The Fallon Blood by Robert Jordan & Reagan O'Neal

Author:Robert Jordan & Reagan O'Neal [Jordan, Robert & O'Neal, Reagan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466809628
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 1996-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Sarah, who seemed to broaden as her responsibilities increased, met them in the hall with her hands on her fat hips. “My Lord, Mr. Fallon. What you doing with that child? That ain’t one of your Magdalenes. I knows a lady when I sees one. You send me to the fields if you want to, but I ain’t staying in this house while you debauch that child.”

“Brielle, this is Sarah, my housekeeper, and sometime protector of the innocent. Sarah, this is Mrs. Fallon.”

Gabrielle slipped from his arms and stood with one hand on his wrist. “Thank you, Sarah. It is true. I am Mrs. Fallon.” She smiled. “My Martha didn’t want me to go off with him alone, either.”

Sarah’s mouth fell so far open she had a third chin. Then she whooped with laughter. “‘Bout time. ’Bout time this place has a mistress. Mmm-hmm.” Gabrielle couldn’t suppress a yawn, and the housekeeper threw a scowl at Michael. “He done had you out racketing around the countryside ’stead of letting you sleep in a proper bed, ain’t he? You come with Sarah, child. Sarah take good care of you till your Martha come. Where am those boys with Mrs. Fallon’s things?”

As the black woman began to guide her up the stairs, Gabrielle stopped suddenly. “Michael. Michael, you will come to me? I mean—” She blushed and couldn’t go on.

Michael smiled. “I’ll come, love.”

Sarah gave a sudden high giggle, and set off with Gabrielle once more. Michael watched them. He’d go to her, but it had been so long since he’d been with an innocent girl—He rubbed his chin and grimaced. He’d a three-day growth of beard, only a hasty wash in that time just before setting out, and clothes that’d been in the harbor, and traveled in all night and part of a day. It must have been a close-run thing that she’d agreed to marry him.

“Lijah! Where are you, man?” He strode off toward the back of the house. “A tub of hot water, and quick. And a basin and a razor. And a suit of clean clothes. Hurry, man!”

It was an hour later that Michael found his way up the stairs. Sarah had finally come to tell him that Mrs. Fallon was ready, sir. He tapped on the bedroom door and entered to a soft reply.

She sat primly on the bench at the foot of the tall canopy bed, in a heavy, brocade robe tied down the front with pink ribbons. Her brown hair, catching the light in auburn glints, was loose in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes were large and luminous.

A decanter sat on a table by the door, and he poured two glasses. “Would you like some wine, Brielle?”

She knew what he was doing. There had been giggling conversations, full of blushes, with Anne Thibodeau, wed last year. Anne finally admitted she’d been terrified, though John had tried to soothe away her fears. That was what Michael was doing. Suddenly she loved him more than she ever had before.

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