Three weeks later, Caitlyn was rebelliously peeling potatoes under the disapproving eye of Mrs. McFee. In attire she was a miniature copy of that good lady, clad in a sleeveless linen dress of green and yellow stripes that left the long white sleeves of her shift on view. It had been inexpertly cut down from an old one of Mrs. McFee's. While it was cooler than the other dress she now possessed-long-sleeved, solid blue kerseymere, courtesy of the same source-it still seemed hellishly hot in the sweatshop atmosphere of the kitchen, where mutton roasted on a turnspit in the immense stone fireplace and various vegetables and fruits for a pie bubbled in iron pots suspended over the fire. The too-large white mobcap she wore kept slipping down over one eye, driving Caitlyn mad as she had to swipe it back with one hand. Her apron, which was so large she had it wrapped twice about her middle, had started out white but now bore numerous multicolored splotches from all the things she had spdled on herself that afternoon alone. (She had changed the one she had worn during the morning; Mrs. McFee was a stickler for cleanliness.)
Despite the sweat that beaded her brow and upper lip as she worked, Caitlyn herself was cleaner than she had ever been in her life. She feared that her skin would rub clear off her bones if she scoured herself any more. Her hair had been scrubbed by Mrs. McFee personally (who made no secret of the fact that she feared finding lice) until her scalp was raw. Clean, it was soft, shiny, and inky black. Caitlyn wore it gathered into a skimpy, straggly bun at her nape, with the mobcap over the whole as Mrs. McFee informed her was proper. From her hairline to her toes inside the sturdy leather shoes she had been allowed to keep, since they were not much different from women's footgear and anyway there were no shoes at Donoughmore to fit her small feet, her skin was as white as the belly of a whale. Straight, inky-black brows and lashes framing kerry blue eyes and the faint pink of her mouth were the only touches of color in her face. Small nicks from the knife she was using covered her hands, and her blood was mixed liberally into the bowl of misshapen peeled potatoes at her left hand. Piles of potato peelings covered the scrubbed tabletop and littered the flagstone floor. The most disheartening thing about it was that, after she had finished the monumental job of peeling enough potatoes to feed five hungry men (Mickeen joined the d'Arcys at supper), herself, and Mrs. McFee, she would then have to clean up the mess she had made. Just thinking about it made her exhausted.
It was near suppertime. Caitlyn had been working in the kitchen most of the afternoon, learning with a complete absence of enthusiasm how to cook. The truth was, she was inept, just as she was at all the women's work Mrs. McFee had set her to. She hated being a female, she did, and all that went with it!
"All done," she announced finally with an awful sigh. Mrs. McFee looked around from kneading dough to frown at her.
"Aye, and it looks like you've left more on the floor than you've got in the bowl! Ah, well, if his lordship says you're to help me, then I guess you will. Bring the bowl over here, then, lass, and get on with cleaning up the mess."
Making a face at Mrs. McFee's broad back, Caitlyn picked up the bowl and awkwardly carried it to the work table against the far wall where the woman labored. Holding her skirt carefully clear of her feet with one hand (walking without tripping over the voluminous skirt was an art), she made it to the table with nary a mishap and set the bowl down. Mrs. McFee took one glance at the contents, then shook her head.
"It's a mystery to me how two dozen big, firm potatoes can be reduced to so little. You've peeled off so much meat that there's scarce anything left! Well, what's done can't be helped, I suppose, and as his lordship says, you're bound to get better at it."
Caitlyn shrank a litde under this disheartening speech. She hated being a female! She hated Mrs. McFee, with her disapproval and bossy ways! And she hated the d'Arcys, every one of them, from Cormac to Connor. Aye, even Connor, though she had to admit to a grudging admiration for him that was the sole reason that she labored so meekly under Mrs. McFee's iron direction. She wanted to please Connor, it was that simple. He loomed large in her life, did Connor, a wondrous being who could boom with rage enough to send his grown brothers scurrying and yet be unfailingly kind to her, a little scrap of nothing who had fallen by accident into his life.
