“You said you spent the last three years in the Abbey of St. Claire.”
“I did.” She swallowed back her surprise. Was that why he had kissed her hand? Out of respect? “But only as a student. I took no vows.”
“I see.” He took another sip of wine and thought it tasted somehow sweeter. “So, you’re not a nun.”
“Nay.” Was that disappointment that deepened his voice? She couldn’t tell.
Keane relaxed. Not that it mattered to him whether or not the lass was a nun. All he wanted was a pleasant evening of conversation with a reasonably intelligent human being.
“Tell me a little about your family.”
“With pleasure. But only if you agree to tell me about yours, as well.”
“Aye.” He forced himself not to frown as he glanced at the portrait above the mantel. That was his usual reaction whenever he thought about his family. He shook off his dark thoughts and concentrated on the lass.
“My father is Gavin O’Neil, lord of Ballinarin.”
“Aye.” His frown was back. “I know of him. All of Ireland knows of him. And your mother?”
“My mother, Moira, is a great beauty.”
“I see where you inherited your looks.”
She blushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She had no way of knowing if he was merely making polite conversation, or if he meant to pay her a compliment.
Needing to fill the silence, she said, “I also have two brothers, Rory and Conor. And their wives, AnnaClaire and Emma. And Innis, who is like a brother to me, though he was orphaned when his entire family was killed at the hands of the English. He lives now with Rory and AnnaClaire.” Her eyes lit with pleasure at the thought of those beloved faces. “And there is Friar Malone, who has lived at Ballinarin since before I was born, and who is like an uncle to me.”
She took a deep breath. It was the most she had said in years.
Suddenly, spreading her arms wide she gave a husky laugh. “Oh, it feels so strange and so good to be able to talk without asking permission.”
The sound of her laughter skimmed over him, causing the strangest sensation. “It would be a pity to stifle a voice as unique as yours, Briana O’Neil.”
“Unique?”
“Aye.” Instead of explaining, he said simply, “I like listening to you. Tell me more about your family and your home.”
“Ballinarin is wild. And so beautiful. In all of Ireland, there is nothing to compare with it. We live always in the shadow of towering Croagh Patrick, with its wonderful waterfall that cascades to the lake below. There are fields of green as far as the eye can see. And rolling meadows, where I used to ride, wild and free with my brothers.”
Keane refilled her goblet, then his own, before settling himself on the chaise beside her. Their knees brushed, and Briana’s voice faltered for a moment. “It was…the loveliest life a girl could ever have.”
“Why did you choose a convent so far away?” He found himself studying the way the soft fabric revealed the outline of her thighs, her hips, her breasts.
“I didn’t choose. It was chosen for me.”
He heard the change in her tone and realized he’d struck a nerve. “And you have not seen your home in more than three years?”
“Aye. There were times when I thought I’d die from the loneliness.” She looked over at him. “I suppose that sounds silly.”
“Not at all.” He stared down into the amber liquid in his glass. “I know the feeling well.”
“Have you ever been forced to leave Carrick House?”
He nodded. “For most of my life I’ve been away.”
“By choice? Or were you forced by circumstances?”
She saw a look come into his eyes. “Like you, my education abroad was chosen for me.”
“And then you returned?”
“Not immediately.”
She smiled. “But you’re home now.”
“Aye.” He didn’t return the smile. He had gone somewhere in his mind. A place, Briana realized, that wasn’t pleasing to him.
They both seemed relieved when Vinson knocked, then entered to announce, “My lord, dinner is ready. Mistress Malloy wishes to know if you will take your meal in the great hall or here in the library.”
He had intended a simple meal here in the library, so that the lass wouldn’t be drained by a longer walk. But now, glancing at the portrait over the mantel, he realized he wanted a change of scenery. He wanted, needed, to put some distance between himself and his past.
“Tell Mistress Malloy we’ll sup in the great hall.”
“Aye, my lord.”
The old man took his leave, and Keane stood and offered his arm. “Come, my lady. It’s time you saw more of Carrick House.”
It was, he realized, his first opportunity to show off his home to a guest
“You’ll let me know when you grow weary, Briana.” Keane deliberately kept his strides easy, the pace slow so as not to tire her.
“I will, aye.” She was grateful for the strong arm to lean on. “This weakness is most distressing.”
“It will soon pass, and you’ll be as you were before.”
She looked up at him with an impish smile. “Do I have your word on that?”
His own features remained impassive. “You do.” He thought about touching that cap of curls and resisted the impulse. “Now tell me how you were before.”
“Before the attack? Or before the convent?”
“Why don’t we begin with your life before the attack.”
“Before the attack I had learned, at great cost, how to keep my head bowed in chapel, how to keep my thoughts to myself, and how to bear the unbearable.”
Though she kept her tone light, he could detect the underlying sadness. “What was this great cost?”
“Penance. It seemed I was always on my knees. If not in chapel, then scrubbing the cold stone floors of the refectory. And when I was allowed to stand, it was to harvest a crop or to fork dung from the barns and stables.”
He
