Swearing, he tossed fresh hay into a stall and then kicked at a board, as he yearned for something to do to prove his love, to help bring her back to him—and to herself—and to banish the agony of the previous months.
“Actin’ like a frustrated child won’t help my daughter,” a quiet voice said behind him.
He spun to face Mary O’Rourke, dressed in a beautiful evergreen-colored cloak that enhanced her subtle beauty. “Missus,” he said deferentially. “Forgive me.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, I understand well enough the desire to force the world to do my bidding. As a woman, I’ve learned it doesn’t happen by brute force. Somethin’ that sometimes comes as a shock to my beloved Seamus.”
Against his will, Dunmore chuckled and smiled at her. “I didn’t expect to laugh today, Missus. Thank you.” He swiped an arm over his forehead and sighed. “What has brought you to the livery?”
“You,” she said simply. “I need time alone with you.” She approached the stall he stood in and rested her hands atop the stall door. “You’re dithering, my boy, and that’s not what my Maggie needs.”
“Dithering?” he asked, as he scratched at his head. “I’ve been constant and present.”
“Perhaps, but you’ve allowed her to wallow.” She held up a hand against any protest. “I understand, as I’ve done the same. Seamus and I spoke on it, and we’ve come to realize the damage we’ve done by not pressing her to face her fears.”
Dunmore sighed and paced in the small space. “You have no idea what her fears are.”
Mary stared at him mournfully. “I have a much better idea than you ever will.” When his head jerked up to meet her gaze, she nodded. “I know what it is to love a man and to be terrified of him at the same time. To fear the intimacy I crave. To worry I’ll never be enough.” She sighed. “’Tis a fear we all have, but ’tis worse after you’ve been abused.”
Dunmore opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally rasping, “He didn’t rape her, Mary.” When she faltered, he took a quick step toward her, her hold on the stall tightening. “I thought you knew.”
“No,” Mary rasped, as a tear leaked down her cheek. “I prayed, and I had hoped, but I thought myself foolish. And I never loved her any less.”
He nodded. “No, never.” He cleared his throat. “Speak with Maggie. It’s her story to tell, but she is afraid, and I don’t know what to do to ease her of her fears.”
Swiping at her cheeks, Mary smiled. “Marry her and show her you desire her. Chaste kisses on the forehead and hugs do nothin’ to soothe her doubts. They only help make them grow.”
Dunmore stood in shocked silence, as he watched Mary retreat. He knew a little about her past and suspected she must have suffered at the hands of her second husband, Jacques’s brother, Francois. However, Dunmore had never considered that Mary and Seamus had had to work through Mary’s fears upon her return.
Dunmore’s thoughts returning to Maggie, he considered how he could find a way through the distance back to her. Now all he needed to do was determine how to overcome his fears of hurting Maggie worse than she already hurt.
* * *
Dunmore arrived at the family home that evening, his mind reeling and battling anxiety. He brushed at his hair and wished he’d visited the barber to tame his unruly mane and to trim his beard. Instead he worried he looked worse than the Frenchman who’d abducted Maggie. No wonder she had trouble looking him in the eye these past weeks.
With an irritated sigh, he approached her. He stilled when she pasted on a smile and looked in his direction but refused to meet his gaze. “Maggie,” he murmured. “Good evening.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight,” she said. “This is a family party.”
He frowned at the subtle barb and looked around at the younger O’Rourke boys, who appeared even more animated than usual. “I had hoped I’d always be welcome,” he said softly, unable to conceal the hurt in his voice.
“Dunmore,” Mary called out, as she entered the kitchen. “’Tis always grand to see you an’ especially on the night we’re celebratin’ wee Maggie’s birthday.” She looked at him expectantly and then sighed with exasperation.
“Tonight?” he asked, as he gaped around, spinning to stare at the table set for the entire family. “That’s tonight?”
“I told you he wouldn’t remember,” Maggie muttered to her mother, as she moved toward the sink. She gasped when he grasped her arm and gave her a gentle pull, so she’d face him.
“You know no such thing, Maggie mine,” he murmured, his eyes shining green with disappointment and concern. “Come.” He tugged on her hand. “We have to talk. Mary, make our excuses until we return.” He pulled Maggie behind him out the door, down the steps, and past the chicken coop. He walked quickly, although he had a slight hitch in his gait. “We don’t have time to go all the way to the creek before it’s dark, but I’ll be damned if I’ll talk with you as a dozen O’Rourkes listen in.”
She tilted her head up and leaned away from him. “Fine. I’d prefer them to learn tomorrow that you have no wish to continue this farce of a relationship.” She waved her free hand between them, gasping when he tugged on her hand, yanking her toward him.
“Farce? Farce?” Dunmore backed up until they were behind a shed and out of view of watchful eyes. “How dare you call what we have a farce?” He panted with fury, and his cheeks had reddened with his anger.
All of her bravado evaporated, and she hunched forward. “I know you don’t want me. You barely talk with me, and you find no joy in
