The Prize (31 page)

Mary came closer and
cupped her cheek. "You are such a beautiful young woman," she
whispered. "Do you love him?"

Virginia
started. Then she said,
"Please. I just can't answer any more questions!" She pulled away,
began to run, then turned back. "Lady de Warenne, he didn't really hurt
me. I think he tried to be the man you wish him to be. No! I know he tried.
But...it just happened!" She knew she was defending him now. She shook
her head wildly, panicking, for her defense remained inexplicable. "I
don't know anything anymore! I only know that I must go home." She turned
and ran inside, past Sean and the earl, stammering out some inane regrets.
Then she fled to the safety of her bedroom.

In their coach,
Edward slipped his arm around his wife and held her close. She turned to him,
laying her cheek on his broad chest, closing her eyes. He could feel her
anguish, and while he loved Devlin as if he were his own biological son, he
hated the pain he caused his wife and wished he had the power to prevent it.

It was the ultimate
irony that many powerful men dealt with—they might rule a kingdom filled with
subjects, but they could not rule an errant son.

Edward stroked her
hair. "Don't worry anymore tonight," he breathed. "Tomorrow we
will discuss this and decide what to do."

Mary did not answer.
He felt her trembling and knew she was crying again. He bent and kissed her
temple. She found his hand and clung to it.

"What would I do
without you? I love you, Edward, I love you so much."

An ancient thrill
swept him. He had fallen in love with Mary the first moment he had ever seen
her, when Gerald, his tenant, had brought home his new seventeen-year-old
bride. He himself was engaged at the time, the nuptials imminent. He had spent
eleven years admiring her from a distance, never once making an inappropriate
remark or gesture,

while she bore her
husband three children and his own wife bore him three fine sons and a
daughter. In those years, he had developed respect and admiration for his
tenant, as well as a wary caution. He heard rumors about the Defenders having
come to Wexford, that their enthusiasm and power was growing. Edward had always
favored full Catholic emancipation, as he felt it would enable
Ireland
to become stronger economically and
politically and thus help her to become an equal to the mother country. Others
disagreed. Others feared the loss of power and land should newly entitled
Catholics seek to restore their ancient claims.

From time to time he
dined with Gerald, Mary politely excusing herself so the two men could discuss
the land, trade, the economy and, eventually, politics. Two Irishmen could not
sit down together without discussion of
Ireland
's inferior position economically,
constitutionally, socially, not even a Protestant and a Catholic. There was
always heated debate.

Gerald had never
suspected that he was in love with his wife.

Mary had known. She
had sensed it from the first, and from that time, she had kept her eyes cast
aside whenever he was present, as if afraid that one single shared glance might
lead to something terribly wrong.

Sometime before the
Wexford uprising he had learned of Gerald's involvement in the secret criminal
society. They had fought terribly, almost coming to blows, with Edward demanding
he stay out of the conflict. Days before the rebels took the town of
Wexford
, Gerald had ridden into Adare at a gallop,
his appearance one of a madman.

Adare had met him in
the courtyard, terrified that something dire had happened to Mary or her
children. Gerald had leapt from his horse and seized the earl by the lapels of
his hunt coat. "I need you to swear to me that you will look after my wife
and children, Edward."

"What?"
Edward had been stunned.

"Just in
case..." Gerald stared savagely. 'They'll only have you to turn to.
Promise me, make it an oath. You'll see to their welfare, you won't let them
starve. And..." He hesitated. "And you'll find her another husband,
a good, decent man."

By then, his own wife
had died several months before in childbirth, his second daughter not
surviving, either. He was still grieving, and he hadn't even dreamed of what
the future held. "Stay out of the rebellion," he ordered. "You
have a fine family, a fine wife, and they need you alive."

"My country
needs me," Gerald retorted. "Promise me, Edward!"

He had promised, but it
wasn't necessary, because he would have moved heaven and earth, anyway, to
protect Mary and the children.

It had been an
incredible stroke of a terrible fate—his own wife dying and then Gerald
murdered by the British. But now, almost fifteen years later, having attained a
personal happiness and a joy he had never dreamed possible, he could not
imagine his life without Mary as his wife. He stroked her hair again and
murmured, "We will send her back to
Eastleigh
. I'll arrange it on the morrow."

"No!" Abruptly
Mary sat up, her eyes wide.

"No? Darling,
Devlin has kept her against her will," he said gently, refusing to
actually call Virginia Hughes either a prisoner or a hostage. He and Sean had
chosen their words around her very carefully.

