a moment, he seemed satisfied with what he found. His shoulders dropped slightly beneath his heavy black coat, the tight lines around his mouth and eyes softened.

"Who told you?"

She shrugged, unsure if he'd be angry or relieved that she'd heard of the sordid business from his mother. "Maggie."

His brows rose and then he nodded. "Good. Then you heard the truth of it."

"I think so." She swallowed and moved a bit closer. "I'm sorry."

He frowned again. "For what?"

"For... for what happened." She glanced at her folded hands and searched for the right words, all the while knowing anything would sound trite or inadequate. "It must have been terrible to lose someone you loved and then to be blamed for it. I can't begin to imagine the pain it must have caused."

His gaze flickered away from hers and he stared out at the water, but she knew it was the past that he saw. "I did love Brigit," he admitted. "But it was the affection of a boy. A boy long dead.

"She was a bonnie la.s.s-had a fire in her soul that burned hot and fierce. But these cliffs...they scared her so. I never understood how she took that last step. Or why." He swallowed hard. "I had nightmares for weeks thinking of her falling."

Alaina stood before him, speechless as his meaning sank in. "Are you sure she jumped?"

"'Tis the only explanation beyond me pus.h.i.+ng her over."

It didn't make sense. "Is there...did anyone else have a reason to hurt her?"

"Nay," he said as he quickly shrugged off the idea. He looked at her and smiled softly. "If she'd had your strength, things would have been so different."

She wondered what had brought on that observation. "But, how can you know anything of the sort about me? We just met and we barely know one another."

"Yet, you know I could never hurt a woman. How can that be, Alaina?" He took a step closer. "How can you know something so important about me? How can you trust a man such as me? Aren't you afraid I'll lose control and toss you over the side?"

His gaze bore into her as he sought the answers in her eyes. Alaina blinked and turned away, unable to stand his scrutiny and proximity for another moment.

"I see what you mean," she replied, head bowed. "You can sometimes discern things about people even those with whom you are not well acquainted."

"I mentioned that once before, but you didn't seem to agree. Tell me now, Alaina, are you such a good judge of character?"

He stood at her side, so close that she could smell the sweet turf smoke that lingered on his clothes. The wind swirled, changing direction until it tugged at her hair, pulling long streams of it across her face to lash about her cheeks. She reached up a hand to push it back out of her eyes just as he reached up. Whatever his intention, it caught her unaware and she gasped, then swiveled to face him. His nearness sent a wave of heat spiraling through her body. There were flecks of gray in his green eyes and his pupils grew larger as she watched his gaze slip to her lips.

A fire burned low in her belly, her body swayed toward him with the relentless push of the wind. His hands went to her waist as if to steady her, but then he leaned down until his mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from hers. She could smell the whiskey on his breath and tried to move. Her limbs would not obey. What power was this that kept her spellbound-watching and waiting, even wanting him to take what she feared to give?

He blinked and let go of her as if the touch burned. "Time to leave, I think."

She nodded up at him dumbly, her mind and body disconnected. But she couldn't move until he took her arm and turned her away from the sea. The wind whipped her skirts about her legs as her hair flew in every direction. Nothing could be content for long within mere mortal confines on the cliffs. A spark of divinity, an air of magic dwelt in every inch of Ireland.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he steered her down the slope, but turned in a slightly different direction than she had come.

"Home," he answered, but said no more.

She allowed him to lead her toward the west. Soon a tall, rounded tower could be seen in the distance. It belonged to one of the castles so long ago abandoned and taken for granted by the inhabitants of the small village. The structures fascinated her almost as much as the man walking by her side.

"Tell me about the castle," she asked Torin as they drew closer to the ruins.

"'Tis known as the 'fort of the rounded hills' or the 'fort of the goats'." He glanced down at her and chuckled at her expression. "Aye, not very romantic. It was originally given to Turlough O'Brien many years ago but the seanachais have said it was here that Boetius MacClancy sentenced the Yellow Men to death. Their s.h.i.+ps sank somewhere off the coast and the lucky ones to survive were brought here, only to be hung soon after."

"Yellow men?" Alaina asked with a frown. "Do you mean Chinamen?"

"Nay, Spanish sailors." He stopped for a moment in the shadow of the tower and tilted his head back to look up at the peak. "They were called that because of the color of their uniforms."

Alaina followed his gaze. "But why were they hung?"

He shrugged. "It was during the year of the Spanish Armada. Spain went to war against England and MacClancy was the High Sheriff of Clare. He had the enemy hung to prove his loyalty to the British. They say he was cursed every year on the Church steps in Spain for his murderous acts. When I was a lad, I often wondered if they still do."

"Were all the survivors hung?"

"Most, but not all. Many escaped by going north to Scotland, though I don't know how many made it home again. Others left on one of the vessels that had moored on Scattery Island." He smiled then, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "But the gossips do like to point out the number of dark-haired, dark-eyed children that littered the countryside soon after. They say many a la.s.s found herself a husband that autumn."

Alaina tried to ignore his implication, and turned her thoughts to the events that might have taken place amidst the ruined walls so many centuries ago. She'd never been much for fairy tales and ghost stories. Her father often complained that she lacked an Irish soul because of her skepticism. Now, as she stood among the weather beaten stones that once formed Doonagore's proud structure, she began to feel a stirring of that Irish within. For a moment she thought she heard the whisper of voices from long ago.

"As a fact, my father is descended from a la.s.s they say saved one of the Spaniards from hanging, but I've never known the whole truth of it." For a long moment the castle ruins held his attention as if he were engrossed in the weathered stone-or lost in stories of the past. "But one telling of it says her Irish lover actually saved the man-s.n.a.t.c.hed him from the very gallows. It was his way to prove his love for her."

