but never amusement.
"It isn't funny, you know! The estate is in desperate shape. If you
don't try to help us, Muireann, we'll all be turned off the land!"
Lochlainn rose to pace the floor in his agitation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." Muireann shook her head. "It's
just that, well, I couldn't imagine how things could get any worse
than they were just a minute ago. Now I know. You see, I'm penniless
as well. My father gave Augustine thousands for my dowry, and he
went on a gambling spree and frittered it all away as soon as we
were married. I have virtually nothing in my purse. I hate to even
think where I'm going to get the money to pay for the funeral."
"I've taken care of that," Lochlainn said quietly, trying to ignore
his churning stomach and the bile which had risen to his throat. If
Augustine hadn't already been dead, he would most assuredly have
strangled him with his bare hands.
"And the hotel bill?"
"That as well, but we have to be out of here by six."
"I knew it was too good to be true, like a fairytale." She sniffed.
"And to think, all my life my father tried to protect me from
fortune hunters, only to let one walk right through his door and
carry me off to God only knows where!" She began to laugh again,
shaking her head ruefully.
"Muireann, I'm sure that Augustine--"
"No, Lochlainn, don't even start to try to make me feel better about
all this," she practically shouted, hugging her arms to herself as
she gazed bleakly into the fire.
"Well, what did I expect," she sighed after a few minutes. "I made
my bed, I'll have to lie in it. I wasn't blind to Augustine's
faults. I married him, and I'll just have to suffer the
consequences."
"No you don't. You can go back to Scotland, admit you made a
mistake."
"That's the last thing I would ever consider doing!" she said in
exasperation as she rose and moved to look out the window at the
snowy streets below.
Suddenly the room began to close in around her. And Lochlainn had
said they would have to leave that night.
As he came to join her by the window, she asked him bluntly, "What
did you use to pay all the bills?"
"All of Augustine's clothes and jewelry," he admitted.
"I see."
"I would have told you, but you seemed so devastated," he apologized
lamely, spreading his hands wide.
She shrugged one shoulder. "I can't blame you. You did what you felt
needed to be done. You were only trying to protect me. Did you at
least get a good price for them?"
He nodded. "There's a fair pawn broker in Sackville Street who
gave me a good price."
"Is there any money left?"
"Enough to put us up in a modest inn on our way back to Enniskillen,
but no more."
She digested this information for a few minutes, drumming her
fingers on the window pane, like a tiny bird futilely trying to peck
its way to freedom.
After a few more minutes' contemplation, she said, "Tell me, is
there a good livery stable here in town?"
He looked down at her inquiringly. "Aye, there are two or three that
I know of personally."
"And is there a public coach to Barnakilla?"
"It goes as far as Enniskillen. The estate is another nine miles
from there."
"How does the coach travel to Enniskillen?"
"It goes through Virginia Town, where the passengers spend the
night."
She gave a last look out the window, and moved to where her trunks
stood. "What time would it go?"
"There are two each day. The last one is at two. But why?"
"Never mind that now, come help me with these bags," Muireann said.
"Why, what are you going to do?"
"Sell it all."
"But Muireann, your clothes," he protested, shocked.
"They're all new, my trousseau. I didn't even want them, but my
mother and sister insisted. I don't need so many dresses. All of
"It isn't funny, you know! The estate is in desperate shape. If you
don't try to help us, Muireann, we'll all be turned off the land!"
Lochlainn rose to pace the floor in his agitation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." Muireann shook her head. "It's
just that, well, I couldn't imagine how things could get any worse
than they were just a minute ago. Now I know. You see, I'm penniless
as well. My father gave Augustine thousands for my dowry, and he
went on a gambling spree and frittered it all away as soon as we
were married. I have virtually nothing in my purse. I hate to even
think where I'm going to get the money to pay for the funeral."
"I've taken care of that," Lochlainn said quietly, trying to ignore
his churning stomach and the bile which had risen to his throat. If
Augustine hadn't already been dead, he would most assuredly have
strangled him with his bare hands.
"And the hotel bill?"
"That as well, but we have to be out of here by six."
"I knew it was too good to be true, like a fairytale." She sniffed.
"And to think, all my life my father tried to protect me from
fortune hunters, only to let one walk right through his door and
carry me off to God only knows where!" She began to laugh again,
shaking her head ruefully.
"Muireann, I'm sure that Augustine--"
"No, Lochlainn, don't even start to try to make me feel better about
all this," she practically shouted, hugging her arms to herself as
she gazed bleakly into the fire.
"Well, what did I expect," she sighed after a few minutes. "I made
my bed, I'll have to lie in it. I wasn't blind to Augustine's
faults. I married him, and I'll just have to suffer the
consequences."
"No you don't. You can go back to Scotland, admit you made a
mistake."
"That's the last thing I would ever consider doing!" she said in
exasperation as she rose and moved to look out the window at the
snowy streets below.
Suddenly the room began to close in around her. And Lochlainn had
said they would have to leave that night.
As he came to join her by the window, she asked him bluntly, "What
did you use to pay all the bills?"
"All of Augustine's clothes and jewelry," he admitted.
"I see."
"I would have told you, but you seemed so devastated," he apologized
lamely, spreading his hands wide.
She shrugged one shoulder. "I can't blame you. You did what you felt
needed to be done. You were only trying to protect me. Did you at
least get a good price for them?"
He nodded. "There's a fair pawn broker in Sackville Street who
gave me a good price."
"Is there any money left?"
"Enough to put us up in a modest inn on our way back to Enniskillen,
but no more."
She digested this information for a few minutes, drumming her
fingers on the window pane, like a tiny bird futilely trying to peck
its way to freedom.
After a few more minutes' contemplation, she said, "Tell me, is
there a good livery stable here in town?"
He looked down at her inquiringly. "Aye, there are two or three that
I know of personally."
"And is there a public coach to Barnakilla?"
"It goes as far as Enniskillen. The estate is another nine miles
from there."
"How does the coach travel to Enniskillen?"
"It goes through Virginia Town, where the passengers spend the
night."
She gave a last look out the window, and moved to where her trunks
stood. "What time would it go?"
"There are two each day. The last one is at two. But why?"
"Never mind that now, come help me with these bags," Muireann said.
"Why, what are you going to do?"
"Sell it all."
"But Muireann, your clothes," he protested, shocked.
"They're all new, my trousseau. I didn't even want them, but my
mother and sister insisted. I don't need so many dresses. All of
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