Dream Lover Part 3

"Ye've read most of them, the histories, the mythologies, the folktales, the ones in Gaelica"you're the only one I know will treasure them."

When they opened the library door, half a dozen female FitzGeralds were lingering about the hallway, lying in wait for the quarry. Now Sean was turning nineteen, he might be in the market for a wife, and wasn't the logical choice a FitzGerald? And if he had no notion to be shackled, but only had dalliance in mind, sure wasn't the logical choice still a FitzGerald?

Sean's mother, Kathleen, along with her sisters, was fiercely chaste as befitted a decent, G.o.d-fearing Irishwoman, but the younger generation had no such high moral scruples. During the course of the next hour no fewer than seven females tried to lure him upstairs to Maynooth's parapets and prospect towers.

His humor came to his defense. "There are fifty-five bedchambers upstairs.

Sure and 'tis more than my life's worth to set one foot in that direction!"

Though Sean was being circ.u.mspect today, his conquests were many and varied. Because his mother forbade congress with the maidservants at Greystones, Sean occasionally poached the daughters of their tenant farmers. But usually he sought his pleasures in Dublin, where his opportunities were limitless. His grandfather maintained a town house in fas.h.i.+onable Merrion Row that Sean was free to use. In the past month he'd put the town house to good use by sampling the charms of a barmaid from the Brazen Head, a shopgirl from a linen draper's in Grafton Street, one of the actresses from Smock Alley, and the dissatisfied young wife of Sir Richard Heron, an English official at Dublin Castle.

Sean spied his second-aunt Tiara, she of the purple veils, fluttering about within earshot. "Now if it was Princess Tiara here, luring me up to her throne room, I'd be sorely tempted."

"If you don't conduct yourself, I'll pull your ear the length of your arm," Tiara said regally.

Sean slipped his arms about her and gave her an affectionate kiss. "Don't forget to save me a dance on Sunday."

"You may inform Kathleen we shall attend the celebration.a Sean had no idea if she spoke for all the FitzGeralds or was using the royal we. He caught a glimpse of another cousin dressed in a white novitiate's robe. The oddities were around every corner when you visited Maynooth.

At the summerhouse on Anglesey, Amber Montague was antic.i.p.ating the upcoming celebration more than all the rest of the FitzGeralds put together.

She had done everything her husband had demanded of her, sweetly, gracefully, abjectly. Ireland and Joseph were worth the price. Amber felt as if she were floating on a blissful cloud of joy. Already she was breathless with antic.i.p.ation.

She knew exactly what she would wear and was rapidly going over young Emerald's wardrobe in her mind's eye.

How proud she would be to show off her beautiful daughter and her son to the FitzGeralds and the O'Tooles. Amber was dizzy from the thought of going home. Already she could smell the turf smoke, mingled with the scent of sweet green gra.s.s. "What time shall we be ready on Sunday, William?" she asked, eagerly searching his face as she pulled her stocking up her long leg.

The soft, dreamy look was banished from her eyes as he said, You misunderstood me, Amber, my dear. There can be no question of you going.a Her heart lurched, then stopped.

"You don't seriously think I'd expose my wife to the vulgar celebrations of a bunch of uncouth bogtrotters, do you?"

"But, William, they are my family. My uncle is the Earl of Kildare.a "Precisely the reason I married you. But an O'Toole celebration will likely degenerate into a drunken debauch. I will not cast my pearl before swine. You are far too tempting a morsel to display before an entire clan of randy Irishmen."

Amber tasted ashes in her mouth. Begging would only swell him with power, while his answer would remain the same. His refusal was absolute.

"I intend to take Emerald and John, along with my nephew Jack.

It will be good for the boy. He clings to your skirts too much. I intend to make a man of him. -Any youth who can't indulge in drink and women and still retain his wits is a weakling!"

Amber almost cried out, If it's to be a drunken debauch, why would you take Emerald? But she stopped herself in time. She would not deprive her beloved daughter of the chance to visit Ireland and her FitzGerald kin. Amber sighed, heartsore. She could see now it had been another cruel game. She felt stabbed to the heart and dared not cry for fear she would shed tears of blood.

To make her humiliation complete, he held out the crop he always used on her and waited implacably with hooded eyes until she kissed it.

4.

By the time the first pink blush of dawn touched the sky on the day of the celebration, Greystones was alive with activity. Birthday gifts had arrived under cover of darkness so that the magic element of surprise would not be lost.