"Sweep up now, do!" With those impatient words, Mrs. McFee put her back to work. Carefully tucking up her skirt into the waistband of her apron, Caitlyn found broom and pan. Then with a quick look at Mrs. McFee to be sure that the lady was not watching, she swept the broom over the table so that the peelings fell to the floor. From there it was a simple matter to sweep all the peelings together and into the pan. Feeling smug that she had at last done something right, she picked up the pan and started for the bucket in which such scraps were put. And promptly tripped over the hem of her skirt, which had worked its way loose from its temporary mooring. With a surprised oath, she went sprawling.
"Devil take it to hell and back!" As oaths went, that was not so bad. Certainly not as bad as the one she'd uttered as she'd hit the flagstone floor. Mrs. McFee, who would have to be deaf not to have heard, launched into a scandalized tirade while Caitlyn lay spent on the flagstones, too dispirited to move. Potato peelings were everywhere. It would take an hour to clean them all up again.
Plus Mrs. McFee was going off, as she did half a dozen times a day. Caitlyn lay there with her chin on her hands for a moment, thinking. Then she got determinedly to her feet, pulled off her mobcap, and threw it on the floor. Her apron was next. Mrs. McFee stopped berating her to watch with widening eyes as Caitlyn tossed its starched whiteness deliberately to the floor.
"I'll not be learning any more woman's work," Caitlyn pronounced to the older woman with a lift of her chin. Then, turning on her heel, she stalked from the kitchen, remembering in the nick of time to lift the hem of her dress. Determination growing by the moment, she marched up the stairs and into Cormac's bedroom, one of the four on the second floor. Each of the d'Arcys had his own room, which was an unbelievable luxury when Caitlyn considered that in Dublin's Irish quarters most families of six or seven shared a single small room and thought themselves lucky. Their bedrooms plus the small office and hall made up the second floor. Downstairs there were two sitting rooms, the kitchen, pantries, a small stone washroom, a brewery for the brewing of beer and ale, and the dining room, which was separate from the kitchen so that, as they ate, the members of the family should not be forced to endure the heat of the huge stone fireplace that dominated the kitchen, where most of the cooking was done in iron pots. In the attic were four smaller rooms clearly meant for servants, one of which Caitlyn had been given for her own. She was the only one to sleep in the attic. Mrs. McFee lived with her daughter and son-in-law in a cottage in the village and came in each day to do for his lordship. She was the only household help.
Opening the wardrobe which stood against the far wall, Caitlyn rummaged around until she found drawers, breeches, stockings, and shirt. She was too hot to bother with a coat, and anyway the voluminous folds of the too- big shirt would conceal femininity as budding as hers. With some difficulty she pulled off the cut-down dress, untied the tapes of the two petticoats and stepped out of them, and drew the shift over her head. That left her buck naked, as females did not wear drawers (being bare-arsed under those loose-fitting skirts seemed to her more indecent than wearing breeches, though so far no one had asked for her opinion), and she had taken off her stockings earlier in a ftitile attempt to feel cooler in the kitchen. Pulling on Connac's clothes, she felt better than she had in ages. They were miles too big, and she had to tie a string around the waist and roll up the breeches at the ankles and the shirtsleeves to get anything resembling a reasonable fit, but that didn't matter. Taking the pins out of her hair, she tied it back in a neat tail at her neck and looked in the cheval glass in the comer. She still did not look precisely like her old self-she was far too clean for that-but she was closer than she had been since she had exchanged O'Malley for Caitlyn.
Humming a litde under her breath, Caitlyn went back down the stairs and out of the house. She chose the front door instead of the back, which went through the kitchen, not because she feared Mrs. McFee but because she simply didn't care to listen to anything the woman had to say.
Once outside, Caitlyn breathed deeply of the fresh air and looked around with pleasure at the verdant beauty of the countryside. It was a gorgeous afternoon, the morning's mist having blown away to leave the weather clear and sunny. Walking around die side of the house, where the old dog rose to greet her (his name was Boru, and he had belonged to the d'Arcy brothers since they had lived in the Castle), she looked toward the fields. The peasants were cutting peat two hillocks away, their scythes making bright flashes as they lifted and fell rhythmically. She saw Connor on Fharannain over by the peasants, both arms resting on the front of the saddle as he talked to one of the men. Closer at hand, Mickeen and Rory were doing something to the ears of a dozen recalcitrant sheep. Cormac and Liam were nowhere in sight. Near the stable, which was closer to the house than the sheep bam, Willie labored, scrubbing down a dappled gray mare. Grinning, Caitlyn went to join him.
