The Stolen Bride (35 page)

He cradled her face in his hands. “And I have been a fool, not to see what has been right under my nose…for the past twenty years.”

“How could you know that a tiny two-year-old child was your fate?” she teased.

He became terribly serious, his gaze searching. “Maybe I did know—maybe that is why I spent my life taking care of you. I still need to take care of you, Elle, no matter how resourceful you may be…I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you.”

His tone had softened to a murmur and his face had lowered; Eleanor closed her eyes as their mouths drifted together. She sighed; inside, her nerves fired, her blood quickened. She could barely believe that this was really happening—that the future was theirs.

“May I do that?” he murmured, rubbing his lips across hers another time.

She clenched his shirt and answered, “Only if you make a very honest woman out of me.”

Both brows lifted in mock confusion. “But you are a terribly honest woman.”

She tugged warningly on his shirt. “I am serious! Are you going to marry me, Sean? Finally?”

He smiled, and the light of his smile filled his eyes. “Damn it, Elle! Will you not let me take the lead? Ladies do not propose marriage!”

“This one does!” she cried, her heart thundering as she awaited his answer.

He dropped to one knee. “Will you do me the vast honor, an honor I do not deserve, of becoming my wife? Will you allow me to cherish you, honor you, protect you and love you for the rest of my life? Will you bear my children, keep my home? Will you forgive me for not coming to my senses sooner?”

She nodded, speechless, as he stood upright. It finally sank in—Sean loved her. He was returning her love, and they were posed to embark upon the most wonderful journey of their lives, their future. “Sean, this feels like a dream. I have been waiting for you for so long.”

He pulled her close. “I know. I just didn’t know that it could be this way between us. It was so hard watching you become a woman. For the longest time,
I couldn’t believe you were growing up. Elle, I need you. I need your smile and your laughter, I need your hope. I want to stay away from that place of darkness and guilt. I don’t ever want to go back there. I’ve found light and peace with you.”

“You are never going back to those shadows, Sean,” she whispered. “I will make sure of it.”

“Then come with me into the future—our future.” He smiled tenderly at her.

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried!” She smiled back, insanely happy, as he put his arms around her.

“Foolishly, I did try,” he said with real regret. “Elle, could you be with child?”

“It seems more likely with every passing day.” Eleanor searched his eyes. “I want your child, Sean, as much as I want our future.”

He thought about Peg. Suddenly he could recall her vividly, in full color, and to his surprise, there was no guilt, no regret, just a vague sadness. And he thought about Michael.

Elle whispered, “If it’s a boy, we can name him Michael.”

He started. “I’d like that.”

Eleanor reached for his face. “I will go wherever you wish to go,” she said softly, kissing him. “And I know you won’t believe it, but I will follow, not lead.”

And Sean wanted to laugh, because he didn’t believe it, not for a minute. But her warm, strong body was stirring up too many recent memories, and he paused before kissing her back. “I like it when you lead,” he said, “as long as I am there to follow—and pick up any pieces that might come undone in your wake.”

Impatient now, she kissed him, long and slow and very intimately. “I am definitely leading now.”

It was a long, long time before he was capable of speech. “Good,” he whispered. “Now let’s announce our news.”

And arm in arm, they went in search of the earl and countess of Adare to share their joy and good tidings.

Kilvore, Ireland, February 1819

T
HE DAY WAS GRAY AND RAW,
the wind blustery. Eleanor sat beside Sean in the back of a handsome four-in-hand. Sean had fallen silent upon entering the quiet village, but because she held his hand, she knew he was not tense. She placed his hand on her swollen belly, because their child was kicking, and he smiled warmly at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He had been gazing at the street lined with whitewashed, thatch-roofed cottages. An occasional pedestrian hurried by, fighting the wind and the cold. “I am fine. I know I should be sad, but I’m not. I’m filled with anticipation, Elle.”

She smiled, relieved. “You should be,” she said. His demons were finally gone.

