The Last Bride in Ballymuir Read online

“Balls. I was cooperative before and all it bought me was a cell in the Maze. Besides, what do I have to be cooperative about? My life’s none of your concern. Christ, I work as a handyman, live under my sister’s roof, and don’t know more than a handful of people who willingly speak to me!”

  “Brian Rourke... does he speak to you? Or you to him?”

  The name had all the subtlety of a knife in the back. “Rourke?” Michael spat. “What the hell would I know about him?” Except that I wish him dead, he added silently.

  “You might know where he is,” Flynn said. “Word is he’s back in the country—Sligo or Galway. You can tell him it’s just a matter of time ‘til we get him.”

  If he were here at all—which Michael refused to believe—it would be Galway. Rourke’s group had always had strong connections there. In prison, Michael’s padmates had mentioned more than once a backstreet pub that was their meeting point. Not that he gave a good goddamn where Rourke was. Unless it was six feet under Galway’s rocky soil.

  “I’ll be cheering when you find him,” he said aloud.

  “Will you? There are those who have their doubts.”

  “With you being one of them, right, Flynn?” Michael stood to his full height. “I’ve been patient with you, Gerry, me boy. I’ve tolerated your little game of following me about, but that patience of mine...it’s wearing thin. You do your job, boring as you’ll find it following the village pariah, but keep your distance. From both me and Kylie. Understand? Now, unless you have an official reason to be stopping me, I’ll be on my way.”

  Michael brushed past him. Flynn moved a distinctive step backward and didn’t stop him from getting back in the car.

  The Garda’s voice quavered. “You’ve had your say, but know this, you murderous filth. You’ll be going back to prison, where you belong. If it’s the last goddamn thing I do, I’ll be the one getting you there. And I’ll be doing the cheering then.”

  A challenge, was it? Before he rolled up his window and drove off, Michael tossed one of his own. “If you can accomplish that, feel free to cheer, you stupid bastard.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Possession satisfies.

  —Irish Proverb

  Feet slamming down the stairs, Michael bellowed, “Vi, pick up the damn phone!” Five rings now and she hadn’t bothered to stop singing long enough to answer it. “Taking after Father, are you? Deaf as a post?”

  By eight rings, he loomed over his sister. Vi lounged in her overstuffed chair in front of the empty hearth, singing an old song about family far across the sea. She paused only long enough to arch a brow in his direction.

  “It’s not for me.”

  Michael bit back an annoyed remark about the grim fate of witches. He’d settle for wiping that complacent grin off her face. Once he’d answered the damn phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Ah... is that you, Michael?” The voice was male—a young one trying to sound adult. City noises played in the background.

  “It is. Who’s this?”

  “Pat.” Relative silence was followed by the sound of nervousness being gulped back. “Your brother... Pat.”

  Michael shot an incredulous look Vi’s way. Her smile grew until she found the good sense to hide it behind her morning mug of tea.

  “ ‘Lo, Pat. Were you looking for Violet?”

  “Uh, no... actually, I was looking for you.”

  For him?

  “I see,” he said. But he didn’t see at all. His memory of Pat was one of two matching carrot-headed boys crying, whining, and generally being dual pains in the ass.

  “Tell him I’m here, too,” he heard someone shouting not far from the phone.

  “I... uh, we—Danny and me—were wondering how you are.”

  “Fine, and you?”

  “Expelled from school for the rest of the week, but if Mam doesn’t catch wind of it, we should be right enough.”

  Michael almost smiled, recalling his own early efforts to sneak behind Mam’s back. “I won’t be telling her.”

  “We didn’t figure you would, especially since every time we mention your name, she tightens her lips down to nothing. I keep hoping that one day when she does that, her mouth’ll seal shut. Life would be easier then, wouldn’t it? Anyway, we were thinking maybe this is a good time to come visit. We picked up the bus schedule and so long as we’re careful we could be to Ballymuir and back before Mam ever knows we’re missing.”

