Tears of the Moon

by Nora Roberts

  “I know your story well.”

  “Aye, you would. And your new sister, Jude, has put it in her book of tales and legends. The ending is still an unhappy one as I cast the spell over my Gwen, in anger and in pain—rashly, Gallagher. Three times love would find love, heart accept heart with all the failings and the foibles. And then, my Gwen and I will be free to be together. A hundred years times three I’ve waited, and my patience is sore tested. You’re a man who has words.”

  Considering, Carrick circled Shawn and the grave. “You use them well with your music—music others should hear, but that’s another matter. A man who has such a gift of words is one who understands what’s inside a person, sometimes before that person knows. It’s a gift you have. I’m only asking you to use it.”

  In a long flourish, he waved his hand over the grave, and the pearls blossomed into flowers. “The jewels I gave Gwen grew into flowers. Your Jude will tell you it was the flowers she kept. Some women want the simple things, Gallagher, so I’ve come to understand.”

  He lifted his finger. Resting on the tip was a single perfect pearl. With a thin smile, he flicked it toward Shawn, then nodded, pleased, when Shawn snatched it from the air. “Take it, keep it, until you realize who it is you’re to give it to. When you do, give the words. They’re more of magic than what you have in hand.”

  The air trembled, wavered, and Carrick disappeared into it.

  “The man wears you out,” Shawn murmured, then sat beside Maude’s grave again. “It’s very unusual companions you have.”

  Then, because he needed it, Shawn let himself fall into the quiet. He watched the moonflowers, blooms open despite the steam of sunlight, dance across the grave. He studied the pearl, rubbing it through his fingers. He put it in his pocket before reaching down to pick a single blossom.

  “I don’t think you’ll mind, as it’s for Jude,” he said to Maude. He sat and kept her company another twenty minutes before going back home.

  He didn’t knock. It had been his home too long for him to think of it. But Shawn did think, the minute he’d closed the door behind him, that he was very likely interrupting Jude’s work. When she came to the top of the steps before he could decide if he should go back out again, he glanced up in apology. “You’ll be working. I’ll come back ’round later.”

  “No, that’s all right. I don’t mind a break. Would you like some tea?” she asked as she started down.

  “I would, yes, but I’ll fix it for both of us.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” She smiled uncertainly when he held out the moonflower. “Thanks. Isn’t it the wrong time for this to be blooming?”

  “In most places. It’s one of the things I’d like to speak with you about.” He started back toward the kitchen with her. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good. Really good, actually. I think the morning sickness is passing, and I’m not sorry to see it go.”

  “And your work’s going well?”

  It would be Shawn’s way, she thought, to wind his way around to the genuine purpose of the visit in his own time. So she found a little bottle for the blossom while he put on the kettle. “Yes, it is. I still have moments when I can’t believe I’m doing it. This time last year I was still teaching, and hating my work. Now I have a book on its way to being published, and another one coming to life every day. I’m a little nervous because this one’s a story out of my head instead of a compilation of others I’ve been told, but I really love the process of it.”

  “Being a little nervous you’ll probably write a better story, don’t you think?” At home, he got out the biscuit tin and filled a plate. “Meaning, you’ll have more care with it.”

  “I hope you’re right. Are you nervous when you’re writing your music?”

  “Not the tunes,” he said after a moment’s thought. “The words sometimes. Trying to find the right way of saying what the music’s telling me. It can be frustrating.”

  “How do you handle it?”

  “Oh, I bang my head against it for a while.” After the pot was warmed he measured out the tea. “Then if all I get from that is a headache, I’ll take a walk to clear it, or think of something else entirely. Most times, after I do, the words are just there, as if they’d been waiting for me to pluck them.”

  “I’m afraid to walk away when it’s not working. I always think if I do I won’t be able to write at all when I come back. Your way’s healthier.”

  “Ah, but you’re the published author, then, aren’t you?” While the tea steeped, he got out cups.

  “Do you want your music published, Shawn?”

  “Maybe, one day. There’s no rush about it.” Which, he knew, he’d been saying for years already. “I write it to please myself, and that’s enough for now.”

  “My agent might know someone in the music business. I’d be happy to ask.”

  His stomach jumped like a rabbit under the gun. “Oh, there’s no need for that. Actually, Jude, I’ve come by to speak with you about another matter altogether.”

  She waited, letting him bring the pot to the table, pour the tea. When he’d settled, and the fragrant steam rose between them, he still didn’t speak.