"Hey, Willie, you're getting more water on you than you are on the bleedin' horse." Willie was, indeed, very wet. He looked up with a start at this greeting, then grinned all over himself as he saw who addressed him.
"O'Malley!" The name was uttered with transparent delight. Then Willie remembered, and his smile faded, to be replaced by an uncertain look. He turned back to the horse, which he began scrubbing with quite unnecessary vigor. The animal, protesting, nickered and sidled, glancing around at its groomer with a reproving expression. "What're you doin' dressed like that? You're a bleedin' lass!" The last word was accusatory.
Caitlyn walked up beside him. took another sopping brush out of the bucket, and started to wash the animal's neck. She had never been around horses much, but she was not afraid of them, or of any animal. Casting a sideways look at her erstwhile friend, she said, "Ah, Willie, I'm just O'Malley, like I've always been. There's no difference."
"There's a big bloody difference! You're a lass!" He stopped scrubbing to glare at her. His round freckled face was hostile.
Caitlyn rested her brush on the horse's neck and returned Willie's look. "I was a lass then too. You just didn't know it."
"I know it now. I thought his lordship had got you in skirts." Willie was almost sneering.
Caitlyn laughed, the sound rueful. "Aye, he did. But I tell you somethin', Willie, skirts and me just don't mix. I keep falling down!"
A slight grin tugged at the comers of Willie's mouth. "I can't picture it," he admitted.
"It's a sight," Caitlyn assured him, and the two grinned at each other in sudden affinity.
"Where'd you come from… good Lord!" The speaker was Liam, who'd just stepped out of the stable, presumably to check on Willie's progress. The ejaculation came as Caitlyn automatically looked over her shoulder at him and he recognized her.
"Connor'll have a fit!" Liam said with certainty.
"I'll not being doing woman's work again," Caitlyn said firmly, going to work with a will on the horse's neck.
"I'll do whatever you or Willie or the others do, but I'm not doing woman's work!"
"Tell that to Connor," Liam said with gloomy relish. "It's his say-so, not mine. For now, you go on up to the house and change back into a dress. It's not decent, having a lass in breeches."
"Oh, get along with you!" She was in no mood to listen to Liam's strictures. And she would worry about Connor when she saw him.
Willie rolled his eyes at Caitlyn out of Liam's sight and ducked under the horse's neck to work on its other side, effectively distancing himself from the discussion. Caitlyn dipped her brush back into the bucket and joined him.
"Listen here, Caitlyn, you heard what I said!" Liam ducked under the horse's neck too and confronted Caitlyn, catching her wrist so that she had to stop what she was doing. She turned to face him, her eyes sparking, the wet brush in her hand. Great droplets of soapy water flew to splatter on Liam's shirt front. He brushed the drops away, looking disgusted. An unholy grin lit up Caitlyn's face. Liam scowled at her, his blue eyes fierce.
"You're a lass, and you'll wear a skirt!"
"I will not!"
"You will!"
"Not!"
The sound of carriage wheels interrupted the increasingly heated confrontation. Both Liam and Caitlyn looked around to see a handsome gig with a piebald mare between the shafts roll into the barnyard. Driving it was an exquisite lady. Caitlyn goggled at her. What would such a beauty be doing here at Donoughmore?
"Confound it, it's Mrs. Congreve! Now the fat's in the fire, and no mistake! She'll likely swoon if she finds out you're a female dressed like that, so you keep quiet, do you hear me?" With this fierce whisper, Liam let go of Caitlyn's wrist and walked forward to greet the newcomer with a smile.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Congreve! If it's Connor you're wanting to see, he's in the fields."
"Hello, Liam! Hard at work as usual, I see! And yes,
I do want to see Connor! Could he be sent for, do you think?"
