The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  He ordered himself to match her mood. “I could probably be persuaded to share.”

  Neither of them looked back as they walked away, or saw the air ripple and shred.

  • • •

  “Fools,” Carrick muttered, scowling from his perch atop the stone well. “Stubborn, bone-brained fools. And just my luck to be stuck with them. One step away from happiness, and they spring back as if it were bared fangs.”

  He leaped off his seat, landing an inch above the ground. In the next instant he was sitting, cross-legged, by Maude’s grave. “I’m telling you, old friend, I’ve just no clear understanding of mortals. Maybe they are just in heat, and I’m wrong about them.”

  Brooding now, he stuck his chin on his fist. “The hell I am,” he decided, but it didn’t lighten his mood. “They’re stupid in love with each other, and there, I think, lies the problem. Neither of them knows how to handle stupidity. Afraid of it is what they are. Afraid to give in to senselessness and let love rule.”

  He sighed a little, then waved his wrist and took a bite of the golden apple that appeared. “You’d say I was the same. And you’d be right enough. Magee’s set on the same path I took. Promise her this, offer her that, vow to give her the world, as the world’s safe when you’ve plenty of it to spare. But you’ve only one heart, after all, and giving that is a more difficult deal. I didn’t look inside my Gwen, and he doesn’t look inside his Darcy. He thinks it’s sense, but it’s nothing but fear.”

  He gestured toward the headstone with the apple, as if the old woman sat there, listening. Perhaps she did. “And she’s no better when it comes to it. As different from my quiet, modest Gwen as sun from moon, but the same in this aspect. She wants him to offer his heart, but will she just bloody say so, for Finn’s sake? No, she won’t. Females—who can figure them?”

  He sighed then, munched his bright apple, contemplated. He’d nearly lost patience, had been on the edge of springing out of the air to order them both to get on with it. They were in love, admit it and be done.

  But that was beyond what was permitted. The choices, the timing, the steps of their dance together had to be theirs. His . . . contribution, Carrick decided—he didn’t care for the word “interference”—could be only minor.

  He had done what he could do. Now he had to wait as he had waited three centuries already. His fate, his happiness, at times he thought his very life, depended on the hearts of these two mortals.

  He’d dealt with the other pairs of them. You’d have thought he’d have learned enough to know how to hurry these last two along. But all he’d learned was that love was a jewel with too many facets to count. Strength and weakness running side by side through it. And that no one could give or take it with any less than an open hand.

  He lay back on the grass, and with his mind sketched Gwen’s beloved face in the clouds. “I ache for you. Heart, body, mind. I would give all that’s in my power to give to touch you again, to breathe your scent, to hear your voice. I swear to you, when you come back to me at last, it’s love I’ll pour at your feet. The grandeur and humility of it. And the flowers that bloom from that will never die.”

  He closed his eyes, and weary with waiting, vanished into sleep.

  The effort of being cheerful and sexy and witty left Darcy near to exhaustion by the time Trevor drove her down to the pub. But determined to play it all out, she walked around the back with him so she could make happy noises about the progress of the work.

  She realized that temper had her overplaying it when Trevor narrowed his eyes at her. So she beat a hasty retreat, giving him a warm but brief kiss.

  She made it as far as the kitchen door when Brenna shoved in behind her. “What’s the matter?” Brenna asked immediately.

  They’d known each other since birth, understood each other’s moods often better than they understood their own.

  “Come upstairs, can you?” Such was the nature of their friendship that Darcy didn’t have to wait for an answer. She went up fast, shedding her brightness and cheer as she might have shed clothes.

  “I’ve a headache.” The brutal pounding sent her straight to the bathroom cupboard for aspirin. She chased it with water, drinking the whole glass down.

  Their eyes met in the mirror. Brenna knew that sleek and shiny look hid some deep hurt.

  “What did he do?”

  How marvelous it was to have a friend who simply knew where the blame lay even before the offense was cited. “He offered me a fortune. A small one, I suppose, by his standards, but hefty enough by mine. Enough to set me on the way to where I’m going, and in fine style.”

