The Lost - J. D. Robb [122]
Drained, she sat back, prepared for whatever explosive reaction he might have.
Instead of the expected anger, or frustration, he merely leaned forward and placed a hand over hers. “It pains me to hear about your debt, though it was certainly beyond your control. You’ve had your say, Aidan. Now humor me as I tell you my story.”
She nodded, then purposefully removed her hand from his grasp and sat back. She wanted no connection with him while he spoke. She needed to make this quick and painless. Or at least as painless as possible.
Cullen’s face grew animated. “When I was just seventeen, I met the great love of my life. Her name was Moira Fitzgibbon, and she lived in the town of Glinkilly. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, with skin like milk, flashing green eyes and hair as dark as midnight.” He shot Aidan a smile. “You look just like her.”
“That’s not possible because . . .”
Before she could say more, he interrupted her. “Moira’s father considered me to be beneath her, because I was a common laborer, while her father made a comfortable living as a landlord who owned a great deal of land in the area, which he leased out to tenant farmers. Moira and I were young and foolish and wildly in love, and we did what young lovers have done from the beginning of time.” He waited a beat before adding, “When Moira came to me and said she was with child, I went to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.”
Aidan glanced at Ross, who would surely have known all this. But he was watching the old man with a fierce intensity that had her turning back to watch and listen in silence.
“Hugh Fitzgibbon said I had despoiled his daughter, and that he’d see her dead before married to the likes of me.”
Though she’d hoped to listen in silence, Aidan was caught up in the narrative. Without thinking, she asked, “Oh, that’s horrible. What did you do?”
“I went to our parish priest here in Glinkilly, and begged him to plead my case with Hugh Fitzgibbon. I said I would do whatever it took. I promised to work three jobs for a lifetime if necessary in order to support Moira and the babe. The priest agreed to speak with Hugh Fitzgibbon after Sunday mass. I remember thinking that those next few days were the longest of my life. Little did I know,” he mused almost to himself, “that the rest of my life would be even longer.”
“So he refused the priest?”
“Worse. On Sunday evening Father Ryan came to tell me that the Fitzgibbon home had been hastily vacated. Hugh and his wife had taken their daughter in the night to Dublin, and from there to America, where, they’d vowed, I would never see my Moira again.”
“Did you try to follow her?”
“How could I? I hadn’t two coins to my name. Hugh was right. I was a laborer. But not common. Not at all. I spent the rest of my life accumulating the fortune I’d need to find my Moira and our child and bring them back to me. But Hugh was one step ahead of me all the way. When they landed in America, Hugh changed his family name to Gibbons and took his middle name, Francis. For years I searched for Hugh Fitzgibbon, and checked out nearly a dozen or more, only to come up empty. As for Moira, who was now Maureen Gibbons, she was wed to an American almost as soon as she stepped off the boat in New York. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“Not at all. You said that your Moira was beautiful. If, and it’s a big stretch to suggest that my grandmother Maureen is somehow your Moira, but if it were true, then why wouldn’t Edward Martin be equally struck by her beauty? It doesn’t sound odd that they met, fell in love and married quickly.”
“And less than seven months later your mother was born.”
Aidan