Read Call Home the Heart Online
Authors: Shannon Farrell
Tags: #Romance, #Love Stories, #General, #Historical, #Fiction
Call Home the Heart
Shannon Farrell
discovers that her wastrel husband Augustine has left her penniless,
and almost homeless. She now faces returning to her smothering
family back in Scotland, or charting her own course with the
crumbling Caldwell estate in Ireland.
of debt, Muireann turns to the handsome, capable Lochlainn Roche,
her late husband's estate manager, for support.
be forfeited, especially if the young widow decides to run home to
Scotland.
admire her courage and determination, especially as the Irish Potato
Famine begins to spread its blight on the land he loves so well.
can call home. She grows to love Barnakilla as much as Lochlainn
does. Dare he hope she returns the love he has found for her? Or
will the sacrifices she is forced to make prove too much for her?
to ask questions about the fatal shooting accident, Muireann
and Lochlainn must trust to love if they are ever to save Muireann
and Barnakilla from certain doom….
something much more compelling as he raised one hand to hold her
chin tenderly and explored her mouth with a leisurely thoroughness
that thrilled them both to the core.
throbbing desire for her forever. But she seemed untroubled by the
kiss, stroking her hand down the long column of his neck with her
eyes closed.
sleepily.
we'll have to hope for a lift out to Barnakilla," he whispered
against her silken hair, now a mass of curls which he tousled with
this hands, savoring the soft feel of her all over.
found the simile apt.
head to the pillow. She reflected somewhere in the back of her
drowsy mind how wonderful Lochlainn felt in the bed beside her. How
they just seemed to fit together.
the docks in Dun Laoghaire, and their hands had touched in greeting.
She had trembled then as though the ground under her were shaking.
She had felt almost as if she had come home, though of course she
had never before set foot in Ireland. As though they belonged
together for all time…
2000,
Romantic Times
discovers that her wastrel husband has left her penniless, and
almost homeless. She now faces returning to a smothering family or
charting her own course with the crumbling Caldwell estate.
turns to the handsome, capable Lochlainn Roche, her late husband's
estate manager, for support.
be forfeited, especially if the young widow decides to run home to
Scotland. But he's surprised by the strength Muireann displays, and
grows to admire her courage and determination.
returns the love he has found for her?
seemingly insurmountable odds. It is refreshing to see a heroine
with such strength and common sense, and a strong hero who actually
believes she can have it!
CALL HOME THE HEART
is a story you
won't
want to put down.
are on a journey to Barnakilla, his estate in northwest Ireland.
However, Augustine goes no farther than a Dublin grave, after
putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.
not being a proper lady, and defying her strict father by learning
all sorts of masculine things, Muireann Graham Caldwell is not about
to run home to Scotland now. With the help of Lochlainn Roche,
Barnakilla's estate manager, Muireann is determined to travel on to
her new home.
the ethereal beauty of Augustine's wife, but the next months prove
the lady possesses strength...and a will of iron...that belie her
fragile looks
once prosperous estate in the three years since he inherited, and
he'd already gambled away the thousands of pounds from Muireann's
father that he had been given as her dowry.
depend on Barnakilla are in arrears with their rents and have no
means to pay in the foreseeable future. Muireann always wanted
adventure; she's wanted to prove to herself and her family that
she's capable of more than tea parties and dancing. Here is her
chance.
is very much Muireann's story. She has an
almost
impossible task ahead of her -- already the portents hint at the
disastrous potato famine to come -- but she rallies and leads the
people in rebuilding Barnakilla.
the dynamic one. He's an interesting character, who was betrayed in
the past and loath to risk his heart again. He's torn between
wanting to be Muireann's partner, and believing he's not good enough
for her.
CALL
HOME
THE HEART
, for they add warmth on the one hand and conflict on
the
other. While the relationship between Muireann and Lochlainn waxes
and wanes, the plot revolving around the fight to feed the people
and save the estate takes off at a run and turns
CALL HOME THE
HEART
into an all-nighter. And a nail-biter.
is a moving and passionate novel fans of
history
and romance will enjoy.
Romance Reviews Today
is left bewildered and saddled with a failing set of holdings.
Fortunately, those lands come with a handsome, loyal, and passionate
manager, Lochlainn Roche, who is more than willing to help Muireann
Caldwell save his boyhood home.
grave, Muireann's husband reaches out to endanger their joy. With a
cloud of suspicion and possible murder charges hanging over them,
the lovers must clear Lochlainn's name before they can have a life
together. Using a seldom utilized setting, Ireland during the Potato
Famine, and strong characterization, Ms. Farrell has created a true
gem for historical fans in search of something new and different.
