"I can do that for you." She chuckled as she took platters. "There's plenty to be had out on the stoop there."
"Shannon?"
"Sure." She smiled as Gray stepped out the door to fetch bottles. "It doesn't look like there'll be much business at the pub tonight, Mrs. O'Malley."
"No, indeed. We've closed. A ceili at Murphy's empties the village. Ah, Alice, I was just talking of your boy."
With the bottle Gray had given her halfway to her lips, Shannon turned to see a slim woman with softly waved brown hair come in the kitchen. She had Murphy's eyes, and his quick smile.
"They've shoved a fiddle in his hands, so he'll not get past the parlor for a time." Her voice was mellow, with a laugh on the edge of it. "I thought I'd fix him up a plate, Dee, in case he finds a moment to eat."
She reached for one, then her smile brightened. "Brie, I didn't see you there. Where's that angel of yours?"
"Right here, Mrs. Brennan." With a cocky grin, Gray stepped forward to kiss her.
"Go on with you. Devil is more like. Where's that baby?"
"Nancy Feeney and young Mary Kate absconded with her," Deidre said, uncovering the dishes Brianna had brought. "You'll have to find them, then fight them for her."
"And so I will. Ah, listen to that lad play." Pride beamed into her eyes. "He's God's gift in his hands."
"I'm pleased you could come from Cork, Mrs. Brennan," Brianna began. "You haven't met Shannon. My... friend from America."
"I haven't, no." The shining pride shifted to caution and curiosity. Her voice didn't cool precisely, but took on a hint of formality. "I'm pleased to meet you, Shannon Bodine." She offered her hand.
Shannon caught herself wiping her palm on her slacks before accepting the greeting. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Brennan." What now? "Murphy favors you."
"Thank you. He's a handsome lad for certain. And you live in New York City and draw for a living?"
"Yes." Miserably uncomfortable, she took a swig from her beer. When Maggie came noisily through the back door, Shannon could have kissed her feet.
"We're late," Maggie announced. "And Rogan's bursting to tell everyone it was my fault, so I'll say it first. I had work to finish." She plopped a bowl on the table, then set Liam down to toddle. "I'm starving to death, too." She snatched one of Brianna's stuffed mushrooms from a plate and devoured. "Mrs. Brennan, just the woman I'm after."
All that stiff formality melted out of Alice's face as she scooted around the table to give Maggie a hard hug. "Lord, you were the same as a child, always noisy as six drums."
"You'll be sorry you said so when I give you your present. Come along, Rogan."
"A man's got a right to stop and get a beer." With one in his hand he maneuvered himself and the wrapped package he carried through the door.
The entrance brought fresh greetings and chatter. Seeing it as a perfect escape, Shannon began to edge toward the hall.
"No, you don't, coward." Amused, Gray blocked her way. He slung an arm around her in a gesture of affection as firm as shackles.
"Give me a break, Gray."
"Not a chance."
Stuck, she watched as Alice carefully removed the brown paper from the painting. As people crowded around, there were sounds of surprise and approval.
"Oh, 'tis him to life," Alice murmured. "That's just the way he holds his head, do you see? And how he stands. I've never had a finer gift, Maggie, that's the truth. I can't thank you enough for giving it to me, or for painting it."
"You can thank me for giving it. But Shannon painted it."
Every head in the room shifted direction, and measured.
"It's a fine talent you have," Alice said after a moment, and the lilt came back in her voice. "And a heart for seeing your subject clearly. I'm very proud to have this."
Before Shannon could think of a response, a small, black-haired woman burst in from the hallway. "Ma, you'll never guess who's-What's this?" Spying the painting, she elbowed her way to it. "Why, 'tis Murphy with his horses."
"Shannon Bodine painted it," Alice told her.
"Oh?" Eyes bright and curious, the woman turned to scan the room. It took her only seconds to zero in. "Well, I'm Kate, his sister, and I'm pleased to meet you. You're the first he's courted ever."
Shannon sagged a little against Gray's supporting arm. "It's not-we're not-Murphy exaggerated," she decided as several pair of eyes studied her. "We're friends."
