Carnal Gift by Pamela Clare Page A

chill.
    The iarla jerked his mount to a stop. Behind sat half a dozen men on horseback.
    “My lord.” She curtsied, buried her trembling hands in her apron. “I am honored.”
    “You are O’Connelly’s widow, are you not?”
    “Aye.”
    “You live here alone since your husband’s death.”
    Muirin hesitated. “Aye, my lord.”
    “Do you hear, gentlemen? This good woman is out here all alone without male protection.”
    His men shouted, their voices tinged with lust.
    “We shall do our best to keep an eye on you. I’d hate for anything to happen.”
    She heard the threat in his voice, kept her silence.
    Please let him ride on.
    “I’m told that the eldest of the old hedgerow teacher’s sons often visits you.”
    Her heart raced. Her mouth went dry. “Master Ui Maelsechnaill has been kind enough to do the man’s work here since my husband passed on.”
    Lascivious laughter rose from the men, and some made crude gestures with their hands to show exactly what they thought men’s work entailed.
    She felt her face flame, forced her gaze to the pebbles at her feet.
    “You wish to see me, my lord?”
    She gasped, spun about. It was Fionn. He’d come up behind her and stood, sweat on his brow, hayfork in hand. Relief flooded through her. But how—
    His eyes told her not to ask; then his gaze shifted from her to the iarla. Though he held the hay fork with its tongs pointing into the earth, she felt the tension in his body, sensed the masculine power coiled within him.
    He came forward, put himself between her and the iarla .
    Fionn looked into the eyes of the soulless bastard who had kidnapped his sister, threatened his brother, murdered Father Padraig—and felt deadly calm steal over him. He’d come over the crest of the hill to see the iarla riding straight for Muirin’s cottage. At once, he’d abandoned his cart of freshly cut peat on the road and run, only one thought on his mind. Muirin and Aidan were in danger.
    He’d kept to the ravine that ran behind her fields, where no one would be able to see him, and had approached the cottage from behind. He’d heard the iarla’s voice, heard the filthy laughter of his men, slipped into the bam. Though they outnumbered him seven to one, he would not face the whoreson without some kind of weapon. No one would touch her or the boy. “Speak of the devil.” The iarla shifted in the saddle, smiled arrogantly down at Fionn. “I understand you’ve been helping the good widow with her chores since her husband’s death. How charitable.” “l can’t take all the credit, my lord. The men and older boys in the parish stop by when they can to lend a hand.” Let him think Irishmen were popping in and out all day long. Let him think she was rarely alone. “Mistress Congalaig has suffered great loss, and we all want to see she’s cared for. Might I inquire about my sister, my lord?” The iarla’s eyebrows rose, nearly touched his white wig. “It’s on your sister’s behalf that I’ve sought you out. I’m afraid a guest of mine has spirited her away from under my very roof, and I don’t know what’s become of her.”
    Fionn did his best to look shocked, angry. It wasn’t hard. “But, my lord—“ The iarla raised a gloved hand, cut him off. “I have men looking for him both here and in England. I trust we’ll find him soon. I thought perhaps she might have contacted you in some way or that you might have heard something. A rumor of her whereabouts?” Fionn allowed his voice to take on an edge. “I’ve heard nothing of my sister since your men took her, my lord.” “And what of your brother, the young rapparee?” “I sent him away, my lord. I’ll not be havin’ him stirrin’ up trouble for the rest of us.”
    "I see. Quite sensible.” Disappointment tinged the iarla’s words. “Where did you send him?” “Dun na nGall, my lord. County Donegal. We’ve relations there.”
    “You Irish seem to have relations everywhere. You breed like