Chapter 45

Moira’s heart thumped against her chest as she made her way to the agreed-upon meeting place. Lord, give me strength. She held no concern of being drawn back in by Declan’s charms—God had opened her eyes to the truth about her affection for Sean. Rather, she concerned herself with being direct enough to communicate clearly that she had no intentions of continuing any kind of relationship with him.

As she approached the corner, her heart sank. Declan wasn’t there. Turning about, she looked for his silhouette on the horizon, but not a soul was present.

A rustling on the stone wall drew her attention. Under a loose rock, one end flapping in the breeze, was a paper. On it was only her name and an arrow, pointing north. Retrieving the paper, she peered up the road. When she saw no one on the path ahead, an argument waged within her.

If she followed his instructions, he might think her interested in pursuing more than the polite, congenial acquaintance of two members of the community. However, if she tarried, she might miss the chance to speak what was on her mind—and the urgency with which to do it.

Gripping the paper in her hand, she set her face to the north and stepped out in faith, trusting God to work in the less-than-ideal circumstances.

Once at the top of the hill upon which she’d stood and surveyed her new home on her first day in Ballymann, she discovered another paper flapping at her, this one stuck to a gorse bush, directing her down the other side of the hill. She continued, finding a new paper every few yards, until finally she reached the junction with the road that led to Colm and Peg’s house. Fighting the urge to turn right and flee to the warmth and solace of her friends’ good company and hospitality, she searched for another paper to guide her next steps.

To her left stood the town halla, the one place she’d longed to explore since the day she’d arrived. All at once, Declan appeared from around the corner of the building.

“Surprise!” He held a bunch of wildflowers and sea grasses in his hand, his dimple flashing at her.

“Good morning, Mr. O’Malley.” Moira dipped the smallest of curtsies. “I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to find you.” Instantly, regret flooded her for making a remark that could easily be interpreted differently than she’d intended.

“I was just wondering the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and extended the flowers to her. “I feared you’d changed your mind.”

She reluctantly took them from his hand.

Declan reached over and pushed the door of the halla open. “I can’t wait for you to see this, Moi—Miss Doherty.”

“Mr. O’Malley.” She cleared her throat. “I must speak with you.”

“Of course, of course!” He hopped over the threshold and beckoned her inside. “Let’s talk in here where we’ll be out of the elements.”

Moira hesitated. Glancing inside the thatched building, she could see he’d brought lanterns. Shadows and light danced upon the walls and all the stories her mother had told flooded her mind. The need to see inside overcame her, and she stepped through the doorway.

The sight stole her breath as she scanned the room. On the far-left wall stood a fireplace. No fire crackled in its hearth now, but she could almost feel the warmth that radiated from it during the céilí celebrations. The musty aroma of the ancient thatch wafted from above. In the corners and along each wall, bales of hay provided makeshift seats for partygoers in need of a rest. She ran her fingers along the roughhewn stones that made up the wall. If only those stones could talk!

“D’you like it?”

“It’s . . . it’s extraordinary.”

She felt Declan’s warmth from behind, and he placed his hands upon her shoulders. “I hoped you’d love it,” he whispered in her ear and grazed his lips on her cheek.

She jumped away from his grasp and absently wiped the place his lips had been. “Mr. O’Malley, whatever are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you’re beautiful, and lovely, and . . . soft.” He took a step toward her.

She held up her arm, palm extended. “Stop right there.” Her legs shook beneath her. “I fear I might have given you the wrong impression, Mr. O’Malley. I met you today only to tell you”—she swallowed hard, building her courage—“to tell you I cannot pursue a friendship with you. It isn’t proper.”

“Proper?” He laughed. “What’s so improper? Besides, it’s not so much friendship I’m looking for.” Desire swam in his eyes, and Moira wished he wasn’t between her and the door.

“That, sir,” she continued, “is exactly my point. I have no intentions of pursuing any kind of relationship with you. Friendship or otherwise.”

“You can’t mean that.” His voice dripped with desperation. “I saw the way you looked at me, flirted with me. I know how you feel about me, Moira.”

“No, Mr. O’Malley, you don’t.” Her heart raced. She had to find a way to get out of there. She took a step toward the exit, but Declan slid in front of her. He reached back with his right leg and kicked the door shut with a sickening thud.

“You little tease. Don’t pretend that you don’t want me.” He stepped closer. Instinctively she moved backward, away from him, until he had her pressed up against the wall.

“Please, you don’t want to do this.” Her voice shook, and his face blurred through her tears.

“Oh, yes, I do.” He pressed his mouth against hers. He released her only to take a breath and kissed her again. Hard. So hard she tasted blood. She struggled against him, but the more she fought, the harder he pressed. He pulled away just far enough to look at her face. His eyes were filled with a vacant, angry blaze that terrified Moira to her core. “I know who you are. I know who your mother was. And I know you take after her in more ways than one.”

“No!” She shook her head violently. “No, it’s not true. None of it. Please!”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and shoved her face toward his, kissing her harder than before. With his other hand he groped and grabbed where and what he pleased. She managed to wriggle her face free of his and screamed.

Furious, he grabbed a fresh handful of hair and threw her to the ground. “Quiet, woman!”

Pain shot through her head as it hit against a rock that must have crumbled from the fireplace to the floor long ago. Warmth pooled under her head.

Desperately she clawed the ground, trying to escape. But he sat upon her and his mouth found hers again and again. Then her neck. Her ear. He grasped the neckline of her dress and ripped the fabric.

No, God, please! Someone help!

Her kicks and punches only seemed to goad him further until finally, he managed to pin her arms above her head with one of his hands while the other tore the remainder of her dress.

Her vision blurred and began to darken. Somewhere in the distance a shout floated on the air, sounding far away and close by all at once.

The room spun and suddenly she was free of Declan’s weight. But everything faded to black and silence.