Alaina's Promise Part 3

"Thank you, lad. 'Twould be grand to see all my friends." They ate in silence for several minutes before Patrick again spoke, his gaze riveted to the cold chicken wing in his hand. "And your mother, Maggie, I hope she's well?"

Torin looked at the older man for a moment, his brow wrinkled. "Aye, that she is, and thrilled you've come home again."

Patrick simply nodded.

There seemed to be more significance in the silence than in the words spoken, but Alaina couldn't quite decipher it. As she searched for a comment to make, an orange and black b.u.t.terfly flitted through the air between them. She watched it swirl back and forth until it reached a cl.u.s.ter of white and yellow flowers a few yards away.

When she looked back at Torin, she caught him staring at her across the blanket. He seemed poised to say something. Then the expression in his eyes changed and he merely smiled before busying himself with serving the cake.

Chapter Three.

The trio reached their destination as the sun dipped below the horizon. Torin brought the rig to a stop in front of a small two-story cottage, the breeze more biting in the evening shadows that wrapped around the dwelling. Flowers that lined the stone walkway had closed their blossoms to the cool spring evening.

Torin glanced at Alaina. "Home at last."

Weary lines etched her brow. Like the flowers, she seemed to retreat again. He could sense it in the way she held herself. The wary look in her dark eyes made him frown. Torin sighed in frustration as he threw on the break and slid to the ground.

A warm yellow light shown out through two large windows at the front of the house. Double wooden doors with bra.s.s fixtures stood sentinel in the middle. One of them flung wide open and Torin smiled as his mother emerged and rushed to greet them.

She wore black, her hair neatly piled high on her head in a most elegant fashion. As she drew closer and welcomed Alaina with a warm smile, the younger woman seemed to blossom again before his eyes.

"Alaina Ryan!" His mother beamed, reaching up to take both Alaina's hands in hers. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you dear. I'm Mary Margaret, but you must call me Maggie. May I call you Alaina? I have a feeling we are going to be fast friends!"

"I hope so," Alaina said, laughing. "And, yes, of course, you may call me Alaina."

Torin strode around to her side of the buggy. "Mum, give the la.s.s a chance to breathe," he teased.

He looked up at Alaina and smiled, holding his hands out to her. "May I help you down, Miss Ryan?"

Alaina glanced away for a moment. He wondered at the place to which she retreated? She looked down at him and nodded. A shy smile spread across her lips before she leaned toward him and placed her hands in his. Torin found he was holding his breath.

He could still feel her tremble when they touched. He sensed that slight hesitation before her touch. Yet, somehow, she seemed more at ease. For some reason he couldn't fathom, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Landing lightly on the ground in front of him, Alaina looked up into his face. When their gazes met and held, he couldn't speak. He could only stare into the dark amber depths where he knew her soul must lie. She didn't move as her lips parted. He felt the tremble of her fingers.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Patrick," Maggie said as she moved beside the buggy and placed her hand on Ryan's shoulder. The older man smiled. "'Tis been a long time. Glad you made it home again, after all."

"So am I, Maggie," Patrick murmured. "So am I."

She turned abruptly and Torin wondered at the break in his mother's voice as she spoke. "Alaina dear, let's get you inside, while Torin helps your da." She placed a hand on Alaina's shoulder and led her up the walk toward the house. "I'm sure you must be exhausted! I've got a fire in the parlor and a nice pot of stew cooking on the stove. I hope you're hungry."

Torin watched the women walk away and then turned his attention to Patrick Ryan, who also followed the women with his gaze, a faraway look lingering on his face. "Such beauty is hard to resist, aye lad?" he said.

For a moment Torin wasn't sure to which lady the old man referred. He had noticed the gleam in Patrick's eyes when his mother had spoken to him. "Aye, but, to resist temptation is often the best course."

Patrick looked at him then and frowned. "You don't mean to marry my daughter, do you lad?"

So time for the truth now, was it? Torin squared his shoulders. "No, sir, I do not. I have no desire to marry any woman, ever. 'Tis nothing personal. She's... The la.s.s is a beauty, indeed."

The old man nodded, his expression thoughtful as he gazed back at the open portal and the warm yellow light that glowed from it like the morning sun.

"I once felt the same, lad. Believe me, I understand more than you think. But I also know, from experience, that you just might be changin' your mind someday. Someday you might be regrettin' what could have been."