  “And?”

  “I’m taking it.” She tossed her head, and the edgy defiance worried her friend. “I’m signing his recording contract.”

  “That’s grand, Darcy, truly it is, if it’s what you want.”

  “I’ve always wanted more than I have, and now I’m about to get it. I wouldn’t sign if it didn’t suit me. I promise you I’m doing it for me first. I haven’t lost my head so much to do otherwise.”

  “Then I’m pleased for you, and proud already.” She laid a hand on Darcy’s shoulder, rubbed at the tension. “Now tell me how he hurt you.”

  “I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. I thought he would tell me he loved me and wanted me to belong to him. Can you imagine that?”

  “I can.” And now Brenna hurt as well. “Perfectly.” “Sure and his vision’s not so sharp as yours. He hasn’t a clue.” She gripped the sides of the sink, breathed slow and deep. “I’m not going to cry. He won’t get tears out of me.”

  “Come sit down and tell me.”

  When she did and when she had, Brenna held her hand. All sympathy, she said, “Bastard!”

  “Thanks for that. I hate that it’s partly my fault. Oh, that’s a bitter pill. But I set myself up for it, no mistake there. Spinning romantic fantasies in the shower like some fluff-brained girl.”

  “Why shouldn’t you? You love him.”

  “I do, the cad, and I’ll make him pay for it before we’re done.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Trap him, of course. Blind him with lust, confuse him with my many moods, toy with him. All the things I’m best at when it comes to men.”

  “I won’t say you aren’t skilled in that area,” Brenna said carefully. “But if you go this way, and win, it won’t be enough for you.”

  “I’ll make it enough. Many’s the relationship that has its seeds in sex. Lust and love aren’t so far apart.”

  “Maybe not in the flaming dictionary. But Darcy, when one party’s in lust and the other in love, they’re distant as moons. And between those places is so much room to be hurt.”

  “I can’t hurt any more than I did this morning at Saint Declan’s Well. And I survived.”

  She stepped to the window. Out there, she thought, Trevor was building his dream, but he’d needed some of what was hers for it. Well, she could build her own and take some of his. Of him.

  “I’ll risk the rest. I can make him need me, Brenna. Need’s the step between wanting and loving. It’ll be enough for me.”

  She shook her head before Brenna could speak, crossed back. “I have to try.”

  “Of course you do.” Hadn’t she? Brenna thought. Didn’t everyone who knew what love was and longing?

  “But at the moment, I need to vent out this foul mood. Shawn’ll be coming along shortly. I’ll just go down and torment him until I feel better.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll get back on the job and out of harm’s way.”

  EIGHTEEN

  A STORM HOVERED over the village, marching down from the northeast to camp on the border as an army digs in for a siege. The rising winds and splattering rain that were its leading edge chased people from the beaches, and brought a nasty chill. The sky, thick and bruised and ominous, had even the locals glancing upward with apprehension.

  Had you ever seen that green tint to the clouds’ edges be
fore? Had you ever tasted air that had such a flavor of mean in it?

  She would hit, they said, and hit hard.

  Those who’d been through such things before checked their stock of candles and lamp oil and batteries. Supplies were laid in, and children ordered to stay close to home. Boats were secured in their docks as Ardmore prepared for the coming battle.

  But when the door of the pub burst open, Jude’s face was bright as sunbeams. “It came.”

  Excitement had her barely able to speak above a whisper that didn’t carry over the voices to where Aidan was busy at the taps. It was Darcy who saw her, standing there with her bound-back hair damp with raindrops, her cheeks flushed pink. And the book clutched to her breast like a beloved child.

  Darcy dumped her tray immediately, and unceremoniously, on a table where four baffled French students stared at the toasted sandwiches, piles of slaw and chips they hadn’t ordered, and began consulting their phrase books.

  “Is it the book? Yours?” Thrilled, Darcy tried to pry it out of Jude’s grip.

