A Dance in Donegal by Jennifer Deibel

Author:Jennifer Deibel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance;FIC042110;FIC042030;FIC027050
ISBN: 9781493428564
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2020-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 33

The stew was thick and rich, with a pillowy mound of mashed potatoes spooned onto the center. Its warmth soothed Moira’s body as well as her spirit. The pair ate in silence, both enjoying the respite from the dank hovel and the stress of caring for a dying patient. The ticking of the clock and the occasional clink of spoon against bowl were the only sounds, and neither woman seemed to mind.

Suddenly the door burst open and the hearty laughter of two work-tired men filled the air. Peg wiped her mouth, aimed a weary smile at her guest and then her husband, and rose from her seat. “Fáilte abhaile, love.” She bussed Colm’s cheek and took his coat.

Moira rose to greet the man of the house, who was still chuckling along with the mystery guest shadowed behind him. “Hello, Colm—” The words caught in her throat as the other man turned around. “And . . . Mr. McFadden, it’s lovely to see you again.” She hurried back to her seat, her cheeks burning. She hadn’t seen Sean since their disagreement outside her chalet the day before, and the tension, thick as butter, enveloped them.

Sean cleared his throat. “Miss Doherty.”

Peg arrived with two fresh, steaming bowls of stew, and the men took their places at the table.

Moira kept her eyes on her bowl, stirring more than eating, annoyed that Sean had robbed her of the appetite for such a delectable dinner.

“So.” Colm broke the silence. “How’s the patient?” All movement at the table froze, his question hanging in the air like Irish mist.

“Well,” Peg ventured, “it doesna look good. The puir lad’s temperature is as high as Errigal, and I canna believe that cough of his hasn’t already split him in two.”

Moira felt Sean’s eyes boring into the top of her head, and she wished she could crawl into her bowl and hide under the mash.

“Patient?” Sean queried. “Are ye fine, upstanding ladies caring for one of Ballyman’s ailing citizens?” His question was innocent enough, but his voice dripped with sarcasm. It was obvious he knew the pair were caring for Áedach, and he was clearly troubled about it.

Moira’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Yes,” she answered, a bit more sharply than she’d intended. “As I’ve told you already, young Áedach MacSuibhne has fallen deathly ill. Peg and I are working to ease his suffering as best we can.”

Sean grunted in acknowledgment and shoved his spoon into his dish. He thrust a far-too-large bite into his mouth, sending broth spilling down his chin and onto the table. He wiped the mess with the back of his hand and continued eating.

Moira grimaced. His animal-like disregard for polite dinner decorum disgusted her. An inexplicable desire to goad him overwhelmed her. “Yes,” she continued. “And we’ll be going back after supper to see to his evening care and ablutions.”

Sean’s spoon stilled and his eyes slowly raised to meet hers.

Moira shifted uncomfortably in her seat, regretting her impulse to press into his obvious frustration.

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