The Reluctant Lark (21 page)

Rand gave a snort of derision, and Sheena gave him a glance of extreme displeasure. His aggressive attitude wasn’t helping the situation. She was already so confused and upset by the subtle pressure that her uncle was exerting that she was almost in tears. He had been her whole family for too long to just repudiate outright as Rand wanted her to do. Couldn’t he understand how she was being torn between them?

“I do understand, Uncle Donal,” she said. “It’s just that there’s been a change in the situation. We need to have a long discussion.”

“To hell with discussions!” Rand said. “You’re not going with him.”

Sheena’s lips thinned. “That’s up to me, Rand. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me handle my own affairs as I see fit.”

“You know that I’m always willing to listen, Sheena,” O’Shea said earnestly. “Suppose you drive with us to Houston, and we’ll talk on the way.”

Rand muttered an impatient curse. “No way. I’m not trusting you out of my sight, Sheena. For God’s sake, can’t you see that he’s manipulating you just as he’s always done!”

“No, I can’t see that!” Sheena cried, her dark eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve never understood that Uncle Donal isn’t the villain that you think him. He’s my family, and I care very much for him. He deserves better than the way you’re treating him, damn it!”

O’Shea stepped quickly forward and took her in his arms, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “Easy, lass, don’t get yourself all upset,” he crooned soothingly. “He doesn’t understand about us and what we’ve got to do. He wasn’t there when Rory died.” His large hand cupped her chin tenderly. “Remember how Rory held your hand until the very end, Sheena?”

Sheena felt a tearing pain shoot through her, and the tears were now running freely down her face. “No, he wasn’t there,” she said brokenly, her eyes dazed. “Rand wasn’t there.”

“You bastard!” Rand’s voice was filled with such menace that it pierced even Sheena’s misery. “My God, how the hell do you have the nerve to use her brother’s death to whip her into line? Doesn’t it even give you a twinge of guilt to use that particular weapon?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” O’Shea said coldly. “I don’t believe you do either, Mr. Challon.”

Challon’s golden eyes narrowed dangerously. “But I do know, O’Shea,” he said, his voice like molten steel. “I hoped I could spare Sheena the knowledge of what you are. She’s had enough pain in her life without that
cross to bear.” He shook his tawny head in disbelief. “But you won’t let her alone, will you? Rory’s death wasn’t enough. You want another sacrificial lamb to burn on the altar of your damn cause!”

“Rand!” Sheena’s voice was a shocked gasp. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry, dove,” he said quietly. “But it’s got to end. I can’t let him do this to you.”

“You’re a madman,” O’Shea accused hoarsely, his square, powerful body oddly rigid. “Do you know what you’re implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m accusing you, O’Shea. You’re as guilty of Rory Reardon’s death as if you’d put a pistol to his head and pressed the trigger.”

“Please, Rand, don’t go on with this. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sheena said huskily. “Uncle Donal loved Rory as if he were his own son.”

“Perhaps he did,” Rand said. “But it didn’t stop him from sacrificing Rory when it came to a choice between his convictions and the boy’s life.” He smiled bitterly. “Tell me, O’Shea, did it increase your stature with your terrorist friends, when you handed them an eighteen-year-old martyr to use in their propaganda?”

Sheena expected her uncle to explode with rage, but she was surprised to see that he, too, was coolly controlled, his gray eyes narrowed and calculating. “You’re intimating that I’m a member of the NCI?” he asked colorlessly. “That’s as foolish as your other slander, Challon.”

“You’ve been a member of the NCI for at least eight years, O’Shea,” Rand said flatly. “Possibly longer. Your coffeehouse in Ballycraigh was used as a meeting place and as a storage warehouse for arms before you sold it four years ago. It was a very valuable asset. I’m quite surprised that they allowed you to sell it. But then, Sheena was potentially an even greater weapon, wasn’t she?”

“None of this is true, Rand!” Sheena cried desperately. “Even that government man said that Uncle Donal had
been thoroughly investigated and that he had no connection with the NCI. Can’t you see how mistaken you are?”

Challon gave her a pitying glance. “There’s no mistake, Sheena. Donal O’Shea’s cover was almost perfect. It had to be, or he wouldn’t have been of any use to them.”

“Yet, you claim to possess knowledge, not even known to the authorities,” O’Shea scoffed. “May I ask how you came by such information?”

