Ruth Langan - Briana

Oh, how she wished she knew how to deal with these strange feelings that had her so agitated. But the isolation of the convent had magnified everything in her mind. All she knew was that the simple press of Keane O’Mara’s lips against her palm had started a fire in the pit of her stomach that was burning still.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wishing she could shut out her feelings as easily. But they were there, fluttering like butterfly wings against her throat, her temple, her chest. She prayed the potion would soon have the desired effect. She wanted desperately to escape into blissful sleep.

In time her wish was granted.

There was no such escape for Keane. Throughout the long night he was forced to keep his vigil. He sat by the bedside and watched the steady rise and fall of the thin chest beneath the blankets as Briana slept, and wondered why a woman from the noble house of Ballinarin would give up a life of luxury to live like a peasant.

Whenever his gaze was drawn to those small callused hands, he would find himself pacing to the window, to stare moodily into the darkness. It was the only way to keep his gaze from being drawn to her mouth.

The strange desire to taste her lips, just once, had him muttering every hot, fierce oath he knew.

“Good day, my lady.” Cora swept open the draperies, then paused beside the bed. “You have a bit of color in your cheeks. A good sign. Do you feel strong enough to leave your bed?”

“I’m not certain.” Briana touched her tongue to her dry lips. The days and nights had passed in a blur. But thanks to the opiates, and the prolonged rest, the deep, searing pain had eased. “I’m willing to try.” She sat up and waited until the dizziness left, then swung her feet to the floor. “How long have I been at Carrick House?”

“A fortnight, my lady.”

Could it really be two weeks? “How could I have slept so long?”

“Mistress Malloy said it is the opiates. And the fact that your poor body craved rest in order to heal.”

“Whatever the reason, I feel almost alive again.”

“The lord left orders that, as soon as you were able, we must prepare a bath. Do you think you’re strong enough for that?”

Briana’s smile bloomed. “For the offer of a bath, I’ll muster all the strength I have.”

Cora plumped pillows around her, then flew to the door. “I’ll just summon Mistress Malloy and some servants, and I’ll be right back.”

Briana barely had time to close her eyes and steady herself before Cora had returned, trailed by the housekeeper and a string of servants.

“Well now.” Mistress Malloy had plump apple cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. Her white hair was pulled back in a tight, neat bun at her nape. She stood with hands on her ample hips, studying the young woman who had occupied so much of the lord’s time and energy. “Cora says you’re feeling strong enough for a bath.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good.” Mistress Malloy took charge, seeing that another log was added to the fire while the tub was filled with warm water, and soft linens were laid out on a chair.

“You’re not to attempt to stand alone, miss.” With the housekeeper on one side of her and Cora on the other, they supported Briana from her bed to the tub. With the servant’s help, Briana removed her nightshift and stepped into the water.

While Cora scrubbed her hair, Briana closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. “Oh, it has been years since I’ve felt so pampered.”

“You do not bathe in the convent?” one of the servants asked.

Briana laughed. “We wash in a basin of cold water.” She shivered just remembering.

“Could you not heat the water over the fire?”

“There was no time. We had only minutes to wash before we had to hurry to chapel for morning prayers.”

“Did you cry when your hair was cut off?” Cora asked.

“Aye. I wept buckets of tears. But later, when I was doing penance for my display of false vanity, Mother Superior reminded me that it’s not what is outside a person that counts. It is what’s in one’s heart.”

“Well said.” Mistress Malloy nodded in agreement. She liked this lass. A refreshing change from most of the highborn women who thought themselves above the rest of the world. Of course, such humility was to be expected of a woman who’d promised her life in service to the Church.

“But your hair, my lady.” Cora poured warm scented water to rinse away the soap. Then she held up one short gleaming strand, while the others gathered around to study it. “It is the color of fire. It must have been lovely before it was shorn.”

“I always thought so. But it no longer matters.” Briana snuggled deeper into the warm water, loving the feeling of freedom. “I have not seen my reflection, nor cared to, in three years now.”

The servants exchanged looks before one of them said, “But my lady, you are truly beautiful. Even with your hair shorn.”

“Beautiful? Now I know you jest. For Cora told me that even the old man who found me thought I was a lad.”

“Because you were covered with mud and blood, my lady. Now that we can see you, you truly are pleasing to the eye.”

Briana waved a hand in dismissal. “It matters not. What matters is that I am alive. And so enjoying all your tender ministrations.” She found herself laughing, and loving the sound. “It has been so long now since I’ve felt this joyful. But it is the knowledge that I am free. Truly free.”

“Free? What do you mean, my lady?” Cora asked.

“I am free of the confining rules and restrictions of the convent.”

“You are not going back?”

“Nay. I was heading home when we were attacked. And now, for the first time, I realize just how much I have survived, thanks to Lord Alcott. Not only the attack by the English soldiers, but the last threat to my freedom. You see, as soon as I am strong enough, I will be returning home, to my beloved Ballinarin.”

“You’re certain she said she is not a nun?” Vinson stood in the shadows of the hallway, his voice low.

“That is what she just told us.” The housekeeper’s eyes were shining. “You saw how obsessed he was with her. She could be the answer to our prayers.”

The old man shrugged. “Maybe. But you say she is eager to return to her home.”

“Aye. But she is far too weak to attempt the journey yet. It could be weeks, months even, before she could endure it.” Mistress Malloy lowered her voice. “She seems a lovely, simple lass. I see no harm in throwing them together and seeing what transpires.”

“This is a dangerous game we play with other people’s lives.”

“Aye. But there’s so little time. You said yourself he plans to leave. And he is our last, our only hope.”

Vinson stared off into space, mulling it over. Then he nodded. “Leave it to me. I’ll think of a way.”

“My lord.”

Keane looked up from the ledgers and was surprised to see the evening shadows outside the window. Where had the day gone?

“Aye, Vinson.”

“The lass felt strong enough to bathe.”

Keane nodded. “A good sign.”

“Aye, my lord. Very soon now, she will be well enough to leave.”

“So it would seem.” He had won the battle. The patient was not only alive, but growing stronger with each day. He took a certain amount of pleasure in the knowledge that he had played a small part in her survival. There’d been so little in his life to be proud of.

Vinson cleared his throat.

Keane tensed, waiting for the old man to say what was on his mind. He was eager to return his attention to the ledgers.

“I thought, since the lass is strong enough to bathe, you might wish to invite her to sup with you.”