"Sir..." Torin hesitated. He hated the notion of bearing his sordid past to a stranger. "If you knew what I've done, what they think I've done-"

"Then I'd be a mystic, now wouldn't I?" Patrick interrupted. "Or I'd be a man who cares of such things as gossip, which I'm not." His thin lips curled in a small smile. "Show me a man who hasn't made a mistake or two and I'll show you a liar. None of us gets through this life without taking a wrong step, lad. Depends on if we make amends or not that shows true character."

Torin frowned as he tried to decipher the old man's words. Finally, he shook his head in frustration as he lifted a trunk from the wagon and thumped it on the ground. "You wouldn't want your daughter with the likes of me, Ryan. She deserves much better a man."

"What she deserves is to be loved," Patrick insisted. "I've watched her suffer enough, lad, often because of the acts of better men. She missed all the things a young woman of her stature should have enjoyed-her first dance, being courted by a string of beaus, a dozen new dresses every season. It should have been so different for her. But now... At least I hope she's stronger for it. I'm proud of my la.s.s. She never complained, never lost her head over losing the fancy trappings I thought were so important."

Torin looked to the house and frowned. She must be strong to have endured all that Patrick had described, and yet, she seemed so fragile, like his mother's best china-the dishes she never used. Alaina looked as if the mere whisper of a touch could crumble her fine features to bits. The Burren could leave a woman dry and barren as the rocks that stretched across the land. Why would Ryan want such a life for a daughter he obviously adored?

"As I said, she deserves much better than me," he insisted, then turned to unload another bag. Patrick's chair came next, but Torin knew it would be impossible to get both man and machine up the sloped walk in the dark. "I'll take the chair first then come back for you."

"Aye, more sensible that way."

A few minutes later he lifted the old man into his arms and carried him toward the house. Patrick Ryan, always larger than life for the stories told of him, seemed frail and insubstantial. But he could feel the strong will within the weak body as the man held himself erect-taking a.s.sistance he needed with all the dignity he could, though he didn't relish the act. Aye, there lived a determination no other man had better underestimate, of that Torin was sure. But he was just as determined to keep his solitude intact, no matter how tempting a package Alaina Ryan presented.

Maggie helped Alaina remove her cloak and hat, then hung them on wooden pegs lining the right wall in the foyer below the staircase. All the while, the woman's happy chatter flowed around her.

"Did you travel all this way alone, just you and your da?" Maggie asked. Alaina nodded as she glanced around the small s.p.a.ce. "My goodness, such a long journey for you both. 'Tis well and good I made sure Torin was there to meet you at Ballyvaughn."

"Oh, I'm sure I could have managed to hire a carriage, but I am most grateful that he did come. There were some rather unpleasant characters at the docks."

"Aye, that would not surprise me, sad to say." Maggie's gaze moved over Alaina appraisingly. "Ah, you are as lovely as Patrick claimed in his letters."

Alaina's cheeks warmed. Maggie's friendliness seemed almost overwhelming, yet she could feel her own reserve melt beneath the woman's warm acceptance. In just a few moments, she began to understand her father's deep sense of devotion and fondness for the friends left behind in County Clare.

Maggie led her into the parlor at the left through a wide, open arch. The small, cozy room was comfortably furnished with a large, dark green overstuffed chair to the right of the stone hearth and a wooden rocker at the left. Directly centered, stood a small couch in a floral print of deep red and green flowers against a white background.

"'Tis such a thrill to finally have you in our home." Maggie led her across the room, the soles of Alaina's kid boots tapping against polished wood floor. "Your father wrote so many letters in years past, though I hadn't heard much since that dreadful war of yours started."

Alaina looked around. The room shone warmly in the light from the fire and lanterns placed throughout. At the other end of the long room the s.p.a.ce was dedicated to a formal dining area. A long rectangular table took up most of it. Six high-backed, wooden chairs flanked the table and Alaina noticed a tall, modest hutch at the far wall, displaying fine china plates and a few pieces of crystal.

"Daddy talked of you and your family so often that I feel as if I've known you all my life." Alaina glanced over her shoulder, wondering where Torin and her father had gone.

"Ah, Patrick has always been a dear man and a good friend," Maggie said with a wistful smile. "Come sit with me, Alaina. You must be exhausted after bouncing around the clints all day in that old buggy."

