One Sinful Night (13 page)

“We were just children then. Her grandmother was kind to me.”

She nodded her head, but he knew she suspected he was not being entirely truthful. Guilt over his treatment of her gnawed at him; Helene deserved better from him.

Feeling like an idiot, he wondered what had possessed him to sing with Vivienne in the first place. When he saw her standing alone at the piano, the words came out of his mouth before he could reconsider them. He had to play for her. She stood so proudly, beautifully, and he suddenly ached to hear her sweet voice again. The scene so vividly recalled the familiar memories of their time together that he had reacted with an automatic reflex.

Just as having her in the portrait gallery that afternoon had been.

That would be a memory that would haunt him forever. Vivienne in the portrait gallery. She had been astonishingly sensual. His body throbbed with desire at the mere thought of Vivienne sucking his fingers. Vivienne kissing him in the darkness. Vivienne declaring she had only ever been with him. If only he could believe her…

He lost all control of himself with Vivienne. For whatever reason, she had that effect on him. She always had. He had never been with another woman who had that type of influence over him, and there had been plenty over the years since he left Ireland. Like a witch, Vivienne caused him to act irrationally and recklessly, going against his better judgment and defying all logic. All the more reason to stay away from her.

For Vivienne Montgomery had been a force that turned his world upside down from the moment he met her.

Galway, Ireland, 1852
Eighteen years earlier…

“Nothing's ever good enough for you, is it, Susana?” Joseph Kavanaugh's deep voice slurred and he slammed his glass on the mahogany table, some of the whiskey sloshing over the sides.

“What a surprise,” Susana stated in utter disgust. “You're drunk again.”

Listening outside the door, Aidan wished his mother would be quiet. Couldn't she see how angry his father was? Why did she continue to taunt him like that?

“Not so drunk that I don't know what you are trying to do,” Joseph asserted nastily, scowling at her. “I know what you're after. And you're not taking Aidan anywhere.”

“Oh, for pity's sake, Joseph, let me take my son!” she cried in exasperation.

“Your son!” He mocked her, his laughter laced with bitterness. Joseph's once handsomely rugged face had become red and bloated, filled with too many years of unresolved resentment and too much alcohol. “Oh, yes, your son. He is your son, isn't he?”

Ignoring his intonation, Susana continued, “He needs to go to England with me, Joseph. Unlike you, Aidan shall learn to be a proper English gentleman.”

“For what? To come back here and inherit Cashelwood? He'll stay in Galway,
just like I did
. Why does he need to go off to England only to come back with lofty manners? What good will it do him, I ask you?”

She cried out in frustration, “You don't understand anything important!”

“I understand more than you think. The boy is ten years old and needs to toughen up a little. If I left him to you, you'd keep him protected under glass, like some fragile hothouse plant. You pamper and spoil him too much as it is. Aidan must learn how to manage this estate, and he needs to know about the country he lives in.
Ireland
, not England.”

“He
is
English!” she exclaimed hotly, her cheeks reddened in anger. “The Howard family,
my
family, is one of the best families in England!”

“So you've told me a thousand and one times.” He sneered at her. “But what does it matter, woman? You're married to me. Joseph Kavanaugh, Lord of Cashelwood. Nothing's going to change that. You may think Aidan only belongs to you, Susana, but he's mine, too. And it is
my
name he carries, not the name of your high and mighty English family.”

“Aidan is all I have,” she declared crossly.

“Aidan is all I have, too.” He gulped more whiskey from the crystal tumbler he had slammed on the table just moments before. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he continued his tirade. “Since I've long given up any notion of getting another child from you.”

Outside the room, Aidan's heart pounded in his chest. He hated when his parents fought with each other. The same argument always ensued and they always argued over him.

Joseph stated calmly, with a cold determination, “Aidan stays here with me.”

Susana tried a pleading tactic. “Please let me take him to visit my parents. They've never even met him. My mother is not well and I need to see her.”

“No. If you want to visit your family in England, then go alone. If your family even wants to see the likes of you. They were well rid of you when they foisted you upon me. But you're not taking Aidan to England, for I don't trust you to bring him back home to me!”

Aidan tiptoed away from the library where his parents were now screaming at each other. He felt his stomach tighten and the threat of tears pricked behind his eyes. They hadn't known he was listening outside the door, but that wouldn't have stopped them anyway. His mother and father always fought over him, and it made Aidan sick inside.

