The Eden Tree (19 page)

“Stay…with me,” he gasped, barely able to talk.

Always, Linn thought, abandoning herself to the journey and spiraling upward with him. Her mind spun out to blankness as, fused in white heat, they became one.

* * * *

Con’s voice broke into Linn’s dreamy lassitude. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Con hadn’t withdrawn but merely shifted to the side so as not to crush her with his weight.

“Never better,” she replied, “though you are a little heavy.”

“I didn’t notice any complaints before,” he responded with a wry, very Con-like smile.

“Pleased with yourself?” she asked.

“And with you,” he answered, kissing her nose. “I knew from the start you were a Roman candle.”

Linn groaned. “If you’re referring to our first meeting I’d rather not discuss it. When I had to face you the next morning I was mortified.”

“I’d love to discuss it. It was the premier experience of my life, until tonight.”

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a beast to tease me about it. You know nothing like that had ever happened to me before and if you’re going to razz me about it, I’m leaving.”

He grunted as she moved. “You’ll have to take me with you,” he said, holding her down.

Linn inhaled sharply, feeling him growing inside her. “Again?” she asked.

“Still,” he muttered as she locked her legs around him once more. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

The second time he was easier, more gentle, soothing her with soft words and lingering kisses, and when it was over she found that her face was wet with tears.

“No crying, now,” he said, wiping her cheek with his thumb. “I won’t have it.”

“It’s just that I’m so happy,” she said, snuggling into him.

“Don’t get too comfortable, my lady,” he warned. “I’m taking you inside. You’ll get sick from the damp and I’ll be the cause of it.”

“Oh, can’t we stay? It’s so lovely here.”

“All right, for a few minutes,” he agreed, lying back with his hands behind his head. Linn settled against his shoulder, gazing up at him. She traced the line of his jaw with her finger.

“Do you look like your father?” she asked.

“Not much, nor my mother either. I seem to be a throwback. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve seen pictures of my mother; I look like her. My father was dark like you.”

He smiled. “Think I’m handsome, do you?”

“I think you’re conceited. As far as your looks go you’ve a bit too much jaw for some people.”

“But not for you.” He closed his eyes contentedly.

“And your nose looks like it was once broken.”

“Twice,” he corrected her without opening his eyes. “I suppose you think it spoils my beauty.”

Linn kissed his cheek. “Nothing could spoil your beauty for me, Con.”

He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, hugging her. “Is that so, my lady?”

“That’s so.”

“I wager that means you’ll have to tell Sean he’s out of the running,” he said slyly.

“Sean was never in the running. I’m ashamed to admit it but I’m afraid I was using him to get to you.”

“A tactic which met with admirable success,” he admitted ruefully. “Poor Seaneen. I actually like him, if you can believe that, but when I saw him with you it drove me wild.”

“You said he was a milkman with a typewriter.”

Con winced.

“Why do you call him Seaneen?” Linn asked.

“Oh, it means young Sean, little Sean. His father is Sean as well, you see.”

“I see. I always thought that was a terrible thing to do to a boy, call him after his father. He’s ‘little somebody’ all his life. He winds up a fifty-year-old man who’s still Little Jim because his father, Big Jim, is still alive.”

Con laughed. “Is that your charming way of telling me our first son won’t be named Connor?”

Linn held her breath. Their first son? But he went on smoothly. “It’s a famous name in the sagas, you know. Conchubor.’‘

“Yes, I know. ‘Young subtle Conchubor.’ Whose line is that?”

“Yeats, the nonpareil. He’s my religion, that man.”

“He’s everybody’s religion over here. I couldn’t believe it when I saw that his picture was on the twenty pound note.”

“Certainly.”

Linn giggled. “Only the Irish would put a poet on their money.”

“And why not? He’s just as important to us as Jefferson or Lincoln or any of those bloody politicians you put on yours.”

“I wouldn’t call Lincoln a bloody politician,” Linn said, outraged.

Con waved his hand, dismissing The Great Emancipator. “Shakespeare is on British money,” he pointed out equably.

“Now there’s a genius,” Linn said, needling him.

“To be sure.”

“And an Englishman.”

“I forgive him.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Linn pressed his left nipple with her thumb.

He glanced down at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m testing your erogenous zones.”

“I think we’ve discovered that they all work,” he said. He shook his head. “I’ve created a monster in a single night.”

She smiled at him. ‘‘That’s what you get for taking on a wild American lady.”

He cupped her chin in his hand. “The only thing wild about you is your response to me,” he said tenderly.

Linn dropped her eyes. “That’s not what everybody in town thinks,” she said unhappily. “I made a fool of myself at the Fleadh.”

He sat up. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself; you just showed how you feel about me and I’m glad you did. It gave me the nerve to try again, to come here and wait for you. And as for what they think, ten of them together might have one brain between them to think anything.”

Linn chuckled wickedly. “Con, that’s an awful thing to say. I know you don’t mean it.”

He frowned mulishly. “Perhaps not, but if any of them say a word against you I’ll have their hides.”

“Oh, come on. You’d have to admit I asked for it. My behavior even gave Terry Cleary ideas.”

Con glanced at her sharply. “Oh, aye?”

She saw that she shouldn’t have brought it up. “Well,” she said uncomfortably, “it wasn’t much actually...”

He waited, eyeing her narrowly.

“He just said something a little suggestive,” she hedged.

Con’s jaw tightened. “I may have to give him a clout in the mouth next time I see him,” he said tersely.

