Love Remains Read online

  “She is more than merely a handful. I’ve never met such a headstrong woman in all my born days.” Tavish filled his tone with all the emphasis he could manage.

  “’Tis a bold statement, that,” his older brother said. “We’re surrounded by headstrong women, you and I. We’re drowning in them.”

  “This woman beats them all. She points out everything she sees amiss, whether it actually is or not, and lists all the things she thinks I’m likely to get wrong in the future. She dictates and bosses and declares herself the queen.”

  Ian pointed at him with the limp end of an unspliced rope. “Perhaps we ought to tell her that the Irish aren’t terribly keen on monarchs.”

  “Were I to try that, you’d likely find m’ lifeless body sprawled out on the floor.” Tavish made a show of mourning his inevitable death. “Then Ma’d cry and make a big fuss, and Da would likely turn to drink. It’d be a full tragedy, it would. I think we’d best not risk it.”

  Ian’s gaze narrowed on him even as a grin began tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?”

  “Terrified.”

  Ian laughed, the sound genuine and light. Hearing it did Tavish’s heart a world of good. His brother had been beaten nearly to death by a mob bent on revenge for any number of things, none of which Ian had been the least bit responsible for. He’d simply been Irish and nearby when their anger had reached its peak. For days, Ian had hovered between life and death. He hadn’t been the same since.

  Finbarr’s injuries and suffering had rendered him withdrawn and distant, his spirits depressed. Ian’s injuries had changed him in different ways. He was less patient, more easily frustrated; he was also unpredictable, shifting from his old, quick-with-a-jest self, to the new, irritable version with no real pattern.

  Tavish was losing hope of ever getting his brother back again. Either brother.

  Ian tossed aside a bit of rope that wasn’t cooperating. He’d not yet fully regained coordination in his fingers. The blows he’d taken to the head had affected more than his personality. They’d left his body less agile as well. “How’s Finbarr adjusting?”

  “He sulks and mutters and generally refuses to do what she tells him to,” Tavish said.

  “What is it she asks him to do? Something terrible? Offer sacrifice to pagan gods? Take a dip in the cold river, naked as the day he was born?”

  “I firmly suspect there’s pagan sacrificing involved, I simply haven’t any proof.” Tavish finished with his rope and began winding it in a large loop. “She hasn’t so much as a thimbleful of sympathy for the lad. He tells her he can’t do something, and she won’t listen. She pushes and pushes.”

  “Can he?”

  “Can he what?” Tavish picked up the rope Ian hadn’t been able to repair and set to work.

  “Can Finbarr do the things she’s asking him to do?” Ian asked. “The lad’s a bit stubborn, you know.”

  “I know it. The two of them are like a couple of terriers trying to growl each other down.” He’d watched exactly that over breakfast that morning, a standstill that had ended in Finbarr not eating, and Cecily not caring that he was hungry. “Have you ever watched two people—two people who can’t see, mind you—engaged in a staring match? ’Tis an odd and unsettling thing.”

  “You’ve had that hard a time of it?” Ian asked.

  “That I have. Misery, Ian. Pure misery.”

  Ian looked as though he were silently laughing. “She’s only been working with the lad since yesterday morning.”

  “Which shows you how impossible she is.” ’Twas a relieving thing to joke about their troubles. So much connected to Finbarr was heavy and worrisome. So much connected to Ian was, as well. To the entire family, in fact.

  “I believe you said something similar about Katie when she first arrived.”

  Tavish rose, instantly on edge. “She’s nothing like Katie.” He tossed aside the bit of unspliced rope.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t manage that one,” Ian said nodding toward the rope. “I’m not good for much these days.”

  Tavish pulled himself out of his own doldrums so he could address his brother’s. “Don’t fret over the rope. I’ll fix it.”

  A frustrated sigh escaped Ian’s lips. “I’m needing help with a few things over at my place. Things I can’t manage just now.”

  That worried him. “Is your head aching you again?”