Blinking back the tears and brushing his thick black hair from his eyes, he hurried along the corridor until he found himself by the servant's staircase. An idea occurred to him then. He'd show his father that he was tough. That he wasn't a spoiled baby.

Aidan never left the house without permission or without being accompanied by one of his parents or a guardian but, weary of his father's constant derision and his mother's overprotectiveness, he crept as quietly as he could down the back staircase. Surprisingly, he found the large kitchen empty. Feeling his stomach rumble, he grabbed a loaf of freshly baked bread, wrapped it in a checkered cloth along with a big hunk of cheese, and managed to slip out the servants' entrance into the gardens without being seen. Amazed at how easily he escaped, he smiled to himself in satisfaction.

As he followed the path along the garden, he wondered nervously what his parents would do when they found him not in his bedroom. His father would give him a beating for sure, but Aidan didn't care. For once a beating seemed worth the risk.

Aidan raced across the green grass and toward the stone fence that encircled the perimeter of the estate. Carefully manicured lawns and gardens surrounded Cashelwood, an elegant and stately gray stone house that resembled an ancient castle. The estate had belonged to the Kavanaugh family for a century. Although the area had seen hard times from the famine, when the potatoes turned black, most of the Kavanaugh's farmers had survived, for Joseph Kavanaugh, being partly Irish himself, was not an absentee British landlord as most others were. He lived on his land, raising sheep and Connemara ponies, working with his tenants and helping them when in need, which made Cashelwood a prosperous estate. Lord Joseph Kavanaugh was well-liked by everyone and popular with the locals, unlike Lady Kavanaugh. Because of his father, Aidan had grown to love the land and the estate that would one day belong to him.

A thrill of exhilaration surged through Aidan at the prospect of venturing out on his own for the first time. After he climbed the stone fence and landed with an emphatic thud on the other side, he sat down and ate the bread and cheese while he figured out where to go.

He didn't understand why his mother was so angry all the time or why she hated everything Irish and only talked of England. He loved her, of course, but sometimes he wished she were not so critical of his father. Maybe then his father wouldn't be so critical of him.

His father's moods were mercurial and Aidan never knew if his father would be happy or displeased to see him. Sometimes Joseph would take Aidan riding or into town and he seemed proud to show his son to his friends. Then, for no apparent reason that Aidan could discern, his father would beat him for the slightest infraction. Aidan tried his best to be a good son. He studied hard and did very well in his lessons. Polite and obedient, he used his manners and never caused any trouble. Aidan was as good as he knew how to be. While his mother continuously heaped praises upon him, his father's kind words were few and far between.

But today was different. Today Aidan was defiant. He needed to get away from his parents. But where? There was only so far a person could go in Ireland before he reached the shore.

The sea! That's where he would go. He would go down to the bay and watch the ships. How he loved the water! Someday he would sail off on his own and battle pirates and find buried treasure. After reading Daniel Defoe's
The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe
last year he couldn't think of anything more exciting than sailing across the ocean and having to survive on a deserted island. Maybe he would stow away on a ship and leave home for good!

He finished off his makeshift meal, licking his fingers, thinking it the best he'd ever had. Tucking the checkered cloth in his back pocket, Aidan then ran with strong, steady strides through the green fields dotted with sheep and lined with stone walls, his mind spinning with this newfound freedom.

Determinedly, he followed the road into town and made his way across the Salmon Weir Bridge into the city. He loved watching the waters of the River Corrib rushing by, knowing that in the spring salmon would make their way up to Lough Corrib. An important ancient city, Galway boasted a distinguished past and Aidan had learned all about it from his tutor. It had once been a walled city and wealthy trade center, exporting fish, wool, and leather, and self-governed by the fourteen families who built grand townhouses. The Irish called it Gaillimh, but its population shrank dramatically during the last decade as people fled Ireland and the famine, flocking to Galway port to sail to the United States. But things were getting better.

Aidan followed the road into Eyre Square and marveled again at the Great Southern Hotel, which had been built only a few years earlier. The tall stone building dominated the square and made him feel hopeful. Exciting things were happening in Galway. Queens College recently opened and the railroad to Dublin had been built the year before. His parents planned to take him on the train to Dublin during the summer.

