Quinn's Deirdre (14 page)

“Fuck!” Quinn pounded the wheel with a
fist. “Damn, Deirdre, I knew it! What happened?”

“Hush,” she said with a backward glance
at Eileen’s brood. “On my way back from the restroom, I saw the same man, the
one who threatened me before.”

“Ye’re certain?”

Deirdre nodded.

“Did he see
ye
?”

“He winked at me.” Saying it aloud
threatened to unleash the terror and tears she’d held back. “Quinn, I’m scared
to death.
 
He knows I’m alive and god
knows what he may do or who he’ll tell.”

“Don’t fret,” Quinn told her. “I’ll keep
ye safe, I told ye so. Besides, the pub’s closed from tonight through Friday.”

Despite his calm tone, his knotted
forehead indicated worry. “It’s after I’m concerned about.”

“We’ll handle it, one way or
another.
 
Do ye truly have a headache? Ye
look sicker than a dog.”

“Yes, an awful one.”

“Then I’ll get
ye
home, ye can make your excuses, and I’ll put you to bed.
 
I’ll stay with ye if you want, if it makes
you feel safer.”

His promise calmed her a tiny bit.
 
“Eileen won’t like it.”

“Damn what she likes! She’s my sister
and I love her, but I love
ye
more,” Quinn said. “Hang
on, love, and I’ll get
ye
home.”

Quinn rocketed through traffic with
speed and no little skill.
 
At County
Tyrone, Deirdre lasted ten minutes before she made an exit. “I’m sorry,” she told
Eileen’s family. “My head’s splitting and I don’t feel at all well.
 
I think I’ll go to bed early so I’ll be fine
in the morning to cook.”

Eileen nodded.
 
Without any heat, she said, “I’m sorry for ye
and I hope you’re better soon. If I had any hand in it, I apologize.”

“Thank you but I sometimes get these
headaches,” Deirdre said.
 
Quinn kissed
her on the forehead and whispered in her ear.

“Go on up and I’ll be there in a flash,
mo chroide.
”

Deirdre didn’t quibble.
 
She paused to watch as Quinn took Desmond
aside.
He’s telling him and that’s
good.
 
One more person to watch my back
can’t hurt.

Then she mounted the back steps one at a
time, heart heavy and body weary.

Chapter Nine

Deirdre wanted to burrow beneath the
blankets on the bed and cry, but she didn’t.
 
It hadn’t helped three years ago and it wouldn’t do any good now.
 
She took a long, hot shower instead and
donned an oversize flannel nightgown.
 
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Quinn sat at the kitchen table
with a glass and bottle of Jameson’s whiskey.
 

“How’s yer head?”

“The shower helped, a little.”

“Do ye want some tea?” As he spoke, he
reached behind on the counter and put a steaming teapot on the table. “Des
thought ye might so he brought it up.
 
If
not, there’s whiskey.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll take a cup
of tea, no whiskey.
 
I don’t want to get
drunk and you shouldn’t either.”

Quinn snorted. “I’ve no notion of
drinking until I’m drunk, woman, but after this day, a drink or two won’t go
amiss.
 
Do ye want one sugar or two?”

“Two.” She watched as his capable
fingers opened two packets of sugar in tandem,
then
dumped them into a cup.
 
He poured tea
over it and stirred.

“Thanks.” Deirdre sipped and sighed with
pleasure. “Did you tell Desmond about the man I saw?”

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“
Ni
neart go cur le cheile,”
Quinn said and although she had no idea what the
lovely Irish words meant, she liked the sound of them.
 
Because he knew she understood no more than a
few words and simple phrases, he translated
.“
It means
there is no strength without unity.”

“Meaning what?”

“If we stick together, we’re strong and
it’ll be fine.”

She pondered it.
 
“I like that.
 
I just hope it’s true.”

“It will be,
bean mo chroi.
 
I know ye’re
worried, but can you let it go for now? Naught may come of it, anyway. Tomorrow
we’ll be preparing the feast and gabbing,
then
we
feast and celebrate.
 
The pub’s closed,
we’ll stay in, and nothing will happen. Will ye, love?”

His expression turned so tender, she
couldn’t refuse. “I’ll do my best, Quinn, I promise.
 
If I shake the headache, then maybe I can.”

“Ye don’t plan to skedaddle again, do
ye?” Although he kept his tone light, she sensed the genuine fear beneath it.

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m
staying.”

“That’s grand. Ye’re alive and here,
that’s what’s important,” he said. “It’s meant to be a happy time, and I plan
to do whatever I must to keep it so.
 
Do
you want another cup?”

“Please.
 
Then I think I’ll go to bed and try to sleep off the headache.
 
If you need to go downstairs, I understand.”

Quinn reached over his glass to stroke
her hand. “I told
ye
I’d stay and I will.
 
I’ll hold ye close so ye’ll sleep.”

“I’d like that.”

* * * *

The tight ball of anxiety centered in
her chest eased as he cradled her close.
 
Earlier, she’d thought she would never sleep, but Deirdre did.
 
Each time she woke, content, she would
remember and panic, then relax again.
 
Twice,
bad dreams intensified until she woke with a cry, but Quinn soothed her, his
voice gentle as he sang her back to sleep.
 
The beautiful words of the classic Connemara cradle song, one of the
loveliest lullabies she had ever heard, eased her tension and Deirdre could
almost believe what the lyrics promised, angels were watching over her.
 
As she drifted back into sleep, she thought
if she had Quinn, she didn’t need any angels but a few wouldn’t hurt.

