Emerald Desire (Emerald Trilogy) Read online

  “Mother has always claimed to have the gift of second sight. She claims that when I was born she saw the face of the woman I will marry. She says you are that woman.” He grinned at her, his white teeth flashing. “I think she may be right.”

  Dera blushed a furious shade of red, a feeling of pain and excitement rose inside her. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. “You’re a few years older than I am. Even if she does think I’m the one, you’ll probably not wait for me,” she whispered.

  Quint reached out and took her hand. “I’ll wait for you, Dera. There is no other I wish for my wife.”

  His lips touched the tips of her fingers. It was a mystical moment, one she would never forget. She didn’t care if she was only twelve years old and Quint a good seven years older. What they felt for one another went beyond the boundaries of childhood.

  “Oh, Quint, if only I were older!”

  “It makes no difference. One day you will be, and I won’t approach you until then. When it is time, I’ll come for you. That is my promise to you.” Quickly he brushed her cheek with his lips and was gone.

  After that day, whenever they chanced to meet, his head would be bowed politely, and he would wish her a pleasant day. He never sought her out or engaged her in conversation. Yet she would feel his dark eyes upon her as she passed. He couldn’t risk her uncle discovering what had happened between them. For all of his courageous talk the day they met, he continued to serve Lord Fairfax because of his mother…and because of Dera.

  She lived for the day Quint would come for her and make her his wife.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was the morning of the Ballinasloe Fair. Dera heard Timothy bellowing. “Are you ready, girl? Lydia is already in the cart. Why do you dawdle?”

  She retied the russet ribbon in her hair for the tenth time and smoothed down her emerald colored gown, liking her reflection in the mirror. Almost five years had elapsed since Quint had given her his promise, and in that time, she had bloomed into a beautiful woman. Her girlhood had ceased to exist the moment she fell in love with Quint Flannery in the meadow. It was only a matter of time before Quint would know it was time to come for her.

  Uncle Timothy waited in the doorway and grumbled. “You women are all the same, primping and smiling at your own reflections. A man hasn’t a chance.”

  She laughed, her heart floating. “You’re right. Today I intend to capture a man’s heart.”

  “And have you one in mind, my fine lady?” he asked, a tinge of suspicion crept into his voice.

  Suspecting he wouldn’t approve of her choice, she lied to him. “I have no one in mind.”

  “Aye, lass, that is good! Not that I don’t wish you to marry, but I hope for you to make a good match and not shame me like your mother.”

  Heat rose in her face. In all the time she had lived with Timothy, he had never mentioned Caroline. Sometimes she forgot she had a mother. Timothy had been apparently dreading the day she became a woman as much as she had been anticipating it.

  He shuffled his feet and gently touched her shoulder with his hand. “It’s just that you’ve grown into a beauty, Dera. Already the men make comments about your looks. I don’t wish black shame brought upon my humble house. I must protect Lydia and the coming child.”

  Humiliated, Dera felt that all the years spent keeping his ledgers, helping Lydia around the house and the farm, hadn’t changed his opinion of her. She was still the unwelcome intruder, still her mother’s daughter. She shrugged his hand off and moved away.

  “No, uncle, I give you my word. I shan’t shame you.” They joined a very pregnant Lydia in the cart and rode to Ballinasloe in silence.

  Bright banners atop the stalls, waving in the breeze, greeted them and made an otherwise overcast day seem warm and pleasant. Ireland’s great lords presented their horses at the fair, just as they had at the High King’s Castle at Tara in olden times. Some of the finest horseflesh in Ireland had already fetched high prices for their owners. She knew Quint would be there attending to any new mounts purchased by Lord Fairfax–and she assumed he had taken the job of groomsman against his will.

  She alighted from the cart and wandered away from Timothy and Lydia. Lydia called out to her, but Dera ignored her, intent upon looking for Quint in the surging crowd.

  Peasants mingled with the aristocracy, purchasing what little their coins could buy. A stall displayed brightly colored ribbons and silks; a golden ribbon danced in the October wind like an enchanted fairy. Dera decided to buy it and wear it the day she and Quint married. While she searched for the appropriate coin, a hand clamped upon her wrist. “I shall buy this favor for you,” the man said, his bright blue eyes leered at her.