"Well…" Liam hesitated, cleariy not liking to say no but not wanting to do as she asked either. Mrs. Congreve laughed, a sound like the tinkle of litde bells. Caitlyn wondered with a little pang what such a lady could want with Connor. Mrs. Congreve was a beauty, and no mistake. Her elaborately arranged coiffure was white with powder, and her skin was powdered too, with a tiny black patch set beside one pale blue eye to show it off. Her form and features were fragile, her long, slender nose and tiny rosebud mouth the height of fashionable beauty. Her dress was of blue brocade, daringly shortened to show several inches of white stocking at the ankle. All in all, she was dressed as elaborately as any lady Caitlyn had ever glimpsed along the fashionable thoroughfares of Dublin. Caitlyn wondered why she had risked such finery on the dirt roads that crisscrossed the countryside. If that elegant skirt was not ruined past saving with mud, it would be a miracle, nothing less.
"Perhaps you could send one of the lads there for him. They seem to have plenty of time to stand about."
Liam looked over his shoulder at Caitlyn and Willie, who had indeed stopped work, brushes suspended, to gape at the visitor. Meeting Caitlyn's eyes, Liam glared fiercely; then his expression smoothed out as he turned back to Mrs. Congreve.
" 'Tis sorry I am, but-"
The clatter of hooves interrupted him. Connor rode up on Fharannain, drawing rein beside his guest and smiling down at her. Mrs. Congreve dimpled up at him from her seat in the gig. Watching them, Caitlyn suddenly knew the reason Mrs. Congreve had risked her beautiful dress. Caitlyn cleariy wasn't the only one who had noticed that Connor d'Arcy was an extremely handsome man.
"Well, Meredith, to what do I owe the honor?" Connor asked cheerfully. Tall, leanly muscled, and dark, mounted on Fharannain, who was as black as the ace of spades, he was a perfect foil to Mrs. Congreve's tinsel-angel femininity. Left out of the conversation now that his older brother was at hand, Liam retreated to stand beside Caitlyn and Willie. Three pairs of eyes fixed on the breathtaking twosome.
"I've come to invite you to dinner," Mrs. Congreve said with a beguiling smile. "I haven't seen you this age."
"We've been busy."
"Who is she?" Caitlyn whispered to Liam. He answered from the side of his mouth.
"She married old man Congreve three years ago. He owned the property abutting Donoughmore to the south. When he died last year, she became a wealthy widow. And she's got her eye on Connor."
"She's beautiful," Willie breathed.
"Aye, but beauty is as beauty does," Liam said darkly. "None of us is wanting her for a sister-in-law."
"Connor seems to like her." Caitlyn was conscious of a faint stirring of unease deep within her breast as she watched Connor flirting with the lady. For some reason, she did not like the vivacious interplay at all, at all.
"Aye, he does," Liam said gloomily, then added, "But who wouldn't? I suppose I'd like her too if she shook her bosom at me like she does at him." Then, apparendy just remembering whom he was talking to, Liam cast Caitlyn a quick, furious look and colored up to his ears. "And that's another reason you can't go around in breeches! I completely forgot you were a lass! I'd beg your pardon, but 'ds your own fault entirely!"
"Liam!" Connor called him before Caitlyn could dispute any of the points in that speech with which she felt obliged to take issue. Liam cast a quelling look at Caitlyn, then walked forward to join his brother and the guest.
"Aye?"
"Would you please escort Meredith home? I've things to attend to here, and she's frightened she won't reach home before nightfall."
"Oh, yes, Sir Edward Dunne told me that the Dark Horseman and his gang robbed three carriages near Navan just a few weeks ago! In a single night, mind! I'm sure I wouldn't care to be one of his victims!"
"And I'm sure he'd never harm one so lovely as you,"
Connor soothed. Mrs. Congreve smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. He smiled back at her. Caitlyn felt her unease deepen until it was practically a tangible thing inside her.
"Did you hear that, O'Malley?" Willie whispered excitedly, poking Caitlyn in the ribs with his elbow. Apparently he had forgotten his grievance with her again. "The Dark Horseman's been seen near here! Wouldn't it be grand if we could find out where he is and ask him if we could join his band?"
"Aye, and it would be grand too if we was to discover a pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow, but we won't," Caitlyn rejoined tartly, glad to be distracted.
Willie gave her an indignant look. Caitlyn wasn't in the mood to further his obsession with the Dark Horseman. She felt cross without reason.
"You, Willie, fetch Liam's horse, if you please." Connor rode over to where Willie and Caitlyn stood together and dismounted. "And you can take Fharannain…"he began, turning to hand the reins to Caitlyn. Then unaware aqua eyes met apprehensive kerry blue ones and widened. For a pregnant instant, their glances held; then Connor's eyes swept over her. His lips had tightened when he met her gaze again.