  “When is it not?” Ian muttered. He puffed his cheeks and pushed out a full breath. “But, aye, it’s hurting me more again, and I’m forgettin’ things and struggling to do others.”

  “I’ve time and plenty tomorrow. Give me the morning to see to a few chores, and then the afternoon is yours.” Tavish gave his brother his most reassuring look. “Together, we’ll have it all right as rain by day’s end. You’ll see.”

  Ian rubbed at his temples. “We’re a burden on you, aren’t we, Finbarr and I?”

  “A terrible burden,” he answered, making certain his teasing tone was obvious. “I cry buckets over it every night.”

  “You jest about it,” Ian said, “but I know full well you’re neglecting your land and home seeing to the lot of us.”

  He was, truth be told. But what other choice did he have? Ian and Finbarr were not the only O’Connors in crisis. His sisters needed him as well, as did his parents. He’d managed to sell Joseph Archer’s crop at a tidy profit, which had given him enough to live on—if he was careful—until next summer. He’d lost too much of his berry crop for making any deliveries this year. The situation weighed on Tavish’s mind. What if next year proved slim as well?

  The barn door opened, and in stepped Cecily.

  “What do you think Miss Attwater’s come for?” Ian asked.

  “A pint of blood?”

  Her cane brushed aside bits of hay scattered on the barn floor as it tapped against stall walls, guiding her directly to the open area where Tavish and Ian sat working.

  “Welcome.” Despite his frustrations with the woman, Tavish spoke in his most friendly tone, hoping to avoid another confrontation. “What brings you to our humble corner of the barn?”

  “Something must be done about Finbarr’s accommodations.”

  Yes, Your Majesty. “And a fine good afternoon to you as well. ’Tis a pleasure, as always, to see you. How’s life been treating you?”

  “Did I not spend enough time making this about you? Very well. Why, Tavish, what a pleasure. Do tell me what you’ve been up to and regale me with the details of your goals for the day. Finbarr? Finbarr who?” Her overly sweet tone gave way to one as dry as Wyoming in the dead of summer.

  Ian, the great traitor, laughed right out loud. “You picked him up, tossed him about, and threw him back with all the fire and determination of an Irish warrior, Miss Attwater.”

  “You’re the absolute worst brother, you know that?” But Tavish couldn’t help the hint of a laugh in his words. Cecily had rather expertly put him in his place.

  “If we have finished with the frivolities, I would like to discuss the true matter at hand.” She addressed Ian, now all fine manners and patience. So did she only ruffle up at him? “I am concerned about your brother.” She motioned vaguely in Tavish’s direction. “Not this one, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ian answered quite seriously. “I’ll leave the two of you to slug this out.” He gave Tavish a quick raise of an eyebrow. “Best of luck to you, then.” And to Cecily, he said, “Give him what for, will you? He needs a challenge.”

  “What I need is an older brother who knows where his loyalties ought to lie.”

  Ian simply smiled. Tavish was glad to see it.

  “Miss Attwater,” Ian offered by way of goodbye.

  She inclined her head ever so slightly in a regal goodbye of her own.

  “Now, Cecily, what’s your grievance with Finbarr’s living quarters?” Tavish moved closer, leaning against the stall wall near her. “I realize they aren’t fine or fancy, but he has a roof o
ver his head, and that spot behind the fireplace is one of the warmest in the house. He has a bed to sleep on, a pillow for resting his head, and blankets aplenty.”

  “Why is it you continually assume I object to simplicity? What evidence do you have that I am so pretentiously supercilious?”

  “For one thing, you use words like ‘pretentiously supercilious.’” He only had a vague idea what that mouthful meant.

  “For another . . . ?” She pressed.

  He wasn’t sure what she was aiming at. “For another what?”

  “You indicated my vocabulary was one reason for your assumptions? What are the others?” She held her chin at that superior angle he was becoming well acquainted with.

  “I’ve known a few English in my life, Cecee. I know what you’re like.”

