Rachel walked with him outside and greeted the other teamster who had driven the load from Rathdrum. He pulled off his hat and nervously crushed it in his big hands. "Mum." He nodded as Rachel approached, her thick braid swinging against her backside.

"Did the authorities take out too much in toll?" she asked.

"No, mum." Blakely snapped smartly, always proud of his cleverness when outwitting British authorities.

"They'd have to find us first."

Pleased that this particular Irish criminal was loyal to David, Rachel lifted the tarp on the first wagon and

looked beneath. "We brought two wagons here and took one through Glenealy to the second work site,"

Blakely said.

Dwarfed beside him and his companion, Rachel inspected the invoice. Flipping through the pages, she studied the rows of expenditures, using more mental energy than she'd spent on anything all day. She welcomed the distraction.

"Everyone is talking about last night," Blakely commented.

"What about last night?" She lifted her gaze from the columns.

Blakely shoved his hands into his baggy pockets. "My sister wants to know if Mr. Donally hisself will be

back in town for the festivities tonight. She's decided a bit of handfasting should be in order."Pressing her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt not to laugh, Rachel flipped a page. Twice Ryan'sbulk, and strong as an ox, Blakely's sister was a force with which to contend when impassioned by acause. She'd already outlived two husbands. "I'll be sure and tell Mr. Donally that he has an admirer."

Lifting the tarp on the second wagon, she grinned to herself. Handfasting Ryan to Blakely's sister mightbe better than throwing him in the river.It would certainly be more just."Father Donally let one of the cottages behind the church to his brother," Blakely said, offhandedly.Rachel's mind quit tabulating sums. She had not inquired where Ryan had found a place to stay tonight.

"The cottages?"

The same group she and Elsie were staying in tonight?

"Is it true?" Blakely's red hair looked brighter as he stepped into the sunlight. "Did Mr. Donally remove

you from the project?"

"He did."

"What will happen to us?"

"Nothing. You will not lose your jobs. You can tell everyone that." Rachel dropped her gaze back to the

papers in her hands. "Mr. Marrow will need all the help he can get. I trust you all to be respectful of him."

She intended to find Marrow and speak to him before she left. He would be expecting instruction.

"If you insist, Miss Bailey." Blakely sounded disappointed as he followed her around the second wagon.

"I do insist," Rachel said, without looking up.

"You should not be going back to Dublin alone," he said from behind her. "Do you want that I should take you, Miss Bailey?"

Rachel stopped working. "You can't," she said gently, then stopped his protestation. "Mr. Marrow needs you. And Father Donally would not know what to do without you."

"Father Donally does need us." He shuffled his big feet in the wet grass before looking up at the blue sky. "Perhaps it will stay dry for your trip back."

Her gaze followed his. The blue hurt her eyes. "One can only hope," she said, overwhelmed by the need to taste the rain again.

Chapter 9.

T he lamp on the altar glowed beyond the darkness of the pulpit's gloom. Ryan's steps sounded loud and empty on the stone floor as he moved down the side aisle toward the rectory. He carried his coat. Burning candles layered the air with a hint of pungent smoke. Familiar smells to someone who had been an altar boy most of his youth. Ryan eased open the rectory door and stepped inside the room.

David sat at the desk, reading in the dull light of a lamp. He lifted his head from behind the papers and looked over his spectacles, which he removed at once. "Ryan..." He set the reading glasses in a drawer. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

Ryan's amused gaze moved from his brother to pass over the sparse stone interior and low-beamed ceiling before he shut the door. Ryan knew the hour was late. "Do I need an appointment?"

"Normally, you do." David stood. "Is the cottage comfortable?"

Ryan had moved into the cottage three days ago. He'd been poring over papers and notes from the project when he'd heard Rachel arrive in the neighboring cottage. He'd stood at the window, a glass in hand, watching Her Highness direct the masses to do her bidding as they moved her trunks inside. Rachel had seen him and shut her curtains directly. She'd had no idea how thin her bedroom draperies were. And Ryan wasn't gentleman enough to turn away. He'd stood at that window every night since.

"There is nothing wrong with my accommodations," he said, turning from David's probing gaze. "I wanted to say good-bye in case I don't see you tomorrow. As soon as my driver is finished making repairs on the carriage axle, I'll be returning to Dublin."

"For some reason, I expected you to stay longer."

Ryan felt awkward. As if he wanted to say more but didn't know how. David reached for a decanter of whiskey and poured a shot. "Would you like a glass?"

Ryan accepted the tumbler. David poured himself a glass, watching as Ryan found a chair. "Will Rachel be returning with you?" David asked.

"I'm sure she won't be returning anywhere with me."

David didn't reply. After a moment, he re-capped the flask, and said, "Did you know I used to drink a bottle of this stuff a day?"

"Are you content here?" The query was out of his character, and Ryan surprised himself by letting the question slip his guard.

