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plain in the droop of her narrow shoulders, and in the pale
lavender smudges that sat beneath her lower lashes like the gauzy
light of a winter sunset. Of course she was too thin; he’d be
surprised if she weighed more than seven-and-a-half or eight stone.
As she sat huddled in her rough, threadbare shawl, she was the very
picture of a refugee.
    She was the very picture of
Ireland—wounded and grieving and beautiful.
    Farrell was the loveliest
woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and now she was his wife , a fact which he
kept repeating in his mind because he could scarcely believe it. A
couple of loose russet curls that had escaped their pins fluttered
around her face in the winter wind. Her hands looked rough and
chapped, and he wished he could fix that. He knew that she’d never
lived an easy life. None of them had.
    He thought of Noel Cardwell, that
filthy-minded bastard, pawing Farrell, his behavior so crude and
barbaric that he’d torn her dress, and the hot blood of anger
flooded his veins. Thank God she’d gotten away before Cardwell
could do more. Now Aidan would be able to protect her and keep her
safe from men like that strutting peacock who lived at Greensward
Manor.
    The wagon hit a rut, jolting the
vehicle’s contents and passengers. Farrell stirred and her
unguarded gaze connected with his for just an instant. In it he saw
a heart closed as tight as a fist.
    Ah, but God was laughing at him again,
he understood bitterly. Aidan had yearned for beautiful Farrell
Kirwan longer than he could remember. And now God had bound her to
Aidan, but it was no marriage made in heaven. With such distrust
and rejection in her eyes, he knew he might never win her
regard.
    Marriages had been arranged under less
favorable circumstances, but right now he couldn’t think of one
worse. Aidan had killed her brother, taken her from Liam, and was
about to carry her off to a strange land and an uncertain life on
the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. He shrugged off the thoughts;
Aidan had had no problem winning other women’s hearts—he’d done so
several times. Determination, what his mother had called
pigheadedness, Aidan had in abundance. He and Farrell weren’t off
to the best start, but at least he might be able to make their
destination sound more promising.
    “ When we get to the city
I’ll see after getting us a room. I’ll tell the innkeeper that
we’re newly wed. That way we might get a bed to ourselves instead
of having to share one with a half-dozen other people.”
    “ No!” she blurted, eyes
wide, and then amended, “I mean, should we spend money on a luxury
like that? We might need it for food or
passage . . . ye know.”
    Yes, he knew. She didn’t want to be
alone with him. “I think we can spare it, Farrell. Besides, I want
to be able to leave you at the inn while I see about what ships are
bound for America. If we have a room of our own ye’ll be safer
while I’m gone.”
    She toyed with the tail of her shawl.
“I suppose.”
    Aidan wasn’t prone to useless chatter,
but he was more social than Liam, and the silence between him and
Farrell begged to be filled. To his way of thinking, a woman who
spoke too little was as bad as one who talked too much. He glanced
at Stephen Riley’s back; given the man’s close proximity, he chose
his words carefully.
    “ Last week I heard the
Learys have had a letter from their son, Danny. He’s in Boston, ye
know. He said they have more food than we can imagine—meat,
potatoes, bread, milk, whiskey, and more.” The faint, sweet scent
of the butter around them drifted to his nose, and he gestured at
the cargo. “We’ve never seen so much to eat back here, he said. And
his wife, Bridie, she’s got three dresses and two pairs of shoes. There’s good work
in America, and wages to be earned. I’m thinking we’ll try for
Boston or New York.”
    Farrell’s face registered a glimmer of
hope. “D’ye think it’s true, or is it more of Danny’s