  Michael gazed down at the cold tile floor. The chill under his bare feet wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as this call. He didn’t want to hear about his mother. He knew her well enough. The twins, though, were strangers to him. Worse, they represented another link to the mother and father he wanted to cut from his life. As they had cut him.

  Michael tried to keep his anger behind his teeth. “I’m working now, busy all day.”

  “We don’t want to be entertained. We just want to see you.”

  Couldn’t the boy take a “no” with some measure of grace? “If you go sneaking off without your mother’s permission, you can be damned sure it’ll be the last time you see me. Hell, you’d be lucky to leave the house for another year.”

  “We’re seventeen years old and free to go where we want.”

  “Then why are you calling me from a pay phone? If you have all this freedom, why not go home and ring me up from there?” Pat didn’t answer. An uncomfortable knot grew in Michael’s gut and traveled outward, leaving him tense. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to see you, but the time’s just not right.”

  “Yeah? When will it be, Michael? You don’t want to see us at all. It was pretty soddin’ stupid of us to think you would.”

  “Wait—” But the line was already dead. Telling himself it was for the best, Michael hung up, too.

  “Royally screwed that up, didn’t you?” Vi commented.

  “Why don’t you just go back to your singing?” He kneaded the back of his neck where the guilt seemed to have settled.

  She stretched, then stood. “I’ve got nothing to sing about.” As she padded toward the kitchen, mug in hand, she added, “Would it have killed you to see them?”

  He followed, nearly tripping over Roger, who’d come to associate him with a buffet of failed cooking experiments.

  “Not now,” he murmured to the dog, then turned to his sister. “What would I say to them? What the hell do they want?”

  “They want a brother. And as for what you’d say to them, say whatever. You, more than anyone, know it’s not the words that matter, it’s welcoming them into your life.”

  “Maybe I don’t need them.”

  Vi’s empty mug clattered onto the counter. “You really can be a selfish bastard, can’t you? Did it ever occur to you that Pat and Danny need you? That Mam’s been as horrible to them as she was to you? Have you thought beyond your own troubles even once since you got out of prison?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but she wasn’t quite done.

  “And don’t be telling me you don’t need your family! Is your life so rich and wonderful? Now, I’m glad for Kylie and for your work at Muir House, too. But is it all so grand that you can afford to shut out the rest of the world?”

  It was a blessing that he loved Vi, because at that moment he didn’t like her very much. “Can’t you ever leave me alone? Isn’t anything I do enough?”

  Her expression softened, and he thought maybe he saw a hint of tears shining in her eyes. “Everything you’ve done is wonderful, and I know that healing yourself is no easy thing. But you can’t stop now. Weeks ago I would have held off Pat and Danny, told them to wait before they spoke to you. It’s different now—you’re ready. You can be what they need, and you just might get something back in return.” She paused. “It’s been that way with Kylie, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I could no more have turned away from Kylie than I could from—”

  “Your own brothers?”

  She had a tidy way of making him feel small. Of f
orcing the truth on him. Michael made a show of getting a mug and throwing together a cup of tea.

  “If they call again,” he said over his shoulder, “tell them... tell them that I’m asking after them.”

  “Good enough.”

  It had better be. It was all he was willing to offer.

  “I’m expecting that you’ll be out at Kylie’s this evening” Vi said after a tactful silence.

  “I will.”

  Over the past few weeks, two routines had become part of his life. Michael liked the first one far more than the second. Each night he slipped off to Kylie’s where they would share dinner and talk about their day. Then they’d spend time holding each other, edging closer to the point where there would be no turning back. Where need would push past her lingering hesitance. Soon, he thought. Soon or he just might die from wanting her so badly.

  The second routine was his nightly drive home with Gerry Flynn staying just far enough back that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. With luck, Flynn would tire of the game—or find some better way to spend his nights—before he was forced to spread the boy’s nose from ear to ear.

