Irish Lady Read Online Free Page B

Devlin family.
    There was a time when Annie believed that Meghann and Michael would make a match of it. He was four years older, but Meghann was mature and lovely in a way that was nothing like the vivid blue-eyed Devlins. Annie never knew whether she had been mistaken in the long looks exchanged between her son and her foster daughter or whether something had happened that caused Meghann to bury herself in her books, accept the scholarship that moved her away from Clonard and the Falls to London and a world as far away in culture and temperament from the Six Counties as was humanly possible.
    After she realized the true nature of her son’s feelings, Annie resolved, for both their sakes, to forget she had ever known Meghann McCarthy. Until now she had kept her promise. Meghann had been widowed for a long time and Michael had never married. Annie knew the stakes were high but she had little choice. Personal feelings were of no consequence when weighed against a man’s life, especially when that man was her son.
    Michael had been silent for a long time. One arm was thrown over his eyes and the other ended in a clenched fist by his side. “Are y’ finished with y’r sulkin’?” his mother asked.
    â€œWhy would she agree t’ come?”
    â€œIf y’ have to ask that, then y’ don’t know Meghann.”
    His laugh was bitter, twisted. “I’ll not argue that point. When did any of us know her?”
    Annie looked down at her hands. Time was running short. He had to accept Meghann’s help. “I had no idea y’ were so angry,” she said softly.
    â€œAnd why not?” He pulled himself up against the pillows, grimacing against the pain. “She lived with us for years, accepting our food, our lodging, our friendship, and then she betrayed us by becoming English t’ the core.”
    â€œI’m not angry, Michael,” his mother reminded him. “Meghann saw her family and neighbors murdered, her home burned. I understand her choice. Perhaps she felt she had no other.”
    â€œShe had another,” he muttered, closing his eyes once again.
    â€œDid she?”
    â€œAye.”
    Annie waited, but this time Michael had finished. “Well, then,” she said crisply. “I’m sure y’ll remind her of that when she comes. I suggest y’ change y’r attitude, Michael Devlin. Because this time y’re in more trouble than you’ve ever been. This isn’t ten years in the Maze, my son. This time they want you t’ move in permanently. And if Meghann McCarthy was nothing more than a Catholic solicitor practicin’ in Belfast, y’ wouldn’t have a prayer of a chance. So count y’r blessings. Y’ve a few more days before they release you. Meggie will see y’ after y’ve been transferred back t’ the Maze.”
    With that, she leaned over, kissed his cheek, and left the room.
    Michael shifted his body so that he lay flat on the bed once again. The light from the window told him it was late afternoon. He remembered that the season was spring. It had been a late afternoon that spring when Meghann no longer smiled at him or talked to him or even acknowledged his presence. Soon after, she’d earned a scholarship to Saint Louise’s Catholic Preparatory for girls. She planned it so that her visits home no longer coincided with his and after her term at Queens, she never came home again.
    He knew why, of course. He had always known why. Meghann was as opposed to violence as he had been convinced of its necessity. But he never imagined that she would put him away, out of her mind and heart and memory, as surely and completely as she had the tragedy of Cupar Street when the loyalists revolted, burning and killing women and children while the police, Belfast’s RUC, and British soldiers stood by and did nothing.
    At first, Michael believed that he could change her mind. But she continued to