"Is something troubling you?" "I think-I'd like to see the letters." She said it quickly before her courage evaporated. "The letters my mother wrote."
"Of course." Brianna laid a hand, support and comfort, on Shannon's shoulder. "I've kept them in my dresser. Why don't you come into the family parlor, and you can read them."
But before Shannon could rise, there was a commotion in the hall. Voices fussed and clashed causing the hand on Shannon's shoulder to tense once, briefly. "It's Mother," she murmured. "And Lottie." "It's all right." Not at all sure if she was disappointed or relieved, Shannon patted Brianna's hand. "I'll look at them later." She braced for whatever form the confrontation would take.
Maeve swept in first, still arguing. "I tell you I'll not ask. If you've no pride yourself, I can't stop you from it." She caught sight of Shannon holding her granddaughter and lifted her chin.
"Well, you're very much to home, I see." "Yes, I am. Brianna makes it impossible to be otherwise. Hello, Mrs. Sullivan."
"Oh, Lottie, dear. You just call me Lottie like everyone. And how's my angel today?" She bent over Kayla, cooing. "Look here, Maeve, she's smiling."
"Why shouldn't she? She's being spoiled right and left."
"Brianna's an incredibly loving mother," Shannon shot back before she could stop herself.
Maeve merely sniffed. "The baby can't so much as whimper that someone's not snatching her up."
"Including you," Lottie put in. "Oh, Brie, what a lovely cake."
Resigned that she'd have to bake another now for her guests' dessert, Brianna took out a knife. "Sit down, won't you, and have a piece."
Liam shot out of the adjoining door, five paces ahead of his mother. "Cake!" he shouted.
"Got radar, that boy has." However gruff her voice, Maeve's eyes lit up at the sight of him. "There's a likely lad."
He beamed at her, sensing an ally, and lifted his arms. "Kiss."
"Come sit on my lap," Maeve ordered. "And you'll have both, the cake and the kiss. He's a bit flushed, Margaret Mary."
"He's just up from his nap. Are you cutting that cake then, Brie?"
"You should have more care with your diet, now that you're breeding again," Maeve told her. "The doctor says you've the morning sickness this time around."
It was a toss-up as to who was more shocked by the statement, Maeve or Maggie. Already wishing the words back, Maeve began to feed her grandson bits of cake.
"It's nothing."
"She's sick as a dog every morning," Shannon corrected, looking directly at Maeve.
"Maggie, you told me it was passing." There was accusation twined with the concern in Brianna's voice.
Furious and embarrassed, Maggie glared at Shannon. "It's nothing," she repeated. "Never could bear a weakness." Maeve's caustic comment had the fury leaping. Before Maggie could spew, Shannon nodded in agreement. "She snaps like a terrier when you try to help her through it. It's hard, don't you think, Mrs. Concannon, for a strong woman to need help? And one like Maggie, who's figured out how to handle a family and a demanding career, to lose her stomach and her control every morning... it's lowering."
"I was sick every morning for more than three months carrying her," Maeve said crisply. "A woman learns to get through such things-as a man never could." "No, they'd just whine about it." "Neither of my daughters were whiners, ever." Scowling again, Maeve looked over at Brianna. "Are you going to stand there holding that pot of tea all day, Brianna, or are you going to pour it out?"
"Oh." She managed to lift the jaw that had dropped and serve the tea. "Sorry."
"Thank you, darling." Delighted with the way things were going, Lottie beamed.
For more than two years she'd been nudging and tugging Maeve toward even a shaky bridge with her daughters. Now it looked as though the span was narrowing. "You know, Maggie, Maeve and I were just looking through the snapshots from our trip to your home in France."
"No more pride than a beggar," Maeve muttered, but Lottie just smiled.
"They reminded us both what a lovely time we had there. It's the south of France," she told Shannon. "The house is like a palace and looks right out over the sea."
"And sits there empty, month after month," Maeve grumbled. "Empty but for servants."
