Samantha James (22 page)

Seconds later Maura stood at the top of the stairs. Jen squeezed her hand. “Go, child! Go!”

Maura swallowed. She was shaking so hard she could barely walk. Alec was here!

He stood with his back to her. With the sun shining through the window, gilding his form in gold, he was all power and strength.

Strength! Oh, but she had none. She held tight to the handrail as she descended. At the next to the last step she discovered she could go no farther.

He turned.

He did not smile. His gaze was solemnly intent.

The silence spun out. Everything inside her wound into a knot. She discovered she couldn’t go back, yet neither could she take that last step forward.

And then he smiled.

“Hello, Irish.”

Maura opened her mouth. There was a huge lump in her throat. She couldn’t say a word.

She had hoped, prayed, that he would come. She needed to know that he wanted her. That he needed her as she needed him. That he loved her as she loved him. And the fact that he was here could only mean one thing.

His head tilted ever so slightly. Softly he spoke. “You know why I’m here, don’t you, Irish?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I came to fetch the woman who crawled into my bed…and never left my heart.”

Maura gave a half sob. Strong hands caught her waist and swung her from the step. She clung to him.

A finger beneath her chin, he brought her eyes to his. “I love you, Irish. And I would very much like to know if you love this wicked Scotsman. You do, don’t you?”

Emotion clogged her throat.

“A nod will suffice for now,” he teased.

Her nod was quite vigorous. Drawing her close against his chest, Maura broke into sobs.

“Don’t cry, Irish.” He kissed away her tears. “I love you. I love you, sweet.”

Her arms twined around his neck. “Alec?” she whispered.

“Yes, love?”

“Welcome—” With a lopsided smile, she drew back. “—to my soggy bog of an island.”

They married in the church on the hill. The Circle shone bright from the altar above.

Some four years later their son Connor played on the beach below Castle McDonough. His two-year-old-sister Madeline—or Maddy—as they called her—was asleep on a blanket, her bottom high in the air.

Home was Gleneden, but they always spent part of the summer here in Ireland.

Connor wielded a stick like a sword. “I am a pirate,” he declared, “so you’d best beware.”

Alec gave a mock sigh and glanced at his wife, walking barefoot in the sand. “Have you been telling him about the pirating days of Grace O’Malley?”

Maura feigned reproach. “My love, have you been telling him tales of the Black Scotsman?”

A slow, wicked grin edged along Alec’s lips. “Well, it is in the blood.” He got to his feet. “Connor!”

Connor ran up. With black hair and blue eyes, he was the image of his father.

“Let me tell you a tale, lad. Many years ago there was once a pirate ship that set anchor in the bay.”

Connor pointed his stick. “There, Papa?”

“That very spot, lad. But the pirate, well, he found himself smitten with the lady who lived in the castle there.” Alec pointed to Castle McDonough, perched atop the bluff. “And when he saw this lovely lady—” With an exaggerated move, Alec spun his wife around and into his arms. “—he kissed her like this.”

Alec availed himself of his wife’s sweet lips, a long, lingering kiss that was interrupted only when an insistent little voice said, “Papa! What happened then?”

“Well, when the pirate boarded his ship, he had jewels in his chest—and the lady he’d kissed.”

“Jewels,” breathed Connor. “Do you think it could truly happen, Papa?”

Alec gazed tenderly into his wife’s laughing eyes. “My boy,” he said huskily, “I think it already has.”