Her eyes never left his face but she had traveled somewhere inside herself, away from him, to another place. Im sorry, she said at last, her voice low and soft. Thank you. I accept your offer. She turned and continued down the road. Brian fell into step beside her.
Where does Doctor Farlow practice? she asked.
Outside of Galway City in Spiddal, a small town in the Gaeltacht.
Near your home?
She remembered. He experienced a rush of pleasure. Aye. Just across the water from it.
When can we go?
For a minute he was distracted by her mouth, outlined in lush, vivid red. Dark eyes, red lips, cream-colored skin. Snow White.
Brian?
Ill make the arrangements today, he said hurriedly. Tomorrow will be soon enough.
Caitlin shook her head. Tomorrow is Lanas party. I cant miss it.
Brian groaned. Id forgotten.
The flicker of a smile crossed her lips, lips that were driving him crazy. Its a good thing I reminded you. It wouldnt be much of a party without you.
Again that surging rush of breathless heat. He could barely manage the words. Do you mean that?
She glanced sideways at him. Of course.
He reached for her arm. Caitlin
She hurried on. Lana has made it clear that you are to be her guest of honor.
He felt like a fool. Youre mistaken, he said shortly, dropping her arm.
Oh no. Caitlin shook her head. She was very specific. In fact I was warned away from you.
This time he did stop her. Her gloved hand fit nicely in his. Why would she feel the need to be warnin you away, lass?
Her eyes were huge, laughing, dark as midnight. If he wasnt careful, he could drown in those eyes.
The way I heard it, she said, Im not the only one. Lanas taking no chances and warning all the women away.
He studied her face, definitely out of the common way with a hint of rebellion in the lift of the chin, impossibly dark eyes, a single strand of wavy hair caught in the corner of her red mouth, scooped-out cheeks under high, carved bones, a distinctive nose, lips, parted and waiting forwhat?
Like a man going down for the last time, Brian summoned his courage and leaped into dark waters. I know what love is, Caitlin Keneally, he said softly, and Lana Sullivan has none of it for me.
Her smile faded. The world around them slipped away. Surrounded by gray mist, dripping trees, and the reverent, muffled silence of breaking dawn, Brian looked down into the startling purity of a womans face and recognized exactly what it was that he felt for Sam Claibornes wife. He hadnt asked for it, not now, not with this woman, but here it was. There was no going back.
The relief of knowing why she was the first thing on his mind in the morning and the last before he slept at night, and why her image came to him a thousand times a day when he least expected it, nearly shattered him. A less cautious man would have forced the pace. Brian was wiser than that. Repressing the urge to reach out with his work-callused hand and touch her cheek before his mouth found her lips, he simply looked at her and waited.
The stillness of the moment was broken. The darkness lifted and clouds rolled down from the hills. Slowly, in unison, they turned and walked down the road to the stud farm.
The night of Lanas party was clear and cold. Colorful balloons and a poster signed with the words Happy Birthday, Lana lined the walkway and porch of the Sullivan home. Harvest-colored candles around the entrance flickered warm and welcoming in the gathering darkness. Inside the cottage, lamps were lit. Outside, every window appeared to incoming visitors as a cozy rectangle of gold.
Irish Mist, Guinness, and Harp flowed liberally into glasses. A smoke haze from pipes and cigarettes hung in the air and from the kitchen the mouth-watering smells of roasting meat, hot bread, and cinnamon stirred the appetite.
To Brian, who was acquainted with nearly everyone in town, it seemed as if all were there, everyone, that is, except Caitlin. Every corner of the Sullivans small house overflowed with revelers in various states of holiday spirit. Small groups had already segregated themselves by age and sexthe women holding babies, minding children, serving food; the men drinking, playing instruments, singing, carrying on forehead-wrinkling conversations of politics and philosophy.
Lana claimed him the minute he walked through the door. Brian handed over the gift he had purchased and followed her through the crowd to the makeshift bar. There, he accepted a pint from her brother, Tim, a thickset young man with a meaty fist.