“Money,” Rand said simply. “You’d be amazed at how much information unlimited funds can buy. The private detectives I had investigating Sheena and her associates were most thorough.” His gaze traveled to where Sean Reilly stood behind O’Shea. “For instance, there was the interesting tidbit regarding your charming associate. Reilly has been a member of the NCI since he was a kid of fourteen. He was setting off bombs in supermarkets by the time he was sixteen. It was something of a promotion for him to be selected as your assistant, wasn’t it, O’Shea? What was the plan? Was he eventually to take over as Sheena’s controller?”

Sheena shook her head dazedly. What Rand was saying was completely unbelievable. There was no way that Uncle Donal could be the monster he was describing. Not the man who had shown her both strength and affection since she was a small child. There must be some horrible mistake.

“No, it can’t be true,” she whispered.

“Of course it’s not true,” O’Shea said adamantly, turning her face up to look directly into her eyes. His gray eyes were brilliant with unshed tears. “Believe me, Sheena, you and Rory were all the world to me. How could I do such a thing?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rand said desperately, his face taut and haggard. “For God’s sake, believe me. Trust me.”

“Come with me to Houston, Sheena,” O’Shea said.
“We’ll talk and get everything straightened out in your mind.”

God, how she needed that, Sheena thought desperately. She felt as if she were being torn apart. She not only couldn’t think, but she was beginning to be overcome by an odd lassitude that was paralyzing her emotions.

“Yes,” she said vaguely. “Yes, I’ll come.”

“Sheena!” Rand’s exclamation was both a rejection and a cry of pain.

She turned to him, her dark eyes almost blank with shock and agony. “I have to go, Rand,” she explained numbly. “Please understand, I have to talk to my uncle.” She turned away like a sleepwalker and walked toward the Datsun.

Sean Reilly was there ahead of her, swiftly opening the rear passenger door. She was about to step into the car when Rand appeared at her elbow. His expression was full of torment as he looked down into her pale, pain-racked face.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, love,” Rand said raggedly, as he touched her cheek gently with one finger. “I know what hell this has put you through. Believe me, if there had been any other way, I would have taken it.”

Sheena nodded, not looking at him. “I understand,” she said, and somewhere down beneath the ice that covered her emotions she did understand. She got silently into the car, her eyes fixed straight ahead. If she didn’t look at him, if she didn’t speak, perhaps she’d be able to remain in this gray limbo.

She heard Rand curse, and then he leaned forward into the car to kiss her gently on the cheek. “I’m letting you go, Sheena,” he said huskily. “I’ll give you the time you need to get over the first shock, and then I’m coming after you.”

“That wouldn’t be wise, Mr. Challon.” There was a touch of steel in Sean Reilly’s usually silky voice. “We won’t be caught off guard a second time. I’d advise you to keep your distance.”

O’Shea entered the car by the other passenger door
and settled himself comfortably by Sheena, taking one of her cold, lifeless hands in both of his. “Sean is right, Challon,” he said softly. “You won’t be welcome around my niece in the future. It might even prove dangerous.”

Rand straightened slowly, his face hardening to brutal ruthlessness. “I doubt that. Did I forget to mention that all of those investigative reports have been well documented and are locked up nice and tidy in a safe deposit box? You’d better hope that I stay healthy for a long, long time.”

Sheena heard Reilly give a muttered curse as he slammed the door shut and then strode around the hood of the car to the driver’s seat. It was only a moment later that the car lurched swiftly into motion, tearing away from the house and leaving Challon to gaze after them, his face a mask of grim implacability.

O’Shea leaned forward to speak to Reilly as they reached the rutted dirt access road. “Circle around as if we were heading for the highway,” he said tersely. “Challon gave in a little too easily. It won’t hurt to lay a false trail in case he decides to try to take her back.”

“Right.” Reilly nodded briskly, then proceeded to follow O’Shea’s instructions.

O’Shea leaned back in his seat, his hand clasping Sheena’s in a warm, comforting grip. His cool gray eyes were searching as they fixed on Sheena’s blank, remote face. “You’ve made the right decision, lass. You know in your heart where you belong. Challon couldn’t understand you as I do. We’ve been together a long time, haven’t we, Sheena?”

Sheena nodded mechanically. “Yes, a long time.”

