served as a buffer for Adrian, as no one would connect Lord Dillon with his legendary cousin’s midnight raids. The only flaw in his disguise was that they had not learned precisely who had slipped the poison into Quentin’s meal. That person alone, save Adrian, Mick and Doc Riley, knew Quentin was truly dead.
A year before Quentin’s death, Adrian’s father had been shot during a raid on the garrison at Bantrytown, leaving Adrian with a grieving mother and a thirteen year old sister to care for, along with the management of Glengarra Estates. What right had he to dream of a family when so many lives depended upon him, when Ireland’s oppressed cried out to him for deliverance and for freedom from British oppression?
“Miss MacNeill is ready to receive you, my lord.” Maggie intruded gently into his musings. With an anxious heart, he made his way up to the guest room to beg an audience with the lady of the mists and try to convince her to take vows with him on the morrow.
The sooner they were wed, the sooner he could focus on the upcoming rebellion rather than on deflecting Burke’s snares. Burke would be forced to foist his daughter upon another unsuspecting nobleman. Baron Bantry was as yet unwed. Perhaps the wily sheriff would pursue Baron Bantry as a son-in-law. The marriage would be far more suitable. Both men were loyalist turncoats, gaining social position on the backs of those they had betrayed. Dread shot through Adrian at the thought of those two becoming allies. Together, Sheriff Burke and Baron Bantry would terrorize the western coast with their greedy aspirations for power and wealth.
He knocked at Tara’s door. A sweet voice answered, bidding him enter. Since regaining her ability to talk in recent days, she hadn’t expended much energy in conversation. She was withdrawn and subdued. Perhaps she wasn’t pleased about being sent to live among mortals Perhaps she’d been sent here against her will. Her silence troubled him more than he cared to admit. He expected her to be full of questions. He’d spent several sleepless nights trying to anticipate each and every one.
Tara had asked only one question. What was the year? When he answered, she seemed distressed and would not tell him why. She merely mumbled that something was not right in this, and then refused to answer him when he asked what she meant.
As he stood at the foot of the bed, Adrian drank in the delicate beauty of the girl reclining there. She was as yet weak from her injuries but she’d insisted on dressing before allowing him to have an audience with her. It was proof she was feeling better, worrying over her appearance as any mortal woman would do.
Her hair had been coifed in a simple French twist. Burnished copper wisps framed her heart-shaped face. And a perfect face it was with bright emerald eyes, arched brows, a delicate upturned nose and soft, sensual lips above a narrow chin—t’was the face of a mischievous fairy one might encounter in the forest. Dressed in his sister’s gown of moss velvet, Tara was the living embodiment of the fiancée he had conjured from his imagination. She was young, vivacious, worldly, yet vulnerable in her present tragedy.
The only difficulty Adrian could foresee in his scheme was the fact that he might very well lose his heart to this beguiling little sprite.
The bandaged hands pulled at the shawl corners on her lap as she looked down at them and then quickly at him. “I’m afraid this is all that Maggie could find for me. I’d much prefer a pair of blue jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt to such finery.”
Adrian crossed the room to stand beside her as she reclined on the bed atop the coverlet. “A sweaty shirt? Why should a lady wish to wear such a disgusting garment?”
She laughed. The delicate, musical sound only added to her seductive charms. “I’m assuming wearing pants here is entirely out of the question?”
“A young lady shouldn’t speak of
A year before Quentin’s death, Adrian’s father had been shot during a raid on the garrison at Bantrytown, leaving Adrian with a grieving mother and a thirteen year old sister to care for, along with the management of Glengarra Estates. What right had he to dream of a family when so many lives depended upon him, when Ireland’s oppressed cried out to him for deliverance and for freedom from British oppression?
“Miss MacNeill is ready to receive you, my lord.” Maggie intruded gently into his musings. With an anxious heart, he made his way up to the guest room to beg an audience with the lady of the mists and try to convince her to take vows with him on the morrow.
The sooner they were wed, the sooner he could focus on the upcoming rebellion rather than on deflecting Burke’s snares. Burke would be forced to foist his daughter upon another unsuspecting nobleman. Baron Bantry was as yet unwed. Perhaps the wily sheriff would pursue Baron Bantry as a son-in-law. The marriage would be far more suitable. Both men were loyalist turncoats, gaining social position on the backs of those they had betrayed. Dread shot through Adrian at the thought of those two becoming allies. Together, Sheriff Burke and Baron Bantry would terrorize the western coast with their greedy aspirations for power and wealth.
He knocked at Tara’s door. A sweet voice answered, bidding him enter. Since regaining her ability to talk in recent days, she hadn’t expended much energy in conversation. She was withdrawn and subdued. Perhaps she wasn’t pleased about being sent to live among mortals Perhaps she’d been sent here against her will. Her silence troubled him more than he cared to admit. He expected her to be full of questions. He’d spent several sleepless nights trying to anticipate each and every one.
Tara had asked only one question. What was the year? When he answered, she seemed distressed and would not tell him why. She merely mumbled that something was not right in this, and then refused to answer him when he asked what she meant.
As he stood at the foot of the bed, Adrian drank in the delicate beauty of the girl reclining there. She was as yet weak from her injuries but she’d insisted on dressing before allowing him to have an audience with her. It was proof she was feeling better, worrying over her appearance as any mortal woman would do.
Her hair had been coifed in a simple French twist. Burnished copper wisps framed her heart-shaped face. And a perfect face it was with bright emerald eyes, arched brows, a delicate upturned nose and soft, sensual lips above a narrow chin—t’was the face of a mischievous fairy one might encounter in the forest. Dressed in his sister’s gown of moss velvet, Tara was the living embodiment of the fiancée he had conjured from his imagination. She was young, vivacious, worldly, yet vulnerable in her present tragedy.
The only difficulty Adrian could foresee in his scheme was the fact that he might very well lose his heart to this beguiling little sprite.
The bandaged hands pulled at the shawl corners on her lap as she looked down at them and then quickly at him. “I’m afraid this is all that Maggie could find for me. I’d much prefer a pair of blue jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt to such finery.”
Adrian crossed the room to stand beside her as she reclined on the bed atop the coverlet. “A sweaty shirt? Why should a lady wish to wear such a disgusting garment?”
She laughed. The delicate, musical sound only added to her seductive charms. “I’m assuming wearing pants here is entirely out of the question?”
“A young lady shouldn’t speak of
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