Maggie started to snarl at the complaint, but caught Brianna's arched look. It cost her, but she buried the hot words and chose kinder ones. "Rogan and I were talking about just that not long ago. We'd hoped to take a few weeks there this summer, but both of us are too busy to go just now."
She let out a breath, telling herself she was earning points with the angels. "It's been a bit of a concern to me that no one's there to check on matters, and see that the staff is doing as it should."
Which was a big, bold lie she hoped wouldn't negate the points. "I don't suppose the two of you would consider taking a bit of time and going out there? It would be a great favor to me if you could manage it."
With an effort Lottie bit back the urge to spring up and dance. She looked at Maeve, cocked her head. "What do you think, Maeve? Could we manage it?"
As the image of the sunny villa, the servants dancing attendance, the sheer luxury of it all slid into her mind, she shrugged and brought the cup of tea to Liam's waiting lips.
"Traveling aggravates my digestion. But I suppose I could tolerate a bit of inconvenience."
This time it was Shannon's warning glance that held back Maggie's snarl. "I'd be grateful," she said between clamped teeth. "I'll have Rogan arrange to have the plane take you when it suits."
Twenty minutes later Brianna listened to the front door close behind her mother and Lottie, then crossed the kitchen to give Maggie a hard hug. "That was well done, Maggie."
"I feel as if I'd swallowed a toad. Her digestion be damned."
Brianna only laughed. "Don't spoil it."
"And you." Maggie spun to jerk an accusing finger at Shannon.
"And me?" she returned, all innocence.
"As if I couldn't see the wheels turning in your head. 'Sick as a dog, she is, Mrs. Concannon. Snaps like a terrier.' "
"Worked, didn't it?"
Maggie opened her mouth, then closed it on a laugh. "It did, but my pride's sorely injured." Catching movement through the window, she moved closer and peered out. "Well, look what Con's rooted out of the bush. There's three men coming this way, Brianna. You may want to make a new pot of tea." She stared out for another moment as a smile bloomed. "Christ Jesus, what a handsome lot they are. I'll take the jackeen," she murmured. "The two of you can scrabble over the others."
While Shannon tried to adjust her suddenly jittery system, Maggie went to the door and threw it open. Con bolted in first, streaking under the table to vacuum up the crumbs Liam had been considerate enough to drop.
"Cake." His senses as tuned as the hounds, Gray spotted the treat the moment he crossed the threshold. "With the marshmallow stuff. Guys, we've struck gold."
"Da." Liam bounced in his chair and held up sticky fingers. Rogan had the presence of mind to stop by the sink and dampen a cloth before he went to his son.
Murphy just stood there, his cap in his hands, his eyes on Shannon. "You're back."
"A couple of hours ago," she began, then her eyes widened as he marched to her, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her the way a wise man only kisses a woman in private.
"Welcome."
She didn't have a single breath left. She drew some in and nodded. She would have given her shaky legs the relief of sitting again, but he held firm to her arm.
"Come with me."
"Well, I..." Her gaze darted around the room, where everyone was suddenly intent on their own business.
"Hold on to yourself, Murphy," Maggie said lightly as she got out fresh plates. "Shannon's a present she wants to give you."
"Yes. That's right. I..." She trailed off.
"I'll get the box for you," Rogan offered.
"Will you have some tea, Murphy?" Brianna asked.
"No, thank you." He
never took his eyes off Shannon's face. "We can't stay just now. Shannon'11 have dinner with me tonight."
"And breakfast," Gray murmured in Brianna's ear.
"Thank you, Rogan." Shannon took the box he brought in and wondered what to do next.
"What is it?" Gray wanted to know. "Open it up. Ow." He winced as Brianna jabbed his ribs with her elbow.
"He'll open it at home," she said. "Take some cake with you." She already readied a slab and handed Murphy the covered plate.
"Thanks. Come with me," he said again and, taking Shannon's arm, led her outside.
"Good thing you gave him the plate," Maggie commented. "Else he'd have his hands all over her before they were out of the garden."
As it was, he had to call on all of his control. He wanted to drag her over the fields, down onto them.
Instead he concentrated on keeping his stride from outdistancing hers.