So many years. She had a fleeting memory of the day that her uncle had taken Rory and her to the fair on the outskirts of Ballycraigh. Rory had been only fifteen then, she thought dazedly. She remembered how his face had lit up with pride when he had rung the bell with one powerful stroke of the massive hammer at the Test Your Strength booth. Uncle Donal had laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, fond pride on his
face as well. So many years. She felt a melting of the ice around her heart as an aching pain pierced through her.

“It will be just as it used to be,” O’Shea said complacently. “We’ll forget this incident ever took place.” He chucked her under the chin gently. “It never would have happened if I hadn’t been such a thickheaded Irishman and not noticed how exhausted you were. You would never have let that playboy tycoon get around you if you’d been yourself.”

She wondered what her uncle would say if he knew just how Rand had gotten around her. He evidently thought that Challon had used that devastating charm to beguile her into going off with him on a romantic interlude. Not that he probably wouldn’t have succeeded if he’d had the time to use that particular weapon, she thought tenderly. It had taken him less than three weeks to make her fall in love with him and to become the center of her universe. A magical flood of memories of their time together flowed over her, melting the remainder of the shock that encased her. What was she doing here? she wondered wildly. Why was she sitting in this car speeding away from the only place she ever wanted to be, at Rand Challon’s side?

“Ah, you’re feeling better,” O’Shea said gently, his eyes on the color coming back to her cheeks. “That’s good, darlin’. Soon you’ll be your old self. You shouldn’t have let that man upset you so. You know that I would never use you as he said. You’re my own colleen, just as you’ve always been.”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better,” Sheena said quietly.

Trust me, Rand had said. But if she trusted him, then she must believe what he had told her. How could she do that when she knew how her uncle had loved Rory? He would have to be a ruthless fanatic to sacrifice a boy he loved like a son on the altar of a political cause. But the members of the NCI were such fanatics, she realized bewilderedly. Oh, God, she didn’t know what to think!

A frown on his face, O’Shea looked down at the small hand clasped in his. “These American’s don’t understand us, Sheena,” he said, as if talking to himself. “They don’t realize what it is to live in a country torn apart like our own is. How could they realize what we’ve suffered and what we must give up to preserve our heritage?” His bulldog face convulsed into a mask of pain, his icy gray eyes misting. “God, how I loved that lad.”

Sheena went still, the breath leaving her body. No, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to hear any more.

“Rory was everything to me,” O’Shea said hoarsely. “He was the finest lad that ever lived. Strong and brave and true.” His gray eyes blazed with feeling. “Lord I was proud of that boy!”

Sheena closed her eyes, as a surge of sheer agony went through her. “Uncle Donal is proud of me,” Rory had said. She had misunderstood. She had thought that her uncle had given Rory the same false assurance that she had in order to make his last hours easier, but that hadn’t been it at all. It had all been true. Everything that Rand had said was the God’s truth, and for a moment she didn’t see how she could bear it.

“But there I go upsetting you again,” O’Shea said, with false heartiness as he looked up to see her face white with misery. “You’re a good girl to put up with an old man’s maundering when you have your own cross to bear.”

His last phrase inevitably brought to mind what Rand had said about O’Shea sending her on stage to be crucified. It all seemed so clear now. What had made the whole concept so unbelievable was her uncle’s love for Rory. She couldn’t conceive of a fanaticism so extreme that it could take perverse joy in sacrificing the object nearest one’s heart. Yet now she had no doubt that her uncle had done just that. She would probably never know whether O’Shea had actually instigated that hunger strike, but it was almost certain that he had not tried to dissuade Rory when the others had
given it up. Sheena gave a shiver of revulsion as she realized how many years of indoctrination and carefully spread poison had resulted in that horrifying night in Ballycraigh.

“We’ll get you back to New York as soon as possible,” her uncle said comfortingly. “You can stay in bed and relax all day tomorrow. You only have three numbers scheduled for your part of the benefit the next evening, so you won’t even have to rehearse.”

Three numbers. “ ‘Rory’s Song’?” Sheena asked, knowing the answer before O’Shea nodded. One of the numbers would have to be “Rory’s Song” if the pieces were to fit into the puzzle. So she was to be the instrument of O’Shea’s fanatical passion just as Rory had been. Suddenly Sheena felt deluged by an icy rage that banished all the pain and confusion and filled her with a strength and confidence she had never known. No, by God, she would never let him use either her or Rory’s death ever again!