His Heart's Home (3 page)

Duncan didn’t have a wagon of his own
. He had thrown his supplies in with the Ross family, and so he only had to climb up onto his horse and wait. He pulled himself into the saddle and then trotted off onto the sidelines to watch.

Duncan hoped that the disorganization and delay at the start of their journey was not an indicator of things to come.
There was an argument at the head of the line about who would go first, and who would assume the more protected position in the rear. As soon as the dispute was resolved, they paused again to repair the wheel on a cart halfway down the line.

LaSoeur
wove between the wagons, his face going red and his words slipping into his native tongue as he shouted in agitation at the families holding up the departure. Duncan was glad to see that none of the offenders were MacRaes.

The redhead’s wagon wasn’t an offending party either
, Duncan noted, spying her in the middle of the line. Her husband and the oldest boy were in the wagon while she and her four youngest children stood alongside. Even the littlest was weighed down with a heavy pack to carry along the trail.

“Top o’ the morning, Laird MacRae!”

Duncan jolted in surprise at the unexpected hail. He shifted in his saddle and traced the lilting voice to Patrick O’Neill, an Irishman he’d been introduced to the night before.

“Morning, Patrick!” Duncan answered, acknowledging the other man with a nod before returning his gaze to
her
. Like Duncan, Patrick didn’t have a family of his own. He was traveling West with friends, taking a trio of fine bay horses that he intended to breed. He was sitting astride one now: a tall, graceful stallion that looked like it could race the wind.

“Fine weather we’re having,” Patrick noted in a conversational tone. “With any luck we’ll make twenty miles today.”

“With a little luck…” Duncan agreed, “And provided we actually get to set out.”

The line still wasn’t moving, although it looked like that was about to change. One of the wagons had finally moved to the front, and the wheel on the other was nearly repaired. Duncan’s eyes scanned over the ranks again, once more stopping on the woman. Something clicked in his mind. She was Irish. O’Neill was Irish…Perhaps he could learn her name?

“Say, Patrick…” Duncan began in a casual tone. He inclined his chin toward the wagon, “Any idea who that lot is?”

Patrick leaned forward in his seat, craning his eyes in the direction Duncan had indicated.

“That there? Oh! ‘tis the Connellys,” he  supplied. “The man’s called Sean, I think. I’ve no idea about the missus, I’m afraid.”

Duncan hoped his disappointment didn’t show on his face as he continued, a little rashly, “And what do you know about them?”

Patrick shrugged. “I can’t say I know a lot…” he began, although Duncan hardly believed him. If Patrick was anything like the other Irishmen he knew, he had an ear for gossip as keen as any hound. He could probably name the stranger’s family tree and what he’d had for breakfast the day before.

Sure enough, Patrick scarcely paused to draw breath before he supplied details. “I hear Sean there likes his whisk
ey - at least to hear old Flynn tell it. Lord, they had a time of it last night, trying to drag him home from the pub.”

Duncan nodded. Perhaps that explained the tension between man and wife? He mulled it over as Patrick continued speaking.

“I think they said he was a smith up in Georgia…or perhaps it was North Carolina? He was born on this side of the ocean, though the lassie’s a fine Irish girl. She’s from Killarney, if you know it?”

Duncan shook his head.

“Me mother was from Kenmare,” Patrick mused, wandering away from his train of thought, “Which is
near
Killarney, and a prettier patch of earth you’ve never seen!”

“Er…Killarney?” Duncan asked, impatiently.

“No, Kenmare. I never made it up to Killarney way. Kenmare is further south. I saw a horse at the fair there - SHOOSH!” he made a very Irish sound of excitement, “It must have been eighteen hands, no
twenty.
If a giant was to-!”

“But about the
Connellys…” Duncan interrupted, impatiently. He didn’t know Patrick well, but had the sense if the man started on horses, he wasn’t going to stop.

“Oh…the
Connellys,” Patrick muttered, sounding a little dejected. “There’s not much more to tell. They ran into some sort of financial setback or another,
gambling
if you ask me, and had to pull stakes. I know that Sean Connelly’s said to have a hot temper and…” his voice trailed off as he noticed the direction of Duncan’s gaze. The woman was bending over toward them, hunkered down to give her wee boy a scold, inadvertently treating the men to a generous view of her chest. “…and I know he has a pretty wife!” Patrick finished with a teasing smirk.

Duncan cheeks colored when he was caught, but he didn’t try to lie. “Aye, he does that,” he agreed, and then murmured a quiet prayer of thanks when the command was given to move out, and the line slowly began to move.

..ooOOoo..

Ciaran.

Ciaran Connelly, born Danaugher.

Duncan repeated the words in his head
.

After his humiliating lapse with Patrick, Duncan didn’t dare to ask questions again. It had taken several days of careful listening to work out the rest of the woman’s name. Now that he had, he was ridiculously proud of the achievement
, although he was embarrassed and surprised to discover he cared.

As the days wore on and familiarity settled in, he expected to grow less interested in the girl
, but quite the opposite was true.  Most of the women sat together in the evenings, laughing and cooking while the children played, forming fast friendships on the trail, but Ciaran Connelly remained apart. She spent her evenings sitting quietly alone, doing simple mending, tending to her baby and otherwise keeping to herself while her husband drank and caroused with the men. Duncan didn’t understand her behavior. The mystery she presented only sucked him in deeper.

Every so often, he promised himself he was going to push the girl out of his mind.
It was true she was beautiful, but she was
married
, and he knew better than to covet another man’s wife. He was also achingly aware of the fact his own dear, departed wife’s memory was being tarnished by the crush as well.

He tried to avoid her, and to clear Ciaran from his thoughts, but the caravan was too small for his attempts to find success. Every time he turned around, his eyes
caught on a flash of deep red hair, or he picked her soft voice out of the crowd.