"I should have brought the lorry." "It's not far to walk," she said, breathless. "Right now it is. Is that heavy? I'll take it." "No." She shifted the box out of his reach. It wasn't light, but she wanted to carry it. "You might guess."
"You didn't have to buy me anything. Your coming back's present enough." He hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her easily over the wall. "I missed you every minute. I didn't know a man could think of a woman so many times in one day."
He forced himself to take three calming breaths. "Rogan told me you'd signed the contracts with him. Are you happy?"
"Part of me is, and part of me's terrified." "The fear's only a motivator to do your best. You'll be famous, Shannon, and rich." "I'm already rich." His stride faltered. "You are?" "Comparatively."
"Oh." He'd have to mull that one over, he decided. Think it through. But at the moment his mind kept getting muddled with images of peeling her out of that pretty tailored jacket.
When they reached the farm, he held open the kitchen door. He set the plate on the counter and would have grabbed her if she hadn't anticipated him and moved to the other side of the table.
"I'd like you to open your present." She set it on the table between them.
"I want you upstairs, on the stairs. Here on the floor."
Blood bubbled under her skin. "The way I'm feeling right now, you can have me upstairs, on the stairs, and here on the floor." She held up a hand when his eyes went hot. "But I'd really like you to see what I got you in Dublin."
He didn't give a damn if she'd brought him a solid-gold pitchfork or a jeweled plowshare. But the quiet request stopped him from simply leaping over the table. Instead, he lifted the lid from the box and pushed through the packing.
She saw the instant he realized what was under it. The stunned joy crept into his face. Suddenly he looked as young and bedazzled as any child who's found his heart's desire under the tree on Christmas morning.
Reverently he lifted the dulcimer out, ran his fingers over the wood. "I've never seen anything so fine."
"Maggie said you'd made one yourself just as fine, then given it away."
Enchanted, he only shook his head. "No, 'twasn't so beautiful as this." He looked up then, wonder and delight in his eyes. "What made you think to buy such a thing as this for me?"
"I saw it in the window, and I saw you playing it. Will you play it for me, Murphy?"
"I haven't played the dulcimer in a time." But he unwrapped the hammers, stroked them as he might the down of a newly hatched chick. "There's a tune I know."
And when he played it, she saw that she'd been right. He had that half smile on his face, the faraway look in his eyes. The melody was old and sweet, like some lovely wine just decanted. It filled the kitchen, made her eyes sting and her heart swell.
"It's the grandest gift I've ever had," he said as he set the hammers gently aside. "I'll treasure it."
The impatient beast that had clawed inside of him was calmed. He came around the table and took her hands gently in his. "I love you, Shannon."
"I know." She lifted their joined hands to her cheek. "I know you do."
"You called me yesterday and told me you loved me. Will you tell me now?"
"I shouldn't have called that way." She spoke quickly as nerves began to spark in her fingertips. "I wasn't thinking clearly, and..." He kissed those unsteady fingertips, watching her patiently over them. "I do love you, Murphy, but-"
He only laid his lips on hers, silencing the rest. "Ever since I heard you tell me, the first time, I've been aching for you. Will you come upstairs with me, Shannon?"
"Yes." She leaned closer, trapping their joined hands between. "I'll come upstairs with you." She smiled, swept up in the romance of it even as she was swept up in his arms.
The light was lovely, trailing through the windows, scattering over the stairs as he carried her up, flowing pale across the bed when he laid her on it.
It was so easy to sink into that light, into the gentle strength of his arms as they wrapped around her, into the warm promise of his mouth.
It occurred to her that this was the first time they'd loved each other with a roof overhead and a bed beneath them. She might have missed the stars and the smell of grass if it hadn't been for the sweetness he offered her in its place.
He'd brought flowers into the room. Imagining her here, he'd wanted there to be flowers. He caught the fragile scent of them as he dipped his head to trail his lips down her throat.
There were candles, for later, to replace the starlight. There were soft linen sheets, a substitute for woolen blankets and grass. He spread her hair over his pillow, knowing her scent would cling there.