FitzGerald grooms from Maynooth had smuggled two Thorough-breds into Greystones's stables after midnight. The earl bred some of the finest racehorses in Kildare and had chosen a magnificent bay for oseph and a swift black stallion for Sean.

Two of Shamus's captains, the Murphy brothers, had sailed the new schooners from the s.h.i.+pyards in Birkenhead, near Liverpool. Shamus had warned them not to show a sail before four in the morning, and the Murphys were esconced in Mary Malone's kitchen when Joseph and Sean came down for breakfast.

"Look what the wayward wind blew in," Sean said to his brother. "The pair of water rats can smell a hooley a hundred miles off."

"You two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds aren't invited!" Joseph said.

Sean took up the taunt. "Just because you married FitzGerald la.s.ses doesn't make you family."

Pat Murphy cursed through his beard. "Arrogant young swines. Neither of youse will ever walk the deck of a s.h.i.+p I'm captain of, ever again!"

At a nod from Sean, Joe gave Pat Murphy a quick shove, while Scan hooked the stool from beneath his brother Tim. With a great howl, all four started throwing punches and ended up in a heap of elbows and s.h.i.+ns, rolling about the kitchen floor.

The game ended abruptly as Mary Malone threw a jug of cold water on them.

"For very shame, actin' like savages, and this yer birthday celebration. Out of me kitchen this minute, I've to prepare food for a hundred this day!"

For a minute the brothers stared aghast at the very real wrath of their plump cook, before they dissolved into helpless laughter.

Shamus arrived on the scene and said dryly, "They're only larkin' about, Mary Malone. Their spirits are so high, it'll take more than cold water to restore order and decorum. You two devils," Shamus addressed his sons, "on yer feet. There's a couple of s.h.i.+ps need unloadin' before breakfast."

Still laughing, all four got to their feet. "Let the Murphys do the unloading, they're the captains of the b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+ps," Sean said, wiping Mary's water from his eyes.

"Now, that's where yer dead wrong, Captain O'Toole," Shamus declared, unable to keep the grin from his face one moment longer.

As Sean and Joseph exchanged puzzled glances, a glimmer of comprehension pa.s.sed between them. With a sudden whoop of joy they picked up their heels and bolted outside, not stopping until they had torn across the wide lawns and Greystones's own harbor came into view below them.

The schooners, riding at anchor, sparkled like rare jewels in the early-morning sunlight. They were so new, they smelled of tar and fresh paint. Though the s.h.i.+ps were similar, they were not identical. The taller vessel was blue and gold; the longer one, black and silver.

"Ye'll find the owners.h.i.+p papers inside yer logbooks and ye might as well pick yer crews today while most of the lads are here," Shamus called, waving them on to claim their new possessions. He let them go alone. They were men full grown and should have the pleasure of walking their own decks while each took command.

Both father and sons hid their deepest emotions for appearance's sake. The Irish did not embrace and kiss in public. But Shamus's proud eyes never left his sons as they strode down to the long stone jetty. Grinning like lunatics, Joseph and Scan took possession of their birthday gifts. No discussion was necessary to decide which s.h.i.+p belonged to whom. Joseph headed for the blue and gold, while Sean boarded the vessel that was black and silver, heaving a great sigh of delightful ap- preciation, immediately losing his heart to the long, sleek vessel whose clean lines foretold her speed.

Sean spoke to it as if it were a woman. A s.h.i.+p was like a mistress, possessive and jealous, but capable of loyalty and obedience if she was handled firmly and with love. He ran his hand along her polished rail, caressing her with his touch, his eyes, and his low, intimate voice. She was indeed a beauty that set his blood singing and his imagination soaring into the bright future that lay before him, waiting to be grasped in both hands.

By the time the wagons filled with FitzGeralds began to arrive, trestle tables had been set up on the sloping green lawns and the Grey-stones staff was kept on the trot, carrying out food from the huge kitchen.

Their other guests began to arrive, most of whom belonged to old Irish families, rather than the newer Anglo-Irish. They brought fiddles and soon the air was filled with music and laughter.

Edward FitzGerald smiled at his daughter Kathleen with affec-tion. Though he'd had no sons to carry on his name, his eldest daugh-ter more than made up for it. She'd given him two strapping grandsons any man would envy.

"Now, mind, Father, you can only talk treason half the day, the rest is for laughter."

His blue eyes twinkled. "There's a woman for you, always finding a reason to curtail a man's pleasure."

