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Authors: Laurel McKee
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should be good, it’s French.”
He rose from his chair to restlessly prowl the room.
“French? How did it come to be here at Muirin Inish? Are you not in the blockade?” It had to be smuggled. Brought in at the
secret cove? Along with what other contraband?
“I must have
some
comforts here in my monkish life, Caroline.”
She couldn’t quite picture him as entirely monkish, despite the austere castle and his reclusive ways. She had glimpsed the
old, rakish Grant in that charming grin, the man who loved the sensual pleasures of life like wine, fine clothes, fast horses—and
pretty women. She felt her cheeks flush hotly as she remembered the desperate, hungry passion of his kiss, and her equally
hungry response to him. She could feel that hunger rising up in her now as she looked at him across the table.
Caroline turned her head away from the sight of him, from her vision of him as a fierce warlord of old Celtic tales who would
ravish her, his captive maiden, in front of the fire. Her stare caught on a pair of portraits hanging on the wall over the
sideboard.
They seemed out of place in these medieval surroundings. They were far more modern images of a man with long, powdered hair
and a bright satin coat and a young woman in a white, billowing gown with a bunch of roses in her hand. She looked so very
much like Grant, with the same sharp cheekbones and bronze-colored hair falling in curls over one shoulder.
“Is that your mother?” she asked, gesturing to the painting with her glass.
“Yes. In her younger, happier days before she met my father,” Grant said. “You remember her story?”
Caroline studied the lady’s painted face and thoughtof her tale. How she was the daughter of the last Duke of Adair. How she was the pampered, beautiful daughter of a proud,
well-to-do, staunchly Irish Catholic family. When she married Grant’s father, a handsome wastrel, and worse, an Anglo Ascendancy
Protestant, she was cast out of her family. So when her husband turned out to be a penniless gambler, who had counted on her
family’s money and grew cruel when he did not get it, she didn’t know what to do.
When Grant’s father’s debauchery caught up with him and he died young, Grant and his mother were alone. She was turned away
by her brother when she took her young son to Adair Court to beg for help, and Grant’s hatred for his mother’s family took
hold of his heart and turned it hard and bitter.
Caroline felt a pang of sadness as she studied the woman’s pretty, youthful smile and her hopeful expression. No one could
see the future or the heartbreak that awaited. No one knew what fate their choices would bring. Maybe that was a blessing.
“She was beautiful,” Caroline said. “You look a great deal like her.”
A bitter smile twisted Grant’s lips. “So people used to say. But I fear my heart was never tender like hers. It is more like
my father’s.”
Caroline went to stand beside Grant under the gaze of his self-deceived and ill-fated parents.
“I don’t think you are like either of them,” she said. “You are much stronger than them. You knew you could change the direction
of your life, that you could make yourself better.”
He stared down at her with those fathomless eyes,almost black now in the firelight. “Do you really think I have changed?”
The darkness around them, the crackling fire, and never-ending rhythm of the rain, and the wine all combined to make her feel
light-headed and not at all herself. The past seemed so close and yet so far away, like a half-remembered dream.
Surely he would vanish again, this new Grant, this stranger who so disturbed her.
Caroline gently laid her hand on his chest, and her gaze moved to his face, to the tracery of scars that stood out pale over
his elegant bones. He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen, so handsome he surely could not be part of the human
world. This place did suit him far
He rose from his chair to restlessly prowl the room.
“French? How did it come to be here at Muirin Inish? Are you not in the blockade?” It had to be smuggled. Brought in at the
secret cove? Along with what other contraband?
“I must have
some
comforts here in my monkish life, Caroline.”
She couldn’t quite picture him as entirely monkish, despite the austere castle and his reclusive ways. She had glimpsed the
old, rakish Grant in that charming grin, the man who loved the sensual pleasures of life like wine, fine clothes, fast horses—and
pretty women. She felt her cheeks flush hotly as she remembered the desperate, hungry passion of his kiss, and her equally
hungry response to him. She could feel that hunger rising up in her now as she looked at him across the table.
Caroline turned her head away from the sight of him, from her vision of him as a fierce warlord of old Celtic tales who would
ravish her, his captive maiden, in front of the fire. Her stare caught on a pair of portraits hanging on the wall over the
sideboard.
They seemed out of place in these medieval surroundings. They were far more modern images of a man with long, powdered hair
and a bright satin coat and a young woman in a white, billowing gown with a bunch of roses in her hand. She looked so very
much like Grant, with the same sharp cheekbones and bronze-colored hair falling in curls over one shoulder.
“Is that your mother?” she asked, gesturing to the painting with her glass.
“Yes. In her younger, happier days before she met my father,” Grant said. “You remember her story?”
Caroline studied the lady’s painted face and thoughtof her tale. How she was the daughter of the last Duke of Adair. How she was the pampered, beautiful daughter of a proud,
well-to-do, staunchly Irish Catholic family. When she married Grant’s father, a handsome wastrel, and worse, an Anglo Ascendancy
Protestant, she was cast out of her family. So when her husband turned out to be a penniless gambler, who had counted on her
family’s money and grew cruel when he did not get it, she didn’t know what to do.
When Grant’s father’s debauchery caught up with him and he died young, Grant and his mother were alone. She was turned away
by her brother when she took her young son to Adair Court to beg for help, and Grant’s hatred for his mother’s family took
hold of his heart and turned it hard and bitter.
Caroline felt a pang of sadness as she studied the woman’s pretty, youthful smile and her hopeful expression. No one could
see the future or the heartbreak that awaited. No one knew what fate their choices would bring. Maybe that was a blessing.
“She was beautiful,” Caroline said. “You look a great deal like her.”
A bitter smile twisted Grant’s lips. “So people used to say. But I fear my heart was never tender like hers. It is more like
my father’s.”
Caroline went to stand beside Grant under the gaze of his self-deceived and ill-fated parents.
“I don’t think you are like either of them,” she said. “You are much stronger than them. You knew you could change the direction
of your life, that you could make yourself better.”
He stared down at her with those fathomless eyes,almost black now in the firelight. “Do you really think I have changed?”
The darkness around them, the crackling fire, and never-ending rhythm of the rain, and the wine all combined to make her feel
light-headed and not at all herself. The past seemed so close and yet so far away, like a half-remembered dream.
Surely he would vanish again, this new Grant, this stranger who so disturbed her.
Caroline gently laid her hand on his chest, and her gaze moved to his face, to the tracery of scars that stood out pale over
his elegant bones. He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen, so handsome he surely could not be part of the human
world. This place did suit him far
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