  She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but he refused to loosen his hold. “No, Jem McConnel. I’ll pay for this myself. Now let go of me,” she insisted. Jem was widely known as a bully and a ruffian, and though he and Quint were friends, she disliked him. He was a crude-looking man with dark stubble on his chin and a long face like a horse. His clothes were always stained and smelled of sweat. There were rumors that he belonged to a secret rebel band, but up until that time, nothing had occurred in their village to frighten the English out of their complacency. However, what bothered Dera most about him was that he acted as if he had the right to touch her.

  He let her go and grabbed the ribbon. “You will let me pay for it, Dera. I wish you to accept this from me as a token.”

  “I take no tokens from a man, especially not from you!”

  Jem regarded her in silence and paid for the ribbon. Then in one swift movement, he pulled her behind one of the stalls and tied the ribbon to her wrist. Roughly he put his huge hands on her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. She wanted to cry out in pain, but she was more angry than hurt. She felt her temper rising.

  “How dare you treat me like some doxie!” she hissed. “You’ve no right to touch me. Wait until I tell Quint!”

  His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled into a sneer. “Quint is it? Well, Dera, you’ll be waiting many days for Quint to rescue you. He has other things on his mind.”

  “Quint and I love one another and we’re to be married soon. You’d do well to leave me alone.” She thought this information would force Jem to release her, but she had miscalculated. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against him, his shirt buttons digging into the thin material of her gown. She felt his breath on her face and smelled the stench of ale as he kissed her roughly. A callused hand reached into her bodice and cupped her breast.

  “Don’t fight me, Dera. I know you’ve been doing this with Quint if you expect him to marry you. I always figured you’d be giving something to somebody. Now give it to me.”

  She tried to pull away, tried to make some sort of sound, but he was big and very strong. She endured his caress until his head moved away from her face and trailed lower upon her neck, then she let out a tremendous banshee howl.

  “Stop your noise!” he ordered. Again, he tried to silence her with his mouth, but this time she bit his lips, drawing blood. “You she-devil!” he rasped in pain. “Now your teasing has gone too far!” He clasped her arms behind her back in a painful manner, one strong hand holding her two together. With a free hand, he positioned her head so she would be forced to look up into his frosty eyes and see the lust mingled with malice. “No woman scorns me,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear. In vain she struggled against him as his mouth came down hard upon hers. Just as she thought she would faint from the pain in her arms and the rough pressure of his lips, she was suddenly free and staggering backwards, and Jem lay sprawled on the ground.

  Lord Avery Fairfax stood above Jem, his gold-headed cane touching Jem’s throat ever so lightly. The look of undisguised hatred in Fairfax’s eyes indicated that if he were provoked, Jem would never utter a sound again.

  “Has this bully been bothering you?” Lord Fairfax spoke calmly despite the contempt reflected on his face. “Just tell me and I’ll
have him carried off to Dublin for attacking a defenseless woman.”

  Dera looked at Jem, cowering upon the ground. As much as she disliked him, she didn’t want him imprisoned on her say so.

  “Let him go, Lord Fairfax. I’ll pretend it never happened,” she found herself saying.

  By this time a crowd had gathered. She noticed Timothy and Lydia on the fringes, but neither made a move in her direction.

  Lord Fairfax glanced down at Jem. For a few seconds longer, he was thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was soft but full of menace.

  “You know, McConnell, I have the power to beat you beyond recognition, and no one would dare to intervene on your behalf. No one would stop me, because I am who I am. And being the man I am, I have always been swayed by the words of a beautiful woman. Because Mistress Dera wishes your release, 1 shall oblige. But remember, if ever 1 find you trying to force your loathsome person on her again, 1 shall not only have you removed to Dublin, but 1 shall have you hanged there also. Do you comprehend my meaning?”

  “Aye,” squeaked Jem, his eyes resting on the cane. Dera felt a tad of compassion for the usually swaggering and boisterous McConnell, finally brought to humiliation by Lord Fairfax. Lord Avery swung his cane under his arm, releasing Jem from his power.