  He pulled out of his thoughts to see Vi digging around in the velvet sack he privately termed her sorcerer’s bag. She drew out an envelope with a victorious “Ah!”

  “When you see Kylie, give her this, will you?”

  Michael took the letter. “What is it?”

  Vi laughed. “None of your business.” At his threatening look she added, “What do you think, vain man, that we’re passing notes about you?”

  “Kylie, I trust. You, Sis, take a little more watching.”

  “Me? You’ll be steaming open that envelope the second I turn my back. And just to find out that I’ve managed to secure Village Hall for the Gaelscoil student art show, too.”

  “That was grand of you. Kylie will be thrilled.”

  His sister shrugged off the kind act. “It was nothing.”

  “To think that I was doubting your motives,” he teased, “nosing into Kylie’s life like you did.”

  “All right, so I wasn’t exactly pure-hearted when I started this project, but I like my time with the children. I like watching Kylie, too. She’s a natural with them, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted a brood of her own.”

  “Now you get your own words back. It’s none of your business.”

  “It’s not, but it’s something you’d best be considering.”

  He preferred to consider the step preceding parenthood. Much preferred it. “You sound like one of those talk programs on the radio. But I haven’t rung you up and I’m not looking for advice.”

  “Then just store that bit away for when you are,” Vi said before disappearing back to her bedroom.

  Left in the kitchen with just Roger for company, he said, “Keep an eye on her today. She’s up to no good.”

  The dog peered up at him as if to ask, What’s in it for me?

  “You’ll be getting a true dinner tonight,” Michael answered, no longer concerned that he’d fallen into the habit of talking to the homely beast. “It’s my night to bring food to Kylie’s.”

  Seduction. Kylie rolled her eyes at the thought. No woman had ever been less equipped to carry off the act. But seduction was all she had left—a flat-out luring of Michael into her bed. For days now he’d been noble and not gone beyond the kisses and touches that left her weak-limbed and knowing that there was something absolutely marvelous shimmering just beyond her reach.

  How she wanted him! One dreadful night in her past was nothing against the here and now. Nothing against her need.

  Seduction. He’d never take that last step before she asked, and the idea of asking filled her with panic. Kylie peered down at the silky top and tweed trousers she’d put on. They were a bit more alluring than the drab convent blue skirt and white blouse she’d worn to work yet again today. Better, but hardly how she had pictured this moment.

  Soon he’d be knocking at the door. She had mere minutes to go from schoolteacher to seductress. Kylie flew back into the bedroom. Fingers fumbling, she tugged out of her tweeds, then stared into the gaping doors of her wardrobe.

  “Well, what then?” she asked, shoving aside her only two dresses. And there it hung, the man’s shirt that Michael had tossed to her weeks before. She smiled at the memory and felt her fear begin to fade.

  “Of course.” She’d been a seductress that day. She slipped on the shirt over her conservative undies, which she didn’t even consider taking off. One could carry a role only so far. Kylie walked to the front room. She pulled aside the curtain and looked out the window, hoping Michael would appear soon.

  Before her courage fled.

  She drew in her breath as his car made its way up the track. Wiping her palms on the soft cotton of the shirt, she fought the impulse to grab her robe and delay this seduction business.

  “Coward,” she chastised herself, then swung open the door. A cold wind eddied around her bare legs, at least giving an excuse for her shivering and goose-flesh, she supposed.

  Juggling a bottle of wine, a casserole dish, and a sack, Michael didn’t look directly at her until he reached the stoop.

  “I brought—” His eyes widened, then his gaze skittered back to the bundles he carried. He cleared his throat. “I... ah... brought—”

  “Dinner,” she finished for him. Feeling a complete fool, she crossed her arms over her breasts, as though the act would somehow make up for her scanty clothing. She stepped aside as he entered, then closed the door behind him.

  Michael rattled about in the kitchen, doing, it seemed, everything he could to avoid acknowledging that she was in the room. And wearing nothing but a shirt.