In the morning, Deirdre might have
thought she dreamed Quinn holding her throughout the night if she hadn’t
awakened in his arms. Maybe it came from the sense of security he provided or
maybe she wanted to celebration a real holiday with family, even if they
weren’t quite her own, but she woke content.
 
The rising tide of fear had diminished overnight to a manageable
trickle.
 
When she pushed back the
covers, Quinn, still wearing his jeans and shirt from the previous day, opened
his eyes.
 
Tenderness filled her heart
and overflowed with love for this good man, who slept in his clothes for her
sake after all she’d done that hurt him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Deirdre told
him with a catch in her voice.
 
She kissed
his mouth, light as a summer breeze and his arms locked around her.
 
His mouth intensified on hers and a wild surge
of desire ignited.
 
Quinn robbed her
breath and when he paused, he wore a cocky, sweet grin.

“Ye must be feelin’ grand this mornin,”
he commented.

“I’m better, yes.”

“Good.
 
What time do ye start the cookin’?”

“I’m not sure.
 
Des will know.
 
We’re not doing as much today as
tomorrow.
 
Why?”

“There’s a thing I’d like to do, ‘tis
all.”

Anticipation sent little shivers from
her brain down her back. “What is it?”

“That’s for me to know and
ye
to find out later,” Quinn said. “Unless Des has fetched
them, I’ve got to go pick up my sister and her lot.
 
If I go, will ye be all right alone for a
short while?”

Last night, she would have said ‘no’.
 
This morning, she nodded. “Sure, I’ll be
fine.”

He showered while she made tea, then he
headed out with another kiss and promise to meet her downstairs.
 
Deirdre took her time.
 
She lingered beneath the steady,
hot-as-she-could-stand-it spray and finished dressing at a leisurely pace.
 
By the time she wandered into kitchen, Des
and Eileen stood together, each stirring something in a bowl.
 
Both glanced up and smiled.
 
Des’ expression seemed genuine, Eileen’s a
little forced.
 
“Good morning, love,”
Desmond said. “Yer man’s lookin’ for
ye
. He’s in the
back dining room with Neal and the wanes.”

Deirdre heard Quinn’s voice raised in
song.
 
She recognized the ditty,
Maidirn
Rudh
,
a cute
children’s tune about a little fox.
 
Eileen’s kids sang along so as she entered, Deirdre joined them.
 
Quinn put down his guitar as the little ones
protested.
“Ah, now, away with ye for now.
I need to
spend some time with Deirdre now.
 
I’ll
sing more
later
if ye want, I promise.
 
Or ask your da here to give you a song.”

Neal guffawed. “They know better than
that, Quinn.
 
I can’t carry a tune at
all.”

“I want to go, too, Uncle Quinn,” Sorcha
said.

“Not this time,
mo mhuirnín.
Today’s for grown-ups.”

“Where are we going?” Deirdre asked.

“Ye’ll see.
 
Just trust me, woman.”

She beamed at him. “I do.”

Halfway there, she figured out the
destination. “We’re going to the Nelson-Adkins art museum?”

“Aye, we are.”

Although Deirdre loved the place, she
had to ask him, “Why?”

“It’s the first place I ever took
ye
on a date.”

Her heart jumped.
 
Quinn possessed a sentimental nature and a
broad romantic streak, but Deirdre wondered if he planned to ask her the
question he’d mentioned earlier.
 
“I
remember.”

At the gallery, they walked hand in hand
through the exhibits.
 
If they’d had the
entire day to spend, they might have visited more of the galleries, but
Deirdre’s holiday cooking commitment loomed.
  
Quinn headed for the European art and they strolled, pausing when they
came across old favorites.
 
On the day
before Thanksgiving, the crowds were light and when they reached Deirdre’s
favorite, Monet’s
Water Lilies,
Quinn
led her to a bench.
 
They gazed at the
lovely painting for a few minutes, and then he dropped on one knee.

“I’ve something I’ve meant to ask ye
this long time,” he said, brogue thicker than ever.
 
His accent always increased with his emotion.
“Three years ago, I’d planned to do the same and then ye were gone before I did.
 
Now that ye’re back, I’ve no wish to waste
time, so I’ll just say it.
 
Deirdre,
mo ghra, mo chroide,
would ye marry me?”

Although she half expected his proposal,
his words impacted her.
 
A deep joy burst
to life within and spread until she thought for a moment she might faint.
 
His blue eyes
mets
hers, brilliant with sapphire fire, and the tenderness in his expression
brought tears to Deirdre’s eyes.

“Oh, Quinn, yes!”
She
stretched her hand forward to caress his cheek, and he caught her hand.
 
Quinn kissed it, his lips warm and gentle
against her flesh. “I love you so much.”

“And I love ye,” he said.
 
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small
box. “I’ve a wee thing here for
ye
.” Quinn opened it
to reveal a vintage ring.
 
A center round
cut diamond sat flanked by four smaller Marquise cut stones on a platinum band.
“It belonged to my granny.
 
Will ye wear
it, love?”

Deirdre held out her hand. “It’s
beautiful and yes, I would be proud to wear it.”

He slid the ring onto the third finger
of her left hand.
 
It fit as if it’d been
made for her. “I thought ye might like it.”

“What if I hadn’t?” she asked as she
titled the ring to catch the light.

“I’d have bought
ye
a new one.
 
There’s a matching band with
the same engraving, but no more diamonds goes with it for when we’re wed if ye
don’t mind it.”