  “No, I have to show it to Aidan first. He has to see it first.”

  “Of course he does, well, of course. Come on, then. Make way there, Jack, you’re like a hulking bear. Move aside, will you, Sharon, we’ve business of a vital nature here.”

  Snaking her way, Darcy reached the pass-through, tossed it up, then hustled Jude ahead of her behind the bar. “Hurry,” she ordered. “I’m dying to see it.”

  “Okay, all right.” Jude exclaimed with the book pressed so tight against her she felt her heart knocking against the cover. “Aidan.”

  He served a pint at the bar, took the coin. “Jude. Hello, darling. Can’t you find a seat?”

  “No, I—”

  “We’ll cozy you down in the snug, but I want you home and tucked in before this storm hits. Two pints Smithwick’s. That’s three pounds and twenty.”

  “Aidan, I want to show you something.”

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute, darling. Eighty pence is your change.”

  “A minute be damned.” Out of patience, Darcy grabbed Aidan’s arm. “Look at her, you great baboon.”

  “What’s the matter? Can’t you see I’ve customers here who—” But he broke off, his grin bursting wide as he saw what was clutched in his wife’s arms. “Your book!”

  “It just came. It’s right off the press. It’s real. It’s beautiful.”

  “Of course it is. Are you going to let me see?”

  “Yes. I . . . I can’t move.”

  “Jude Frances.” The tenderness in his voice made Darcy’s throat swell. “I love you. Here, now, give it over.”

  Gently he tugged it out of her grip, studying the back cover first, where her picture was printed. “Isn’t she pretty, my Jude, so solemn-eyed and lovely.”

  “Oh, turn it over, Aidan.” Jude might have danced if the baby hadn’t been weighing so heavy. “That part’s not important.”

  “It is to me. Everyone can look at this and see what fine taste I have in wives.” But he did turn it over, and let out an ah of delight.

  J EWELS OF THE S UN

  And Other Irish Legends

  Jude Frances Gallagher

  The title ran across the top, and her name across the bottom of a brilliantly colored illustration depicting a man in silver and a woman with pale hair riding across a bold blue sky on a winged white horse.

  “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Jude Frances, it’s beautiful.”

  “It really is, isn’t it?” She didn’t mind the tears that slid down her cheeks. They felt wonderful and right and well deserved. “I can’t stop looking at it, touching it. I thought I knew how much it meant. I wasn’t even close.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” He lowered his head to press his lips to her forehead. “You have to give this one to me, so I can sit and read every word.”

  “Start now, with the dedication.”

  When he opened it, began reading the flyleaf, she turned the pages herself. “No, you can read that later. Read this now.”

  Indulging her, he began to read. Then his eyes changed, darkened, lifted to hers. The look that passed between them was strong and vibrant. This time when he kissed her, he took her mouth.

  “A ghra” was all he said when he lifted his head, laid his cheek against her hair. My love.

  “Take Jude back in the snug,” Darcy murmured. “She shouldn’t be on her feet so long. Take some time with her. I’ll see to the bar here.”

  “Thanks. Just let me settle her in, get her some tea.” Emotions still swirled in his eyes as he handed Darcy the book. “Have a care with it.”

  Ignoring customers, Darcy opened the book, and read what Aidan had.

  For Aidan who showed me my own heart,

  and gave me his.

  With him I learned there is no magic

  more potent than love.

  “May I see it?”

  Eyes drenched, Darcy looked across the bar at Trevor. Because she was unable to speak, she handed the book to him and immediately started the first layer on a pair of Guinnesses.

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Of course it is. It’s Jude’s.”

  Saying nothing, he walked behind the bar, set the book on a shelf out of harm’s way, then took out his handkerchief.

  “Thanks.” She sniffled, dried her eyes.

  “Sentiment looks lovely on you.”

  “It doesn’t get the work done. It’s Aidan’s turn to be sentimental now. I’ll take mine later.”

