Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zachary did a double take. Deposited on his desk was a bag full of money. Where had it come from? Who was his mysterious benefactor?
His gaze flicked upward to Chen. “Do you know anything about where this money came from? Was it Mrs. Merriweather? My in-laws?”
“I do not know.”
A vein pulsed in his throat. “Elizabeth?”
Impassive as ever, Chen said, “Whoever is responsible, we must know such kindness of warm sun can’t be repaid by grass.”
“I told her not to get involved. I don’t want her charity. I’ll make her take it back.”
“The favor of a drop of water,” Chen said, “should be repaid with a surging spring.”
“Those monks had a predilection to brainwash you with everything Confucius.”
Chen bowed. “When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Zachary snapped.
Chen’s expression remained blank. “Do not allow regret and cynicism get the better of your present moment or action.”
O’Reilly hunched down between the machines pretending not to see Fiona and smiled inwardly as she marched down on him.
Oh, the joy this woman would bring him, a life of laughter and well-being.
What new thing had occurred to bring out the she-tiger?
To savor the experience of her raining outrage was like manna from heaven.
He understood her even if she did not. She truly cared for him and that was the dearest feeling any man could possess.
“Get up, Mr. O’Reilly. You can’t hide from me. I don’t like the danger you’re in one bit. I wish you to remove yourself before something happens.”
Her fuse was short and burning, and his heartbeat quickened. “We’ve had this discussion before, my darling. I’m in no danger. The Irish are good at a number of things, but they are unrivaled at fighting. And your brother is watching over me.”
“And that is supposed to give me peace with the Whyos on the loose?”
“Woman, you make my brain feel like a bee’s nest with all your prattle.”
Fiona turned her back on him. “Prattle it is? I think it’s a disgrace.”
He stood up, clapped his hand atop a machine and towered over her.
He resisted the urge to reach out and brush a wisp of dark hair from her lovely neck.
What a sight it would be to see the obsidian waterfall tumble to her hips.
“Bring me good news, Fiona, not a speech. If I want a sermon, I’ll go to Midnight Mass.
” She was working herself into a terrible temper that he so adored.
He studied her backside. Soft-as-sin curves, soft and plump as bread dough and ripe enough to bear him many fine wee’uns.
Fiona swung around, caught his admiring examination of her. “Mother of God, you’d charm my chemise off if I weren’t vigilant. As bold as brass you are. And arrogant to a fault. I’ve lost weight with all my worries, and you do not care one bit.”
“Not one bit, you say!” The Irishman pounded his chest with his meaty fist. “Cupid’s arrow has struck and I’m helpless as the Hound of Culann fated to meet Fand, the wife of the sea god.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why aren’t you married, Fiona?”
“I’ve enough of your devil’s tongue. And you know what happened to Culann.”
“To suffer the same fate at your hands?” He looked to the heavens, and with a theatrical overture born to the Irish, said, “Thy will be done.” And then he took two steps to Fiona an inch from her face. “Will you lay over my grave when I’m gone?”
Like sapphire beacons, Fiona’s blue eyes spit fire. “I’d have nothing to do with a skunk slinking through the grass. What is it?” she huffed. “Is that a proposal or should I call my brother?”
O’Reilly reared his head. His ribs hurt so bad from suppressing his laughter. “Fiona, dear. I do not wish to marry your brother. With him, soft words would butter no turnips.”
Fiona fisted her hands on her hips. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I now? You are in my heart, and I give it to you rent free.”
Fiona tapped her toe. “And? Are you going to say the right words before the Second Coming arrives?”
O’Reilly looked at his feet in feigned defeat. “I’m getting to it, Woman. I’m fearful of rejection.”
Fiona softened. “I doubt that. You are born with the eternal gift of eloquence. Now, out with it.”
“Ah, that dawning day, I saw you first and knew the danger. I was taken in by a beauty who enchanted me in every way. I will love you when you are old and gray and full of sleep. I’ll always hold the gentle look in your eyes as glowing stars and keep your tender, beaming smile to light my day.
I lay my heart at your dainty feet. Fiona Maguire, will you marry me? ”
She threw herself into his arms, kissing him. “Of course, you lout.”