"Aye." David tipped back the glass of whiskey. "As much as any man can be at peace. This is a nice place to live. And I find that I can at least do some good."

Ryan had been twenty-two when David returned to England nine years ago. Returning from whatever job he did for the government. He had walked away from the family and his entire life. Ryan no longer even knew him. But then, that was as much his fault as David's.

Bending forward, Ryan braced his elbows on his knees and studied the liquid in his glass. "What happened to Rachel after she left England?" He raised his gaze to find David's hooded. "What happened to her at Edinburgh?"

David leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers against his chin. "What do you mean?"His brother knew damn well what he meant. "Tell me about the man with whom she had an affair."David sat forward with his forearms on the desk, his hands cupping the empty glass, and said nothing."Why didn't he marry her?" Ryan asked, managing to restrain the uneven rise of his temperament."That's a question you'll have to ask her.""I'm asking you.""And I'll not be answering in her stead.""Does everyone else in the family know?""How is the family?" David changed the subject, his tone considerably more conciliatory than Ryan's mood.

"Your trust is sitting in the Bank of England," Ryan said, letting his gaze go over the simple surroundings.

"Chris put it there a few years ago."

"Unlike some, money means nothing to me."

He looked at the ring David wore on his right hand. "It might one day when you quit punishing yourself

for whatever sins in the past you committed and understand what you really want."

"Now that's a change." David laughed, coming to his feet in a swish of black robes and staidpragmatism. "The sinner lecturing the saint."Ryan rose. "The last I'd heard you had to be dead to be a saint."David walked around the desk. "Have you found what you are looking for, Ryan?""Yes, I have.""Have ye now?" David leaned a hip against the desk and folded his arms. "And what has all of your wealth bought for ye? Do you sleep well at night? Do you enjoy the taste of the air that ye breathe, the feel of the sunlight on your flesh? Or are you still searching for your pot of gold, Ryan? Your reason for living?"

Ryan felt his jaw clench, but his eyes showed nothing of his mood. "My reason for living is waiting for me at home in London. She turned four last week."

"That is a lot of burden for a little girl to carry alone."

"She won't be alone much longer."

"Yes, we've all heard about your society wedding. Congratulations. It only took raiding a major corporation to purchase your blue-blooded bride. Very good, Donally. The family is proud of you as always."

"Jaysus." Ryan rolled his eyes in disgust. "Do I need your bloody approval? For once in my life, why

doesn't someone just congratulate me and mean the sentiment? Is my life not my own?""The scandal sheets worship you. You live the kind of existence everyone wants to have but hates youfor having. You're Irish in a British world. Here, you're a traitor to your kind. So, who are you really,Ryan Donally, but a man still searching for an identity?"

"I didn't come here to be lectured." Ryan set the glass on the desk and reached for his coat. "Frankly,my life is no one's business. I made that bloody clear years ago."

"So every member of the family has told me. Numerous times."

"You talk so freely about me. Why are you really here? In this place? In the middle of nowhere?

Preaching the gospel?"

"Life changes a man."

"A memorable statement if ever there was one. I'll engrave it into your tombstone." Ryan swept a

black-gloved hand through the air. "Life changed David Francis Donally into a hypocrite if there ever was one. Ask yourself if you've found what you're looking for before you judge my actions."

"Are you in love with her?"

Ryan paused, struck by the enormity of his first response. There were parts of his heart so private his

thoughts stood known only to God Almighty Himself. "My feelings for Rachel are irrelevant."

David's expression remained unchanged. "I wasn't speaking of Rachel."

Settling his hat on his head, Ryan glared at David, feeling as if his brother had just tricked him into

revealing something he shouldn't have."You're bloody in love with her." David laughed."Hell, she tried to slug me in the jaw. Why wouldn't she be on my mind?""The two of you got in a fight?" David's voice was mildly curious. "Really? Rachel is one of the most restrained people I know."

Ryan laughed at the absurdity of David's observation. "She has the temper of a she-cat." She was hermost dangerous when she purred."Who won?"Ryan didn't answer. He had thought of her every night since she'd appeared in London.He had thought of her when he stared into the fire and burned in bed alone. He had thought of her with a sourness that fed his mood and dulled his senses until he'd slaked his lust with his own hands. And still

she came to him in his dreams.

Ryan didn't want to pick a quarrel with David. One did not row with a priest, and Ryan had already said too much. He returned to the cottage to find his driver waiting for him on the walkway, only to learn that

the carriage axle would not be repaired by morning for lack of adequate parts.

Ryan stripped off his coat and, snatching the bottle of whiskey off the sideboard, decided to finish what he'd started the night before. On the mantel, the ticking clock intensified his irritation, tapping into his head like a hammer. Disgusted with the continued tenor of his thoughts, his mood black as sin, he sat on the soft leather chair and stared at the dying fire.