He noticed her children and stepsons too (Duncan’s spying had revealed that the two oldest belonged to Sean’s
now-deceased first wife). They were a lively bunch. The oldest boy seemed to mind and to help his stepmother as well as he could, but the two next oldest were wild, forever being scolded and called to heel for running, climbing or screaming, and he was already well aware of Aidan’s propensity for wandering off. The entire group had learned to watch him with hawk-like eyes to ensure he didn’t slip away in pursuit of a butterfly, or a bunny or flower that had caught his eye. They were more than one woman could handle - and Sean didn’t seem to pay them any mind. Therefore, it was hardly a surprise to Duncan when,  the wagons having stopped on a riverbank to spend the night, Liam Connelly wandered out of the shallow water with a gash across his foreleg and his parents were nowhere to be found.

“Hey there laddie, what have you done?” Duncan asked, crouching down on his haunches so he
didn’t tower over the child.

“Fell in,” Liam said unhappily, pointing to the river, his bottom lip trembling.  “It hurts!” he added with a great gasp, as though he were sucking in the air to hold down his tears.

“Aye, I’m sure it does,” Duncan said in a low sympathetic tone of voice.  “Would you let me have a look at it for you?” he asked gently.

Liam raised his hand to his mouth and bit down on the top of his thumb nervously.  “I didn’t mean to do it,” he said quietly.

“I shouldn’t imagine that you
did
mean to hurt yourself!” Duncan laughed, trying to set the little boy at ease, judging from his wary behavior Liam seemed to be rather shy of strangers.  “I know, why don’t we go and find your mama instead?” he suggested.  “I’m sure she’ll fix you up as good as new,” he smiled.

“Yes,” Liam nodded, his little head bobbing up and down in agreement.

“Do you know where she is?” Duncan asked, standing up, and trying to tell himself that he was
only
acting in the best interest of the child.  It wasn’t as though he had any interest whatsoever in speaking to Ciaran Connelly…
liar
, a voice piped up immediately.

“Washing clothes,” Liam admitted, although he seemed loathed to let Duncan in on even that guarded secret.

“Alright, you lead the way then, lad.”

“Liam,” the little boy corrected him seriously. 

Duncan chuckled.  “Aye, Liam, of course, I’m sorry,” he grinned.  “I’m Duncan,” he said, taking the child’s hand and shaking it - this, it seemed, impressed Liam, and he flashed a grin for the first time since he had come trudging out of the water.

“Ma’s this way, Mr. Duncan!” he said, scampering along the riverbank
, none the worse for his cut leg.

Duncan smiled and followed after him, trying not to show his excitement, trying to deny that he even
felt
excitement at the prospect before him.  It
was
wrong to go and see another man’s wife feeling this level of anticipation, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

He skirted around a little crop of young trees and bushes, and into view came the most enticing sight.  Ciaran
Connelly stood in the shallow water. Her babe was tied to her back, and Aidan was playing in the sandy mud. Her skirts were tied up around her knees to keep them from falling into the water as she scrubbed clothes on a river stone.

“Ma!” Liam called, tripping down to where she was working.

Duncan followed slowly, hands in his pockets, watching the mother’s pretty face light with surprise when she caught sight of her son.

“Liam
Connelly!  What are you about?” she cried, her soft Irish lilt very pleasing to the ear.  “I thought you were with your brothers?”

“They said I was too little to go with them, Ma!  Look!” he said, hopping on one foot in an effort to show her injured leg.  “I fell!  But Mr. Duncan said you’d make it better, Ma.”

It was then that Ciaran looked past her son and saw Duncan MacRae.

Ciaran caught her breath, and a shiver ran along her spine. The reaction was inspired
mostly
by surprise and fear. She was all alone, and Sean would
kill
her if he saw her with another man. There was the tiniest hint of excitement as well. She’d never met the man apart from their accidental encounter the night before setting off, but of course she knew who he was: Duncan MacRae,
Laird
MacRae, the undeniable leader of more than half the caravan.

Even if she hadn’t been aware of the position of esteem the man held within his tribe, she couldn’t help but notice him as a man. He was a powerful specimen
, something that both frightened and thrilled her. He was tall and broad-shouldered with smooth tanned skin and golden hair with the faintest fleck of red, but his most outstanding feature was his eyes. She rarely saw the sky so blue.  Ciaran glanced between Liam and the Laird, wondering how it was that her son had commanded such rarified attention.

“Mister MacRae!” she said, when she regained the power of speech and realized the silence had stretched on too long. She didn’t know if she ought to have revealed she knew his name, but there wasn’t anything else to say. She was startled by his sudden appearance, and caught off balance again when his answer to her breathless greeting was a warm smile, a wink and a smooth:

“I believe this belongs to you?”

“Oh!
Yes,” Ciaran flushed when she realized she’d been too star struck by the handsome Scot to pay attention to her son. She moved to rectify the situation immediately, pulling him toward her and stooping to inspect his leg. “I’m so sorry, did he bother you?”

“No bother,” MacRae said quickly. “The little lad just seemed a wee bit lost, and the stream’s a bit broad and deep where we were
. I reckoned it was better to bring him straight to you. I know your bairns have a habit of wandering off.”

Ciaran flushed with embarrassment, unable to deny what he said was true. She hated to appear
as such a negligent mother, but she didn’t know what else she could do. The boys were simply too rambunctious to chase after by herself. She had too much to do. It was work enough to keep Aidan and Mary at hand. “Well, thank you,” she said in a contrite tone of voice. “I’m sorry for the bother. Liam, I thought I told you to stay close to your older brothers?”

“They left me!” Liam wailed, a fat tear welling in the corner of his dark blue eyes. “They said I was too little to hunt for Indians with them!”