  “Shawn, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Well, I’m trying to figure out exactly how to say it. I’ll just start this way.” He reached in his pocket, and after drawing out the pearl, set it beside her cup.

  “A pearl?” Puzzled, she started to reach for it, then her gaze whipped up to his, and her fingers stopped a whisper away from the round white gem. “Oh. Carrick.”

  “He speaks fondly of you.”

  “How odd. It’s so . . . odd.” Now she did pick up the pearl and cupped it in her palm. “And the moonflower. The rest of the pearls turned to moonflowers.”

  “On Maude’s grave. What do you think of it all?”

  “What does a modern, educated, fairly intelligent woman think of the existence of faeries?” She let the pearl roll in her palm, then shook her head. “I think it’s marvelous. Literally. This one’s arrogant and impatient, and a bit of a showoff, but coming into contact with him is one of the things that changed my life.”

  “I think he’s of a mind to change mine. Or he wouldn’t have given me that.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Jude gave the pearl back to Shawn. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “That he’s got a long wait in store, as I like my life just as it is.”

  “Are you . . .” Trailing off, Jude picked up her tea. “I never had siblings, so I don’t know what’s out of line. But I wonder if you’re thinking of Brenna.”

  “I’ve given the O’Toole considerable thought. And I’ve given more than a passing one to the notion that Carrick sees my linking with her as the next step for him.”

  “And?”

  “Well, now.” Shawn picked up a biscuit, bit into it. “I’d say again, he has a long wait in store.” His lips twitched as Jude looked down into her tea. “Was that a bit of a matchmaker’s gleam I caught there in your pretty eyes, Jude Frances?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about a happily married woman taking a look at her bachelor brother-in-law and thinking to herself, ‘Well, now, wouldn’t it be fine if our darling Shawn found himself the right woman and settled down—and what might it be that I can do to help that along.’ ”

  “I wouldn’t presume to interfere.” However prim her tone, the laugh showed in her eyes. “Hardly at all.”

  “I appreciate it.” He slipped the pearl back into his pocket. “And just so you’re aware of my thoughts and feelings on this, I’ll tell you that if there comes to be anything between me and the O’Toole it’ll be because it’s something we both decide upon, not because some bullying member of the gentry’s decided for us. Or even because my new sister, whom I love dearly, wishes it so.”

  “I only wish you to be happy.”

  “I’ve plans to stay th
at way. And as I do, I’d best get into the pub so Aidan’s not duty-bound to break my head for being late.”

  ELEVEN

  BRENNA DIDN’T CONSIDER it spying. And she’d have challenged the one who accused her. It just so happened that she had a bit of work to do in Finkle’s room. He’d complained the shower was slow to drain, and since she was there in any case, the hotel had asked that she deal with it. Was it her fault he was on the phone with his employer when she came ’round? Certainly not. And could the blame be laid on her that he wasn’t the sort of man who paid any mind to service people?

  Unless, she imagined, they looked like Darcy, and then a man would have to be deaf and blind, and likely dead a year or so not to give her a long second look. But that was beside the point altogether.

  He’d let her in himself, with a fussy and impatient wave of his hand. Then had simply gestured toward the bath and gone back to the phone. Such treatment didn’t hurt her feelings. She was there to do some plumbing, after all.

  But she had ears, and was there any reason not to use them?

  “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Magee, the young man’s here to fix the plumbing.”

  Young man? Brenna bit her tongue and rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll fax the report as soon as I’ve put it all in a cohesive form. That may be after business hours in New York, sir, so I’ll send copies to your private line as well.”

  In the bath, Brenna rattled her tools. From her angle she could see only Finkle’s polished shoes and a thin strip of dove-gray sock.

  “No, I haven’t been able to get the name of the London firm that’s interested in the property. The elder brother, Aidan, brushes it off, claims the other one is confused. I’d have to say it’s more than possible for the younger to confuse things. He’s amiable enough, but doesn’t appear terribly bright.”

  Brenna snorted, then began the business of snaking the drain. As quietly as manageable.

  “However, judging from the reaction, the body language, and the speed with which this lapse was covered, I’d have to say there has been some negotiation in that corner.”

  Finkle was silent for a moment. Brenna strained her ears and heard the light tap-tap of his fingers on wood. “Yes, it is a lovely place. Picturesque, unspoiled. ‘Simple’ would be my word. It’s also remote. Having seen it, and having spent this short time here, I would have to go back to my original opinion, sir. I hardly see this theater project being a financial success. Dublin would be a more logical choice. Or failing that—”

  Silence again, then the faintest of sighs. “Yes, of course. I understand you have your reasons. I can assure you that the land the Gallaghers have is the best location in Ardmore. The pub appears to be just what you expected. It’s off-season, of course, but it does a steady business, and it’s well run under the elder Gallagher’s hand. The food is first-rate, which I admit surprised me. Not at all your average pub grub. The sister? Yes, she’s . . . she’s . . .”