He clapped Brian on the shoulder. Half the Guinness spilled out of the glass on to the floor. Hows the horse business, lad? Any tips for us this season?
Weve a good crop this year, Brian replied. Come around and Ill show you a few.
Ill do that. No sense in all that knowledge of yours goin to waste, seein as how youre not a bettin man.
I wouldnt say that.
Lana slipped her hand through Brians arm and gently squeezed it. Dance with me, Brian, she said coaxingly. Weve live music in the other room.
The dance lasted forever. Caitlin had just come in with her mother and children, and it seemed to him, in all that boisterous, milling, celebratory crowd, that she was the only one in the room.
Ben disappeared immediately with a lad his own age and Brigid was claimed by Lanas mother. Annie slipped her hand into her mothers and showed no inclination to leave her side. Caitlin leaned over to whisper into the childs ear. Lana had asked him something but he couldnt remember what it was.
Excuse me, lass, he said when the dance was over. Theres someone I need to see and I dont want to keep you from the rest of your guests.
Crossing the room to where Caitlin and Annie stood, Brian set his empty glass on a small table and rested his hands on the little girls shoulders. Would you care to dance, Annie? Theres a fair group in the other room and the musics quite good.
Annie smiled painfully and shook her head. Ill stay here with Mama.
The thing is, Annie, I was about to ask your mum to dance but then I saw you. If you refuse me, Ill have her instead.
Go along, love, Caitlin said gently. Ill be right here when you come back.
Come with us, Brian urged her. Theres no reason the two of you cant share me.
Caitlin laughed. Are you suggesting that no one else will ask me, Brian Hennessey?
He grinned. Her lips were red again, the same red as her sweater. Once youve danced with me, lass, you wont want anyone else.
I think you should have Annie by herself, Caitlin said, more seriously this time. Otherwise Lana wont be speaking to me tomorrow.
I wouldnt have taken you for a woman so easily intimidated, Caitlin Keneally, Brian chided her before taking Annies hand in his own. What do you say, lass? Will you dance with me?
A reluctant smile crossed Annies lips. Ill go with you, Mr. Hennessey.
Call me Brian. Its less of a mouthful.
With his hand at her back, Annie allowed herself to be guided into the sitting room where the furniture had been pushed against the walls and the carpet rolled up to accommodate the dancers. Couples formed without regard for age or sex.
Annie took one swift, surreptitious look around at the other dancers and the tension left her body. Brian stood on the outside of the circle with Annie across from him. When he reached for her hands a pink flush spread across her cheeks.
I dont know how to dance, she confessed.
He smiled warmly. Just follow me. It isnt difficult.
The shrill notes of the fiddle signaled the beginning of the set. Annies hands were wet with perspiration. She stared at Brians feet. He let go of her hand to slip an arm around her waist, deliberately moving her in the right direction.
She had an ear for music and a natural coordination. Sooner than he expected the steps came to her. Instinctively, she turned, dipped, and twisted in time to the jarring, traditional rhythms of the ancient gypsy tune. Faster and faster the fiddles played. The music took on a fierce, desperate quality evoking imag
es of tinkers caravans, gusts of rain, whistling gales, and lonely hillsides dotted with meager shepherds fires. When the notes were too lonely to bear, the whistle came into play again. Now the music was quick, light and gay, sun showing gold through morning mist, ponies frolicking in green paddocks, step-dancing in the center of a smoky pub filled to capacity with admiring tourists.
The room tilted and swayed. Through it all, Annie danced round and round as if shed been born with the steps in her head. It was as if all the disappointments, the slights, the pain of her banishment were washed clean. When the last note died away her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes bright with pleasure. She was breathless with excitement. I never knew it could be such fun, she gasped. Thank you for asking me.
Brian grinned at her. It was a pleasure, lass. Youve a talent for dancin. Shall we find your mother?
Caitlin came up behind them. She squeezed Annies hand. You were wonderful, love. I had no idea you could dance like that.