"Yes, it has been a long day." Alaina sank down beside her hostess and felt a wave of exhaustion flow over her. She could hear heavy footsteps nearing and the familiar creak of her father's chair just as the two men entered the parlor. Her father's face was pale, but a smile lit his eyes.

"The house looks wonderful, Maggie," Patrick said. Their hostess blushed slightly and waved a hand in mid-air.

"Och, since when does the Ryan notice such things, I ask you?" Maggie's smile took any sting out of her light reprimand. "You should be complimented on the building of this house and all the treasures in it. 'Tis the envy of all of Clare."

"Good," Patrick answered with more than a bit of pride. "Just the reaction I hoped for when I commissioned the building of it. Can't have my old friends living in anything less than the best, can I now?"

"You were always too generous, Patrick. But there's not a day goes by that I don't thank the Lord for your generosity...and prosperity."

It was her father's turn to blush. Alaina looked back and forth between the two, her curiosity growing by leaps and bounds. Could there be more here than just an old friendship being rekindled? A glance at Torin told her she wasn't the only one to notice the strange undercurrent between their parents.

"Torin, lad, you are staying the night, aren't you?" Maggie asked as she deftly switched attention to her son.

Alaina glanced at the Irishman as he nodded.

"Then you better take that coat off before you overheat." Maggie shifted her gaze to Alaina as she spoke. "Torin has a small cottage south of the village, but I keep a room for him here in the attic. That way he can always stay over should the need arise."

"I need to bring their bags in first, Mum." He glanced at Alaina and slowly turned back toward the foyer. Her gaze followed him as she wondered about the reason for his sudden unease. She could sense it like the coming of a storm.

"'Tis such a large house, too large for just one person," Maggie continued. "I feel a mite lonely here by myself now that the children have all gone. Our youngest married just before last Christmas."

She glanced toward the hall and then touched Alaina's arm. "I am glad you're here now, dear," she whispered, leaning closer. "Sometimes things don't turn out the way they ought to. People make choices, and not always the right ones. But you know, 'tis never too late. Not 'til you're dead anyway and even then I'm wonderin'." Maggie smiled and squeezed Alaina's arm. "No matter how things may seem, you've got to have faith, aye?"

Alaina looked at her quizzically but nodded. The woman seemed to be trying to tell her something. Her experienced eyes held some kind of warning, but for the life of her, Alaina could not decipher the message.

"Maggie, I think..." Patrick began but went silent when the young Irishman re-entered.

"There, Mum, your wish is my command," Torin announced. "Now, when is that delicious stew of yours going to be ready? All this traveling has given me quite an appet.i.te."

Alaina stared at him a moment. A creamy white shirt and black vest stretched across a broad, muscled chest in such a way that drew her attention. A warm awareness spread through her body and she felt her cheeks flush with heat. Drawing her gaze up toward his face, she flinched when their eyes met. The look there told her that Torin O'Brien knew exactly what she was feeling-even if she did not.

Torin looked away and stopped dead center in the middle of the room as he shifted from one foot to another. It grew even tinier with his presence and the tension that sparked in the air.

"'Tis a good thing you came to us now, Alaina," Maggie said, apparently unaware of the curious unease in the room. "Time to get things settled, I'm thinking."

Alaina turned to look at her hostess, her face burning hotter than the fire in the hearth. Maggie must have seen her indiscrete attention. Never before had she stared so brazenly at any man. Neither had any man's appearance ever caused such a strange stirring in her body.

Maggie smiled. It was a gentle expression that offered both kindness and love. Then she looked to where her son stood, frozen in place at the center of the room. Alaina glanced up at his face and away again.

"Mum... please..." Pain laced each whispered word.

"What is it then, lad?" Maggie asked, one eyebrow raised. Alaina knew at that moment that Mrs. O'Brien wasn't being blunt in order to humiliate her so much as to reprimand her son.

"Have I said something I shouldn't? You were planning on telling Alaina and her father the truth of it, weren't you?"

"Maggie-" her father tried to interrupt, but the woman ignored him.

"That you've decided never to marry, despite the promise your fathers made to one another so many years ago? Or where you planning on ignoring the whole thing, hoping the la.s.s would tire of waiting and slink off home again?"