  The bumbling had Brenna biting the inside of her cheek to hold back a bark of laughter. Men were so predictable.

  “She appears to be efficient. Actually, I went back for a short time last evening, at their request. Darcy, the sister, Miss Gallagher, has an exceptional singing voice. All three of them, for that matter, are quite musical, and that could be an advantage. If you’re determined to place this theater here, in Ardmore, connecting it with Gallagher’s Pub is, in my opinion, the most logical decision.”

  Still on her hands and knees, Brenna wiggled her butt, since her hands were full and she couldn’t punch a fist in the air.

  “Oh, you can trust me to negotiate them down from the percentage they’re asking. I know you’d prefer to buy the land outright, but this sentiment of theirs has thus far proven unassailable. In actual terms, the lease they offer is a less risky venture for you and would in the long term give you a tighter connection to the established business. I feel it’s to your advantage to use Gallagher’s, and the reputation it’s earned, to launch your theater.”

  The finger tapping sounded again, and the shoes uncrossed, then recrossed at the ankle. “Yes, that’s understood. No higher than twenty-five percent. You can trust me there. I hope to have the deal settled within twentyfour hours. I’m sure I can convince the elder Gallagher that he’d get no better offer from a London firm, or any other.”

  As she sensed the conversation was winding down, Brenna scrambled up and turned the taps on full and loud. She hummed to herself as she watched the water run. After she’d turned it off again, she did a bit more rattling, then hefted her toolbox and strolled into the adjoining room.

  “Draining like a champ now, it is. Sorry for your inconvenience.”

  He never so much as glanced up, but waved her away as he’d waved her in and hunched over the laptop on the little desk.

  “And a good day to you, sir,” she called cheerfully and heard the keyboard clatter as she slipped out.

  Once she was clear, she sprinted. Finkle wasn’t the only one who knew how to do a report.

  “Well, now, the London bit seems to have been inspired.” Aidan gave his brother a slap on the shoulder and shot Brenna a look of approval. “It’s got them shagging their asses, doesn’t it?”

  “Some people can’t resist the competition.” Since they were in the kitchen, Shawn turned to get four bottles of beer from the refrigerator. “I think we should drink to the O’Toole here, and her busy ears.”

  “I just happened to be where I was when I was.” But she took the offered bottle.

  “You’re a fine field soldier, Sergeant O’Toole.” Aidan clicked his bottle to hers, then to Shawn’s and Darcy’s in turn. “Twenty-five percent and no more. Pity for him he didn’t know we’d have settled for twenty without a whimper.”

  “The man—the Magee,” Brenna explained. “He’s determined to have what he wants here, though Finkle doesn’t approve. But approve he does of Shawn’s cooking, Darcy’s face, and your managing hand, Aidan. Oh, and he thinks you’re none too bright, Shawn, but an amiable sort. And when he speaks of Darcy, he stutters.”

  Delighted, Darcy laughed. “Give me another day or so, and when he speaks of me, he’ll babble. And we can get thirty percent.”

  Aidan slung an arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “We’ll take the twenty-five and wrap the deal. I’ll let Finkle think he’s turned the thumbscrews to get it, for why shouldn’t he feel accomplished after all? I can tell you Dad likes what he’s seen of Magee so far. He called only this morning to tell me that, and that he’ll leave the details of the matter to us.”

  “Then we’ll let Finkle wrangle over the terms.” Shawn raised his bottle. “Until he gives us what we’re after.”

  “That’s exactly so. Well, it’s back to work for now. Brenna, my darling, do you think you could make yourself scarce ’round the pub until we’ve got it hammered?”

  “I can, of course. But I’m invisible to the likes of him. He doesn’t see past my toolbox. Fact is, he thought I was a man.”

  “Then he needs glasses.” Aidan tipped up her chin and kissed her. “I’m grateful to you.”

  “I tell you I could get us thirty without much more effort,” Darcy claimed, but she followed Aidan out into the pub.

  “She likely could,” Brenna commented.

  “No need to be greedy. I’m grateful to you as well.”

  She cocked her head, and the faintest of sneers twisted her lips. It was one of Shawn’s favorite expressions. “Are you going to kiss me, then, as Aidan did?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Sure and you think a long time about things.”