A crowd of young people surrounded Sean and Joseph as they returned to the house from the jetty and urged the brothers toward the stables, where they knew more birthday surprises were waiting. When they emerged mounted on the Thoroughbreds, their parents and grand-father beamed with happy pride.

"Thank you, sir, he's magnificent. I've decided to call him Lucifer," Scan said, rubbing the black satin neck with appreciation.

"Have you two young devils named your s.h.i.+ps yet?" Shamus de-manded, trying to take the mickey out of them.

Sean winked at Joseph. "What else would two young devils call their s.h.i.+ps but Sulphur and Brimstone?"

"Irreverence, to say nothing of courting trouble!" their mother scolded, but she adored them both and wouldn't have altered a hair on their dark heads.

Emerald Montague was more excited than she had ever been in her life. Since before she had even learned to talk, her mother had filled her head with tales of Ireland and its people. Her bedtime stories were chosen from the rich folklore of her mother's homeland, the songs Emerald learned were songs of Erin, and the pictures her mother's words painted of her beloved Emerald Isle and the eccentric FitzGeralds had made her long to see them.

If Amber was sad that she was not accompanying them to the celebration, she was doing a marvelous job of hiding her feelings. Emerald suspected that her mother had buried her disappointment and emotions deep within and had focused all her attention upon making sure her children's visit was a success.

John's wardrobe had presented no problem. Since he was seventeen and almost a man full grown, his clothes were made by the finest tailors in London.

Though here on Anglesey he preferred to roam about in old riding breeches, he had a dressing room filled with clothes that would make a dandy envious.

It was Emerald's wardrobe over which her mother had fretted from the moment her daughter had brought it to her attention. "These are all little girls'

dresses," Emerald vowed, surveying the entire contents of her wardrobe with dismay. "They are very pretty," she amended quickly, hoping she hadn't hurt her mother's feelings, "but I'm almost sixteen and I simply couldn't bear wearing a smock and pantalets. I don't want Seana"I mean the FitzGeraldsa"to laugh at me!"

Soa"it was Sean O'Toole to whom she had lost her heart! He must have sailed with Joseph. G.o.d help her little girl if he had a hundredth part of his brother's Irish charm. "You are quite right, darling. There are so many FitzGerald women, and females can be very catty. I want you to outs.h.i.+ne them all. You must wear your new velvet cloak; it will be very cold on the s.h.i.+p, but when you remove the cloak we want everyone to stare at you with envy."

"Yes," Emerald breathed, feminine to her fingertips, "that's exactly what we want."

"Come with me now to my chamber, we'll go over everything I own until we find something perfect that can be altered to fit you."

When Sunday morning arrived, Emerald donned silk stockings tor the first time in her life instead of the lace pantalets. As her mother helped her into the green velvet gown, Emerald fretted, "I have no corset, whatever shall I do?"

Amber laughed. "Darling, you have no need of a corset."

"But what about these?" Emerald covered her upthrust b.r.e.a.s.t.s with her hands.

"These will be the envy of every female in Ireland today. Trust me, I know about such things."

From her window Emerald saw the sails of her father's s.h.i.+p coming down the Menai Strait from the east. "Oh, dear," they muttered in unison, knowing full well William Montague was impossible to please.

"Leave your father to me," Amber said, a hard tone of determina-tion in her voice. "There's just time before he anchors to make sure ohnny pa.s.ses muster.

Tame your hair a bit more. Perhaps tie it back with a ribbon," she called over her shoulder as she picked up her skirts and hastened to John's chambers.

Her son wore a navy-blue superfine coat that had been tailored to fit him to perfection. His fawn knee breeches clung to his thighs without a wrinkle, before disappearing into snowy white stockings. He had chosen a brocade waistcoat in a shade of dull gold to complement the outfit. "Your neckcloth would put the Prince of Wales to shame, ohnny. You look so grown-up today." Her words were intended to imbue him with confidence, but the navy-blue was indeed a good color for him, Amber decided as she tucked an errant lock of hair beneath his tie-wig with loving hands.

"Your father's here. I want him to see you first because I know he can find no fault with you today. Stay beside me while I prepare him for Emerald."

Montague came up to the house alone. He cast a critical eye over his son, and was slightly mollified to see he looked rather mature today. He was also glad to see that his wile was being obedient. When he saw there would be no last-minute pleas to take her with him, a pleasant surge of power shot through him. His eyes frankly a.s.sessed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the flowing morning gown.

