in the distance came limping around the corner of the church. “Ah, I see ‘tis visitors we have,” he said in his thick brogue. “‘Tis not many who make their way to Clonmacnoise.”
“It’s most beautiful,” said Evleen.
“Ay, beautiful it is. Do ye know where ye be standing?” When both Evleen and Thomas shook their heads, he continued, “Ye be standin’ by the cathedral, largest of the churches, built in nine-hundred-nine. This be the north doorway, carved in limestone. They call it the Whispering Arch. Courting couples ‘ave been comin’ here for centuries. They stand, one on each side, whisperin’ their words of love to one another.”
“We’re not courting, I’m afraid,” said Evleen.
“Ye must be cousins then, or mayhap brother and sister.”
When Thomas told him no, the old man cocked his head and regarded them appraisingly. “Well, from the looks of ye, ye should be courting,” he announced abruptly, and hobbled away.
When he was gone, Evleen and Thomas broke into laughter, but it was not an easy laughter and was soon stilled. “What a funny little man,” said Evleen. She felt self-conscious and had groped for something to say.
“Very,” Thomas echoed. He seemed perfectly at ease, and yet some strange force seemed to be preventing him from moving from the spot, just as it was preventing her from moving, too. As they stood staring deep into one another’s eyes, a current of something intense flared between them. Evleen quickly looked away. God in heaven, her pulse was racing, she felt dizzy. This man had just made her senses spin. He also was affected, she could see. She could tell from the sudden tenseness of his shoulders and the way he’d pulled in his breath just now, that he had also felt this... this... what? Deep attraction, she supposed. Yes. Foolish, impossible though it was, that look they had just exchanged had been full of unspoken desire. She had felt a vibrant excitement that made her forget herself for one tiny moment and want very much to fling herself wantonly into his arms.
“Lord Thomas, Evleen! I climbed inside the tower. Come see.” Patrick again. What a welcome interruption.
“Did you now, Patrick?” she called, collecting herself post haste. The look she cast Lord Thomas was as cool and indifferent as she could make it. “Would you care to go see the tower, sir?”
“Indeed,” he answered, bowing slightly, equally composed. “I cannot get enough of ancient monasteries.”
* * *
Disgusted with himself, Thomas could hardly believe what he had almost done. Despite his stern resolve, during that dizzying moment with Evleen at the Whispering Arch, he had been sorely tempted. The woman was betrothed. Spoken for. Honor alone would prevent him from touching her, yet he had let his guard down enough that he’d come close to pulling her soft, tempting body tight against him and crushing her soft, rosebud lips with his own. And then...
A quiver surged through his veins, but he commanded himself to ignore it. He must stop all thought of her except as her escort to England. Had he gone mad? What was the matter with him? Not only was Evleen betrothed, but eventually he, himself, would be committed to Miss Bettina Trevlyn, who was far better suited to him than this bold-spirited Irish girl.
“Shall we go find Patrick?” she asked.
“Indeed, time is flying,” he answered, forcing himself to sound brusque. From now on, he must not dare allow himself to become too friendly again, or he would...
Would what? Flout society’s rules? Thomas laughed to himself. If that were the case, he would have done far more than kiss Miss Evleen O’Fallon there, under the old man’s Whispering Arch. God, what a tempting woman. If he’d had his way, society’s rules would have been more than flouted, they would have been ground into dust, much like some of the ruins of Clonmacnoise. He spotted Patrick. “Ah, there he is, Miss O’Fallon,” he remarked, noting with satisfaction how cool he sounded, how very aloof.
And he would remain aloof from now on. Evleen had enough on her hands right now. Their recent conversation concerning Walter and his family had reminded Thomas of the inevitable problems that lay ahead. He wondered if Lord Trevlyn had informed Walter he was not the heir presumptive anymore. A black premonition of impending trouble came over Thomas as he realized Walter might go quietly, but most assuredly not greedy Lydia and her three daughters.
* * *
Surprised, yet not overly upset, Walter Trevlyn stepped from the mahogany paneled library