He took a sip of wine and set down his glass. “Gone.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Oh.”
“Are ye disappointed?”
She bristled. “What do you know of how I feel or think?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he waved a youth over. The boy held a tray of sweets. Mickey O’Connor’s hand hovered over the selection before he chose something with a candied cherry on top. He turned back to her with the sweet in his hand. “That’s the fascinatin’ thing about ye, Silence, m’love. I know what me men will think afore I tell them we’re raidin’, what me whores will think at the end o’ a night, even what Lad will think about tomorrow—mostly me bed and a nice stew bone. But ye—ye I cannot fathom. I look into yer pretty green-brown-blue eyes, and I haven’t the tiniest idea what yer thinkin’ about. What ye truly feel.”
Silence stared at him in wonder, then blurted, “Why should you care?”
“That,” said Mickey O’Connor, holding the sweet to her lips, waiting while she accepted it into her mouth, then smiling almost as if he could taste the melting sugar on her tongue himself, “is a very good question.”
Chapter Seven
As soon as dark fell in the king’s garden, a bird’s song filled the air. Three notes and the other two nephews were nodding their heads, but Clever John had his ears stopped so he could not fall under the spell of the sweet birdsong. As soon as the king’s nephews were asleep, a wonderful bird alit on the cherry tree. Its feathers were every color of the rainbow. The bird began pecking at the king’s cherries. But up jumped Clever John and seized the bird by its delicate neck.
Whereupon the bird turned into a lovely—and quite nude—woman….
—from Clever John
Mick watched as Silence ate the confection from his fingers. He felt a strange satisfaction in feeding her himself that wasn’t dulled even when she realized what she’d done and drew away, wrinkling her nose.
He was enjoying himself, he realized with something like surprise. He’d never chased a woman for more than a day or so—a week at most. They all fell at his feet, some within minutes. He knew, cynically, that his attraction couldn’t all be put down to his pretty face. His power, his money drew them just as much if not more.
But not Silence.
Mick smiled to himself and sat back to select a sweetmeat. Silence disliked him, disobeyed him, argued with him, and was all but starting a rebellion amongst his people, and still he indulged her.
“I must be getting back to my rooms,” Silence said and stood.
Mick frowned with displeasure. “Why?”
“Because of Mary Darling.”
He shrugged. “One o’ the maids is watchin’ her.”
“But if Mary wakes she’ll want me.”
“Why?” he asked again, biting into a sweetmeat. This discussion wasn’t to his fancy, but sparring with her was.
“Because,” she said slowly, looking at him as if he were lack-witted, “she’s only a baby and she loves me.”
“Babies,” Mick pronounced, “are a great trouble.”
She shook her head, not bothering to reply this time, and started marching to the door.
Mick sighed. “Have the rest o’ the sweetmeats brought to me rooms,” he told Tris and rose to follow her. Lad, who’d been lying beside his chair, got up as well, padding quietly behind him out into the hallway.
Silence didn’t seem surprised when he caught up with her in the hall. “You should come to see Mary more often yourself. She is your daughter after all. Perhaps then she might learn to call you something else besides Bad.”
She quickened her pace.
He shrugged, keeping up with her shorter strides easily. “Happens I’ve other things to do, and as I say, babies are a bother.”
“Humph. You say that as if you’ve made a great discovery.”
He didn’t answer, just to irritate her, and she quickened her step again. They were nearly running through the halls now.
“Whyever did you bother acknowledging her in the first place, then?” she asked. “Surely it would’ve been easy simply to turn her away. Unscrupulous men do it all the time.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him as if she’d scored a hit with that “unscrupulous,” but he’d been called worse in his time.
Much worse.
Still, it wouldn’t do to let her think he was going soft on her. Mick stepped in front of her and slammed his hand against the hallway wall, putting the length of his arm in her path.
She squeaked and bumped into him, soft breasts pushing for just an instant against his muscles. Lad sat down in the hall, looking back and forth alertly between them.
Silence straightened and glared at Mick.
He leaned down close—close enough to catch the scent of lavender in her hair.
“What’s mine is mine, m’love,” he whispered, “and I won’t be lettin’ go o’ anything that belongs to me.”
She scowled at him. “Mary is not a ‘thing.’ ”
“Aye.” He smiled. “But the principle’s the same.”
“That’s not how a father should treat a daughter,” she said, her voice softening.
He narrowed his eyes at her—that tone might creep under his skin if he let it.
Her beautiful eyes widened pleadingly. “Didn’t you have a father?”
He refused to let the memories surface. For a moment he was still, making sure they were properly stowed away, and then smiled. “Why, darlin’ did ye think mine was a virgin birth?”
She blushed as he knew she would. “No, of course not, but surely—”
She might have said more, but he straightened away from her. Her questions were hitting too close to home.
She blinked and looked around.
“Ye were hurryin’ to see the child, were ye not?” he asked and opened the door to her room.
“Her name is Mary Darling,” she said as she sailed into the room. She halted suddenly and turned. “But it should be Mary O’Connor, shouldn’t it? She’s your daughter after all.”