"Devlin abducted
her and holds her hostage," Mary said flatly. "You need not think to
mince words around me now!"

He smiled grimly and
squeezed her hand. "I only wish to spare you any further hurt," he
said.

"I know,"
she cried. "But what about
Virginia
?
Should she not be spared any further hurt? Should she not
have
justice?"

He searched her blue
eyes. "What do you have in mind?" "Devlin will do what is
right," she said flatly. "He is going to fix this in the only
possible way."

He
squinted into the gray day.

Ahead of him the
country road from
Limerick
wound away, disappearing into
the now-harvested fields and rolling hills, crisscrossed with stone walls. For
one moment he stared, and as he sat his mount, he was very, very careful not to
allow any feeling to creep over him. He succeeded. This time, there was no
warmth within him in coming home. It was merely another mission he must
accomplish.

Devlin spurred the
liveried gelding into a canter, well aware that around the next bend he would
be able to see his fields, his pastures, his land. But it didn't matter. He had
an iron grasp on himself—he had never been more in control.

He rounded the bend
and finally took some small, idle pleasure in the sight of the harvested fields
that lay bare and brown ahead of him. As he passed the first farmhouse, he
noted, almost indifferently, that McCarthy must have had done well that
year—his flock of sheep seemed twice the size and his house had been recently
whitewashed.

A stone wall cut
across the field. Devlin rode his mount

at it, and when the
animal wavered, he spurred him on, clamping hard with both legs. The gelding
took the wall, landing roughly. When he'd recovered his stride, Devlin gave the
animal a pat for his courage. The skies finally parted and a light drizzle
began.

A field lay ahead,
the earth being turned over by a laborer. Devlin saw two horses grazing by its
border and he instantly scanned the area for the riders. When saw two figures
standing by the edge of a stream, apparently in conversation, he halted his
horse abruptly. His heart quickened but he ignored it. One of the figures was
small enough to be a child—or a very petite woman—and he knew beyond any doubt
who she was.

He was grim. His legs
tightened so hard around the horse that the animal shot forward. Instantly he
jerked to a halt, causing the gelding to rear. He could not look away from his
brother and Virginia.

He reminded himself
that he controlled his men, his ship, the enemy. That he had done so for a good
ten years, and never more effectively than this past summer and autumn, while
patrolling the coast of
Spain
, while guarding the Straits. His
heart mocked him, hammering hard and fast.

He had also controlled
his thoughts. He had not thought about anything other than his mission, his
ship, his men and the enemy in the course of the past five months. With an iron
fist, he'd beaten each and every unwanted thought back into the shadows of the
past, where they belonged.

He had come back for
one reason and one reason only, and he had come back knowing he was in absolute
self-control.

He told himself, very
firmly, that he did not care what they were discussing. Let them debate the
merits of the Irish soil. He held the impatient gelding at a halt, continuing
to stare.

They were too far
away for him to make out their features, their expressions or anything other
than the fact that Sean's

shirt was white, his
boots black, and that Virginia also wore pale britches and knee-high riding
boots. Her hair seemed to be pulled back—left loose or braided, he could not be
sure— but the mass of dark hair fell down her back. He strained, looking for
some telltale sign of any pregnancy, but at this distance, it was simply impossible
to tell.

His mouth twisted
grimly. The insane attraction lay in the past, he felt certain. When they came
face-to-face he would feel no differently toward her than he did Elizabeth or
Fiona or any other woman. He was through with thinking—he was wasting his
time—there was nothing more to think about.

He whirled the bay
and galloped to Askeaton.

"It's a secret
recipe,"
Virginia
said, smiling, as they walked
into the house. "Not my mother's, but Tillie's great-grandmother."

"Tillie, your
best friend, the slave?" Sean asked, following. He was carrying a dozen
ears of corn.

Virginia
nodded, flushed from the mad
gallop they'd just had. She wasn't sure who had started to gallop home first,
but suddenly they were both flat out and clearly in a race. Sean had won—but
only by a length. As a result, they were both covered with red dust.

"I'll supervise
the cooking,"
Virginia
said. She was salivating just
thinking about the corn pudding they would share that night. "We are lucky
we still have any corn," she added.

Sean smiled and said
something, but
Virginia
failed to hear him as she
rounded the corner. Standing in the hall was Devlin.

She halted and Sean
collided with her back.

Virginia
hardly noticed. For her heart
had stopped and she failed to breathe.
He was back.

