Chapter 1
Ireland
September, 1845
Mick O'Hurlihey strode toward the big house, his fists clenched. He'd been on the property nigh on six months now, and never before had he been summoned to the big house. Owen MacCormack, the earl's land manager, had hired Mick to oversee Earl Fitzsimmons' fields, but he, himself, hadn't had the dubious pleasure of meeting the English lord.
He took in a deep breath, flexed his fingers and brushed at the front of his pants. 'Twould not do to make a poor impression on the man who held his livelihood in his hands. Mick needed to remember the moneys paid him every month and not let his ire against the English landlords cause affront in any conversation with the man.
The stone house peeked up from the gardens that surrounded it. Smoke billowed forth spewing the smell of roasting lamb. His stomach growled and his mouth watered. Even as the overseer, he would never be invited to partake of any of the delicacies cooked in the main house. Of course, since he'd been here, no cooking had occurred within those imposing walls. The earl hadn't been in residence for years.
Quite a flurry had occurred when Earl Fitzsimmons had appeared unannounced. Only the poor housekeeper, cook, and one maid lived in the house when the man had shown up on the doorstep in the middle of the night. Before sunrise, many of the young girls in the area had been hired as servants. At least the old goat's coming home brought prosperity to the folk, even if everyone on the estate was inconvenienced.
Mick frowned. What kind of man snuck in under the cover of night and why did he have to flee London? Might be he worked for a blighter; one who couldn't afford to be too rough on his hired help. 'Twould make his life a bit easier, and his gall at working for an Englishman a bit lighter.
He stopped mid-stride as he came upon a garden where his path cut across the edge. A young woman, her red hair spilling from beneath a brightly colored scarf, cut roses and laid them in a basket. Tied about her waist was a yellow apron covering a light green muslin dress embroidered with sprigs of yellow flowers. Bare feet peeked from beneath her skirts as she moved; her toes testing the texture of the grass as she walked. Her hips swished as she moved from one bush to the next, dropping wilted flowers on the ground and putting the fresh blooms in her basket.
He'd never before seen this lass. In the time he'd been on the earl's estate, he thought he'd met everyone who lived hereabouts. He couldn't imagine the earl would have brought such a woman from England. She looked too much the Irish beauty.
His heart thudded in his chest and the morning turned warm. He wondered if her hair felt as silken as it looked and if she smelled as wonderful as the roses in the garden. What would she feel like in his arms, pressed against him?
His body responded to his thoughts. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman so beautiful. One that he wanted and his body desired her also.
She turned her head and he followed her gaze. A young boy, no more than six, played in the dirt at the end of the garden. A smudge caressed the side of his cheek as he squealed and molded a bit of mud into a tower.
"Look, Ma." The boy added to his tower.
"Yes, darlin'." The woman looked for a moment and went back to her roses. "'Tis a fine tower you're building."
"Like the one on the other side of the house." He scooped up more mud and added it to his building. Wiping his hands down the front of his shirt and short trousers, he jumped up and ran to his mother. Giving her a big hug, he left a streak of brown across her yellow apron.
The lad skipped back across the lawn, then twirled in a circle. The young woman watched, laughing. "Watch me, Ma." The boy curled up and did a lopsided somersault.
She clapped her hands, bouncing the basket on her arm. "Very good. Try another."
The boy curled into a ball and rolled over again, landing flat on his back. He jumped up and gave his ma a bow. "How was that, my Lady?"
"Excellent, to be sure." She walked across and ruffled his hair. "Quite an acrobat you are becoming."
Mick leaned against the tree, enjoying the show, the anger at being summoned seeping away. The carefree attitude of the woman and child touched his heart, making his mood lighten. 'Twas fascinating to watch them. Her husband must be very proud of both of them. A twinge thrummed through his heart. 'Twas truly a lucky man who had this beauty for his wife.
A frown, tinged with sadness, flashed across the boy's face. "Would Papa have thought my somersault great?"
"Of course he would. Your papa loved you very much."
"I miss him, Ma."
"I know you do, darlin'." She gathered him into her arms, ignoring the mud and grass attached to the small figure. "I know you do."
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