The childs face glowed. I didnt either.
You must be thirsty, said Brian. Why dont we find somethin to drink?
Caitlin looked over his shoulder. First we should see what my mother wants.
Brian turned to see Brigid waving at them. Reaching for Annies hand and motioning for Caitlin to follow, he carved a path through the merrymakers until they reached the spot where the older woman waited. Hello, Mrs. Keneally, Brian greeted her. I hope you saw your granddaughter on the floor. She was a sight to behold.
Brigid smiled. I wouldnt be surprised. You should have seen her mother at the same age. If shed cared enough t compete there would have been no one t measure up t her.
Brian lifted a quizzical eyebrow and looked at Caitlin. Is that so?
I dont remember it that way at all, said Caitlin, brushing the compliment aside and addressing her mother. Did you want us, Mum?
Aye. Theres a young lady from Saint Patricks who wants t meet Annie, Brigid explained. I thought it would be a good idea if the child went in knowin someone. She rested her hand on her granddaughters head. What do you think, love?
Id like to meet her, Gran. Where is she?
Come with me. Brigid took her granddaughters hand. Shes waitin by the tables.
Brian noticed Caitlins anxious look. Is somethin wrong? he asked.
She hesitated. When she spoke, the words came haltingly, as if they were difficult to admit. Annies having some trouble making friends. My mother means well. I just hope it works out.
Your mothers an unusual woman, Caitlin. Id give her some credit.
What does unusual mean?
He thought of the rumors hed heard about Brigid Keneally when he first came to Kilcullen Town and how impressed hed been with the way shed weathered the gossip. He wondered if Caitlin had heard them as well and decided it wasnt his place to ask. Shes raised a family and run a business on her own. Thats unusual enough.
Caitlin watched her mother disappear around the corner. I suppose it is.
Will you dance with me, Caitlin Keneally?
She looked at him, her eyes dark and shadowed. You know that isnt my name.
Its more your name than Claiborne. The name youre born with is who you are.
A faint smile appeared on her lips. You wouldnt expect your wife to change her name?
Of course not.
What about your children?
Thats different. They carry my blood.
And hers. She considered the matter. In fact, they carry more of hers than yours. After all, she carries the child for nine months, nourishes and protects it, and then gives birth. It really is absurd for a child to carry his fathers name when a mother does all that.
Youve convinced me. My children will have their mothers name. Now, will you dance with me?
She took his outstretched hand and smiled with her red, red lips. After youve conceded so gallantly, how could I refuse?
This time the music was soft, lilting, alluring, no whistle this time, only two violins and the flute. The dancers had thinned out, leaving space on the floor for six couples who came together in the soft, smokey, candlelit room.
At first she held herself away from him. But, slowly, as he led her around the floor, she relaxed and settled against his chest, the top of her head coming to just beneath his chin. He was careful to hold her innocently, casually, when what he wanted wasnt the least bit innocent or casual at all.
You should have danced with Lana, she mumbled against his shirt.
When you know me better, Caitlin Keneally, youll know that the word should has a strange affect on me.
What kind of affect?
An opposite one.
Does Lana know that?
Of course not. She doesnt know me at all.
She wouldnt say that.
Its true. What Lana wants is a man.
You should be flattered that shes set on you.
Not at all, Brian countered. Any one will do. I just happen to be employed and available. Those are her only requirements.
The piercing summons of a whistle interrupted them. The music stopped, couples separated, someone flicked on the overhead light. Reluctantly, Brian let Caitlins hand slip out of his own.
I think were missing something, she said softly.
Without a single regret, he could have shipped the whole bloody lot of them across the Irish Sea. I imagine that Lanas openin her gifts.
Shall we join her?
Brian considered the matter. It would be the polite thing to do, he decided.
Caitlin started for the other room. Brian followed her and took a seat in time for Lana to hold up the gift hed paid to have wrapped.
This one doesnt have a card, she said. Will someone claim it?
