"I wouldn't know," the earl said, his tone kind.

Mary beamed at her. "Why, I should hope so! Or does he expect his brother to keep you company while he sails the world?"

Virginia became very uneasy.

"Congratulations, my dear," Mary said, grasping both of her hands. "I am so happy for you both."

"Wh-what?"

Sean echoed her exactly.

Adare smiled. "We are both happy-and relieved, I might add, as this is the last bit of news either of us ever expected."

Virginia had a bad feeling, oh yes. She glanced at Sean, seeking help.

He coughed.

"How on earth did you two meet?" Mary asked, putting her arm around her.

Virginia could not think of an intelligent answer. And she was referring to Devlin-wasn't she?

Adare clapped his hand on Sean's shoulder. "Being as Devlin was not kind enough to inform us of the upcoming nuptials, I will ask you. When is the wedding? Has anything been planned? You know your mother would love to help plan the event."

"The wedding," Sean said cautiously, his cheeks red.

"Yes, Devlin's wedding. The first thing we heard when we got home was the news that Devlin is engaged. The moment we stepped off our ship at Limerick, the mayor was congratulating us-as was every squire and merchant." Adare now stared closely at Sean. "What is amiss, Sean? You seem upset."

Sean and Virginia looked at each other helplessly.

Mary now ceased smiling. "Is something wrong?" She turned to her son. "Sean?"

Virginia spoke, as he seemed incapable of it. Her mouth somehow formed the painful words. "I am sorry. I am not Devlin's fiancee. There has been a terrible misunderstanding."

"I don't understand." Mary was pale.

"Well, this would certainly explain why Devlin did not say a word to us when we saw him in London." Adare was grim and displeased. "I am afraid to ask, then, what this is about. You are Devlin's guest? "His gaze narrowed. "We have not been properly introduced."

Virginia did not want to upset Mary de Warenne, but there was no choice. "I am not a guest here," she said.

"I don't understand," Mary whispered.

"You are not a guest," Adare said slowly. He turned to Sean. "Is she your wife?"

He flushed crimson. "No. Father, perhaps you should sit down."

"I have a very bad feeling. Out with it!" Adare said, and it was a command.

Sean murmured, "Virginia is the Earl of Eastleigh's niece."

A terrible silence fell.

VIRGINIA STARED OUT THE FRENCH doors, which were open, due to the weather, and watched the earl embracing his wife. Mary was crying. She felt Sean come to stand behind her and a moment later she felt his hand cover her shoulder. She turned to face him.

"Now we know why Devlin has not ransomed you," Sean said softly. "He was too busy defending himself against a court-martial."

"Eastleigh probably thinks I'm dead. He probably thinks I lie on the bottom of the sea with the Americana," Virginia said uneasily.

"Probably," Sean agreed.

"Why is your mother so dismayed?" she asked. "No one told her about the ransom."

Sean hesitated. "Some of it has to do with how much Mother yearns for Devlin to find happiness."

Virginia stiffened. "He's not interested in happiness."

"You are right, I think," Sean said. "But she is his mother, and every mother wants her child to be happy."

"They both seemed shocked when they learned I am Eastleigh's niece." Virginia said.

Sean shrugged.

"I have asked you a dozen times. Why? Why is Devlin doing this? He doesn't need the money. And you refuse to answer. So now I ask, why is Lady de Warenne so upset? Why did the name Eastleigh almost cause her to faint? Is this about Eastleigh?" she cried.

"Yes."

Virginia started. "I don't understand."

"Eastleigh was not always an earl. Harold Hughes was actually the middle son of the late earl. He was a captain in the army, a common-enough calling for the second son." Sean was terse.

She still had not a clue as to what this meant. "What does any of this have to do with me-and with your brother?"

Sean grimaced. "He served in Ireland, Virginia. He was the man who murdered our father when we were boys."

Virginia cried out, reeling. Sean steadied her. She clung to his arms. "This is about your father's death?"

"This is about my brother's obsession with it, yes."

And it struck her then. "My G.o.d, this is not about ransom, this is about revenge!"

He nodded.

And the enormity of it, the absolute irony, became instantly clear. She laughed. She laughed wildly, for Devlin was a fool, oh yes!

"Virginia, you are becoming hysterical," Sean said cautiously, trying to lead her to the sofa.

"I think not!" she cried, allowing herself to be led. "Your brother is a fool, because Eastleigh doesn't give a d.a.m.n about me and he could not care less that I am someone's hostage!"

Sean pushed her to sit, then walked away.

