Chapter Twelve
IAN had never told another soul what he’d just said to Lyssa. His family knew, of course. He’d destroyed their lives with his foolishness.
But he had to tell Lyssa. She had to lose the starry look in her eyes. Even when he’d captured the runaway pig, she’d looked at him as if he were a hero.
And he wasn’t any damn hero.
But when she spoke, she surprised him. “Is it a very large price they are asking for you?”
“Why? Are you planning on collecting it?”
Tossing her magnificent mane of hair over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t know. I’m assuming that men who do housewives a favor by chasing their pigs can’t be that dangerous.”
“Lyssa, that is a silly thing to say. Any man can be dangerous given the right provocation.”
“Not you,” she said seriously. “You’d not hurt anyone without cause.”
Her faith in him conquered his reticence. “All I wanted was what was right. I wanted justice.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Then tell me the story and I’ll be the judge.”
Ian ran his hand through his hair, not certain where to start.
“It’s about your being Catholic?” she guessed.
“Hardly. It’s more about Ireland being free to rule herself.” The moment he said those words, the old passion rose strong inside him.
Lyssa doused it. “The Irish can’t do that,” she said logically. “The country is part of Britain.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid there are many people who would disagree.”
“I’ve learned that lesson. The hard way,” he admitted. He sat up, resting his arm on a bent knee. “Lyssa, we are an independent country. We have the right to our own Parliament and our own religion—whatever that religion may be.”
“I thought you said you weren’t religious—”
“I’m not,” he said, cutting her off. “I was the bane of the priest and my mother. However, I should be able to choose.”
She didn’t answer right away. He knew what he’d said was so radical to the thinking of the English mind, he didn’t know if she’d be able to digest it.
And that was the crux of the matter. He wanted her to understand.
He wanted to believe she could grasp the depth of his passion that had led to such folly.
Tracing the red line in her plaid, she asked quietly, “So are those beliefs the reason you have a price on your head?”
“A price!” He waved the thought away dismissively. “Ten quid. Hardly enough for anyone to trouble themselves over…but enough to get me transported to Botany Bay if I should be turned in.”
She took a moment to digest this piece of information. Releasing her breath on a sigh, she asked, “So, why are you telling me?”
Because I’m falling in love with you.
But that would be a foolish thing to say. He couldn’t have her. Could never have her. “You should know.”
“So that you can warn me off?”
Her precise assessment surprised him. “Yes.”
She hummed a response as if words failed her. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wanted her to care—even knowing it was wrong, even knowing nothing could ever happen between them, he wanted her to care.
However, for once, he could not read her thoughts.
“All right,” she said at last, as if coming to a decision she feared she might regret. “Tell me your tale.” She drew her knees up to her chest, tucking her toes under the hem of her skirt, like a child ready to hear a bedtime story.
“I don’t know,” he hedged. “Everything was so long ago.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You have played me hot and cold and the time’s come, Ian Campion. You’ve trusted me this far, tell the rest. I have to know.”
And he sensed she did. Besides, why not clear the air between them? Then, when they parted, as they must, she would understand he was the worst possible man for her—and be thankful he hadn’t given her the kiss she’d requested.
He began, “It all started after I returned from London. I’d been reading the law at Lincoln’s Inn,” he said, referring to one of the Four Inns of Court where he’d started his apprenticeship to be a barrister.
“You read the law?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Because I’m not as illiterate as you had assumed? I speak Latin and Greek along with your much-vaulted French and Spanish. Then of course, I’m conversant in Irish.”
“I never thought you were—” she started, and then broke off.
Indeed, she had insulted his intelligence on numerous occasions when they’d first met and well she knew it.
The stain of embarrassment crept up her cheeks, yet Lyssa was one to hold her own.
“What I meant is that I’m surprised…I mean, I didn’t know Catholics had access to, um… ” Her voice trailed off.
“Education?” Ian supplied. This was going to be a long conversation.
“Catholics are educated,” he said quellingly.
“Granted, no university in England would accept us and we’d not attend a Protestant School in Ireland, but there are ways.
Some of my friends were sent abroad for their education.