  She tucked the handkerchief in her pocket—just in case. “Isn’t it wonderful ?” She did a little step dance, then beamed at the next customer who came to the bar to order. “My sister’s a famous author, and this is her book.” She snatched it back off the shelf. “It’ll be in bookshops in just a couple of weeks now. You should buy it as soon as you can. Now what can I get you?”

  “Darcy, are you ever picking up these orders, or do I have to serve as well as cook?” Obviously put-upon, Shawn came through the kitchen door carrying a loaded tray.

  “Look, you peabrain.” She turned and all but shoved the book under his nose.

  “It’s Jude’s!” He set the tray on the bar with a clatter and made a grab for the book.

  “One drop of chip fat on this, and you’re a dead man.”

  “I know how to be careful.” He took the book as if it were fragile china. “Brenna has to see,” he announced, and was back out the door like a shot.

  “They’ll grubby it up between them, wait and see.” She turned back, a little shocked to see Trevor exchanging pints he’d drawn himself for payment. “Well, look at himself, manning the bar.”

  “I can handle it until Aidan’s back, if you want to serve those lunch orders before they’re cold.”

  “Do you know how to build a Guinness?”

  “I’ve watched enough of them constructed.”

  “Some people watch brain surgery, doesn’t mean they should be handed a knife.” But she picked up the tray. “We’re grateful for the help.”

  “No problem.” It gave him a chance to watch her work. And to think.

  For the last few days she’d kept him balancing on a keen and delicious edge. In bed she was a siren, and out of it a tease. She was tireless, energetic, capricious, and fascinating.

  And somehow through it all, he would have said heartless.

  Something had been off, he decided, between them since the night they’d made slow and gentle love. He couldn’t pinpoint the change, only knew the change was there. He saw it when he caught the cold and steady gleam of calculation in her eyes.

  Then again, she was a woman who made no secret of her calculations. He accepted that, and in many ways admired her lack of artifice. But the Darcy he’d just seen hadn’t been calculating or capricious or self-interested. She’d been thrilled, excited, and sentimental enough to cry over Jude’s accomplishment, her brother’s pride.

  It was odd to think that in all the weeks he’d k
nown her he’d only seen her shed a tear over someone else’s pleasure.

  Where she loved she was both vulnerable and generous. He wanted that vulnerability, that generosity. He wanted that love. And, though he knew it was wrong, he wanted her to shed a tear over him.

  It was time, he thought, to push her a little closer.

  He waited until the shift was over, until Aidan left to take Jude home.

  “She’s worn out.” Darcy stood in the doorway, watching them drive off the short distance to the house. “Such excitement. He’ll persuade her to lie down a bit. Oh, the wind’s kicking.”

  Closing her eyes, she let it batter her, reveled in it. “The storm will hit full before nightfall. Then we’re in for it. You’d best batten down your hatches, Magee, for there’s a gale coming.”

  “I’m heading back to the cottage shortly, anyway. I’ve got work there to deal with. You’re getting wet.”

  “Feels good after all the crowd in here today.” But she closed the door on the wind and spitting rain, and locked it. “I’ll wager you ten pounds to your five that you’ll be working by candlelight this night.”

  “That’s a sucker bet. I’m no sucker.”

  “Pity. I can always use an extra five.” She began to gather empties from the tables. “We’ll be packed tonight. People like company when the world’s wild. Come back if you can, for we’ll have music to chase the jitters away.”

  “I will. Can you let that go a minute? I want to talk to you.”

  “Twisted me arm.” With pleasure, she sat at one of the tables, put up her feet on the chair beside her. “Days like this you wish you had three arms and twice as many feet.”

  “Looking forward to serving your last pint?”

  Not as much as she’d expected, but she nodded. “Who wouldn’t be? Every time I pick up the phone and dial room service, it’ll be a personal celebration.”

  “You can count on doing a lot of celebrating.” He sat across from her. Time, he thought, to up the stakes and play the next card. “They’re faxing me the draft of your contract today. I expect to have it when I get back to the cottage.”