Virginia continued to chuckle, for now she was the one with the last laugh. Devlin's absurd scheme had certainly backfired. Sean returned, looking very worried, handing her a snifter. Virginia shoved it away. "Don't you see? There is no revenge. If Devlin wants to hurt Eastleigh, he can not do so with me."

Sean sat down beside her, taking both of her small hands in his own large, strong ones.

Virginia thought of Devlin's hands-both men were so alike physically-and she tensed. Slowly she met his gaze.

"No. Devlin has been methodically destroying Eastleigh for years. The man has been reduced to a single estate with very little income. He can't afford this ransom, and when he pays it, he will have to sell off all that he has left. He will be finished, Virginia, and my brother will have won."

She stared, stunned, dismayed, and then, aware of him holding her hands, she pulled them away. "And he will have to pay?"

"It will become a matter of honor."

"What kind of man destroys an innocent woman in order to avenge his father?" she asked numbly.

"My brother," Sean said. He took her hand again, but only one, clasping it firmly. "He hasn't destroyed you. You're not with child." He kept his voice low. "He won't touch you that way again, I promise. Very soon, this will be over. One day, it will be a vague memory."

Virginia stared, but she did not see Sean, she saw Devlin instead, and now she began to understand how his eyes could be so cold, how he could lack any kindness, any mercy. He was no ordinary man. He was obsessed with revenge, and apparently, no means was too obnoxious to gain his end. "And what of his career? Surely he will be court-martialed for abducting me."

Sean hesitated. "Eastleigh has already been made a fool by Devlin, many times. He is too proud to go to the authorities, Virginia."

Virginia became still. It struck her then that she had the power to be the means of Devlin O'Neill's downfall. And Sean stared back-clearly, he knew it also.

Suddenly Mary and the earl had stepped into the room, Mary no longer crying. Both were terribly grave. As they looked at her, she slid her hand from Sean's and slowly stood.

Mary managed a smile. "Please, child, come outside and sit with me. It's such a pleasant evening."

Virginia wished she could be saved, as she had little doubt that Mary wished to speak far too intimately with her. She glanced at Sean pleadingly but he shrugged. Having no choice, she walked out to the terrace with Mary. The other woman paused beside the bal.u.s.trade and faced her.

Virginia gazed up at the stars instead of at the other woman. But it was impossible not to be aware of her kindness and compa.s.sion; it flowed from her the way it might from an unearthly angel, in holy, tangible waves.

"Child," she said softly, tilting Virginia's face. "How can I apologize for what my son has done?"

Virginia had to meet her gaze. The woman's sympathy threatened her composure. "It's not your fault."

For one moment, Mary could not speak. "I love both of my sons with all of my heart. I want them to have lives of peace and joy. It is very hard, here in Ireland, to attain such a life. Sean, I think, has come close. But Devlin? He went to sea when he was a boy. I have rarely seen him since. He has chosen a life without joy, a life on the high seas, a life of war and destruction and death. He lives with his pain, closed off to the world, to people, as if he were his own island, as if he did not need any human companionship, any love, any joy." Mary closed her eyes and tears slipped down her cheeks. "I have prayed so much for him."

Virginia had the odd urge to cry, too. "Maybe he doesn't need companionship or love." She was terse.

"He may be cold," Mary said, meeting her gaze, "but he is a man. A heart beats in his chest, filled with red, human blood. Of course he needs companionship and love. We all do."

Virginia wasn't sure that Mary de Warenne was right.

"I wake up in the middle of the night, worrying about him. I have cried myself back to sleep a hundred times. My husband reminds me that he is a grown man and that in many ways, we should be proud of him. He grew up with nothing. We were very poor, once. Now he owns this fine manor, land that has belonged to O'Neills and FitzGeralds for generations, and he has many fine ships, his own fleet, really, not to mention a wonderful home in Greenwich. He was recently knighted, you know." She smiled through more tears. "It is Sir Devlin now."

"He is a very powerful man," Virginia said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Yes, he is." Mary seized her hands. "But he isn't cruel. Is he?" she begged.

Virginia stared, for a long moment incapable of a response. Finally she whispered, "Not in the way that you mean."

"Oh, dear Jesus, what has he done?" Mary cried.

"I'm fine," Virginia lied, agonized.

Mary studied her closely, searchingly, as agonized and desperate as only a mother can be. "I raised my sons to respect women," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "Has he respected you?"