"I…" Caitlyn started to say, only to be silenced by a hard look and a wave of his hand.
"Take Fharannain," he said brusquely and handed the great horse's reins to her. Caitlyn accepted them with a nervous swallow, then stood watching as he strode back to where his lady friend waited in the gig. As he smiled at Mrs. Congreve, Connor was absolutely charming. Only Caitlyn, who had been the recipient of his previous sizzling look, knew that beneath the lighthearted banter he was furious.
Glumly Caitlyn led Fharannain into the bam, passing Willie, who was leading out Thunderer, the chestnut gelding that Liam habitually rode. Willie had once labored in a stable, so he was familiar with horses, though he was not a proficient rider due to lack of practice. Caitlyn could not ride at all. Growing up in the city, she had never had the chance to learn. As she stroked Fharannain's silky nose while the horse nuzzled her, it occurred to her that here was the perfect opportunity. The thought of Connor's face as she galloped by him on his own horse was irresistible. He would be dumbfounded-and enraged. But then, he was angry with her already on account of the breeches. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb…
Getting aboard was not as easy as it appeared. Fharannain was a tall horse. The stirrup dangled maddeningly just higher than she could hoist her leg, and Fharannain kept cocking his ears and rolling his eyes at her as she hopped about, trying to snag the stirrup with her foot. Finally she stood on both legs again and led him over to a stall door. Climbing up to balance precariously on the narrow boards at the top, she leaped for the saddle. Fharannain sidestepped. Caitlyn fell, sprawling on her hands and knees between him and the stall. Gritting her teeth, she hauled him back into position and tried again. This time she deliberately overshot the mark, anticipating his move. She landed facedown across his back, half on the saddle and half on his rump, clutching the saddle with both hands to keep from sliding off. The horse headed toward the door in nervous two-steps as she hauled herself into the saddle and picked up the reins.
"O'Malley!" Willie barely had time to jump out of the way when Fharannain leaped through the stable door. Caitlyn clung to his back like a bur and yanked uselessly on the reins, uttering a shaky "Who-oa!" She felt a horrible frisson of pure fright as the beast got the bit between his teeth, lowered his head, and streaked for the open meadow at a flat-out gallop. Belatedly it occurred to her that, even to annoy Connor, trying to ride a huge, spirited animal like Fharannain when she had never even sat on a horse's back before was not the smartest thing she had ever done. But there was no undoing it now…
Connor was walking toward the stable, having just seen off Mrs. Congreve and Liam, who were clipping away over the track in her gig with Liam's horse tied behind. Fharannain thundered past him, and he blinked as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Caitlyn summoned a weak smile as the animal flew past, then, throwing pride to the winds, managed to squeak, "H-help!"
"What the bloody hell-!" The ejaculation was cut short as Fharannain pounded into the meadow. Sheep scattered before him, and their bleadng seemed to drive him to greater frenzies. He was moving in leaps and bounds instead of at a smooth gallop, obviously intent on ridding himself of this strange rider. Caitlyn hauled manfully on the reins one more time before abandoning them and clinging to the animal's mane. He was heading straight for the stone wall that bisected the hillside. Caitlyn shut her eyes.
Moments later, she was somersaulting through the air, hands and body abruptly losing contact with the horse. Her eyes flew open to see Fharannain sailing over the fence without her just before she hit the ground with enough force to make her see stars.
"May the devil and all the Saints confound it!"
Caitlyn must have blacked out for an instant. She opened her eyes to discover Connor leaning over her, curses falling from his grim mouth seemingly of their own accord and real concern crowding out anger from his eyes. Seeing her eyelashes flutter and then her eyes meet his, he frowned. His face was pale with anxiety.
"Are you hurt?" The question was sharp.
Caitlyn thought about this for a second. She certainly hurt, from head to toe. Cautiously she wiggled her toes, moved her legs, then her fingers and arms. Everything seemed to be in one piece.
"N-no. I don't think so," she said finally.
"Then by God you should be!" he exploded, surging to his feet and jeriting her up beside him, his hands tight on her shoulders as he shook her until her hair escaped the ribbon confining it at her nape and the black strands whipped into a cloud around her face.