"It's wise to be friends when you're courting," Kate agreed. "Do you think sometime you could draw my children? Maggie won't."
"I'm a glass artist," Maggie reminded her and kept filling her plate. "And you'll have to go through Rogan. He's managing her."
"I haven't signed the contract yet," Shannon said quickly. "I haven't even-"
"Maybe you can do it before you sign up with him," Kate interrupted. "I can gather them up and bring them to you whenever you say."
"Stop badgering the woman," Alice said mildly. "And what did you come bursting in here to tell me?"
"Tell you?" Kate looked blank for a moment, then her eyes cleared. "Oh, you won't guess who just walked in the door. Maeve Concannon," she said before anyone could try. "Big as life."
"Why, Maeve's not been to a ceili in twenty years!" Diedre said. "More, I think."
"Well, she's come, and Lottie with her."
Brianna and Maggie stared at each other, speechless, then moved quickly, like a unit.
"We'd best go see if she wants a plate," Brianna explained.
"We'd best go see that she doesn't storm down the house," Maggie corrected. "Why don't you come, Shannon? You had a way with her last time."
"Well, really, I don't think-"
But Maggie grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Music's still playing," she said under her breath. "She hasn't put the stops to that."
"Look, this is none of my business," Shannon protested. "She's your mother."
"I'll remind you of your own words, about connections."
"Shit, Maggie." But Shannon had no choice but to grit her teeth and be propelled into the parlor.
"Sweet Jesus," was all Brianna could say.
Maeve was sitting, Liam in her lap, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the reel. Her face might have been set, mouth grim, but that tapping foot gave her away.
"She's enjoying herself." Astonishment had Maggie's eyes round and wide.
"Well, for Christ's sake." With an ill-tempered jerk, Shannon freed herself. "Why shouldn't she?"
"She'd never come around music," Brianna murmured. "Not in all my memory." As Lottie swung by, dancing a Clare set in the arms of a neighbor, Brianna could only shake her head. "How did Lottie get her to come?"
But Shannon had forgotten Maeve. Across the room, Murphy stood, hip shot, a fiddle clamped between shoulder and chin. His eyes were half closed, so that she thought he was lost in the music his quick fingers and hands made. Then he smiled and winked.
"What are they playing?" Shannon asked. The fiddler was joined by a piper and another who played an accordion.
"That's Saint Steven's reel." Brianna smiled and felt her own feet grow restless. "Ah, look at them dance."
"Time to do more than look." Gray snatched her from behind and whirled her into the parlor.
"Why, she's wonderful," Shannon said after a moment.
"She'd have been a dancer, our Brie, if things had been different." Brows knit, Maggie shifted her gaze from her sister to her mother. "Maybe things were different then than they're beginning to be now."
After taking a long breath, Maggie stepped into the parlor. After a moment's hesitation, she made her way through the dancing and sat beside her mother.
"That's a sight I never thought to see." Alice stepped next to Shannon. "Maeve Concannon sitting with her daughter at a ceili, her grandson on her knee, her foot tapping away. And very close to smiling."
"I suppose you've known her a long time."
"Since girlhood. She made her life, and T
om's, a misery. And those girls suffered for it. It's a hard thing to fight for love. Now it seems she's found some contentment in the life she leads, and in her grandchildren. I'm glad for that."
Alice looked at Shannon with some amusement. "I should apologize for my own daughter for embarrassing you in the kitchen. She's always been one for speaking first and thinking last."
"No, it's all right. She was... misinformed." Alice pursed her lips at the term. "Well, if there's no harm done. There's my daughter Eileen, and her husband Jack. Will you come meet them?"
"Sure."
She met them, and Murphy's other sisters, his brother, his nieces and nephews and cousins. Her head reeled with names, and her heart staggered from the unquestioning welcome she received each time her hand was clasped.
She was given a full plate, a fresh beer, and a seat near the music, where Kate chattered in her ear.
