The Secret Rose Read Free Page A

from yer mother’s ancestors to protect Liscarrol, but, for hatred of yer own father, ye’ll nae use it! If Liscarrol is lost to the Fitzgeralds, forever after the blame will be yers!”
    Aisleen opened her mouth to protest, but her father’s hand slashed the air only inches from her face, and the violent gesture silenced her. “Nor will ye sit and gloat while yer da is driven from his rightful inheritance. The Gilliams have a daughter they’ve a mind to send to England for schooling. She’ll be needing a maid and companion. Yer mother’s put a bit o’ reading and writing into ye, so the Gilliams are willing to take ye.”
    “No!” Aisleen whispered in horror. “Ye…ye cannae mean to send me away”
    “I can and will,” Quenton replied. “Ye’re to be packed and ready in a week’s time, I say!”
    “Pl-please…” Aisleen swallowed and nearly choked on her anxiety. “Please, I’ll do anything, only do not send me away.”
    Quenton’s eyes glowed strangely. “Then work yer magic, lass! Save Liscarrol!”
    “But I cannot…” Aisleen’s voice trailed off into nothingness as rage distorted her father’s face.
    “What of the fairy I’ve heard ye speaking to when ye thought no one knew? Ah!” he cried as her face paled. “Why would ye not be asking the fairies for aid?”
    “Th-there’s no fairy,” Aisleen answered, so frightened she shuddered. “You will nae allow me to play with the village children, so I sometimes pretend to—to have a friend. ’Tis not ma-magic!”
    “Useless bitch!” he roared, frustration and disappointment merging. “No man has ever had so stubborn and useless a daughter! Ye do it to spite me! Ye’re like all the others who think yer ma did wrong to marry the likes of Quenton McCarthy. Ye think I’m nae good enough to be the owner of Fitzgerald land. Well, if I cannae have it, neither will ye!”
    Only just in time did Aisleen raise her arms to shield her head as he freed his belt with a snap . She told herself that she must not cry out, but as he brought the thick leather belt down across her arms and back again and again, she buried her face tightly in the crook of one arm to muffle her cries of pain.
    Quenton had not set out to beat his daughter, but she had provoked him beyond all reason. Life had cheated him of every pleasure. He had deliberately set out to marry into Irish nobility in hopes of becoming a gentleman of leisure. Instead, he was the impoverished recipient of a castle ruin and a wife who repeatedly lost his sons but had given birth to this strange daughter whose only purpose in life seemed to be to defy him. He must have his revenge, and he would.
    Reason slowly reasserted itself, scoring through the whiskey fumes of his mind. If he injured or crippled her, he would lose the opportunity for revenge against her. The Gilliams expected a quiet, modest lass as their daughter’s companion. What they would get was Aisleen. It was a fitting curse on them. They would come to rue the day Aisleen Fitzgerald came into their lives as much as he did the day she was born to him.
    His arm fell heavily to his side, and the belt slipped from his grip. “Get out! Get out of me sight, lass, before I kill ye!”
    Aisleen rose from her knees, onto which the blows had forced her, and brought her hands tightly over her mouth. For a long moment, a rage to match her father’s pumped blood heatedly through her abused body. Something seemed to catch fire within her soul, to burn and blacken and shrivel as she fought against the consuming pain of his hatred. He hated her and she…she hated him.
    The thought so frightened Aisleen that she turned and ran out of the room.
    When she was gone, Quenton Fitzgerald sank heavily back into his chair and reached again for the silver flask. Seeing his daughter’s fearful, tear-blurred face had not given him the satisfaction he thought it should have. There had been something else in her expression, and it had quite astonished him. In