"Stop!" She tried to jerk away, but his grip was too strong. His eyes were livid.
"You're lucky you're alive to be shaken! No one, no one, has ever ridden that horse but me! It's a bloody miracle he didn't kill you! What maggot got into your brain to make you try such a thing?" He was still shaking her, his words practically hissed through taut lips.
"Would you stop! Oh! I just wanted to learn to ride!" The words tumbled out between shakes.
"You just wanted to learn to ride…" His voice broke off as though words failed him, and he closed his eyes. The shaking ceased also, although he retained his grip on her shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, those devil's eyes were no longer furious, but merely grim.
"The Lord looks after fools and children, it seems, and fortunately for your hide you're both! Are you determined to get yourself killed? It's a miracle you've survived unharmed so long!"
"There's blood on her leg, Conn." Rory and Mickeen had come panting up just as Connor had hauled her to her feet. Now Rory spoke, his voice concerned. Looking down at herself, Caitlyn saw that there was indeed a spreading bloodstain on the inside of her right thigh.
"She likely cut it on a stone." Sharp-edged stones littered the ground near the wall. Caitlyn glanced at them, then back down at herself. The sight of her own blood spreading on her thigh, combined with the shock of the fall, made her feel suddenly lightheaded. She swayed.
"Look out, she's going to faint!"
Caitlyn shook her head, tiying to clear it. She had never fainted in her life. But before she could regain her equilibrium, Connor, with an explosive, heartfelt curse, swept her up in his arms and stalked back toward the house. Holding her securely against his chest, he told her in no uncertain terms what a nuisance she was. Caitlyn listened with unaccustomed meekness, feeling comforted just to be held in that strong grasp. It was almost worth it…
As he entered the house, Mrs. McFee came to greet him, surprise turning to condemnation when she recognized who it was he held in his arms.
"What's that evil lass done now?" she demanded. "First she leaves a mess in my clean kitchen for me to sweep up, then she-"
"Enough!" Connor silenced her sharply, striding past her. "I'll need bandages and a bowl of warm water. Bring them up, please!"
Mrs. McFee was silenced. Connor climbed the stairs easily, carrying Caitlyn all the way up to her attic bedroom without once seeming short of breath. She twined her arms around his neck for balance, rested her head against the warmth of his chest, and listened contentedly to the beating of his heart. It felt good to know that he was worried about her.
Connor put Caitlyn down on her narrow iron bedstead and reached for the laces at her waist, seemingly intent on removing her breeches himself to inspect the damage. Alarmed at the sudden movement, she widened her eyes and her hands flew to close over his.
"N-no!" she stuttered. As he met her eyes, frowning impatiently, Mrs. McFee entered, huffing and puffing at the climb, the requested water and bandages in her hands.
"Mrs. McFee can help you, then," he said abrupdy, apparently remembering that Caitlyn was a female.
"I can do it myself," Caitlyn said, getting shakily to her feet and retiring behind the screen that shielded one small comer. Mrs. McFee sniffed and took herself off. Connor waited, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Well?" he said finally, when she didn't say anything.
"I seem to be hurt-inside. That's where the blood is coming from." Caitlyn had removed her breeches and drawers and inspected both her thighs and then her stomach and rear as well as she could, but nary a cut had she found. At the thought of how terrible an internal injury she must have suffered to be bleeding so, she felt lightheaded again.
"Inside? Inside where?"
"The blood's coming from my-my privates." The words were tremulous. There was a long silence. His reply, when it came, was oddly gende.
"Caitlyn, lass, could it be your time?"
"My time?" She didn't understand.
"Your woman's time."
"My woman's…" Her voice failed her. Vaguely she remembered that her mother had bled with clockwork reg- ularity until she had gotten with child. But Caitlyn had never associated such with herself. Hot color stole up her cheeks. She felt hideously embarrassed and also at a loss. What happened now? There was so much blood-how did one make it go away? She had been too young when her mother died to have ever discussed the subject.
Her long silence must have told Connor all he needed to know. She heard a deep, long-suffering kind of sigh, then, "Make yourself decent and come out here."
"No!" Never as long as she lived could she look him in the face again. That he should know such an intimate thing about her was mortifying. She felt shamed, unclean.