Time simply drifted, unimportant against the music and the warmth. Children toddled or raced, or fell to dreaming in someone's willing arms. She watched men and women flirt while they danced, and those too old to dance enjoy the ritual.
How would she paint it? Shannon wondered. In vivid and flashing colors, or in soft, misty pastels? Either would suit. There was excitement here, and energy, and there was quiet contentment and unbroken tradition.
You could hear it in the music, she thought. Murphy had been right about that. Every note, every lovely voice lifted in song, spoke of roots too deep to be broken.
It charmed her to hear old Mrs. Conroy sing a ballad of love unrequited in a reedy voice that nonetheless held true. She laughed along with others at the rollicking drinking song shouted out. In awe and amazement she saw Brianna and Kate execute a complex and lyrical step-toe that had more people crowding into the parlor.
She clapped her palms pink when the music stopped, then glanced over as Murphy passed off his fiddle.
"You're enjoying yourself?" he asked her.
"I'm loving every minute." She handed him her plate to share. "You haven't had a chance to eat anything. So do it quick." She grinned at him. "I don't want you to stop playing."
"There's always someone to fill in." But he picked up half her ham sandwich.
"What else can you play-besides the violin and concertina?"
"Oh, a little of this and that. I saw you met my family."
"There are so many of them. And they all think the sun rises in Murphy's eyes." She chuckled when he winced.
"I think we should dance."
She shook her head when he took her hand. "As I've explained to several lovely gentlemen, I'm very happy to watch. No, Murphy." She laughed again when he pulled her to her feet. "I can't do that stuff-jigs or reels or whatever."
"Sure you can." He was steadily drawing her out. "But they're going to play a waltz, like I asked them. The first time we dance should be a waltz."
It was his voice that had her hand going limp, the way it had softened over the words. "I've never waltzed in my life."
He started to laugh, then his eyes widened. "You're joking."
"No. It's not a popular dance in the clubs I go to, so I'll just sit this one out."
"I'll show you." He slipped an arm around her waist, changed his grip on her hand. "Put your other hand on my shoulder."
"I know the stance, it's the steps." It was too enchanting a night not to accommodate him. Lowering her head, she watched his feet.
"You know the count, surely." He smiled at the top of her head. "So you go one, and a quicker two and three. And if you slide the back foot a bit on the last count, you'd glide into it. Aye, that's it."
When he circled her, she looked up again, laughing. "Don't get fancy. I'm a fast study, but I like plenty of practice."
"You can have all you want. It's no hardship for me to hold you in my arms."
Something shifted inside her. "Don't look at me like that, Murphy."
"I have to, when I'm waltzing with you." He whirled her in three long circles, as fluid as wine. "The trick when you're waltzing is to look right into your partner's eyes. You won't get dizzy that way, when you're turning round."
The idea of spot focusing might have had its merits, but not, Shannon discovered, when the focus was those dark blue eyes. "You have lashes longer than your sisters," she murmured.
"It was always a bone of contention between us."
"Such wonderful eyes." Her head was spinning, around and around like the dance. On the edge of giddy, on the verge of dreams. "I see them in my sleep. I can't stop thinking about you."
The muscles of his stomach twisted like iron, then tightened. "Darling, I'm doing my best to keep a promise here."
"I know." Everything was in slow motion now, a drift, a turn, a note. All of the colors and movements and voices seemed to fade mistily into the background until it was only the two of them, and the music. "You'd never break a promise, whatever it cost you."
"I haven't before." His voice was as tense as the hand holding hers. "But you're tempting me. Are you asking me to break it?"
"I don't know. Why are you always there, Murphy, on the tip of my mind?" She closed her eyes and let her head fall to his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm doing-what I'm feeling. I have to sit down. I have to think. I can't think when you're touching me."
"You drive a man past the end of his tether, Shannon." With an effort he kept his hands gentle as he drew her away, led her back to her seat. He crouched in front of her. "Look at me." His voice was quiet, below the music and the laughter. "I won't ask you again, I swore I wouldn't. It isn't pride that holds me back, or that makes me tell you the next step, whatever it is, has to be yours."
