"It's a little late to start planning teas with the Misses Alberdale, isn't it? Especially considering the disaster it was the last time you stuck your head out of your office long enough to insist I attend one of their fêtes."
"You were only eight years old then."
"I was old enough to know I didn't belong there. And the twins never forgave me for dousing their new party frocks in punch." She tried to remember the pleasure it had given her, to see the pampered darlings of the neighboring gentry dripping in the sticky-sweet mess, red dribbles flowing down their tear-streaked faces, pooling on the exquisite lace their papa had brought them back from Belgium.
Why doesn't your papa bring you back any presents, Fallon?She could still hear their mocking giggles.Does he think they sticked you in the grave with your mama?
She'd blamed Hugh for forcing her hand that night, and sometimes she thought he'd blamed himself for the ostracism that followed. Whoever had been at fault, the repercussions of that outing had driven an even deeper wedge between two siblings already impossibly different. Hurt had piled upon hurt until they'd both hoarded their stores of pain in silence, alone, Hugh absorbed in Misthaven, Fallon in her world of legends—two strangers with nothing more in common than a mother's grave.
"Fallon"—Hugh's voice shook her from her dark thoughts—"if you only made an effort, you could charm the gold out of a miser's fist. You're witty and intelligent, and even pretty when you comb the bits of leaf and heather out of your hair. I could try to arrange some invitations. Clarissa Prunty always seemed to like you. You could start by making friends with her."
Fallon grimaced. "That solemn little mouse? She's got all the animation of that bit of barn wood. As for her admiration of me—bah! It was you Clarissa liked, Hugh. The way she'd always stand about, blinking those adoring doe eyes at you. It was near revolting."
Color flooded up from Hugh's collar to stain his cheeks. "Don't be absurd," he snapped. "Clarissa Prunty never spoke two words to me."
Fallon gave a snort of disgust. "She never spoke two words to anyone. As for enlarging my social circle, we've discussed this before. I said no. I still feel the same way. You lead your life, I'll lead mine. We're both happy that way."
She shivered suddenly, aware of Hugh's eyes watching her, piercing, strangely haunted. "Are you?" he asked.
"Am I what?"
"Happy?"
The word hung between them, quivering like an arrow's shaft. Fallon was stunned at the sudden lump in her throat. She looked away from him, something in his face leaving her heart raw. "What I am is tired. I'm going up to my rooms to take a hot bath and go to bed."
"You mean you're running away, Fallon. That's what you do every time you race off into the hills. You're just like father, pretending that nothing exists but what you want to see."
Fallon rounded on Hugh, hot fury surging through her veins. "Don't you dare compare me to him!"
"Why not? It's the truth. He just mounted his horse and rode away. Sailed to London and never looked back. God forbid he had to face the fact his wife was dying, his estate was crumbling to ruin and his children were shattered and afraid. I'd wager he was damned relieved when the gin finally killed him."
"I'm not running anywhere! I'm just doing what Mama did. She spent every spare moment wandering about the fields."
"She was going to the cottages, to help the people there. You could do the same, Fallon. You could take an interest in the estate. Help me. Together we could build Misthaven into something to be proud of."
"Bury myself alive in this place as you do? No, thank you." Fallon led Cuchulain into the circle of light spilling from the stable door. "There is a difference between us, Hugh," she said, passing the reins to an undergroom who loped away with his charge. "You idolize Misthaven. It's your wife, your children, your sister, your friend. For you there's nothing else but the land. Me, I do my best to forget I have any part in Misthaven and all it stands for. This chunk of land isn't worth the price our ancestors paid for it, in my opinion."
"Fallon—"
She turned back to her brother, knowing she should be silent, but unable to be so. The words she had thought for so long, yet never spoken, wouldn't be stopped. "Can I ask you a question, Hugh?"
"I suppose."
"When you ride out over the land with your silver-headed crop tucked under your arm and your boots polished to a gleam, are you ever ashamed? Do you ever think about how the Delaney family betrayed the simple people hereabouts century after century? We're Irish, but we didn't stand with them when they fought for freedom. We compromised, sold our soul, changed our politics. The men, the precious Delaney heirs, even changed their religion when they had to, all to cling to this scrap of land. The glen folk should despise us as much as our English neighbors do."
A lock of dark hair tumbled over Hugh's brow, making him look suddenly boyish, desperately earnest. "I do the best I can to make the crofters' lives better."
Fallon was surprised how much her heart hurt. "How admirable. Of course, it's convenient that their labor keeps a grand roof over our heads, plenty of money in the Delaney coffers and power in our family's hands. Yes, Hugh, you make a praiseworthy sacrifice indeed looking after them."
He looked as if she'd slapped him. But she wasn't sorry—wouldn't let herself be. Everything she'd said was the truth. She only wished that the man still hiding behind the hayrick hadn't heard it.
Hugh turned and walked into the stables. He took the reins of his sturdy mount and swung himself up. "This conversation isn't over, Fallon," he warned. "There are some matters to be settled here. And we will settle them." Touching his spurs to the animal's sides, he disappeared into the darkness.
Blast Hugh! She remembered countless times as a little girl when it would have meant the world to her to have her brother's attention for just a little while. But now? Trust cautious, plodding Hugh to wait until it was too late. There was too much hurt between them, and they were both too independent.
Fallon watched in relieved silence until she was certain he was gone and that the grooms had returned to their work. Then she hastened to where Ciaran had hidden.
There was an odd stillness about the man, his lips curved in a thoughtful frown. And she knew, with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, that Ciaran had heard it all, understood it all. She supposed it was against the code of the Red Branch to be disrespectful to one's older brother, no matter what kind of a plodding fool he was.