“Con! You can’t be serious. I’m sorry I mentioned it. Terry’s just full of himself, that’s all. He’s sexy and he knows it.” She put her hand placatingly on his arm.

He shrugged it off. “Oh, he’s sexy, is he?” he inquired archly.

“Con, you can’t be jealous of a sixteen-year-old boy.”

“I’m jealous of anybody who looks at you, including a sixteen-year-old boy, especially one you think is sexy.”

“I think you’re sexier.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I think you’re the sexiest man in Bally.”

He snorted. “That’s not saying much and well you know it.”

“The sexiest man in Ireland, then, and that’s a significant statement.”

He tugged on her hair. “I don’t know about that, but I’ve decided that you were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Since you came here if you haven’t been crying, you’ve been rolling about in the grass with me.”

Linn flung herself on him as he collapsed in laughter. “You’re going to pay for that!” she yelled.

“Oh, I hope so.” He grinned, pulling her across his body.

Linn clasped her arms around his waist and rubbed her cheek on his stomach. A cool evening breeze swept across her back and she shivered.

Con sobered, propping himself on an elbow. “Let’s go in, Aislinn. You’re cold; you’ll have pneumonia by morning.”

Linn ignored him, trailing her tongue across his navel, darting it along his hipbone down to his thigh. He caught his breath, moving his hand to her hair to massage her scalp. Linn raised her head.

“What was that you were saying?” she asked innocently.

“Perhaps we’ll stay a while longer,” he whispered, pushing her down again.

Linn fondled him and then touched him experimentally with her tongue. Con made a guttural sound deep in his throat and closed his fingers around the nape of her neck. When she saw the intensity of his response her courage faltered.

“Con,” she said, kissing him lightly, “I want to make love to you very much, but I’ve never…I’m not sure . . .”

He shushed her gently. “You don’t have to be sure. You can’t make a mistake with me. That assurance and your desire to please will teach you what to do.”

And he was right.

* * * *

They didn’t make it back to the gatehouse until three in the morning, by which time Linn was chilled to the bone. Even in midsummer the nights were cool.

Con grabbed an afghan and draped it about her shoulders once they were inside, rubbing her arms briskly .

“Scoot over to the bed there and cover up while I light the fire,” he directed. “Cuddle inside that and you’ll be warm soon enough.” He tossed his shirt on a chair and began to shift logs from the brace against the wall onto the hearth.

Linn drew the blanket around her and watched him work in quiet contentment. Relaxed, replete, she curled up drowsily, admiring the play of muscles across Con’s arms and back as he built the fire. Finally he bent to light it, and then stood by to make sure it caught and drew well. Satisfied, he joined her on the bed.

“That should do it,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“What accounts for the weather here?” Linn asked curiously. It was changeable and damp, misty and often rainy, but never bitterly cold.

“The Gulf Stream,” Con replied. “It gives us our climate and makes the country green. The current encircles the whole island like a ring of bright water.”

Linn smiled at his fanciful description; he talked the way he wrote. That reminded her of something.

“Con, why don’t you have any of your books here?” she asked.

“Checked, did you?” he replied, a smile in his voice.

“Yes.”

“I did have some but I gave them away,” he said. “People always ask me for them.”

“You’ll never get rich that way, Connor,” Linn stated dryly. “The idea is for people to buy them.”

“They buy them, never worry,” he answered. “They all did well, except
The Eden Tree
. That just broke even.”

“Poetry never sells that well. It has a select but appreciative audience.’‘

“Just as you say,” he agreed, nuzzling her neck.

“Where did you get the title?” Linn asked.

“Oh, that. I was trying to get across an idea from the Gaelic which wouldn’t translate literally. The original phrase meant something forbidden, something or someone that you desire passionately to the point of distraction, but can never, ever have. So I called it
The Eden Tree
because that seemed to sum up the situation.”

“I see. It sounds like a perfect choice.”

“I’m glad it meets with your approval.” He pressed Linn closer and ran his hands lightly over her from her shoulders to her hips. “Aislinn,” he breathed. “Nothing, nothing, has ever felt as wonderful to me as your soft warm body in my arms.”

Linn closed her eyes and melted into him. “Oh, Con, I love you so. I was wretched when I thought you didn’t want me.”

He hugged her tighter. “Not want you? I’ve been consumed with wanting you, destroyed by it, since I met you. When you sang to me at the Fleadh I was so…hot…I wanted to throw you down and take you right there.”

Linn giggled. “That would have caused even more of a sensation than my performance did.” She paused thoughtfully. “You don’t suppose anybody saw us tonight in the glen?”

She felt his mouth form itself into a smile against her skin. “If so, there’ll be more talk about you in Bally tomorrow.”

Linn burrowed into his chest. “Don’t even suggest it. My reputation is in shreds already. You’d think the locals would have something better to do than revile me.”

“They don’t,” Con said with a laugh. “And besides, they’re not reviling you. You’re new and interesting, and that’s the truth of it.”

Linn stroked his soft hair, drying now in the heat of the room. “Con,” she asked softly, “how did you know I would be there tonight?”

“Oh, that’s simple. I put the come-hither on you.”

“What’s that?”

“A spell to summon a person to your side. Very effective.”

“You’re full of baloney.”

“Blarney,” he corrected piously. “Here we call it blarney.”

“Whatever you call it, the very idea sounds suspicious to me.”

“Ever the practical American,” he said, rolling her under him and framing her face with his hands. He kissed her lingeringly, raising his head finally to gaze into her eyes.