"Where the hellfire have you two young devils bin?" Shamus O'Toole demanded. "You should have bin here two hours back." "Why, what happened?" Sean asked with a straight face. Joseph laughed and so did Paddy Burke, Shamus O'Toole's steward, who was privy to everything that went on at Greystones. Shamus gave Paddy a quelling glance. "Don't encourage the young devils." "Aren't you going to ask how it went, Father?" Joseph grinned. "No need. Yer both so bloody pleased with yerselves, ye look like bantam cocks." Shamus's twinkling glance roved over the faces of the grinning crew. There were so many FitzGeralds, he didn't attempt to tell them apart. "You lads have done a good job. Mr. Burke will assign another crew to do the unloadin'. Get yerselves up to the kitchen an' tell Mary Malone to feed ye." Greystones had the best cook in County Dublin, bar none. With a whoop of joy the FitzGeralds jostled each other to see who could race to the kitchen door first. "Not you two young devils." Their father's voice stopped Sean and Joseph in midstride. "Well, somebody has to supervise the unloadin'. Need I remind ye what idle sods the FitzGeralds are?" As their father and Mr. Burke departed, Joseph said dryly, "He's more pleased with us than I ever expected!" Sean grinned. "It's just his way of emphasizing we should see our operation through to its conclusion. Joseph stretched tired muscles, thinking they'd had enough exercise for one day. "We'll not see our beds this side of midnight." Sean gave him a playful jab in the ribs and taunted, "What the hell are you complaining about? Didn't you spend the entire aftenoon in bed?" The only FitzGerald whom Shamus O'Toole greatly admired was his wife, Kathleen. To be honest, he worshipped the ground she walked upon. When he retired to their bedchamber, he brought a snifter of the fine French brandy he'd just acquired. He was annoyed to see that Kathleen was not alone. Kate Kennedy, Greystones's housekeeper, who was also his wife's personal maid, had just picked up Kathleen's hairbrush. She was a tall, no-nonsense sort of woman, who could hold her own even with Himself. The housekeeper wouldn't have lasted five minutes if it had been otherwise. "Away wi' ye, Kate Kennedy. I can attend to Kathleen's needs." "Are ye sure yer up to it? She requires a hundred strokes," Kate said outrageously, as she presented him with the hairbrush. "Shamus!" Kathleen warned sharply. "None of your off-color remarks, now." Kate departed, but before she could close the door, Shamus shouted, "The woman has a tongue that could clip tin." He flung down the brush and moved across the bedroom with purpose. Lowering his voice he threatened lustily, "I'll give you a hundred strokes." Kathleen chuckled at him as he drew close with the brandy. "A hundred strokes indeed; I wager you can't last longer than fifty." "Now who's making off-color remarks, my beauty?" Kathleen sat before her mirror in a pristine nightgown with at least two dozen buttons running up the front from breast to chin. Shamus licked dry lips as he anticipated undoing them, one by one. He set the brandy before her and lifted a long tress of hair to his cheek. "Have a wee sip, my Kathe, it'll put fire in your belly." "That and other stimulants you have in mind." She picked up the snifter and carried it to the bed. "First we have to converse." At the look of disappointment that crossed his still-handsome face, she promised, "After we talk, we'll share the brandy as we did on our wedding night." He shook his head, remembering. " 'Tis indacent we're still in love after twenty-two years." The feather bed dipped with his weight. "Scandalous," she agreed, slipping beneath the sheet and moving over to his side of the bed. She bent to rub her cheek along the crisp black hair of his arms as he settled them about her. "Now, then, about the birthday celebration," she began. Shamus gave a mock groan. "Not again. I swear the two young devils dominate yer every waking thought." "Oh, indeed? And who was it bought two new ships for birthday gifts?" "They're beauties, Kathe. Schooners that sail faster than the wind itself. It's time they owned their own vessels. Joseph will be twenty-one. Strange their birthdays fall so close together, yet they're different as chalk from cheese." "That's because they were born under different stars. The constellations decide our personalities. Our sons have different temperaments. Joseph is hotheaded and quick to take offense." "Aye, he loses his temper at the drop of a hat. His fists are always ready to fly out and plant someone a facer." "Sean is deeper. He always considers before he acts." She had a soft spot for Sean. He was a beautiful boy with a natural charm. The girls were mad for him and wouldn't leave him alone. He had a repertoire of humor that ran the entire gamut from sophisticated to crude. He could be funny, coarse, bawdy, cruel, witty, charming, or self-deprecating, with the same desired result: He amused others while amusing himself. "Before Sean fights, he thinks about it, considers his strategy, then goes about the thing deliberately." Aye, and the results can be devastating, Shamus thought silently. "Their birthdays are less than a week away. The celebration requires planning, Shamus. Since Sean's falls on Saturday and Joseph's on Monday, the logical choice for the celebration is Sunday, but that seems blasphemous." "Not a bit of it. Are we not Protestants?" Kathleen rolled her eyes. "If you say so, Shamus." "Well, I do, and now that's settled--" His fingers undid the button of her nightgown. She stayed his hand. "We're not done." He groaned. "We're not bloody started." "I have to do a head count so I can get the invitations out. FitzGeralds alone number over fifty." "Yer never inviting all of 'um?" he asked in horror. "And what's your objection to the FitzGeralds, pray tell me if you can?" The light of battle was in her eye. Thinking to soften his words a trifle, Shamus opened his mouth and put his foot in it. "Well, I don't object to yer father, nor the lads who make up our crews, but all them females that overrun yer family are worse than a plague of lice!" "Can I help it if the males die off while the females thrive? You should be thanking heaven for it. Your son, Joseph, will be Earl Kildare when my father dies, may God forgive me for saying things aloud." "I didn't mean to upset ye, my beauty. Of course ye must invite yer sisters." "And my nieces and cousins and aunts." Shamus groaned. "But one of 'um thinks she's a Celtic princess and drapes herself in purple veils." "That's Tiara; she's doolally." "They're all bloody doolally!" "You don't even know their names," she accused. "Course I do," he said defensively. "There's Meggie an' Maggie an Meagan, and then there's the ones with the fanciful names of stones like Opal an' Beryl an' Amber--" "Amber's the one who married William Montague. I've all sent out the Montague invitations, but he'll attend alone, mark my words. I pity Amber." "She can blame nobody but herself. She married him fer money and his aristocratic English name." "She was an innocent lass of fifteen. She saw her chance to get out of Maynooth Castle, which was, and still is, overrun with a tribe of female FitzGeralds that outnumbers the Tribe of Israel." Kathleen saw nothing wrong with doing an about-face in regard to her family by agreeing with her husband. His arms tightened. "If any could best a Montague, it would be a FitzGerald." "I doubt that, Shamus, my darling. I believe it would take an O'Toole." He kissed her then. Thoroughly. He could wait no longer. She was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Kildare and by far the most beautiful and intelligent of all the countless FitzGeralds. She was the first, and she was the best. Shamus would never get over his good fortune. Excerpted from Dream Lover by Virginia Henley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