No, Shannon thought. It was honor. As old-fashioned a word as courtship.
"Stop flirting with the lass." Tim stopped by to slap Murphy hard on the back. "Sing something for us, Murphy."
"I'm busy now, Tim."
"No." Shannon edged back, found a smile. "Go sing something, Murphy. I've never heard you."
Fighting to compose himself, he stared down at the hands he'd rested on his knees. "What would you like to hear?"
"Your favorite." In a gesture that was as much apology as request, she laid her hand over his. "The song that means the most to you."
"All right. Will you talk with me later?"
"Later." She smiled at him as he straightened, certain she would feel more like herself later.
"So, how do you find your first ceili?" Brianna sat down beside her.
"Hmm? Oh, it's great. All of it."
"We haven't had such a grand, big party since Gray and I married last year. The Bacachs we had on the night we got back from our honeymoon."
"The what?"
"Oh, a Bacachs is an old tradition, where people disguise themselves and come into the house after dark, and-Oh, Murphy's going to sing." She gave Shannon's hand a squeeze. "I wonder what he'll do."
"His favorite."
" 'Four Green Fields,' " Brianna murmured and felt her eyes sting before the first note was played.
It took only that first note for voices to hush. The room went still as Murphy lifted his to the accompaniment of a single pipe.
She hadn't known he had that inside him-that pure, clean tenor, or the heart behind it. He sang a song of sadness and hope, of loss and renewal. And all the while the house grew as quiet as a church, his eyes were on hers. It was a love song, but the love was for Ireland, for the land, and for family.
Listening to him, she felt that something that had moved inside her during the dance shift again, harder, firmer, further. The blood began to hum under her skin, not in passion so much as acceptance. Anticipation. Every barrier she had built crumbled and fell, soundlessly, under the effortless beauty of the song.
His voice simply vanquished her.
There were tears on her cheeks, warm, freed by his voice and the heartbreaking words of the ballad. There was no applause when he had finished. The hush was acknowledgment of a beauty simple and grand.
Murphy's eyes s
tayed on Shannon's as he murmured something to the piper. A nod, and then a quick bright tune was played. The dancing began again.
She knew he understood before he'd taken the first step toward her. He smiled. She rose and took the hand he offered.
He couldn't get her out quickly. There were too many people who stopped him for a word. By the time he'd led her outside, he could feel her hand trembling in his.
So he turned to her. "Be sure."
"Yes. I'm sure. But, Murphy, this can't make any difference. You have to understand..."
He kissed her, slow and soft and deep so that the words slid back down her throat. Keeping her hand in his, he circled around the house toward the stables.
"In here?" Her eyes went wide, and she felt a quick tug-of-war between dismay and delight. "We can't. All these people."
He found he could laugh after all. "We'll save a roll in the hay for another time, Shannon love. I'm just getting blankets."
"Oh." She felt foolish, and not at all certain she wasn't disappointed. "Blankets," she repeated as he took two down from the line where they'd been airing. "Where are we going?"
He folded them, laid them over his arm, then took her hand again. "Where we started."
The dance. Her heart began to drum again. "I-can you just leave this way? All those people are in your house."
"I don't think we'll be missed." Pausing, he looked down at her. "Do you care if we are?"
"No." She shook her head once, quickly. "No, I don't care if we are."
They crossed into the fields under the streaming light of the moon.
"Do you like counting stars?" he asked her.
"I don't know." Automatically she looked up to a sky teeming with them. "I don't think I ever have."
"You can't ever finish." He brought their joined hands to his lips. "It's not the sum of them that matter. Not the number. It's the wonder of it all. That's what I see when I look at you. The wonder of it all."
With a laugh, he scooped her off her feet. When he kissed her again it was full of young, burgeoning joy.
"Can you pretend I'm carrying you up some fine curving staircase toward a big soft bed, plumped with satin pillows and pink lace?"
"I don't need to pretend anything." She pressed her face into his throat as emotion welled up and swamped her. "Tonight I need only you. And you're right here."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 134