Shannon Farrell
HerStory Books
Lovespell.
material.
identified as the creator of this work.
are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to
any actual persons, living or dead, events, is entirely
coincidental.
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I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me,
I but in vain the saint adore,
That can, but will, not save me.
Michael Drayton,
To His Coy Love
, 1619
CHAPTER ONE
Dublin, January 1845
The gunshot echoed through the corridors of Gresham's Hotel.
Lochlainn dropped his water glass and dashed up the stairs two at
a time.
"Mrs. Caldwell, Mrs. Caldwell, open the door! Muireann! Open up,
please! It's Lochlainn Roche!" he shouted as he hammered at the
oaken portal.
Lochlainn could hear nothing in the chamber apart from the sound
of someone weeping. After jerking at the latch futilely, he threw
all of his weight against the solid bulk of the door.
"Muireann! Open up, please!" he demanded between blows.
At last the manager, stunned by the gunshot and the commotion
Lochlainn was causing, produced his master key. With a deft flick
of his wrist, Lochlainn opened the lock quickly and stormed into
his employer's bedchamber. There he saw Muireann, kneeling beside
the body of her husband.
It was evident from the state of his head, or what was left of it,
that Augustine was dead.
"God, no, please, this can't be happening to me!" the raven-haired
woman whimpered as she rocked back and forth, tugging frantically
at the lapels of Augustine's coat.
"How could you! Oh God, why! What am I going to do?" she wailed,
growing more and more hysterical, repeating the words over and
over again.
At last Lochlainn, unsure as to what else he should do, dragged
Muireann away from the corpse, and gave her a firm tap on the chin
with his fist.
She crumpled like a rag doll into his arms. He caught her up
before she fell to the floor and demanded of the manager, "Give me
another room for Mrs. Caldwell, now!"
The little man, gaping at the carnage before him, barely heard a
word Lochlainn said.
"I'll see Mrs. Caldwell's things are moved myself. She's not to be
disturbed, is that clear?"
"I suppose I'd better fetch a doctor," the manager said
doubtfully, shaking his head.
"For the lady, yes, Mr. Burns," Lochlainn replied grimly.
"Augustine certainly won't be needing one."
The hotelier stared at the handsome, ebony-haired estate manager
with something akin to horror. How could he remain so calm in the
face of such an appalling spectacle?
Lochlainn's steel-gray eyes warmed a little as he tried to soothe
Mr. Burns' ruffled feathers. "I'm sorry to sound so cold. It's
just that everything must be handled correctly. I imagine there
are certain formalities in these sorts of cases. I shall trust you
to look after things."
Lifting Muireann high, he followed the little silver-haired man
down the corridor to a room at the back of the hotel, far from the
noise of all the carriages passing outside through the busy
streets of Dublin.
"This chamber is smaller, but the bed is quite large, and there's
a trundle bed underneath as well. The lady shouldn't be left
alone," the hotelier said, staring regretfully at the unconscious,
disheveled form that Lochlainn held in his arms as though she were
as light as a feather.
"She won't be alone. I'll look after her, never fear," Lochlainn
reassured the worried man as he laid Muireann down on the bed.
"Just ask the doctor to look in on her whenever he's finished with
Mr. Caldwell, if you please."
"Yes, of course, sir. What a terrible tragedy. And to think it
happened in my hotel," the little man complained, almost in tears.
"A terrible tragedy to have happened anywhere, when a man takes
his own life," Lochlainn observed with a set jaw as he undid the
top buttons of Muireann's gown, and began to remove her boots.
"But surely, sir, it was an accident!" the dapper little man
gasped. "He was cleaning his gun, and-"
Lochlainn looked up at the man in sheer disbelief, his eyes
glittering dangerously. "You want me to lie, Mr. Burns?"
"Not exactly lie, Mr. Roche, more, well, er, give another
plausible version of events," the little man stammered.
"After all, his poor young wife. It's bad enough for her to have
lost her husband on her honeymoon, without being esposed to
unnecessary gossip and, well, dare I say it, scandal."
Lochlainn sighed. "I hadn't thought about that. You're absolutely
right, Mr. Burns. I doubt that anyone's interests would be served
if the whole truth were to be revealed. Thank you for being so
considerate of Mrs. Caldwell's position. I'm sure I can rely on
your discretion."
