Dangerous Joy (20 page)

Was this some devious plot by Dunsmore? He could imagine nothing more injurious to his plans.

Bags were being taken out of the boot as if the two anticipated a long stay. Mrs. Edey led the excited lad up to the steps, clearly admonishing him to mind his manners. But then Kieran looked up.

"Hello, sir!" he cried. "Is Sissity here?"

"Yes. Come in and I'll have her found for you." What else could he say?

Miles was attempting to be courteous, but perhaps some trace of his feelings showed, for Mrs. Edey said, "Did you not expect us so soon, Mr. Cavanagh? Lady Aideen's letter implied that we were to come here immediately."

His mother? His mother had done this?

He forced a smile. "I'm merely surprised at your speed, Mrs. Edey. You must have started at the crack of dawn. But you're very welcome. Come in and we'll have tea."

Even as he led the way to the small drawing room, Felicity emerged from it. Her eyes fixed immediately upon the boy and lit with joy. "Kieran, my poppet. What a lovely surprise!"

He ran straight into her open arms and was hoisted up on her hip. "Is it? I hope it is. We came ever so fast. And we changed horses twice. I saw a big, big magpie..."

The lad chattered away as Felicity carried him into the drawing room, sat him on a chair, and took off his coat and hat. "It all sounds like a wonderful adventure, dearest. But I'm sure you must be hungry. What would you like to eat?"

"Now, now," Mrs. Edey said, hovering, "you mustn't spoil him, Miss Monahan. Master Kieran will eat what he is given. And he must wash his hands first, too."

Miles saw the brief flash of resentment on Felicity's shining face before she accepted the other woman's rights. "Of course, he must. I'll take him to the dressing room down here, for there is water there for washing."

Aideen stepped forward to welcome Mrs. Edey, which let Felicity escape with her treasure.

Miles looked after her, deeply disturbed. Kieran Dunsmore could well be an opponent no mortal man could defeat.

When Colum arrived to bear part of the duties of hospitality, Miles drew his mother apart. "What the devil possessed you to bring the lad here?"

"You wanted him safe." She was so blandly innocent that he knew there was a plot in this.

"If I'd wanted him here, I could have arranged it myself, don't you think?"

"There are any number of things you could do for yourself that you seem to like my arranging for you, even to ordering your shirts. I have no idea why you're glaring at me. The child hardly seems a monster."

Since the child was just returning with Felicity, charmingly regaling her with some long, complex story, Miles couldn't deny it. "He's an acceptable urchin, but Felicity is far too fond of him."

"No bad thing, surely, when she intends to marry his father."

"She is not going to marry Kieran's father, but that's not made easier by this turn of events."

"If you want my assistance, dear boy, you have only to ask."

"There'll be drought in Kilkenny before I ask your help again."

Luncheon was announced, and his mother flashed him a very knowing look before bustling off to arrange matters.

Mrs. Edey tried to protest that Kieran did not eat with adults yet, but was overruled by everyone except Miles, so the child sat at the table on two thick books to raise him up. Miles found nothing to object to in the lad's table manners, but he could not like the way Felicity was focused on the boy.

It was as if the child was the center of her World.

Which was a position he wanted for himself.

How the devil could he block her marriage to Dunsmore when it would steal from her the center of her world?

But then he remembered Gardeen. How could he let Felicity put herself in the power of such a vicious wretch?

His mind swam out of confused anger and into logic. Clearly, if he wanted to save Felicity, he would have to find a way to safeguard Kieran as well.

But how could anyone permanently separate father and son?

Short of murder.

It was an appealing notion, but he didn't take human life as lightly as that.

Perhaps the Rogues could come up with a cunning plot.

After lunch, when Felicity took Kieran into the garden, Miles accompanied them even though it was painful to witness her absorption in the child. It was even more painful to be apart from her.

He showed Kieran his favorite climbing tree and boosted him onto the lowest branch. He introduced the lad to the dogs and encouraged him to play with them. He sagely discussed the points of the horses in the closest pasture.

Virtue was rewarded as Felicity gradually grew less wary. It was doubtless mostly for the boy's sake, but he would take what crumbs he could.

"I like that white," said Kieran, sitting between them on the top rail of the fence. "I want a white horse."

"You wouldn't like that one, my lad. He's a devil incarnate."

Kieran clearly didn't understand the words, but said firmly, "He's white."

"Gray," Miles corrected. "Horses like that are called gray."

"I think he's white."

Felicity grinned over the boy's head, then asked, "Why keep the horse if he's so wicked? And I'd hardly say he was well conformed, either."

"Ugly as sin," Miles agreed, "despite excellent bloodlines. But the stamina of him. If he could be ridden, he'd be an impressive steeplechaser. The wretched beast can't bear to be behind."

"Is he not even broken, then?"

"Oh, he's broken, and I have the scars to tell the tale. He'll behave himself well enough under a firm rider, but his gait is not one I'd want to endure for ten miles or more."

She shook her head. "Feed him to the dogs. No man will ever buy him."

"You think not?"

Her old spirit flashed in her eyes. "I'm sure of it."

Delighted by her relaxed high spirits, he asked, "What will you wager, then?"

She turned wary. "What do you propose?"

"After seeing your new devotion to domestic matters, I think you'll owe me a cake baked by your own fair hands."

"A cake?" she laughed. "Do you want to die of the gripe?"

"I've more faith in you than that. So, do we have a wager? If I sell Banshee, you'll bake me a cake?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "To speak of setting one impossibility against another...and what will you do if you fail?"

"What would you want?"

He saw revealing emotion flicker across her face but could not read it. "I think the stakes should be equal. If you lose, you bake the cake."