  “No longer than it takes.” So he cupped her face in his hands, still enjoying the sneer, then tilting her head to please himself, laid his mouth on hers.

  Slow, comfortably lazy, like a warm breeze on a summer morning. She relaxed against him, her lips just starting to curve at the easy sweetness. Then deeper, so gradually, so skillfully, he took her deeper, she was over her
head before she realized she’d been going under.

  She made a sound, caught somewhere between a sigh and a moan. As her heart battered against her ribs, she slid her hands up his back to grip his shoulders. Even as her body went on alert, braced for more, he was easing away.

  “I can only be so grateful, at the moment.”

  The man had made her dizzy, damn it. And had left her system screaming. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Bastard. I’m going back to work.” She reached down for her toolbox and, still off balance, rapped hard into the table when she turned for the door. Her head whipped around quickly, and her narrowed eyes warned him. But he was wise enough to keep his expression bland.

  She sniffed, then strode around to wrench open the back door. There she paused, shot him one last look. ““You know, when you stop thinking, you do a fine job of the rest of it.”

  He didn’t grin until she was gone. “That’s a fortunate thing, as I’ve about finished thinking altogether.”

  Shawn stayed out of the way when Finkle came in that evening. But he fixed the man a king’s meal of baked plaice done with an herbed butter, served with cally potatoes to which he’d added a dash or so of thyme, and some curly kale. Since word from Darcy when she popped in was that the man would have licked his plate if there’d been no one about to notice, Shawn felt he’d done his part.

  So it was mischief, as much as business sense, that had him going out to take Finkle a portion of lemon cheesecake.

  Relaxed from the meal, and Darcy’s attentions, Finkle offered Shawn what might have passed for a smile. “I don’t know when I’ve had better fish. You run a creative kitchen, Mr. Gallagher.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, sir. I hope you’ll enjoy this. ’Tis me own recipe, fiddled about somewhat from that of my dear old granny. I don’t believe you’ll find better when you return to London.”

  Finkle, just about to take the first bite, paused with his fork in the air. “New York,” he said, very precisely.

  Shawn let himself blink. “New York? Oh, sure, and it’s New York I meant. The man from London was thin as a skate and wore little round glasses. You’d think I’d be able to keep it all straight, wouldn’t you, now?”

  Keeping his expression pleasant, Finkle casually took a sample of the cake. “So . . . you’ve spoken to someone from London about a restaurant, was it?”

  “Oh, Aidan, he does the talking. I’ve no head for business at all. Is the cake to your liking?”

  “It’s excellent.” The man had a slow brain, Finkle mused, but no one could fault his cooking skills. “The man from London,” he pressed. “Would you happen to know his name? I have a number of acquaintances there.”

  Shawn stared up at the ceiling, rubbed his chin. “Was it Finkle? Oh, no, that would be you.” With a sweet and harmless expression covering his face, he lifted empty hands. “I’ve a bad habit of forgetting names. But he was a very pleasant individual, as you are yourself, sir. If you find you’ve room for another portion of cake, just let Darcy know.”

  He strolled back to the kitchen, catching Aidan’s eye with a wink.

  Ten minutes later Darcy poked her head into the kitchen and hissed, “Finkle asked for a moment of Aidan’s time. They’ve gone into the snug.”

  “That’s fine, then. Let me know if you need help at the bar.”

  “Consider I’ve let you know. Frank Malloy’s come in with his brothers.”

  “He had words with his wife again?”

  “That’s the face he’s wearing. I’ll not be able to keep up with them, and the rest of the customers.”

  “I’m coming, then.”

  He was pulling the second pint for the Malloys—all of whom were burly-built men with straw-colored hair who made their living from the sea—when Aidan and Finkle stepped out of the snug.

  He nodded good night to Aidan, then to Shawn. And for a moment as he glanced toward Darcy, his stern face fell into lines as soft as a hopeful puppy’s.

  “Are you turning in for the evening so early, then, Mr. Finkle?” Darcy set her tray on the bar, then sent the poor man a smile that could have melted slab chocolate at twenty paces.

  “I—” He had no choice but to tug at the meticulously knotted tie, as his throat was suddenly thick. “I’m afraid I must. I have a plane to catch in the morning.”

  “Oh, you’re leaving us altogether?” She held out a hand for his. “I’m sorry you can’t stay longer, and hope you’ll come back again when you’re able.”

  “I’m quite sure I’ll be back.” Unable to help himself, Finkle did something he’d never so much as considered doing before in his life, even with his wife. He