He walked along the streets until he caught a glimpse of the River Corrib again. Aidan could hear the shrill calls of the fishmongers who were selling their day's catch near the Spanish Arch, a stone fortress which was built to keep out the Spanish Armada hundreds of years ago. Carts and drays pulled goods for sale in the market and people milled about, deciding what to buy. He could see pucans, the little fishing boats from the Claddagh village, out on the water. He loved it there in the fish market, where the salty smell of the sea was strongest. He'd been there before, of course, on the trips with his father and he always enjoyed visiting the city. He could not imagine how big Dublin or even London was compared to Galway, although his mother assured him they were much finer cities.

Aidan wandered over the Claddagh Bridge and followed the road around until he came to a path that veered off to the shoreline. He looked across the bay at the horizon and dreamed of sailing to the edge and beyond that thin line that touched the sky. The Aran Islands were visible and he wished he could at least sail out to Inishmore, the largest island, and visit Dun Aengus, the ancient fort. Some day he would, he promised himself.

A light breeze ruffled his dark hair. It was a clear day, rare and beautiful, and the sunlight glinted brightly on the water, causing his eyes to water at the brightness. He walked for some time, making his way closer to the shore, until he noticed a group of children up ahead playing some sort of game.

Children!

He rarely had an opportunity to play with children his own age and he smiled to himself at the prospect. How fun it would be to play with them! Being a cautious boy, he moved toward the group with care and realized as he approached that they were not playing at all, but were in some sort of argument. He managed to position himself behind an overturned rowboat and observed them for a time without being noticed.

What he saw intrigued him.

Standing with her hands on her hips, her black hair whipping in the wind, and her blue eyes flashing, a little spitfire who seemed about nine years old gave orders to a ragtag group of boys who were decidedly bigger than she was. They stood in awe of her.

“And don't you be thinking that I won't know what you're up to,” she scolded them indignantly. She wagged her tiny finger at them for emphasis. “If you bother her again, you'll have me to deal with.”

“Ahh, go on with ya,” a tall boy of about thirteen yelled back at her.

“No, Nicky.” A shorter boy tugged on his sleeve. “She's telling the truth. Her grandmother's a witch. She'll put an outlandish spell on us, she will.”

“She don't scare me,” the boy called Nicky blustered, but his wary eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Looking at these children on the beach, Aidan knew his mother would not approve of his associating with them in any way. He smiled to himself at the prospect.

The little girl countered fearlessly to the bigger boy, “Your little brother's right, Nicky Foster, and you should take heed. My grandmother is a witch. A most talented witch. Besides that, we're descended from one of the original tribes of Galway, and that gives us special powers as well. She'll put a spell on you so bad, you'll be wishing you had it as good as poor Annie here.” The little girl seemed to become taller as she spoke, her words falling upon them with a frightening surety.

Apparently that last threat worked, for one by one the children wandered away, even the big one called Nicky, not willing to take a chance against the fiery little girl who claimed to have witches on her side. When they were gone, Aidan watched her turn to help another girl of maybe sixteen hobble up the beach. The older girl, wearing a tattered dress, had a sort of deformed leg and leaned awkwardly on the younger girl while holding a crude wooden crutch in her other hand.

He had never seen anything like it. Fascinated, Aidan hurried over to them, not wanting to lose sight of the strong-willed little witch.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a rush, for the little black-haired girl struggled to keep the older one from falling as they made their way over the rocky ground. Aidan, tall for his age, took the deformed girl's arm, and, being bigger and stronger, assisted her over the rocks and back onto the flat road with ease.

Both girls stared at him in surprise.

“Now, who would you be?” the little witch asked skeptically.

Startled by the deep blue of her eyes as they narrowed in on him, he answered, “I'm Aidan Kavanaugh.”

“I haven't seen you around here before.” Her sharp eyes looked him over, as if trying to discover if he were worthy enough to be in their presence. She must have found him acceptable because after a moment she introduced herself, saying, “I'm Vivienne Montgomery and this is my friend, Annie Sheehan.”

Aidan immediately turned to Annie. “What happened to your leg?”

Annie blushed, hiding behind her long brown hair, and shrugged self-consciously. “Born this way.”

“Yes, and those eejits don't use the sense God gave them, and they tease her, as if Annie could help how she was born,” Vivienne uttered scornfully, rolling her eyes heavenward. “It could just as easily be one of them to have a twisted leg, or arm, or head, for that matter.”