"When I bring them home, I'll stay the night. No need to wait up for me, Amber, my dear, I shall awaken you."

"William," she began softly, molding him to her seductive will without his knowing it, "I want your daughter to look like a lady todaya"an English lady. I haven't been in Ireland for years, but I imagine the young women still run about in linen smocks, showing their ankles, as I was allowed to do. They don't wear imported silks or brocades from some sort of misplaced pride. They only wear linen and wool, or cloth made in Ireland. But when they see Emerald in her velvet, they'll be gra.s.s-green with envy."

Emerald came downstairs on cue, her black silk curls dancing about her shoulders. Because she was small-boned, her father thought of her as a child. Now, however, he saw she was almost a woman. "She looks like a lady from the neck down, but her hair is as wild as a blackberry thicket. Doesn't she have a decent powdered wig?" he demanded.

Amber saw her daughter's eyes fill with the green fire of rebellion and spoke up quickly before there could be a clash of wills. "It's my oversight, William.

Emerald, go up and put on a wig. Your father wants you to look like an English lady."

Jack Raymond eagerly held out his hand to a.s.sist Emerald aboard. She allowed him to help her, then moved away from him across the deck as quickly as she could. Rebellion no longer showed in her eyes, but it still lurked about inside her.

She watched Johnny shake hands with Jack, who was wearing a lieutenant's uniform today. Jack certainly looked like her uncle, with the same thick lips. Though he had a fine athletic carriage, it always seemed to Emerald there was a trace of menace in his eyes.

She would be thankful he would be kept busy giving orders to the crew. He had a way of attaching himself to her like a barnacle whenever he was in her company. She dismissed all thought of her distasteful cousin as her brother joined her. "Johnny, I can't believe we are setting sail for Ireland!" This morning before she awoke. Kmernld had once again experienced her beautiful dream. The delicious sense of antic.i.p.ation had stayed with her, and the joy she felt went beyond happiness, for she knew that soon, soon she would come to him. He was her perfect Irish Prince. She whispered his name with heart-scalding hunger. "Sean, Sean."

"When we leave the strait, I hope it isn't rough. I don't want to disgrace myself in front of Father," Johnny's voice cut into her reverie.

"Take some deep breaths, here he comes."

"Oh, G.o.d, Emerald, do something to draw his attention from me."

She squeezed his hand and turned to face her father. "That's a very smart uniform you are wearing, Father."

"A uniform lends a man a great deal of authority. Few challenge that authority.

Remember that, John. It won't be long before you're wearing one. We'll make a man of you yet, never fear, boy."

From the tail of her eye Emerald saw Johnny's gorge begin to rise.

Deliberately, she leaned out over the rail, knowing just what the result would be. The wind s.n.a.t.c.hed off her wig and sent it careening away across the crests of the waves.

"Oooh," she wailed woefully, "that was my very best wig."

Her father's jowls turned the color of turkey wattles. He took her roughly by the arm, marched her to the top of the companionway stairs, and pointed to a cloth bag hanging in the stairwell. "Do you know what is kept in that bag?"

Emerald shook her head, her voice deserting her completely.

"It's a cat-o'-nine-tails. Do one more thing to displease me today and I'll let the cat out of the bag!"

She sagged with relief when he let go of her arm. It isn't fair! Why does someone always have to draw his sting? And yet she felt no small measure of satisfaction that she had saved Johnny from a savaging and rid herself of the hideous headpiece into the bargain.

Shamus spotted Montague's sails and went down to the jetty to make sure there was ample s.p.a.ce to dock and unload the Defense. When he greeted his partner in crime, Shamus hid his amus.e.m.e.nt at Montague's Admiralty uniform. He needed it for courage to bring in the guns. "Ye a rrived without let or hindrance, I see."

"As always," Montague replied with his usual touch of English arrogance. He cast an envious eye over the two new s.h.i.+ps. "Are these yours, Shamus?"

"They belong to my sons. The taller s.h.i.+p is Joseph's; the black and silver, Sean's," he said with pride.

"Speaking of sons, I'd like you to meet mine. This is John and this is my daughter, Emerald. Jack you already know."

Shamus shook hands with John and bowed gallantly to Emerald. Very little escaped Shamus's shrewd eyes. He had seen the little la.s.s blush at mention of his sons. "A thousand welcomes to our home. The celebration is well under way; the gardens are overrun with young 'uns like yerselves. Go up to the house and enjoy."