They had married the weekend she should have married Peter. The ceremony had been a very small one, with only immediate family in attendance. The
earl had given her away, of course—when they had gone to him to announce their intentions, he had instantly approved of the match. Lord Henredon had been furious, apparently having it out with Edward. Peter Sinclair had not only left Ireland, he had left Britain, as well. Eleanor had heard he was in America and that he had gone West—as he did not need a fortune, he had become an adventurer.

She had broken his heart and he had not stayed for the wedding, but they’d shared a final goodbye. Eleanor had had the chance once more to thank him for his magnificent gesture and to tell him how much he meant to her. Peter had wished her a lifetime of happiness.

Their coach halted. Sean got out, a footman opening his door for him. Sean helped Eleanor down, a bouquet of flowers in her hand, and she gazed out at the village cemetery, a soft sorrow creeping over her. She no longer hated Peg and she wished she could have had a different fate. Sean took her hand and they entered the cemetery, neither one of them speaking.

It was a few moments before Sean found Peg’s grave. The small stone had been placed there by the villagers of Kilraddick. It was engraved and read:

Eleanor laid the bouquet of flowers down at the base of the small gray headstone and glanced at Sean. The same sadness she was feeling was reflected on his face and in his eyes, but it was a far cry from the grief and guilt that had once consumed him. Then he appeared puzzled. “Where is Michael’s grave? Why isn’t he buried here beside his mother?”

Even if they had never found his body, there should have been a grave beside Peg’s. Before Eleanor could respond, she heard a shout and she turned. A small wiry man was at the gate by their coach and she recognized Jamie Flynn instantly.

There had been a huge inquiry into the events at both Kilvore and Kilraddick. Shockingly, other witnesses had been found and brought forward along with Flynn. Colonel Reed had been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged from his service, but before he could be tried in a criminal action for the murders of Peg Boyle and her son, he had vanished. Rumor held that he was on his way to the West Indies, a haven for military men turned pirates.

Flynn approached, beaming. “I was wondering if you’d ever get here, my lord.”

“Flynn!” Sean grinned, hugging him warmly. “It is Mr. O’Neill, and you damn well know it. I am not titled.”

“You’re
his lordship
to me,” Flynn said stubbornly. “You said you were coming in February, and you truly come back.” He had left Limerick two months ago, after giving his testimony.

“Yes, I have come back—with my wife. And we are here to stay.”

Flynn was thrilled. “I thought you meant you’d come to visit!”

“We have other plans,” Sean said softly, and he smiled at Eleanor, pulling her close.

“You heard we got a new lord up at the house—but no one’s seen him yet.”

Sean exchanged a glance with Eleanor. She had to smile as he spoke. “I know. Times have changed, Flynn. It’s a new day, and a new era. There’ll be no more instances of tyranny here.”

Flynn was confused. “My lord, I mean, sir. How do you know? Do you know his lordship? Can he be a good man?”

Sean continued to smile. “I am the new lord, Flynn,” he said softly. “I bought Darby’s estate.”

In fact, the earl had bought the estate for them as their wedding gift. Flynn was stunned, gaping, tears filling his eyes. “My lord, this is a grand day, indeed! I got to tell everyone!” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “And, my lord? This is a great day for you, too.”

“What do you mean?” Sean asked, bemused.

“Look over there,” Flynn murmured, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

Eleanor turned to glance in the direction Flynn had indicated. A young boy had paused just outside of the cemetery gates. The boy was bundled up in a heavy winter coat and a knit cap, but he turned to stare at them as Flynn waved him forward. The boy hesitated, and then started walking toward them.

“I got to go tell everyone the news,” Flynn cried, rushing past the boy and from the cemetery.

“Oh, God,” Sean suddenly gasped, his eyes widening.

Eleanor was alarmed. “What is it?”

But he didn’t hear her. “Michael?” he cried, starting toward the boy. “Michael Boyle O’Neill—is that you?” He began to run, stumbling.

Eleanor cried out, incredulous.

The boy nodded, his eyes huge. “I’m Michael Boyle O’Neill,” he whispered. “
Papa?
Have you really come back?”

Sean cried out, throwing his arms around the small boy. To his credit—as Michael was only eight years old and he hadn’t seen Sean in two years—Michael accepted the embrace without protest. Suddenly realizing what the separation might have
done, Sean released him. “Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?” he asked, dropping to one knee.