She smiled as he began to undress her. She'd bought a few other things in Dublin and knew, when he'd uncovered the first hint of rose silk, she'd chosen well.
With quiet concentration, he peeled aside jacket, blouse, slacks, then drew a fingertip across the ivory lace that flirted between her breasts.
"Why do such things weaken a man?" he wondered.
Her smile spread. "I saw it in the window, then I saw you. Touching me."
His gaze lifted to hers. Very slowly he skimmed his fingertip down, over the curve of her breast, under it, then up again to graze her nipple. "Like this?"
"Yes." Her eyes fluttered closed. "Just like this."
Experimentally he followed the silk down to were it ended in an edge of that same lace just below the waist. Beneath that was a tiny swatch of matching silk. He laid his hand over the triangle and watched her arch.
When he replaced his hand with his mouth, she writhed.
To please himself, he explored every inch of the silks before moving on to the flesh beneath. He knew she was lost to reason when he'd finished. Even as she bucked beneath him, clawed, he held on to his own. He wanted one last gift.
"Tell me now, Shannon." The breath was searing his lungs, and his fists were bone white. "Tell me now that you love me, when you're burning for me, when you're desperate for me to come inside you, to fill you. To ride you."
She was gasping for air, frantic for him to drive her over that last thin edge. "I love you." Tears sprang to her eyes as emotion mixed, equal to need. "I love you, Murphy."
He thrust into her, making them both groan. Each plunge was a demand and a glory. "Tell me again." His voice was fierce as they both teetered on the brink. "Tell me again."
"I love you." Almost weeping, she buried her face in his throat and let him shatter her.
Later, after he'd lighted the candles, he pulled her down the hall to the bath where they played like children in water too hot in a tub too full.
Instead of dinner, they gorged on Brianna's cake, washed it down with beer in a combination Shannon knew should be disgusting. It tasted like ambrosia.
While she was licking her fingers, she caught the gleam in his eye. In a heartbeat they were lunging for each other, and made love like mindless animals on the kitchen floor.
She might have slept there, exhausted, but he pulled her to her feet. No steadier than drunks, they staggered out, down the hall. Then he
pulled her into the parlor, and they had each other again on the rug.
When she managed to sit up, her hair was tangled, her eyes glazed, and her body aching. "How many rooms are there in this house?"
He laughed and nipped her shoulder. "You're going to find out."
"Murphy, we'll kill each other." When his hand snaked up the ladder of her ribs to cup her breast, she let out a shuddering sigh. "I'm willing to risk it if you are."
"That's a lass."
There were fifteen, Shannon thought when she collapsed onto the tangled sheets somewhere near dawn. Fifteen rooms in the sprawling stone farmhouse, and it wasn't through lack of wanting that they hadn't managed to christen all of them. Somewhere along the line their bodies had simply betrayed them. They'd tumbled back into bed with no thought of anything but sleep.
As she drifted toward it, under the weight of Murphy's arm, she reminded herself they would have to talk seriously and talk soon. She had to explain things to him. Make him see why the future was so much more complex then the present.
Even as she tried to formulate the words in her mind, she drifted deeper.
And she saw the man, her warrior, her lover, on the white horse. There was the glint of armor, the swirl of his cape in the wind.
But this time, he wasn't riding toward her across the fields. He was riding away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Murphy figured it was love that made a man so energetic after an hour's sleep. He dealt with the milking, the feeding of stock, the pasturing, all with a song on his lips and a spring in his step that had the young Feeney boy grinning at him.
As usual, there were a dozen chores to see to before breakfast. Grateful it was his neighbor's turn to haul the milk away, Murphy gathered up the morning's eggs, eyed one of the older ladies who would need to do her turn in the pot shortly, and headed back toward the house.
He was having a change of heart about his earlier idea of letting Shannon sleep while he grabbed a quick cup of tea and a biscuit, then set out to turn his turf.
It seemed much more inviting to take her up that tea and biscuit and make love with her while she was warm from sleep and soft from dreaming.
Books by Nora Roberts Page 140