The little man nodded, and stared sympathetically at the lovely
dark-haired woman lying prone on the bed.
"Can you stay here for one moment while I go get Mrs. Caldwell's
things from the other room?"
"Yes, of course."
Lochlainn was back in a few moments with several valises and an
armful of gowns. "I'll wait here while you send a maid up to look
after Mrs. Caldwell. Then I'll finish clearing the room, and go
fetch my things from the coach."
"Thank you, Mr. Roche. I'll go attend to your, er, problem, and
will see you later," Mr. Burns said before scurrying out of the
room.
Once he was alone with her, Lochlainn stripped Muireann's
blood-soaked gown off her limp body and hurled it into the fire,
then covered her with a spare blanket he found at the foot of the
bed.
Then he brought an armchair closer to the bed. He sat down
heavily, and cradled his head in his hands. Augustine, dead. My
God, how often he had wished it. Yet now that it had happened,
well, what on earth was he to do?
Why had this happened, just when he had begun to hope there might
be some light at the end of the tunnel for the Caldwell estate,
Barnakilla? How had the Fates conspired to have everything he held
most dear be taken away from him just when it all seemed to be
falling into place for the first time in years?
Disappointed in love, he had fled the estate where he and his
sister, Ciara, had grown up, longing to escape from the memories.
The old lord, Douglas Caldwell, had been alive then. Barnakilla
had been a prosperous estate, elegant, well-ordered, despite
Augustine's extravagance, which his parents had accepted because
he was their only child.
But Douglas Caldwell had died, and then his wife, giving Augustine
free rein to despoil the estate with his gambling and
devil-may-care attitude.
Lochlainn had run away from the home that held such bittersweet
memories for him, and had traveled the world, seeking his fame and
fortune. He had done well enough for himself, certainly, but in
his opinion Australia could never rival the beauties of Ireland,
the glories of his home.
After three interminably long years, Augustine Caldwell's summons
for Lochlainn to return to Barnakilla had been the answer to
Lochlainn's most heartfelt prayers.
But what would the future hold for him now? And what was he to do
with the delicate young beauty who lay unconscious on the bed?
Poor girl. How had she come to be mixed up in all of this?
But then she had loved Augustine, hadn't she? He recalled her
hysteria in the bedroom a few moments before. I always did have
the damnedest luck, Lochlainn thought gloomily, as he reached out
to stroke her fair, petal-soft skin. He fingered her silky
raven-black hair, admiring her beauty while she slept. Her
complexion was so pale, she looked as though she were a visitor
from another realm. Her high cheekbones, long, moderately thin
nose which turned up slightly at the tip, and ruby red, full lips,
might not be to every man's taste, being so ethereal, but for
Lochlainn she was lovelier than words could ever hope to describe.
He had never believed in love at first sight until he had seen
this tiny nymph staring at him with her incredible amethyst eyes
the day before, when he had guided his employer and his new bride
off the boat from Liverpool, straight from their honeymoon in
Scotland and England.
Quite tall for a woman, though tiny in comparison with himself,
Muireann Graham Caldwell had moved down the gangplank like a
queen, her head held high, her limpid eyes moving neither to the
right nor the left, until they'd lighted on his face. They had
seemed to look into the very depths of his soul. She had taken his
hand in greeting, and shock tremors had passed up his arm, until
he had regained his self-control, cursing himself for being so
fanciful.
Now here she was, a widow, no doubt heir to the Caldwell estate,
but probably completely unaware of the dire financial straits her
husband Augustine had been in before he died.
But surely Muireann must have married him for love? After all, how
could she not have known about all of his faults? Perhaps she was
just as vain, frivolous, and addicted to gambling as Augustine had
been. If so, the Lord help them all, Lochlainn thought with a
shake of his head, looking at the lovely face resting on the
pillow with a certain degree of resentment.
If Muireann was fool enough to have loved Augustine, she deserved
whatever happened to her.
Then he felt a twinge of guilt at the uncharitable thought. He was
not normally so spiteful, but experience had been a bitter
teacher.
He leapt from the chair and began to pace up and down in front of
the window, until at last he stilled to watch the sun set over the
rooftops of Dublin.
Damn it, how could a woman like Muireann, so lovely, so gracious,
have married an idle, worthless, drunken lout like Augustine
Caldwell?
And what would she do with his beloved Barnakilla now?