Michael nodded seriously. “You married me mum. Ye were me papa. Flynn told me, but I remember, too.”

“I’m still your papa,” Sean said, clasping his cheek. “I thought you died in the fire! What happened, Michael? Where have you been staying?”

“The O’Rourke family took me in after the fire and moved to Raharney, where there’s more family,” he said, starting to smile. “But they came back here in the fall. Flynn saw me when he came back from the courts. He said you would come back, and you did. Do ye mean it? Ye’ll still be my papa? Missus O’Rourke says it’s real hard to feed us all—she’s got five of her own children.”

Sean stood, tears slowly falling, and he nodded, wiping the tears with the back of his hand. Then he reached into his pocket, retrieving the small, carved boat. Michael’s eyes went wide. Sean clasped his shoulder. “Do you remember this? It belongs to you.”

Michael nodded, speechless.

“I have kept this in my pocket since the fire. Do you want it back?”

Michael nodded, taking the boat and holding it tightly to his chest.

Sean took Michael’s small hand and he turned to face Eleanor. “Elle,” he said thickly. “This is Michael. My son.”

Eleanor’s heart was thundering in her chest. Sometimes, she thought, still stunned, life could be fair. Sometimes, there was justice in this world. And she looked at the little boy and felt joy and love. She thanked God for such a miracle. “Hello.” She came forward. “I’m Eleanor. I am so happy to meet you, Michael.” She had never meant anything more.

As astute as children so often are, he looked from her to Sean and then back again. “Are you going to live with me and my papa, too?” His eyes held curiosity.

“I would love to—if you don’t mind.”

He blushed. “I don’t mind.” He looked at Sean. “She’s
tall
,” he said, making Sean laugh. “And pretty.”

“She is very tall and she is very pretty,” Sean agreed, taking Michael’s hand. “And she is my wife, now, Michael. Do you mind?”

He bit his lip, flushing anew. “No,” he said slowly, clearly thinking about it. “I don’t mind.”

He patted the boy’s back. “Let’s go see our new home.” Sean turned to Eleanor. “Thank you.”

She let him take her other hand. She said softly, “You have nothing to thank me for.”

“I have everything to thank you for,” he corrected as softly. “Shall we walk?”

Arm in arm, they started up the street, Michael now dancing ahead of them and pointing out every home and person they passed. That cottage belonged to the O’Briens, who were cobblers by trade, and that was the baker’s, John O’Dare. Villagers came out of their shops and homes to greet them, smiling and doffing their hats, the women curtsying. Sean and Eleanor were greeted as “my lord” and “my lady,” no matter how often Sean corrected the mistake. A gap-toothed vendor pressed hot chestnuts into their hands and the butcher offered them a leg of lamb, wrapped in paper. A woman came out to hand Eleanor a silk scarf. Eleanor thanked her profusely. More offerings followed—cups of hot tea, a jug of whiskey, cookies still warm from the oven—and their coach, traveling slowly behind them, was the repository of all the gifts.

And then they had left the last house behind. Ahead were two tall stone walls and wrought-iron gates; on the hill behind the fence was the big house.
It remained charred by the fires that had destroyed it but the dark stone and gaping windows were oddly welcoming. Eleanor glanced at Sean and their gazes locked. It would take many months to renovate the estate, and she could not wait to get down on her hands and knees with him to tear up the floors, not that he would let her do too much in her state. But when they were done, their home was going to be as magnificent as Askeaton, of that there was no doubt. She thought about her child tottering through the halls—she thought about Michael chasing after the toddler to catch him or her before he or she fell.

And for the first time, Eleanor knew she was having a girl.

“It’s burned,” Michael said in an awed voice. “An’ they say it’s got ghosts!”

“I doubt there are ghosts.” Sean smiled. “We are going to rebuild, Michael, room by room, the three of us. Will you help Elle and I?”

Michael nodded eagerly.

And as they passed through the front gates, Eleanor glanced at the inscription on the brass plaque that she had ordered placed there. The estate has been renamed in Peter’s honor. It was now Sinclair Hall.