  “Cecee?” She managed to look surprised, ponderous, and vaguely offended all at the same time. She just as quickly shook it off. “We’ll address the matter of my name later. In this moment, I take greater exception to the rest of what you said.”

  “I imagine you do.” No one liked being told their faults.

  She pointed a finger directly at his chest. Could she see enough to know that was where she was pointing, or had she meant her finger to be directed at his face? How short did she think he was?

  “Mrs. Archer warned me that my reception might be a touch chilly amongst some of the Irish families in this town, owing to my country of birth.”

  It was still so uncomfortably odd hearing Katie referred to as Mrs. Archer. In that moment, he was grateful Cecily couldn’t see the heat that must have stolen over his features. At least he hoped she couldn’t.

  “She warned me,” Cecily continued, “but I felt confident that, at the very least, the family whom I had come to help wouldn’t hold that against me.”

  “We’ve centuries of reasons to be wary,” Tavish reminded her. “For us, approaching with caution has always been advisable in matters involving the English.”

  “You do not have to like my origins, or my mannerisms, or me, for that matter.” She somehow managed to look down on him, despite being shorter, and most likely not knowing exactly where he stood. “But I am all that stands between your brother and a lifetime of sulking in the dark corners of your house. I suggest you find a means of accepting that and start working with me instead of against me.”

  She was correct, of course. No matter that she pricked at him, he needed to help her help Finbarr. “What is it about Finbarr’s fireplace nook that concerns you?”

  She shifted her cane to her other hand and leaned her shoulders against the wall. “I made a visit to your loft—”

  “You climbed the ladder? In your condition?” Heavens, she could have tumbled off and broken a limb.

  “I’m not crippled.” Behind those green spectacles, she likely glared at him. How he wished he could see her eyes. One could learn a lot from seeing a person’s eyes. “The loft is lit enough to tell me there is a window.”

  “There is. On the west wall.”

  She nodded. “Finbarr needs to be moved to the loft. He has very little vision, and what he does have requires light. By assigning him a corner of your house that is perpetually dark, you are plunging him further into blackness. The space he’s been given isn’t a comforting one. It is a reminder of what he’s lost. He needs light.”

  Tavish hadn’t thought of that. “I figured he’d be safer there, not having to climb up and all.”

  “He can manage the ladder. And the loft has a railing; I discovered it myself, so he shouldn’t tumble over the edge.”

  “You truly think it would be best?”

  “I know it would be.” Cecily added in quieter tones, “No one needs the light so much as someone who receives very little of it.”

  He’d been mistaken, then, in placing Finbarr in the alcove. He’d made things worse. “I was only trying to protect him.”

  “I know.” She smiled briefly, minutely, but it was enough to ease the tension between them. “Now it’s time to push him.”

  “That’s a hard thing to ask after all I’ve seen him pass through this year. The older brother in me can’t help but try to save him from more of that.”

  She nodded. “I encounter that sentiment a lot. Sometimes my biggest challenge is my student’s family.”

  He could appreciate that. “There’s no challenge so enormous as the O’Connors when we’ve set our minds to something.”

  “So set your minds to giving Finbarr back his independence and his life.” She stood fully upright once more, her cane at the ready. “When you’re finished in here, please come help Finbarr move his things to the loft. But do so in a way that requires him to work as well. He needs to feel useful.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Every muscle in her body seemed to tense. “I beg your pardon?” ’Twasn’t a demand made from a place of disapproval, but a question heavily tinged with surprise.

  “I said ‘yes.’ I’ll set my mind to Finbarr and his independence.”

  Her lips pursed, and her brows pulled down in sharp lines. The woman was no simpleton. She likely knew perfectly well what he’d said, and likely understood why. But she didn’t press the issue.

  He watched her go, more intrigued than he was yet willing to admit. She could brangle with him, that was for certain. And her quick wit made their war of words a decided challenge. Life with Cecily Attwater around would certainly not be boring.

  While part of him looked forward to contending with her, a growing part of him needed a bit of boring. He needed calm and quiet. Needed a moment to simply breathe.

