Sinister Intentions & Confiscated Conception Read online

  She didn’t understand why; after all, she had just refused to marry him. But she met his smile with her own. “I—I wanted to help you, you know,” she whispered. “I came here because—because I wanted to help you.”

  She wasn’t sure when she wound up in his arms, only that suddenly he was carrying her up the staircase.

  And then she was naked on the bed as the wind cried beyond the cottage and he lowered himself to her in the dim light.

  She reached for him because she had no other choice, and she loved him because she was certain it was her destiny to do so.

  Afterward, she lay curled in his arms. She didn’t want him to speak, yet she knew that he would.

  “Kit, you tell me—what do you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you really think that I can just kiss you good-bye and watch you take Mike away from me?”

  A shiver raked along her spine. “He’s not even eight years old.”

  “Aye. But eight years is a long time. And do you know how hard it has been, Kit? Do you have any idea? I see my own son day in and day out, and I have to keep a stranger’s distance. I can only warn you; I won’t wait forever.”

  She tensed, biting her lip, aware of his arm around her and the feel of his chest beneath her cheek.

  “What’s your problem, Kit? You’re an American, and I’m Irish, but that doesn’t make us alien creatures from opposing planets.”

  “Yes, but it does—”

  “I won’t go through this anymore, Kit. I love you. I want to marry you. I want my son.”

  “Justin—”

  “Hear me out, Kit. I’m warning you—there are things that I can do. Legal things.”

  She gasped, pushing herself away from him.

  “You can’t do anything! I’m his mother. Don’t you dare threaten me!”

  “You’re threatening me,” he commented easily, which chilled her even more. He looked so comfortable; legs sprawled out, fingers laced behind his head. She was on the verge of either tears or a tantrum, her hair a tangled mess and her hands clenched into fists.

  What did she expect from him? she wondered. He knew that Mike was his son, and someday Mike would have to know, too. Was she wrong to fight him so?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mike to know; she just wasn’t sure when. And it would have to be done carefully, while Justin was so accustomed to simply claiming what he wanted.

  “You know that I’m right,” he said suddenly.

  “I can’t—”

  “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t!” he mocked, his eyes narrowing as anger burned within them. His hands suddenly locked behind her head. “Thank God you don’t lie about this,” he murmured.

  “This?”

  “Us.”

  And then he kissed her. So tenderly, so completely, that a haunting rush of sweetness and honey began to cascade through her again. She sighed and gave in to the overwhelming desire. This feeling needed no reason, no words. This beauty was always there, waiting to be awakened, to be explored.

  Could this be a love to last forever? Kit wondered, feeling herself become complete in his arms.

  He was leaning against her now, his fingers entwined with hers, and he smiled, a little sadly. “I love you. Thank you.” He placed a light kiss against her lips.

  She regarded him warily. “What was that for?”

  He grimaced. “Well, I needed one last...intimate encounter.”

  “Last?” Kit inquired, frowning suspiciously.

  “I don’t think you’re going to be speaking to me much longer.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Well, I’m going to threaten you again.”

  “Justin, you can’t—”

  “Can’t, can’t, can’t. There you go again, Kit. I see it the other way. I can.”

  “Go on,” she told him stonily. Why didn’t she have the sense to argue with the man dressed? she wondered. They were still pressed together, all the heat of his body searing her own.

  “Well, it’s quite simple. You can get up and help me move your things over to the castle now, or...”

  “Or?”

  “I can have a long talk with Mike.”

  “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  “No. You wouldn’t. I don’t believe it. Not for a second.”

  He shrugged, the diabolical sparkle back in his eyes. “Well?” he asked.

  She sighed softly, feeling her independence slip away. “All right. You win.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “No, I haven’t really won anything at all, have I, Kit?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I love you, Justin.”

  “But you don’t want to give that love a chance.”

  “I need...time.”

  He exhaled wearily, sitting up at last, gazing beyond the windows as he spoke. “I’ll try to give you time, Kit. I’ll try.” Then he rose and headed toward the shower. Kit curled up on her pillow, wondering if she hadn’t gone completely mad, after all. He was reaching out to her...and she wouldn’t let herself take his hand. Maybe it wasn’t so difficult to understand after all. It was going to be so hard to explain to Mike. To her parents and her friends, though they had always known that, no matter what his name was, her son was not her husband’s child.

  But did such difficulties really matter? she asked herself. Wasn’t loving him worth so much more?

  The shower stuttered off, but Kit, lethargic, didn’t move until she felt a sharp slap on the curve of her derriere. Indignant, she rolled over, swearing.

  “And they say the Irish have tempers!” he said cheerfully.

  “They do. At least you do,” she retorted.

  “Up, love. We’re moving. Now.”

  She leaped up from the bed—on the opposite side from where he stood—and saluted him briskly. “Yes, sir!”

  “Now that’s the spirit!”

  Exasperated, she headed for the shower herself. He was in a hurry now, so she just relaxed, savoring the heat of the water as minute after minute ticked by.

  “Stay in there much longer and I’ll join you.”