Virginia did not know how to answer. Had Mary asked her this question even the day before Devlin's departure, she would have said yes without hesitation. But now the hurt came rushing back, a roaring in her ears, deafening her, a haze in front of her eyes, briefly blinding her. He had left without even the most careless goodbye. It still hurt, dear G.o.d, and if that wasn't cruel, what was?

Mary knew. She covered her bosom with her hand, shaking, and she turned away. "If I didn't love him so, I would disown him-my own flesh and blood." She turned back. "Are you with child?"

There was no more denying anything. Virginia shook her head.

Mary came closer and cupped her cheek. "You are such a beautiful young woman," she whispered. "Do you love him?"

Virginia started. Then she said, "Please. I just can't answer any more questions!" She pulled away, began to run, then turned back. "Lady de Warenne, he didn't really hurt me. I think he tried to be the man you wish him to be. No! I know he tried. But...it just happened!" She knew she was defending him now. She shook her head wildly, panicking, for her defense remained inexplicable. "I don't know anything anymore! I only know that I must go home." She turned and ran inside, past Sean and the earl, stammering out some inane regrets. Then she fled to the safety of her bedroom.

IN THEIR COACH, EDWARD SLIPPED his arm around his wife and held her close. She turned to him, laying her cheek on his broad chest, closing her eyes. He could feel her anguish, and while he loved Devlin as if he were his own biological son, he hated the pain he caused his wife and wished he had the power to prevent it.

It was the ultimate irony that many powerful men dealt with-they might rule a kingdom filled with subjects, but they could not rule an errant son.

Edward stroked her hair. "Don't worry anymore tonight," he breathed. "Tomorrow we will discuss this and decide what to do."

Mary did not answer. He felt her trembling and knew she was crying again. He bent and kissed her temple. She found his hand and clung to it.

"What would I do without you? I love you, Edward, I love you so much."

An ancient thrill swept him. He had fallen in love with Mary the first moment he had ever seen her, when Gerald, his tenant, had brought home his new seventeen-year-old bride. He himself was engaged at the time, the nuptials imminent. He had spent eleven years admiring her from a distance, never once making an inappropriate remark or gesture, while she bore her husband three children and his own wife bore him three fine sons and a daughter. In those years, he had developed respect and admiration for his tenant, as well as a wary caution. He heard rumors about the Defenders having come to Wexford, that their enthusiasm and power was growing. Edward had always favored full Catholic emanc.i.p.ation, as he felt it would enable Ireland to become stronger economically and politically and thus help her to become an equal to the mother country. Others disagreed. Others feared the loss of power and land should newly ent.i.tled Catholics seek to restore their ancient claims.

From time to time he dined with Gerald, Mary politely excusing herself so the two men could discuss the land, trade, the economy and, eventually, politics. Two Irishmen could not sit down together without discussion of Ireland's inferior position economically, const.i.tutionally, socially, not even a Protestant and a Catholic. There was always heated debate.

Gerald had never suspected that he was in love with his wife.

Mary had known. She had sensed it from the first, and from that time, she had kept her eyes cast aside whenever he was present, as if afraid that one single shared glance might lead to something terribly wrong.

Sometime before the Wexford uprising he had learned of Gerald's involvement in the secret criminal society. They had fought terribly, almost coming to blows, with Edward demanding he stay out of the conflict. Days before the rebels took the town of Wexford, Gerald had ridden into Adare at a gallop, his appearance one of a madman.

Adare had met him in the courtyard, terrified that something dire had happened to Mary or her children. Gerald had leapt from his horse and seized the earl by the lapels of his hunt coat. "I need you to swear to me that you will look after my wife and children, Edward."

"What?" Edward had been stunned.

"Just in case..." Gerald stared savagely. "They'll only have you to turn to. Promise me, make it an oath. You'll see to their welfare, you won't let them starve. And..." He hesitated. "And you'll find her another husband, a good, decent man."

By then, his own wife had died several months before in childbirth, his second daughter not surviving, either. He was still grieving, and he hadn't even dreamed of what the future held. "Stay out of the rebellion," he ordered. "You have a fine family, a fine wife, and they need you alive."

"My country needs me," Gerald retorted. "Promise me, Edward!"

He had promised, but it wasn't necessary, because he would have moved heaven and earth, anyway, to protect Mary and the children.

It had been an incredible stroke of a terrible fate-his own wife dying and then Gerald murdered by the British. But now, almost fifteen years later, having attained a personal happiness and a joy he had never dreamed possible, he could not imagine his life without Mary as his wife. He stroked her hair again and murmured, "We will send her back to Eastleigh. I'll arrange it on the morrow."