"Which man did she marry?" she asked, suddenly caught up in the tragedy of so many hundreds of years ago.

"The Irish one, naturally." His eyes darkened to slate. "Come. Let's be getting home before a storm breaks free."

She frowned in dismay-the few clouds visible were small, white and fluffy like b.a.l.l.s of cotton. "It doesn't look like a storm to me."

"Then you're very short-sighted, Alaina." His grip tightened for a moment and then relaxed. She had the strongest impression that Torin desperately wanted to be rid of her. "The heavens aren't the only place for storms to brew."

Something in his voice hinted at a meaning she'd rather not contemplate. Not when they were alone and so isolated. His touch created a riotous sensation throughout her body; his voice sent s.h.i.+vers across her skin. How could one man set such unfamiliar feelings in motion despite their short acquaintance? She should leave Ireland, the sooner the better.

But how could she? Even if her father were better and able to return home, this place-this man-were becoming entirely too important to her. It seemed as if the slow, languid pace of life in Virginia had ill-prepared her for this experience. Yet she had always thought Ireland to be much the same in the tenor of living. Virginia had nothing to prepare her for her betrothed.

How could she ever leave this place that was becoming so much a part of her? She tried to push the doubts aside as they strode purposefully down the path to Maggie's. Once her daddy was well enough to travel home, her time here would come to an end. As would her acquaintance with the Irishman whose dark hair shown glints of copper in the sun, and whose eyes glistened like the deep gray-green waters of Galway Bay.

The thought left her cold and aching inside.

"You shouldn't be out wandering on your own," he said as they moved down the slope. "You could get hurt or lost."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she retorted.

"Is that so?" The skepticism in his deep voice p.r.i.c.ked at her pride.

"Yes, I've done as much for many years." There was no need to explain her past to him-the months on end spent dealing with the running of Aveleen when her brothers had gone and her father took ill. She refused to satisfy anyone's curiosity with the sordid details of life and survival in a time when the world had gone insane. Anger, devastation and abundant heartache were hardly worth remembering, though she knew they must if only to avoid repet.i.tion of the same mistakes.

"How did you survive, Alaina?" He spoke without slowing their pace and without even the smallest glance in her direction. Somehow he had divined her train of thought, a fact which disturbed her to no end.

"We did what we had to." She hoped that would be enough.

"Nay, I mean you personally. Men such as your father are better equipped for war. How did you survive?"

She bristled at his intimation and jerked to a stop to look up at him.

"Do you really believe women are the weaker s.e.x?" she demanded. "We endure the pain of childbirth and raise those babies that are blessed to survive it. We alone are often responsible for educating the young, for running our homes with little or nothing. We provide comfort and companions.h.i.+p-particularly to those who are dying on the battlefields. How can you even begin to think us ill-equipped for war? It is because of us that men continue to exist despite their inclination to kill those with whom they disagree."

The look of astonished admiration that spread across his handsome face made her heart stutter.

"I believe I've misjudged you all these years."

She frowned. "How could you judge someone you never met?"

His mouth twisted into a grimace. "'Tis easy when you think yourself a martyr. But you've much more courage than me-or most men I've known."

"You flatter me, sir." A vague unease swept through her. She was not accustomed to compliments that moved beyond her obvious attributes of form and figure. "Either that or you have known many cowards."

He moved close and grasped her hands in his. His skin felt rough and warm around her cold fingers. "Are you afraid of nothing, la.s.s?"

"I...I didn't say that."

"What frightens you?" She couldn't pull her gaze from his and he refused her attempt to extract her hands.

"What terrors sneak into your dreams?" he whispered. "What memories haunt you in the quiet of the night? Why do your hands tremble when I hold them in my own?"

She shook her head, desperate to move away but unable to make her body obey when he stood so close. "I don't...I can't tell you."

"Why?"

She licked her dry lips and heard him groan deep in his throat. "Do you know what you do to me?" he asked. "Do you have any idea?" She frowned in confusion and he chuckled. "Nay, I thought as much. But I can't let this go, Alaina. Tell me what you fear."

"I'm not-"

He raised a brow and shook his head, his grasp tightening on her hands. "Don't start lying now. It doesn't become you."

The heat of him reached out like a ray of hot August suns.h.i.+ne. She leaned toward him, seeking the warmth and light. Seeking the kiss she knew would quench her thirst. Seeking the touch that would warm her chilled flesh.

"You," she murmured. "I'm afraid of you."

"I'd never hurt you."

"No, but I'm afraid of what you make me feel."

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Ghost-like shadows flitted across his face and his gaze softened.

"We have much in common," he said. "'Tis a shame."

She wondered at his words and sadness in his eyes as they continued the walk to Maggie's. He said nothing more, although he kept hold of her arm as if he worried she might slip away from him at any moment.

By the time the cottage came into view, the sun had dropped level with the horizon. They found Maggie at the clothesline gathering dry garments. She s.h.i.+elded her eyes from the orange glow of dusk as they approached.

"Torin, lad? What are you doing here?"

"I'm happy to see you too, Mum."

Maggie laughed. "Of course you know my meaning. I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She glanced at Alaina and frowned. "Are you well, la.s.s? You look a bit flushed."

She nodded but Torin answered before she could open her mouth. "We met at the cliffs and I escorted her home."

Maggie raised her brows. "Aye? 'Tis a gentleman I raised, to be sure. But I think the young lady is capable of finding her way home."

"Maybe so, but there are too many snakes about to be taking chances."

Alaina looked up at him in confusion. "But I thought there were no snakes in Ireland. Didn't St. Patrick-?"

"Only a figure of speech, la.s.s," Maggie interrupted as she watched her son. "And just a legend to most."

"Oh, of course," she replied, feeling the fool.