He stopped and blinked. Mary O’Connor. It was a good name. A proper name.
He shook his head to dispel the thought. “Off with ye now,” he said to the maid, hovering near the door.
She bobbed a curtsy and left without a word.
Lad padded around the room, sniffing at corners, before going to settle by the fireplace.
Mick turned to look at Silence who was bending over the baby’s cot. “Happen she mightn’t want to be known far and wide as me daughter.”
“Shh,” Silence hissed, then glanced at him and whispered, “She’s just a baby. Whyever wouldn’t she want to be your daughter?”
He shrugged and came to stare broodingly down at the lass. “I’ve many an enemy.”
The child’s cheeks were flushed deep pink, her black locks plastered with sweat to her forehead. One chubby fist was flung over her head. She was a pretty little thing, there was no doubt.
Mick frowned. “Does she often breathe so loud?”
“No,” Silence whispered worriedly. She laid the back of her hand against the child’s forehead and something deep inside him twisted.
Her palms had been rough, but the back of her hand was soft and cool as she laid it on his forehead and smiled wearily into his eyes. “Have ye a fever then, Mickey, me love?”
Mick felt sweat start on his back. Those memories were buried deep—he’d made damned sure of it, but letting Silence in was resurrecting them. He had the sudden urge to order her from his rooms, from his palace. But he couldn’t do that now. It was far too late. She was already in his palace, in his life. He couldn’t go back—and wouldn’t even if he could. She was so close to him now that it was as if he held her in his palm like a glowing ember—and gave thanks for the pain even as he inhaled the smoke from his burning flesh.
Mick’s chest expanded. He breathed in Silence’s scent, breathed in both pain and comfort. “Is she ill, then?”
“I don’t know.” Silence bit her bottom lip. “She’s hot.”
Mick nodded. “I’ll send for a doctor.”
She looked up, her eyes wide, the gray swirling with the green and the brown, her hand laid so tenderly on the baby’s head. “If you think that’s—”
He didn’t stay to hear the rest of her sentence. The baby needed a doctor… and the room was haunted by memories.
SILENCE’S HANDS TREMBLED as she wrung out a cloth and patted Mary Darling’s little cheeks. The toddler was so hot that Silence could feel the burning of her skin even through the cloth.
The heat worried Silence, but it was Mary’s awful listlessness that struck terror in her heart. Mary’d had chills and fevers before. She’d once whimpered all night long, tugging on her ear fretfully, until in the morning a clear liquid had drained from the ear and she’d slept calmly. Silence had stayed up many nights rocking and walking Mary Darling when she wasn’t feeling well. And in all those times Mary had been grumpy and sad and fretful, but she’d never been listless.
“Himself has sent for the doctor,” Fionnula said as she came in with a fresh bowl of water.
“She’s just so hot,” Silence murmured as she wrung out the cloth and applied it again. “I’ve taken her out of her frock and stays, but she’s still on fire.”
“Me mam used to say as the fever was to burn away the illness inside,” Fionnula offered.
“Perhaps so, but I’ve seen fever kill, as well,” Silence murmured.
There had been a little boy, new to the home and rather sickly. Winter had suspected he’d not had enough to eat in his short life. The child had caught a fever and within two days had simply faded away. Silence had wept quietly in bed that night, holding Mary close to her chest. Winter had said with awful pragmatism that some children didn’t live and one just had to face that fact. But even he had worn a drawn expression when he’d said it and he was especially nice to the small boys in the home for weeks afterward.
Silence shuddered. Mary couldn’t fade away. She couldn’t imagine living if the little girl died.
There was a murmur of voices in the hall and then the door opened to reveal Mickey O’Connor ushering in a rotund little man.
“What have we here?” the doctor asked in a bass voice that seemed too large for his body.
“She’s burning with fever,” Silence said. She had to fight to keep a quaver out of her voice.
The doctor placed a hand on the baby’s chest and stilled.
Silence started to ask something, but the man held up his other hand.
After another moment he took his hand off Mary’s chest and turned to Silence. “Pardon my rudeness, ma’am, but I was feeling for the wee one’s heartbeat.”
“I understand.” Silence grasped her hands together at her waist to still their trembling. “Can you help her?”
“Of course I can,” the doctor said briskly. “Never you fear.”
He opened a black case, revealing a half dozen sharp lancets in different sizes. Silence rubbed her palms together nervously. She knew that the doctor meant to cut Mary.
Mr. O’Connor had been lounging by the fireplace, but he stirred at the sight of the lancets in their fitted pockets. “D’ye have to cut her?”
The doctor’s face was serious. “It’s the only way, sir, to let the evil drain from her body.”
Mickey O’Connor’s mouth tightened, but he nodded once before turning his face to the fireplace.
The doctor chose a delicately wicked looking tool and then fished out a little tin dish. He looked at Silence, his face grave. “Perhaps you can hold her upright upon your lap. If you can keep her from moving in any way, it’ll be for the best.”