"Either you make yourself decent and come out, or I'll haul you out just as you are. I want to talk to you. There's no one else to do so except Mrs. McFee. And you don't seem to care for her overmuch. But if you wish I'll fetch her."
"No!" Caitlyn's denial was as emphatic as it was instinctive. Mrs. McFee detested her enough already.
"Then make yourself decent and come out. Now."
Connor was perfectly capable of doing as he threatened, she knew. She had no clothes behind the screen except the bloodstained breeches she had removed. Still wearing Cormac's long-tailed shirt, which by itself covered her to her knees, she reached out an arm, pulled her quilt from the quilt rack where she folded it neatly every morning, wrapped it around herself, and came hesitantly out from behind the screen. Meeting Connor's eyes, she blushed from her toes to her hairline. Then she dropped her gaze to the floor.
"You've no need to be shamed, lass. 'Tis perfectly natural and normal." When she didn't respond to that except to continue to stare at the floor, he sighed again and told her to sit. Caitlyn dared a fleeting look at him, and he indicated the opposite end of the narrow bed from where he perched at its foot. Caitlyn reluctandy sat, face averted and pink as she resolutely studied the bedknobs instead of his face.
"Such a thing has never happened to you before?"
Dumb with embarrassment at the thought of discussing such a thing with him, she shook her head. She still could not meet his eyes.
"You're thirteen, or thereabouts?"
"Fifteen. Almost sixteen, I think." Her voice was muffled.
"Then you're late getting started. Most lasses start a little earlier than that, I'm thinking." His tone was easy, as though he conversed on such intimate subjects all the time. "Still, not having enough to eat during your growing years will account for it, most likely. But whatever the reason for it, you've just become a woman grown. Congratulations. ''
"Congratulations…!" That word so dumbfounded her that her eyes flew to his. He smiled at her.
" 'Tis no very terrible thing after all, you know. In many cultures, we'd be planning a celebration tonight."
"A celebration…!" It seemed all she could do was echo his words. A twinkle lighted his eyes.
"I wouldn't go so far as that, either, because most lasses are sensitive about the subject, as you are. That's as it should be, because it's a private thing. But it's naught to be ashamed of. Just as lads are proud, not shamed, when they shave their first whiskers. 'Tis a sign of growing up."
"I hate it." The words were near whispered, and they were from the soul.
"Be that as it may, it's a fact of a woman's life." And in short, succinct sentences he told her all she needed to know to deal with what had occurred. When he had finished, Caitlyn's face was as red as a tomato and a tinge of pink just tinted his cheekbones. Caitlyn could hardly look at him as he got to his feet, his height overpowering in the small room, but she did manage a quick upward glance.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. He stood looking down at her for a moment.
"You have something more to be thankful for, you know." His arms crossed over his chest. She dared another look at him to discover that the pink tinge had faded from his cheeks. He appeared as composed as ever, if anything a litde stem, and that helped her recover her own composure.
'What?"
"You've been saved a good hiding. One that was richly deserved, I might add."
"Oh." In her embarrassment, she'd nearly forgotten about her foolishness over Fharannain. He'd been furious, and she had no doubt that she would have felt his hand on her backside again if fate had not intervened. Which was something to be thankful for, at that.
"I'm sorry," she offered. " 'Twas a mistake to try to ride Fharannain, I know. I won't do such a thing again."
"Well." The handsome apology took the wind from his sails. He stood eyeing her, his arms still crossed over his chest, his booted feet planted slightly apart on the bare plank floor. With his head tilted a litde to one side, he looked very handsome and very male. Caitlyn could quite understand why Mrs. Congreve should drive herself clear from the next county to call on him. "And no more breeches, mind," he added, clearly determined to be admonishing.
Caitlyn suddenly looked him full in the eyes, a mischievous smde lighting her face.
"I'll make a bargain with you," she said, her embarrassment forgotten in the excitement of her idea.
"A bargain?" He sounded wary. Those aqua eyes narrowed on her face.
"I'll stick to dratted skirts if you'll teach me to ride. A deal?" Hope sparkled in her eyes. Connor grinned slowly as he gazed down at her, shaking his head.
"YouVe the gall of the devil about you, Caitlyn O'Malley. Very well. 'Tis a deal."