  She bit her lip, thought about the possibility, then quickly turned off the water. She came out wrapped in a towel, then stopped in startled surprise when she saw that he was completely dressed and she was completely packed.

  “I don’t remember asking you to do that.”

  “Well, I don’t sit idle very well.”

  “You’ve made one mistake.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to get dressed now, and the outfit that I was wearing is covered with leaves.”

  He gave her a smile and set her big suitcase on the bed.

  “Thank you,” she said sweetly.

  He watched her, then turned around quickly. “Hurry down. I think that’s Douglas Johnston dropping Mike off.”

  She nodded, quickly slipping into a soft beige leather skirt and a silky blouse. She had just stepped into her shoes when she heard her son’s voice as he came scampering up the stairs. She tried to straighten the bed, but he didn’t even notice it.

  “Mom, Mom!” He pitched himself against her, then gave her a quick hug.

  “What, what?” she asked, laughing and scooping him into her arms.

  “I need a costume! It’s Halloween in just a few days. All Hallows’ Eve, they call it here. And all the kids go to a party, where they have a big bonfire and all kinds of food and candy. We’re going, right?”

  She tousled his hair. “Of course we’re going.”

  Finally Mike stopped talking about the party long enough to ask her about the suitcase. He was, as she had expected, delighted that they would be staying in the castle.

  Kit picked up the suitcase, heading towar
d the door. She would bring it down so Justin could put it in the car; then she’d come back for Mike’s things and to straighten up the room. But she paused at the top of the stairway. She could hear voices—angry voices. She frowned, unable to make out the words. Then she realized that Douglas and Justin were fighting, though not throwing punches, at least so far.

  “Mike, stay here,” she told him, racing down the stairs. To her surprise, she realized that they weren’t even in the cottage; they were outside. “Justin? Douglas?”

  The two men fell silent, and Douglas lifted a hand to her in greeting. “Good afternoon, Kit McHennessy.”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked them.

  They looked at each other, shrugged, then looked back to her, smiling.

  “Nothing, Kit,” Douglas said.

  “But I heard you—”

  “Were we that loud?” Justin laughed and laid a hand on Douglas’s shoulder. “We were talking about a soccer match.”

  “Aye, that we were!” Douglas agreed. “I was rooting for the Italians, and Justin thought the Basques were a much finer team. Well, I’ve got to be goin’ now. See you in the morning, Mike.”

  Kit turned around. Mike had followed her downstairs, and now he was smiling happily. “At the castle!” he told Douglas excitedly, adding a belated “Please, sir.”

  “At the castle, Mike. Justin already told me where to find you.” He tipped his cap and went toward his car.

  “I’ll get my duffel bag, Mom,” Mike told her as Douglas drove away.

  As soon as he was gone, Kit seized her opportunity to ask Justin, “What was that all about?”

  “What? Oh, you heard. Soccer.” He seemed preoccupied.

  “Justin, you’re a liar.”

  “My business isn’t always yours, Kit, and you don’t really want it to be, do you?”

  She spun around and walked back to the cottage. Mike was still upstairs, so when Justin followed her, she attacked again, turning on him and demanding an explanation.

  “You know, Justin, when I first came here, Douglas asked me out to dinner. Then I saw you, and he never asked again.”

  He set his hands on his hips, returning her stare. “Well, it’s not because I’m the O’Niall, or any other such crazy thing,” he said flatly.

  “Then?”

  He laughed, catching the side of her face. “Katherine McHennessy, you’re a beautiful minx, but trust me, that wasn’t over you. If Douglas didn’t ask you out again, maybe it’s because he realizes just how closely you and I are tied.”

  And with that he turned and strode back outside, leaving her alone with her unsettling thoughts.

  Chapter 11

  Molly was delighted that Kit and Mike had come to stay.

  “I was wonderin’ just how long it would take ye ta find some good sense!” she told Kit chidingly.

  Kit looked quickly to Justin, wondering if he had told Molly about the doll or her experience in the woods, but he only shrugged.

  Molly usually left for home right after dinner, but this time she stayed to see to their rooms. Mike was given Justin’s old room, where a wonderful big rocking horse still sat in the corner. Kit would be right next to him—in the same room where she had awakened all those years ago, after Michael had died and she had passed out in Justin’s arms. As she walked around the room, she could still remember her awful feelings of loss and devastation—and disbelief. She and Michael had been so young; they hadn’t really believed in death, not for them, yet it had come to Michael....

  Right after dinner Justin had politely excused himself to work. Mike had homework, and now Kit decided that she might as well work, too. She hesitantly interrupted Justin to ask him if she could borrow his typewriter. He obliged her, quickly setting up one of the empty rooms as an office for her. When she thanked him, he told her coolly that she was welcome, and she surmised that a cold war had begun. Well, what did she expect? She had been coerced into coming here—even if she did feel safer.

  At eight-thirty Kit went up to tell Mike that he had to go to bed. He was, as she should have expected, sitting on the big rocking horse, and he smiled at her shyly.

  “Justin says that Devil is almost two hundred years old!” he told her proudly.