My father tutored me. He was a learned man, and I had no trouble with my studies.
I was even preparing to be called to the Irish Bar. ”
“A Catholic?”
“Lyssa! I don’t practice the religion. But even if I did, there are places for Catholics in the law.” Granted, it was a small place with numerous restrictions, but a place nonetheless. After all, they had to take a stand for their rights somewhere.
But Lyssa’s active mind had moved on. “I surmised there was something more to you than met the eye,” she said victoriously.
“You caught me off guard when you accused me of sounding like a barrister,” he admitted and she grinned, pleased with herself.
“At one time, my family had been a great and wealthy one.
But our fortunes fell with the passage of each oppressive law over the years.
We still had our property and raised the finest race horses in Ireland, but make no mistake about the matter, Lyssa, we knew we lived on borrowed time.
“Then I heard Daniel O’Connell speak. That man can speak.
I can recall his words even now. He was a lawyer and a Catholic and he knew how to stand up to the English.
I wanted to be exactly like him. So, with my parents’ blessing, I left for London, where I did very well until I returned to Ireland. ”
“What happened?”
“I became too full of myself. I involved myself with a students’ group. We were radical. We were angry.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes,” he said baldly. “In the beginning all we did was write a few pamphlets and hold a rally. However, the English have always been nervous.”
“There have been uprisings in Ireland, Ian. The government has a reason to be nervous.”
“They’d have no reason at all if they let the people who pay the taxes have a voice in the making of the laws that govern them.”
He leaned back. There was no sense in being frustrated with Lyssa. She was merely parroting what she’d been taught and her attitude made him realize the differences between them.
“Anyway,” he continued, “one night one of my friends was beaten by English troops on his way to a meeting. I wasn’t there that night.
My father had heard about my goings-on and had come to Dublin to see me.
He lectured me for hours, but it was already too late.
The others had one too many ales and decided to retaliate by beating an English guard.
The next morning, my name was included with theirs as one of the culprits, and the hunt began. ”
“They actually hunted for you? Couldn’t your father tell them you were not involved?”
“I suppose in an honest government.” He didn’t hide the bitterness from his voice. “There is no open voice in Ireland. All troublemakers are either hanged or transported, which is what happened to many of my friends. I wasn’t at my rooms when the English came for me, so a price was put on my head.”
A soft, distressed sound escaped her but she did not flinch. Instead, she asked, “What happened next?” as if dreading the answer.
“I would not turn myself in. I’m the only son and I felt my parents needed me. When one of my friends was found hanged in his prison cell, my father agreed.”
“He hanged himself?”
“Not Dónall. Someone had to have helped him.”
“I don’t see why you had to run from any of it,” she argued, her own strong sense of justice rising.
“You had nothing to do with the beating of the guard.”
“Oh, but I would have, Lyssa, if I’d been there.
I was young, rash, and arrogant. I was as angry as the others.
But my father knew better. He was a wise old bird who’d spent most of his life out-thinking the government.
My future as a lawyer was gone. Even the Catholic lawyers in Ireland wouldn’t have been able to help me.
And I knew if I was transported, I’d never see my family again. ”
“So what did you do?”
“I join the British army. Father said the English would never find me there and he was right. Six years I served and the irony is I had a talent for it. I knew how to get things done and I know how to fight.”
For a moment he sat silent, remembering. “They took the land away from my parents as a way of punishing them for my sins. They claimed it was for taxes, but in truth we had Protestant neighbors with government friends who had coveted our pastures.”
“What became of your parents?”
“They moved to Dublin where my uncle lived. About two years later, they both came down with the pox and died within weeks of each other. Father always said he wasn’t meant to live in a city.”
“And all of this touched the lives of your sisters and their husbands, too, didn’t it? What of them?”
Ian nodded. “They had all lived off my family’s land, but it was no longer there.
Cedric, Fiona’s husband, was always a daredevil, and he didn’t like to work.
He thought the life of a soldier would be more interesting, and I was selfish enough to not want to go alone.
Janet’s husband, Jamie, had no choice. He got caught lying to protect my whereabouts and my father’s solution was to ship him off to the army, too. ”