Brian lifted his hand.
Lana beamed and threw him a grateful look before pulling the ribbon and tearing open the wrapping. Nestled inside the small, flat box was a fountain pen. It seemed to Brian that a lifetime passed between the falling of her face, her trembling lower lip, the rallied smile, and the holding up of the pen for everyone to see.
Later, after the remaining gifts had been opened and the party began to fade, Lana walked with him to the door. Did you choose my gift yourself? she asked casually.
He pulled up the collar of his jacket and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. I did. You can never seem to find a pen when its time to take an order for a meal, he explained.
Her laugh was forced. What a lovely idea. Thank you, Brian. Youll have to come in tomorrow to see me use it.
Relief swept through him. It was all right after all, a practical gift but one that wouldnt raise a girls hopes. Not tomorrow, lass. Ill be out of town for a few days. Caitlins colt needs some attention. Well be leavin first thing in the mornin.
Lanas voice was harsh and cracked as if broken glass had wedged itself into the softness of her throat. Caitlin is going with you?
Brian was shocked at the look on her face. Aye, he said uneasily. Its her colt, you see.
I do see, Brian, she said softly. I see very well.
14
Liam Malones tailor shop was up the narrowest set of stairs in Kilcullen Town. The building was a relic left over from the seventeenth century with the slanting floorboards, thick walls, and high narrow windows typical of the period. Every available space was occupied with tweeds, worsted wool, knit blends, and, in anticipation of the coldest part of the year, satin and velvet for the holidays to come. A long counter with an ancient cash register ran the entire length of the shop and on two racks facing the windows was an array of buttons and ribbons fanciful enough for the most creative seamstress.
Brigid knew every nook and cranny. After six daughters, the oldest who had to be outfitted with a school uniform every year and the others needing various stages of alterations for their hand-me-downs, it would be a miracle if she couldnt walk the floor blindfolded and still find exactly what she needed.
Preceding Annie and Caitlin into the shop, Brigid sniffed and reached for her handkerchief. What the horse
dust of Kilcullen had never done to her sinuses, this place with its layers of dust, years in collecting since Maggie Malones death, would do in good measure. Mr. Malone, she called out, peering into the dimly lit room with its rolls of fabric. Its Brigid Keneally. My granddaughter will be needin a school uniform.
A man with a high domed forehead, slightly hunched shoulders, but still so tall that his head touched the exposed beams of the ceiling, stuck his head out from behind a bolt of wool and stood up.
He was thin enough for a stranger to worry over but Brigid had known him for years. Malones were born looking like scarecrows and they all lived long enough for none of them to complain of their time allotment on earth.
The tailor squinted in the half darkness and then his face broke into a smile. My, my, isnt it a grand thing to be seein little Caitie Keneally all grown up. How are you, lass?
Caitlin ignored his outstretched hand and reached up the entire length of her arms to hug him. Im well, Mr. Malone, she mumbled against the white shirt and tie he wore day in and day out whether or not there were customers. Then she stepped back and drew Annie forward. This is my daughter, Annie. Shell be attending Saint Patricks as soon as you can have a uniform ready for her.
The tailor bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Pleased to meet you, Annie. Youve the look of your mother when she was a girl. I suppose wed better measure and have the uniform done quickly. Until then, theres a spare jumper and skirt you can wear for the first few days. How does that sound?
Thank you, sir, Annie answered politely.
The old man straightened. Theres a bit of tea left on the stove if youd care to pour, Brigid. I made it up for Father Duran but hes late today. You can have his and Ill make more when he turns up.
Youre expecting Father Duran?
Aye.
Brigid glanced toward the door. We can take the spare clothes and come back later if youre busy, Liam.
Rubbish. The tailor had already reached into his pocket for the measuring tape. Hes only comin to pick up the cassock I mended for him. Its already paid for.
Brigid watched as he helped Annie up onto the stool in front of the full length mirror. Caitlin had already gone to set up the cups for tea.
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