  She touched the thinning yarn mane on the exquisitely carved creation. Devil. That figured. But she smiled at Mike. “New York is hundreds of years old, too, Michael. It was named for James II, when he was Duke of York.”

  Mike watched her politely, but he really wasn’t very interested. “I love it here!” he told his mother fiercely. “Can we stay forever and ever?”

  “‘Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky,’” Kit quoted, tweaking his nose.

  “Can we stay here a long time, then?”

  “I’m going to have to go on to other towns, Michael. I have a book to write, remember?”

  “Oh, I know. But we’ll still be in Ireland, so we can come back here.”

  She lifted her hands helplessly. “Don’t you miss your friends at home?”

  “Well, sure. But I have friends here, too, now. Petey McGovern, Harry Adair, Timothy—”

  “Okay, okay!” Kit laughed. “You have new friends. But don’t you get homesick?”

  “Sometimes,” Mike admitted. He smiled and threw himself from the horse to her, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Wherever you are, Mom, that’s where I want to be,” he told her. “But I do like it here.”

  “I like it here, too, Mike,” Kit admitted. “But now, bedtime.”

  “Aw, Mom...”

  “Bedtime. You want to go to school in the morning, don’t you?”

  Mike ran into the small bathroom to brush his teeth. Kit dug through his things—bless him, he’d already filled the drawers—until she found his pajamas. When he got back he grinned to show her the spot where he was missing a tooth and kissed her again. She sat on the bed and picked him up, cradling him against her.

  “I’m glad we came here, Mom.”

  “Well, if you’re glad, I’m glad.”

  Kit suddenly noticed a shadow at the open door. She glanced up to see Justin framed there, silent, brooding. He smiled for Mike, though, and walked into the room to tousle the boy’s hair.

  “You got everything you need, Michael?” His voice sounded husky and Kit was careful not to meet his eyes.

  But Mike jumped away from her and hugged Justin, catching him by surprise and throwing him off balance. They both landed on Kit, and all three of them ended up tangled together. Kit burst out with a protest, but by then Mike and Justin were laughing. When Mike begged for a story, they all sat up, and then Justin told him one about leprechauns that was awfully similar to Rumpelstiltskin. She enjoyed it, though; he was a great storyteller. And, despite herself, she felt warmth steal through her at the sight of the two men in her life together.

  Justin rose at last, kissed Mike on the forehead and watched while Kit tucked him into bed. Then he touched her chin lightly with his knuckles. “Good night,” he told her softly.

  After he left, Kit hesitated for a few seconds, then went back to her own room. She took a long shower and went right to bed, but sleep was a long time in coming.

  * * *

  Mike was already out of bed when Kit went to check on him the next morning. She hurried back to her own room and got dressed, then hurried down the stone stairway. She could hear Mike talking away a mile a minute. When she pushed open the heavy oak door to the kitchen, she found him sitting at the breakfast table, wolfing down oatmeal and applauding Molly’s newest array of creations. Potato heads, squash and even some small, sad-looking pumpkins lined the countertop.

  “More?” Kit asked her.

  “All Hallows’ Eve is just two nights away now,” Molly said.

  “So it is.”

  Kit helped herself to a cup of coffee and sat down at the tab
le. “So tell me, exactly what happens?”

  “It starts at eight—Justin must start it, being the O’Niall, you know. He lights the fire. Then the musicians play, and there are contests, dancing, singing—oh, and of course candy all around.” She winked at Mike, then smiled at Kit again. “’Tis fabulous, love; you’ll enjoy it. The dancing is spectacular, and some of it dates way, way back, which should help with that book of yours.”

  “I’m sure I will enjoy it very much.”

  Douglas Johnston’s horn began to beep, and Mike jumped up from the table, gave Kit a quick kiss and raced out.

  “Douglas is so kind,” Kit said to Molly, who beamed with pride.

  “Aye, that he is. Now, lassie, what’ll you have for breakfast?”

  Kit didn’t often have the luxury of letting someone else make her breakfast. She demurred at first, out of politeness, but Molly persisted until she said she’d love some bacon and eggs. But even when she had finished eating, Justin still had not appeared.

  “Where is ‘the O’Niall’?” she asked Molly lightly. “Still sleeping?”

  “Oh, heavens, no! He’s not a sleeper, that man. Needs no more than five or six hours a night. He’s in his den, working.”

  Kit nodded and thanked her. She should probably get back to work herself. For a serious author, she didn’t seem to be very interested in her writing.

  She didn’t go upstairs, though; she went to the carved door of Justin’s den and rapped on it. He told her to come in, then looked at her expectantly while she gave him an awkward smile and moved closer to his desk.

  He was working on a blueprint of what appeared to be an old building, his T-square and a rack of sharpened pencils on his desk. It was all Greek to Kit, but she gazed down at the plans anyway.

  “You’re building this?”

  He looked up at her smiling, then shook his head. “It’s an old cathedral in Dublin that needs some reconstructive surgery or else it will fall into rubble. I’ve been asked to shore her up, right and proper.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I think so.” He finished drawing a line, then looked at her again. “Would you like to go to dinner this evening? And to the theatre?”