She felt Ciaran stiffen, knew with a sinking sensation that she'd jabbed at his pride and the stubbornness that was as much a part of the man as his waves of midnight hair.
"You'd sneak me into this man's home? Have me eat his food, sleep in his bed, without telling him?"
"Hugh's bed wouldn't be near large enough for the both of you," she said with forced lightness. "I imagine you're a restless sleeper."
"This isn't a jest! I won't sneak about, stealing hospitality from a man like some sort of thief."
"It would be the safest way to handle things. Until you regain your memory you're vulnerable. Misthaven is vulnerable, too."
"All the more reason your brother should know about me, about what he's risking."
"Don't you see? That's how I'm going to protect him, by keeping him ignorant of this whole scheme. That way, no one can blame him. No one can use it as an excuse for taking Misthaven away."
"Taking it away? You could lose your estate because you offered me shelter?"
"They'd confiscate Misthaven if Hugh sneezed the wrong way. They've been trying to snatch it since the time of Cromwell."
"I don't understand. Who is trying to take it?"
"The—" Shame spilled through her, familiar, hated, inescapable as if the word "betrayer" were branded into her cheek. She saw the puzzlement reflected in Ciaran MacCailte's eyes.
What would he think, this noblest of all Celts, if he learned the truth about the Delaneys, the tainted blood that ran through her veins? How could she even begin to explain the lengths her family had stooped to in order to cling to land and wealth and some modicum of power? No. He could never be made to understand. And she couldn't bear to see the scorn, the loathing, the pity cross his rugged face.
"It doesn't matter why," she dismissed his question. "The point is that Hugh will be safe enough. There are more than a few hereabouts who think that I'm touched in the head. It would be easy enough for them to believe I was behind such a wild scheme, and that Hugh knew nothing about it."
"You think I would put you in danger? A woman?"
"No need to stir up your sense of chivalry. This is the least of my crimes against the Crown, I assure you. I—" Fallon choked off the words, horrified at what she'd almost confessed: a thirst for Irish freedom some would call treason.
God above, what if this man wasn't Ciaran? What if he was an English officer, lost? Or, what if he had a hunger for British coin? What price would such information bring from a man like Captain Lionel Redmayne?
She couldn't see Ciaran's face, but she felt the sudden tensing, the awareness in him.
"I won't have anyone taking risks for me," he asserted stubbornly. "I should get down off this hell-born beast, and—"
"Oh, no! I'm not about to let you go wandering off into God knows what trouble. There's probably some cosmic punishment for misplacing a legend. And I don't intend to find out what it is!"
She sucked in a steadying breath, trying to reason with him. "If I thought you'd be caught, do you think I'd be fool enough to bring you to Misthaven? I've already figured out a perfect place—a safe place—to keep you. A priest hole. It's a secret room where an outlawed priest could hide to tend his parish."
Ciaran grasped her arm, hope surging into his voice. "I know what that is! Perhaps I'm a priest! The priest hunters caught up to me, and—"
Fallon couldn't stifle a bark of laughter. "You're no priest." Imagining this man taking a vow of celibacy was absurd. There was something vital in him, primitive, pagan—something that called to the untamed reaches of any woman's body and soul. Her laughter died, crushed by a tingling in her most secret places.
Instinctively she tightened her knees. The horse broke into a walk.
Ciaran clenched his jaw in irritation as she guided the horse along a narrow path through a wooded area. "Why the devil couldn't I be a priest?"
"Priests don't run about with ancient daggers clutched in their hands. Besides, we haven't had to hide priests for quite some time."
"But—"
His protest was lost as the horse skirted a copse of blooming hawthorn. The hell-born beast skittered, reared. Ciaran glimpsed a shadowy form huddled among the tangled tree roots.
Ciaran's heart jolted against his ribs as a cry rang out and the figure leaped up, taking on human form. In a panic, it darted in front of Cuchulain, its tattered clothing rippling in the wind, terrifying the horse. Instinctively, Ciaran grabbed at the reins in Fallon's hand to try to stop the horse, but he only made matters worse. The animal shied in an attempt to evade the apparition, but failed. His massive chest cracked into the figure hard, sending it sprawling.
In a heartbeat, Ciaran slid to the ground, the horse's, flashing hooves nearly catching him in the ribs. He knelt beside the shadowy form as Fallon scrambled over as well.
It was an old woman, white hair a mass of snarls in the wind, her body thin as winter-burned twigs. Hollow-eyed, she scrabbled against a tree trunk, shivering.