  Seduction? Hardly. She should have known she’d be a failure at this. Not that the blame was entirely hers. How thick-headed could one man be?

  He poured some wine. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” she said, leaving him to offer the glass to the spot just to her right where he seemed to be staring.

  “Well, dinner, then,” he said and bolted for the table.

  Kylie bit back a frustrated sigh. “Did you notice anything different about me tonight?”

  He put the wine at her place, then sat and peered down at his empty plate. “Different?”

  “Yes, different.” Standing above him, she laid her hand on his shoulder. He tensed beneath her touch. “Surely you don’t think I wore this to school today.”

  Busy nudging at his silverware, he still wouldn’t look at her. “I figured you had a bit of a lie-down when you got home.”

  “Really?”

  “Or you’re not feeling well, is that it?” he ventured, picking his words so gingerly that Kylie had to smile.

  She tugged at his shirt until he stood. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me, here? You’re making me do all the work, and truthfully, I’d rather be out in that field moving rocks than trying to find some way to tell you that I want you to—”

  “Thank God,” she heard him say just before his mouth settled over hers.

  He kissed her long and hard, nothing held back, and Kylie gave a silent “Thank God” of her own. It was easy to set aside the shyness—to stop worrying—when Michael held her. Hot, demanding, and so very right, he was, Kylie thought just before thinking became impossible. She had put herself in the hands of an obvious expert, after all.

  The sweet taste of her, the feel of her tongue meeting and mating with his, the knowledge that tonight— now—he would make her his, Michael was wild with it. Wild, spinning, and losing what small bit of control he still had.

  Wrapping his hand around Kylie’s wrist, he was intent on getting them both into that fantasy of a bed. But, no. It was too damn far. He’d starve if he couldn’t see her first. After two steps he stopped and set shaking hands to the buttons on her shirt. She murmured words of encouragement—at least he thought they were—and shrugged her way free as he finished. Pale silken
skin covered only by prim white underwear. He smiled at that. This was the Kylie he knew—proper, tidy, and somehow still bold enough to greet him at the door wearing only that damned shirt. She’d knocked him reeling, and he’d scarcely righted himself yet.

  “I’m too skinny,” she whispered as he took in her beauty.

  Michael smoothed his hands over her breasts. “Are you, now?” he teased, then with his tongue traced the plump line where her breasts were no longer covered by white cotton. “Plenty there.”

  He knelt before her and rubbed his thumbs over her hipbones, where their points sat just under her skin. “As for the rest of you, you’ve only your cooking to blame.”

  She gave a shaky laugh that turned into a shiver as he brushed his mouth against her mound. He peeled her panties down. She stepped out of them, hands clutching at his shoulders. He wanted to look his fill, and to touch, too, but she whispered his name in an embarrassed little voice.

  He stood, then reached behind her to slide the elastic off the end of her braid and comb his fingers through her hair until it rested in waves over her shoulders. As he kissed her, he fumbled with the tiny hooks on her brassiere. God, what he’d give for a little more finesse, for the endurance to hold her.

  The hooks came free, and he managed to rid her of the bra. She moved closer to him. He knew that it was as much to shield herself from his eyes as it was for the physical contact. Michael wrapped his arms around her. He tried to keep his touch comforting, but somehow his hands settled on the curve of her bottom. Another wave of absolute, mindless need rolled over him.

  He swung her up into his arms. “I’m trying to go slow, here,” he said, and it practically hurt to speak. “I’m trying, love, really I am, but it’s just not going to work that way.”

  “I trust you.”

  She trusted him, and all he wanted was to get out of his clothes. He set her on the bed, noting that she’d turned back the blankets sometime before he’d arrived. It was a good thing they’d both been thinking about this evening for some time, because he was afraid the act itself was going to be over in short order. Michael stripped with a single-mindedness that bordered on ferocity. He tossed his wallet on the nightstand and covered her body with his own. Skin to skin, they both shook.