To Love A Wild Irishman

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Wee little Cassandra, you certainly won't leave a man danglin' up here in a tree now will ya? Let me in pretty lass...."

Cassandra laughed as she sat on the window seat and listened to Finnegan's pleas through the closed shutters.

"If your papa catches me you'll be responsible for the bullet that he sends into me arse," Finnegan warned. "Cassandra, Cassandra, please let me in. You cannot say no to your dear friend Finn."

"You had better be quiet," Cassandra warned as she opened the shutters and shook her finger warningly at him. "You're making enough noise to wake the entire house up."

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Cass," Finnegan replied, his brown eyes sparkling as he smiled at her.

Cassandra snorted. Finnegan always had been a charmer. "Come on in, Finnegan. You don't have to flatter me anymore."

"If ya hadn't let me in soon—" Finnegan grunted as he climbed in through the window just as he'd done countless times when they'd been children. "—I was goin' to throttle ya."

"I think you're forgetting that it was me who could always throttle you, Finnegan."

"It's been a long time since then," Finnegan reminded her with a wink.

"Five years and not even a letter from you. How have you been?"

"Good o'course. How about you, Cass? I saw those tears streakin' down your pretty face. Ya never were much for crying."

"It was nothing..." Cassandra replied quickly, her gaze going to the diary on the bed.

She saw Finnegan follow her gaze and she tried to lunge for the diary but apparently the last five years had made him faster and he beat her to it. "Finnegan, don't you dare read that! That's private!"

"Nothin' is private from your best friend," Finnegan countered, his eyes scanning the page.

Cassandra knew the blood had rushed to her head and she was more than likely glowing with embarrassment. She wrapped her robe tighter around her nightdress and said a quick prayer of thanks that she had no used any names in that final entry....

As Finnegan read, Cassandra studied him closely. The last five years had been good to the man, she would give him that. He was no longer that skinny seventeen year old boy that her father had run off five years ago. He still had thick curly black hair but it no longer seemed to swallow his entire head. His face was still too boyish to be considered rugged but that smile was still just as infectious. And his shoulders were much more broad, his hands a bit rougher and his hips lean.

Finnegan finished his reading and laid the diary against his chest as he looked at her sadly. "My poor, sweet lass," he whispered and then before Cassandra could fight him off he swooped across the room and took her into his arms. Cassandra found herself crushed against his broad chest and her nose wrinkled.

"Let me go, Finn! You smell like the backside of a hog!"

If Finnegan heard her he gave no indication. "I'm sorry I broke your heart, my dear. Irishman don't settle down. You'll have to find a replacement for ol' Finnegan. Alas it won't be quite the same but—'

"Finnegan—" Cassandra wiggled out of his grasp and took her diary with her. "—it wasn't about you."

Finnegan grinned and sent her a wink. "Sure it was."

"No," Cassandra shook her head and returned her diary to the drawer she'd taken it out of, though this time she engaged the lock to keep Finnegan from snooping more. "It really wasn't."