  “Then be on your way and cause no more trouble.���

  Jem silently slinked away, not taking a backward glance.

  Dera studied Lord Fairfax beneath downcast eyes. She saw that he was thick but not fat around the middle. His hair was powdered white, his coat a mauve shade and made of the finest velvet. Cream ruffles enveloped his neck and peeked out of his coat sleeves. His stockings were of the same color, and his shoes were black with silver buckles. He walked with a cane, not because of any infirmity, but because it made him appear authoritative. He seemed to be the same age as Timothy–perhaps a trifle younger; there were no lines around his eyes, and his mouth was thin-lipped. In his eyes, which were green and shining, she thought she discerned something akin to meanness. But whatever she saw quickly disappeared as he gazed appreciatively at her.

  “I can readily see how a man could be driven to perilous straits by your beauty, Mistress Dera.”

  ”I’m honored you remembered my name your lordship. 1 was just a child when 1 came to live with my uncle and never imagined you knew of my existence. I was very sorry to hear of Lady Fairfax’s death,” she said in an attempt to change the subject and keep the flush from her face.

  He sighed to himself, but continued walking with his hand touching her elbow. “Poor Elvina was in great pain at the end. It’s a blessing the Lord took her. The subject depresses me. Now tell me, my dear, is it proper for me to ask your age?”

  “Next month I shall be seventeen, your lordship.”

  “So young, but you possess a maturity others your age do not. Answer me truthfully—do you think 1 am an old man?” He smiled as he asked this odd question of her and she thought her answer must be given honestly. To her, Avery Fairfax was old in comparison to Quint; however, he wasn’t old in comparison to Paddy, their neighbor, who was eighty. She decided to circumvent the question for Uncle Timothy’s sake. She didn’t want anything she said to hurt either him or Lydia. She had heard rumors that things could be hard for those who disappointed his lordship.

  Dera licked her lips, watching his unreadable expression. “I cannot say, my lord, for I don’t see with your eyes or feel your feelings. It’s not for me to decide such a thing.”

  For an instant his eyes clouded, then he threw back his head and gave a great laugh. “You are all I thought you would be, beautiful, serious and tactful. Come.” He led her along. “I have something I want you to see.”

  He guided her through the crowd, heads turning as they passed, people whispering behind their hands. She was uncomfortable but somewhat proud to be seen with Lord Fairfax.

  “Here he is,” he said. “A more beautiful animal you’ll not find in Ireland.” They stopped under a canopy of sorts and beneath it stood a black stallion, blacker than the devil’s heart, with nostrils flared in protest. His whole presence seemed to defy anyone to touch him.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said in admiration. “Have you just purchased him?”

  “Yes, this morning. He cost me a great deal, but anything worth possessing is worth whatever one has to pay.” Lord Fairfax looked at her in a strange way, an expression passing across his face that she chose not to dwell upon.

  “Have you given him a name?”

  “Choose one for me, Mistress Dera. Name this noble beast for me.” He leaned in closer, his breath on her face and she suppressed a shudder. He had saved her from Jem and was kind to her, but he repulsed and intrigued her at the same time. She had a sudden wish to be somewhere else, far away from his lordship, somewhere alone with Quint.

  Almost as if she wished Quint to materialize, she heard his deep voice behind her.

  “Aye, Dera, name the horse for his lordship.” Disapproval was etched upon his face. His features were hard as a stone wall; his eyes were blacker and wilder than the stallion’s.

  His shirt sleeves were rolled up, the muscles flexed in his arms with every movement; his dark breeches molded to his powerful thighs. Quint walked with the lightness of a jungle animal. Each time she saw him she never ceased to catch her breath in wonder at his handsomeness and dream of the day they would marry. But now he regarded her like an angry god who might easily strike her down with his wrath.

  “How dare you refer to Mistress Dera by her Christian name, you whelp ! You are too familiar.” Avery raised his cane, ready to strike, but Quint stood defiantly, his chest thrust forward.