Maggie shook her head. "Your honesty could never be faulted, Torin O'Brien, so I'm thinking you wouldn't start giving me reason to question it now."

Alaina heard him clear his throat. She glanced up. Even in the warm glow of the fire, she could see the red blush creeping into his face. For that moment, her humiliation fled and was replaced by compa.s.sion for the big, speechless man standing before hera man who was yet still very much a child when faced with his mother's disapproval.

"I'm sure he just didn't have the opportunity to properly approach the subject, Maggie," Alaina interjected. The part of her that suddenly wanted to protect him took over. "He was so busy making sure we were comfortable that the subject never arose. I must say, I have never had the privilege of such an educated and interesting view of history. The land here is so stark and yet so very lovely. I quite enjoyed learning something of your history."

Maggie looked at her thoughtfully, her gray-green eyes-so like her son's-twinkled in the firelight. She smiled and nodded her head.

"Aye, 'tis a grand thing to see beyond the surface, Alaina, and not a thing that comes easy in this world." She glanced at Torin. "My son is a fair historian, to be sure. He's always loved a good story and has a way with telling them. Long ago, he might have been a seanachais, a storyteller. But he does so love teaching the children."

Alaina dared a glance at Torin and found him watching her. The look in his eyes left her feeling self-conscious and fl.u.s.tered.

"Come, now." Maggie rose and took Alaina by the hand. "I am sure supper is ready for us now. We can talk more while we eat. Patrick, how long has it been since you had a good Irish stew?"

"Much too long, Maggie," he answered with a generous smile as his old friend took the handles of his chair and pushed him toward the dining table. "Far too long, indeed."

Torin tried to keep his attention on the food before him, but Alaina's presence drew him like a siren call. Even the sound of her voice brought to mind the sailor's tales of beauties that led a man slowly to his doom. Torin wondered if he were destined to fall into such a snare and repeat mistakes that would only bring them both sorrow.

He glanced at her as she talked. No. He would not let that happen again. Her innocence would be his to guard and protect, if even from his own desires.

"Torin, is there something wrong with the food this evening?" his mother asked, an indignant note in her clear voice.

He started. "What? Oh, no, of course not, Mum. I'm just a bit tired."

His mother frowned, looking at him with those eyes that missed little and let even less go by without a challenge. He said a silent prayer she would show him a bit of mercy and accept his excuse.

"Well, that's to be expected, I suppose." Torin felt like hugging her. His mother's gaze turned back to Patrick. "You built your plantation in just five years? Such a grand place and quite a thing to have made your fortune so quickly."

Patrick shrugged as Alaina smiled. "Yes, Daddy worked for a few years after arriving in America, saved his money, and then met and married my mother. She came from a prominent New Orleans family and her dowry gave him the capital he needed to buy the land and finance the building of Aveleen."

"Aye, it would have taken much longer otherwise," Patrick admitted with a wry grin.

Something in Alaina's tone caught Torin's attention. The gentle smile she wore when speaking of her father was noticeably absent at the mention of her mother. In fact, Ryan himself had rarely spoken of his American wife in any of letters they'd received over the years, though they had been informed of the deaths of both Mrs. Ryan and Alaina's younger brother.

Pain washed over Torin at the recollection of his own losses. Unlike Alaina's, they were of his own making. Flashes of a misspent youth filled his mind-the betrayed look on his father's face, the lost trust of his family and friends. The sweet innocence of the girl he once had loved-her eyes open in death, her face battered, limbs twisted as they pulled her lifeless body from the ocean.

He looked up at Alaina, seeing her as if for the first time. No longer was she simply the spoiled rich American his father insisted he marry. Now he glimpsed the frightened young la.s.s whose world had fallen from beneath her feet. How had she survived? Could that explain the fear that seemed so much a part of her?

His gaze roamed her face. Something inside him wanted to reach out and smooth the frown away. Torin stiffened with the knowledge of how much her presence affected him.

It had taken great courage for her to face her nameless fear and to put her trust in strangers. All for the love of her dear father. He found himself envying the man he had once resented.

She lay in the dark room, the only light from a small fire somewhere to her left. Hardly daring to breathe, let alone move, she wondered where she was. A fog covered her mind like a thick, heavy blanket. Her jumbled thoughts didn't fit together. Nothing made sense.

Very slowly her eyes adjusted to the dimness and the room came into focus. It was strange though vaguely familiar.