Devlin stood there
nonchalantly, staring calmly at her, clearly having expected her. His hard
thighs were braced as if he rode his ship. His gaze never wavered from her
face.

Virginia
gulped down air and it burned
her lungs and chest.
He had come back after all.
Her heart now slammed,
causing more burning, more pain. She began to shake. She turned, realizing Sean
had dropped the corn, and managed to glimpse his shocked expression. She bent,
inhaling hard, saw how terribly her hands were shaking. As she reached for an
ear of the scattered corn, she tried to think, but her thoughts were wild and
incoherent,

Oh God, what did
she do now?

Images afflicted
her, images of Devlin O 'Neill getting up from the bed they had shared, not
looking at her.

"Devlin,"
Sean said quietly, but as he spoke he bent and seized
Virginia
's arm, hauling her to her feet. "We
didn't know you had come back." He did not release her, clearly knowing
that she might not be able to stand if he did.

There was no response
to his remark.

Virginia
half turned, fully panicked now,
and saw him smiling at them both. Instantly their gazes locked. "The
corn," she said, her voice low and husky, incapable of looking away from
him.

He hadn't changed.
He was seductive and powerful and magnetic; he remained mesmerizing. If only he
had changed...

"Leave it,"
Sean snapped, also staring at Devlin as if hypnotized. "You didn't send
word of your arrival."

"I didn't
realize you needed to be warned of my return," Devlin said calmly.

Virginia
could not look away from him.
Almost every moment she had spent alone with him crashed over her then, from
their first debate in the confines of his cabin upon the
Defiance
to the
last time she had seen him, walking out of her bedroom.

I'm sorry I hurt
you, he had said.

"Hello,
Virginia
," he said now.

She couldn't speak so
she tried to nod.

"Sean," he
added with an inclination of his head.

Sean finely moved,
coming forward slowly. "Father was here the other day. I heard about your
tour—and the hearing. I'm glad you're back."

"Are you?"
Devlin asked rather coolly.

Sean stiffened.
"Yes, I am." He now glanced back and forth between his brother and
Virginia.
Virginia
realized that she was paralyzed
and that she continued to openly stare. Although she remained stunned, her
mind began to work. She hadn't really ever expected to see him again. And she
had been fine with that. He had hurt her beyond words, but she was certain she
had recovered, that time did heal all wounds. But now he was back, standing
just a few feet from her, and nothing had changed. It was as if the months had
never passed. Her wounds, once tightly sewn up, split asunder.
How could he
have left her the way that he had? How?

Suddenly Sean made a
sound and walked out of the hall, leaving the two of them standing there,
staring.

"You look
well," he commented, his tone neither indifferent nor interested.
"Other than the dirt."

She inhaled. Did he
remember anything, anything at all? But how could he possibly forget!

He strolled forward.
"I take it you and Sean are getting on?"

She stiffened. He had
once suggested, absurdly, that she would marry his brother. "He has become
a good friend."

He didn't seem to
care and he shrugged.

She wet her lips.
"Did you really tell him...that we should marry?"

"Actually, yes,
I did."

"Have you no
heart at all?" she whispered.

"I think we both
know the answer to that."

"Then can you
not show me any sign of compassion?"

260                          

"I hardly know
what it is that you wish of me, Virginia. I'm sorry you have been so long in my
brother's care, but the war delayed my return," he said levelly.

She reeled. He didn't
remember, did he? Was it possible that she was so insignificant, so
unmemorable?

"What were you
and Sean doing?" he asked casually.

"I...what?"
She blinked hard. "We were making corn pudding. I mean, we...I was going
to show the cook how to make a recipe."

A tawny brow lifted
and he said nothing.

Virginia
didn't move. Was it possible,
she wondered in dismay, to still have some feelings for this man? She hadn't seen
him in five months. He had callously left her after the most significant moment
of her life. He had given her no sign of warmth, no personal greeting, since he
had arrived. But she could feel a desperate tension in herself and she knew,
miserably, what it meant.

It meant she wanted
him to tell her that he cared, that he remembered every moment of their
lovemaking—as she did—and that he wished to beg her for forgiveness.

"Corn
pudding," he murmured. "How interesting."

She stiffened
defensively and held her head high. But he wasn't going to say anything about
their past. She now knew it. "It happens to be delicious. If you're
planning on staying for supper, you will certainly enjoy it." How hard it
was to keep her voice even, to keep her pride gathered about her.