He laughed. "I probably know as much about it as you. Which is nothing. Very well. You're on."

"Ah, but wait, you tricksy rascal. I know you. You'll sell him for a penny to the first kennel you pass."

Kieran looked up at that. "Are you going to sell the white horse for a penny, sir? I have a penny."

Miles ruffled his hair. "No, lad, I'm afraid not. I'm going to sell him to a fine gentleman for fifty guineas."

Felicity broke into genuine laughter, and it was the sweetest sound Miles had heard that day. "Fifty guineas! Miles Cavanagh, you're mad! I'm going to enjoy that cake you bake for me."

With Kieran restored to his governess and settled for a nap, Felicity looked as if she would escape again, but since Miles's mother and Colum had gone out to visit friends, her wings were clipped.

"Felicity," Miles said, "you can trust me, even without a four-year-old chaperone. Let me show you my stables."

Genuine interest warred with caution, but interest won. "Very well. I'll change into my habit, for I'd dearly love a ride."

"Ask my mother's maid for a pair of boots."

She flashed him a grimace, but there was a smile hiding behind it. Just perhaps, they were friends again. Soon they were strolling through the gardens toward the extensive stables.

"Did you develop this all yourself?" she asked.

"My father started it. I've introduced some ideas of my own, though."

She wandered around, giving the bustling place an expert scrutiny and asking shrewd questions.

"It's wonderful," she said at last. "I'm surprised you can tear yourself away from here to waste time in England."

"You have a low opinion of the country."

She flashed him a grin to warm his heart. "Sure, and I've nothing against the land and trees. I just have a very low opinion of the inhabitants."

"Yet your mother was English."

"Now there you're wrong." She moved on to the next stall with a jaunty step. "My mother's father was a Scot who moved down to Whitehaven, and my mother's mother was from Antrim."

"Ah. That doubtless explains a great deal."

She flashed him a look. "It clears me of the taint of English blood, at least."

"It also shows you know scarcely enough of the English to pass judgment." He stepped next to her. "I'll agree that as a nation they've not done well by Ireland, but as individuals, they can be tolerable. You need to meet more of them, Felicity."

She immediately moved away, on to the next stall to consider Miles's prize stallion, Horatio. "You could at least give your horses good Irish names."

"My mother has the naming of them."

She turned to him with a skeptical look. "And why would a daughter of the Fitzgeralds have such a classical turn of mind?"

"Perhaps she, too, thinks we Irish need to look beyond our shores to find the key to our own identity. Of course, neither she nor I would carry it far so to marry English blood."

She stiffened as the dart found its mark. "Ireland has tamed invaders before. The Fitzgeralds themselves are descended from Norman stock."

"And do the Monahans claim purer blood?"

"Grandfather claimed to be able to trace us back to Miled."

"To the first true Irishman, hero of myth and legend? After whom I'm named myself, after a fashion. But then the Fitzgeralds claim to have the blood of fairy in them, through the third earl's wedding with Aine of the Danaan."

"Sure, and are we into genealogical rivalry here?"

"Why not? As horse breeders, we understand such matters." He patted the neck of the fine stallion. "Horatio here has the blood of the

Darley Arabian and the Godolphin Barb in him. I would think it a shame to mate him with common stock."

She scowled, then marched on to feed her mare some carrots. "You can mate him to Cresta without concern. Her bloodlines are excellent."

"I'm sure they are. You understand these matters."

She turned to face him. "It seems to me you are obsessed. Look at Kieran. He's the son of Rupert Dunsmore and Kathleen Craig, but a finer lad would be hard to imagine."

"Doubtless the mother had many excellent qualities."

"She was ugly."

"Then the lad is fortunate, though ugliness is not a crippling problem."

"It was for her. Men looked no further than her appearance."

"Was she such a sweet-natured being, then?"

She bit her lip. "No. But I'm sure she could have been if shown more kindness."

"Perhaps, though it seems to me that kindness draws forth kindness. It's true, however, that even a sweet-natured horse can be ruined by cruel treatment." He deliberately moved the discussion closer to the true heart of the matter. "Just as a fine child can be so ruined."

She looked at him sharply. "Then why do you Persist in trying to interfere in my plans."

"Because I care. If I can find another way, will you let me?"

She turned from him. "Oh Miles, there is no other way. But I do want to thank you for bringing Kieran here. It means so much to me to know he is safe, for now."

"Then I'm content, for now. Come, let me have Achilles saddled for you. I think you'll enjoy his gait."

And for the rest of the afternoon, he would permit no troubling matters to come between them.

Hours later, Miles and Felicity cantered back into the Clonnagh stables in relatively good spirits. Miles nodded for a groom to help Felicity down, not wanting to disrupt the harmony in any way.

"So," he said as they strolled back up the lane to the house, happy dogs at their heels. "What do you think of Achilles?"

"He's wonderful, as well you know. You do seem to have a knack of hitting gold more often than dross."

"Skill, cailin. Skill."

She flashed him a wicked look. "But then, there's Banshee. And it's occurred to me that he's the only horse here lacking a classical name."

"True," Miles laughed. "Mother looked at him newborn and refused to name dogs' meat."

"Why did you keep him?"

"Perhaps I was just fattening him up?"

"Or thinking he was a changeling, and the fairy-folk would give you back your own beautiful colt?"

"Now, there's a thought! That would explain a great deal." He rubbed the side of his nose with the pearl handle of his crop. "In truth, I felt sorry for him, poor ungainly little thing. If I'd known his nature, I might have hardened my heart. By the time it became clear he'd be hard to handle, I'd made such a matter of finding the good in him that I couldn't give up."