Page 89 of Single Desire
The well was bone dry.
“It’s there,” Maura whispered. “James said he buried it. And he did. He buried it in the well. Don’t you see? That’s why nothing will grow here. That’s why the well mysteriously fills with water, then disappears just mysteriously.”
Alec was still shocked. Disbelieving. “How is it possible? The water…the Circle. It would surely be ruined.”
“No.” Maura was adamant. “No. It’s the Circle of Light, Alec. It doesn’t belong here. The Circle…it wants to be home. Home in Ireland. Back at the church of St. Patrick on McDonough lands. Home.”
The lad was back with the shovel. Maura reached for it, but Alec’s long arm stretched out before she could grip it. He dismissed the boys and turned to her.
Blue eyes flashed. “You are not going down there,” he growled.
“Then be about it, man!” Maura was impatient. She was soaked to the skin, but she didn’t care.
She watched him descend the ladder and begin to dig.
“Have you found it?” she called after a while. “Do you see it?”
Alec cursed. “No! There’s too many bloody stones!” Indeed, he was about to give up when the shovel struck something hard.
He climbed the ladder with a small metal box tucked under his arm. Maura’s body was almost pulsing.
On the bench, with the box between them, Maura opened it.
Inside was a small silver circlet. She started to reach for it.
“Maura, no! Don’t touch it! Remember how it burned James’s hand?”
“No, Alec, it’s all right. Look,” she breathed.
She’d already picked it up and now cradled it carefully in both hands. Warmth spread throughout her, a curious sort of energy.
The Circle began to glow then. Slowly, it rose, suspended above her palms. It seemed as if every color in the world shimmered in its depths, shifting and swirling, ever changing.
“My word,” Alec whispered, “it’s a miracle.”
“Aye, Scotsman.” She smiled up at him. “So it is.”
Back at the hall, Alec saw his lovely Irish bathed and fed. She was exhausted, but glowing, almost as much as her Circle of Light, tucked snugly in its box near the window.
Maura finished the last of her tea, setting the dainty china cup in its saucer. Rising, she joined him at the window.
Her arms slid around his waist. Drawing back, he traced the shape of her mouth with the tips of his fingers. “You haven’t stopped smiling since we left the wishing well.”
His arms linked loosely around her form, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He didn’t see the shadow that flitted across her features, the waver of that very smile he praised.
Catching his hand, she tugged him toward the bed. Slender fingers unknotted the sash of his robe, then pushed it from his shoulders.
Alec sucked in a breath. “Maura, no! You’ve been—”
Her finger against his lips, she stifled his protest. Then, with a finger to his chest, she pushed him so that he sat on the edge.
In one sinuous move she shrugged from her robe—and onto his lap. Alec’s eyes went dark. “Irish—”
“Are you unwilling, Scotsman?” A finger already swirled an idle pattern through the dense mat of hair on his chest. His belly. Clear to—
Words eluded him. But from deep in his belly came a faint sound.
A small, feminine hand pushed him down upon the bed. “I shall take that to mean that you are not. Are you unable, then?”