  Dera quickly stepped in front of Lord Fairfax. “Quint means no harm. We’ve been acquaintances since childhood.”

  Avery lowered the threatening cane to his side. “I see. Finish tending the horse,” he ordered Quint.

  Dera glanced in Quint’s direction. He turned his back and sullenly rubbed down the stallion. She thought it odd that under Quint’s hands, the animal calmed.

  “I want you to choose a name for this animal,” Avery reminded her. She looked at the horse again and then at Quint. She sensed the hatred and pent up anger in both creatures and the name she chose applied to both.

  “Devil Man,” she said.

  “Devil Man it shall be.” Avery smiled broadly at her and took her hand in his. “There are other mounts I wish to buy, so I’ll return you to your uncle’s care, my dear.”

  “That’s very kind, your lordship, but I’ll seek him out myself.” She was eager for him to leave so she could talk to Quint alone.

  “As you wish, but I shall see you again. Have I your permission to visit you in your uncle’s house?” His question startled her. If Lord Fairfax wished to visit, there was no reason to ask her permission. He had the authority to intrude at any time. She wondered if he had another motive, but she pushed it to the back of her mind, hoping he meant only to be gallant and kind.

  “Yes, your lordship,” she said quietly. Her attention was drawn to Quint who was savagely rubbing down Devil Man. Avery smiled again and kissed her hand. His lips lingered a trifle too long for comfort. Then he ambled away into the crowd as people made way for his passage.

  She riveted her gaze upon Quint. He refused to turn around and then made a big to-do about polishing Lord Fairfax’s saddle, as if he purposely avoided speaking with her.

  Hurt welled within her. She hadn’t expected the day to turn out this way, starting with Uncle Timothy’s distrust, then Jem’s attack and Lord Avery’s defense of her. Now it appeared that Quint was to be her biggest problem. She stepped nearer to him, but still he didn’t deign to notice her. “You don’t have to sulk, Quint. His lordship only asked to see me out of politeness. I’ve no intention of encouraging him. You know my feelings,” she said softly.

  He jerked around with a quick movement, his mouth set in a thin line, anger flashing in his dark eyes. “I know nothing of the sort, Dera! I could have stopped
Jem, except the great and almighty lord was swifter. I really don’t know how you feel. Perhaps the years have changed you—as they have me.”

  “Have you changed?” she asked fearfully.

  “Aye, I have, and you have too. You’re no longer the pretty child I pledged myself to that day in the meadow. You’ve grown more beautiful than I thought was possible. If only mother could have lived to see you now.” In spite of himself, his eyes softened. “My feelings for you, Dera, are still the same. God, I want to kiss you right here!”

  She could resist no longer. Impulsively she threw herself into his arms, relishing the feel of his arms around her waist. She longed to kiss him deeply in the way she had imagined for so long, but he gently pushed her from him.

  “No,” he said. “���Tis too dangerous.”

  “We love one another. I don’t care what anyone thinks!”

  “We can’t risk being seen like this. Tonight I’ll come for you, tonight at midnight in the meadow.” He kissed her quickly and released her. “Now I must go. Fairfax might need my help with another of his mounts.”

  He strode away and left her standing with Devil Man under the canopy. As Quint’s broad shoulders disappeared into the throng, her heart constricted with joy because he still loved her.

  “Dera,” Lydia touched her shoulder. “That wasn’t very wise.” Her blonde curls escaped from under her hood, the disapproval clearly showing on her pretty face and something like jealousy in her eyes. “Timothy would not have been pleased.”

  Dera laughed at her concern. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Quint is going to wed me!”

  “We’ll see,” Lydia replied.

  On the way home, the cool October wind whipped around their faces. Timothy laughed and joked and seemed very pleased, but Lydia was sullen and said nothing. Dera smiled to herself. Noticing the golden ribbon still on her wrist, she untied it and flung it into the evening breeze, watching it curl and float across the Irish countryside. It reminded her of Jem and Lord Fairfax and her conversation with Quint. She decided it was unlucky, and by throwing it away, she would erase the unpleasantness of the fair. She set her mind on Quint and the night to come.