  He spent every waking moment, every thought, every ounce of energy holding his family together while, inside, he could feel himself beginning to fall apart.

  Chapter Eight

  In previous years Tavish’d had the luxury of pausing now and then during his work to take in the beauty of the distant mountains and the lush fields of his family’s nearby farms. He often whistled as he worked, sometimes even sang a tune or two. This year he was too far behind for such quiet luxuries. His journey with Finbarr had come at a difficult time for one whose crop came in as early as Tavish’s did. He’d lost a large portion of his berries. Only by scrambling had he saved the rest before they turned to mush on the bushes and vines. He spent his morning searching for any stragglers he’d missed. This year, every last berry counted.

  He snatched his watch from his pocket, checking the time. Ian needed help over at his place, and Tavish had promised him the afternoon. Time was running short.

  He put the watch away then lifted two baskets, one under each arm, both blessedly heavy. His stomach rumbled loudly, insisting he stop for a midday meal. No time for that. If fortune smiled upon him, Biddy would give him a bite or two after he finished his work with Ian. He’d not ask for one, though. Money was terribly tight for his brother and sister-in-law just now, more so than for Tavish.

  His gaze slipped to the window of the not-distant house as he passed by with his baskets of berries. Cecily stood visible through the glass, leaning against one side of the window frame with her back to the outdoors. He couldn’t tell from his vantage point if she was talking, or more likely scolding, Finbarr. What else might she be doing, simply standing there as she was? Not watching the lad; Tavish didn’t think her sight was keen enough for that.

  At least Tavish knew she wasn’t nosing around where she oughtn’t anymore. She hadn’t been in the house more than a few minutes before stepping inside the one room, the only space in the entire house, the entire town, sometimes it felt like the only place in the entire world, that was his and his alone. He’d built that room in preparation for a happy future that was never meant to be. He kept it quietly tucked away, a reminder of what he’d hoped for. That room was intensely personal and meant to be kept free of interruption and prying eyes, like a prayer chapel or a shrine, and she’d violated that sanctuary. He’d been harsher in his scolding than he’d intended, but she’d no business being in t
hat room. He only hoped that, going forward, she’d leave it be.

  He carried his baskets all the way to the trap door in the floor of the barn. With an ease borne of experience, he balanced his load in one arm and pulled open the door with his other hand. He quickly but carefully traversed the steps down into the cold storage. Most years his berry crop filled more than half the space. This year’s ’twas but a few baskets’ worth. He pushed that worry from his mind; he had enough others.

  Once he had the berries safely tucked away, Tavish stepped inside the house, meaning to explain where he’d be for the next few hours, as well as to make certain neither combatant had throttled the other.

  Finbarr sat where Tavish had left him that morning: slumped in a chair near the empty fireplace with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. Cecily still stood at the window, her gaze seemingly on her pupil. Could she see him?

  “The two of you have clearly been busy,” Tavish said.

  Neither turned toward him or acknowledged his comment.

  “I’m going over to Ian and Biddy’s,” he added. “I’ll be back before you’re done with . . . all you’re doing today.”

  “We’re not doing anything,” Finbarr muttered.

  “Speak for yourself,” Cecily said. “I’ve spent the past few hours thinking about how to torture you next.”

  Tavish didn’t know if the comment was meant in jest or spoken in earnest. Torture might very well have been one of her tactics. She hadn’t let the lad eat, after all.

  “He could come with me,” Tavish said. “His niece and nephews would appreciate having him drop in, as would his brother and sister.”

  Cecily shook her head with a firmness that allowed no room for negotiation. “He has work to do here. That must come first.”

  “With us, family comes first,” he told her.

  “Then put this member of your family first,” she countered. “He’ll stay here until he does what has been asked of him.”

  If he hadn’t been strapped for time, he might have stayed and argued with her. Should she begin regularly denying Finbarr the chance to spend time with his family, Tavish would need to say something. But for today, he’d leave things as they were.