Free The Maid of Ireland by Susan Wiggs Page B

her, bearing her heart’s desire?
    “It’s a good harbor,” Hawkins said.
    He stood very close to her, so close that her shoulder grew warm. “Yes.” She took a step away from him. The natural harbor had a narrow entrance leading to a deep, horseshoe-shaped cove.
    “Cromwell is determined to have Clonmuir in Hammersmith’s control, isn’t he? So he can have a port of his own, a port capable of accommodating deep-draught vessels.”
    “Yes,” she said again. “That’s why we’re so determined to hold it for our own.”
    “Cromwell’s army exceeds the entire population of Ireland,” said Hawkins. “He has enough men and guns to lay waste to every stone of Clonmuir. How will you stop him?”
    “We’ll—” She clamped her mouth shut. How careless this disarming man made her. “You’d be surprised, Hawkins, what a few deeply committed warriors can accomplish.”
    “No,” he said with an odd, wistful shimmer in his shadow-colored eyes. “No, I wouldn’t be surprised. And you’re to call me Wesley.”
    “It’s such an English-sounding name.”
    “That it is, Caitlin MacBride. A man can’t change what he is.”
    How true, she thought. It was that very truth that had led her, again and again, to forgive her father’s follies. If she and Hawkins had been other than they were, they might have been friends.
    “Tell me about Logan Rafferty and your sister.” He had moved closer again, a brush of heat against her arm.
    She knew she should retreat, or better yet, push him away. Yet the commanding beauty of his face, the obvious ease with which he held himself, kept her in a thrall of curiosity. She knew she shouldn’t confess the turmoils of Clonmuir to an English stranger, but where was the harm in it? She had no confidant save Tom Gandy, and her steward’s habit of speaking in riddles was more vexing than satisfying. Despite Hawkins’s intimidating good looks and blatantly English character, something about him put her at ease. Just looking into his eyes gave her a feeling of peace, like the rocking motion of a boat on a calm sea.
    “Logan comes from an old and industrious clan,” she explained, “although he’s taken on some English ways. That should please you.”
    “So far, nothing about the man has pleased me.”
    Caitlin held back a smile. “He should have chosen a wife of higher rank but...well, you’ve seen Magheen.”
    “She’s very pretty.”
    A tiny ache flared in Caitlin’s chest. Pretty was a word that could never apply to her. Tall and gawky, wild of hair, her face made up of harsh lines, she was not one to escape men’s attention. But it was not the soft, poetic devotion of smitten swains. Instead she commanded soldiers who had no choice.
    Images of Hawkins dancing with Magheen harried her thoughts. He had moved with animal fluidity, a perfect foil for Magheen’s winsome grace. In looks, Hawkins was her masculine equal. She wondered why he wasn’t paying court to her now instead of pursuing Caitlin.
    “Magheen’s not merely pretty,” she said. “She’s bright and amusing and wise in...important ways. She’s had many suitors, but would settle for no less than Logan. But nothing is simple. Because of her lower station, he demanded a large dowry. I tried to hide the sum from Magheen.”
    “I take it she found out.”
    “She did, and it burned her pride.” Reluctant amusement tugged at the corners of Caitlin’s mouth.
    “So what did she do about it?”
    “She refused to share his bed until he reduced his demands.”
    “Ah. Your little sister has some of your defiance in her.”
    Caitlin erected a wall of defense around her emotions. “We’ve been without a mother for six years. You’ve seen...our father. We don’t have the luxury of behaving like conventional ladies.” She sighed. “The matter might have been settled this very day. Logan would have had a live bullock, not one turning over a cookfire.”
    “Your father’s doing?”
    “Aye. So now I must find