Tears Of The Moon

CHAPTER Three

Brenna wasn't in the best of moods when she clomped into the Gallagher house. She didn't knock-didn't think to. She'd been breezing in and out of the old house, just as Darcy breezed in and out of the O'Tooles', for as long as either could remember.

The house had changed here and there over the years. Hadn't she and her father laid the new floor in the kitchen-as pretty a blue as a summer sky-not five winters back? And she herself had papered Darcy's room with that lovely pattern of baby rosebuds the June before last.

But though there'd been a bit of fussing here and fussing there, the heart of the house remained the same. It was a welcoming place, and the walls seemed to ring with music even when no one was playing.

Now that Aidan and Jude lived there, fresh flowers were always tucked into vases and bowls and bottles, as Jude had a fondness for them. And Brenna knew Jude had plans to do more planting in the spring and had talked of having Brenna build her an arbor.

Something old-fashioned was needed, to Brenna's mind, to suit the look of the house with its old stone and sturdy wood and carelessly sprawling lines. She had something in her head she thought would suit, and would get to it by and by.

Even as she entered the house with a scowl, the sound of Darcy's laugh tripping down the steps had her lips twitching. Females, she thought as she headed upstairs, were so much more comfortable than men.

Most men, most of the time.

She found them in what had been Shawn's room, though there was little left of him there save the bed and his old dresser. He'd taken the shelves that he'd had crammed with music with him to Faerie Hill, and his fiddle and bodhran drum as well.

The rug was still there, a faded old maroon. She'd sat on it countless times, pretending to be bored while he'd played some tune.

The first time she'd fallen in love, it had been with Shawn Gallagher's music. So long ago, she thought now, she couldn't remember the song or the time. It was more an always sort of thing. Not that she'd ever let him know that. To her way of thinking you got a body moving quicker with pokes than with strokes. Though God knew, so far neither had inspired the man to move off his butt and do a blessed thing with his tunes.

She wanted it for him, the mule of a man. Wanted him to do what he'd been destined to do and take his music to the world.

But, she reminded herself, it wasn't her problem, and gnawing over it again in her mind wasn't why she'd come here today.

This, she thought, pursing her lips, was Jude's problem.

The walls were a mess, Brenna decided with a quick scan. Outlines where Shawn had hung pictures and whatnot stood out against the sun-faded paint. Dozens of nail holes pocked the walls as well, proving the man didn't have a way with a hammer.

But she could recall that whenever his mother had a whim to deal with his room, he'd just smiled and told her not to bother. He liked it just as it was.

Brenna leaned against the doorjamb, already visualizing how to turn the neglected male space into a cheery nursery. And thinking, she let her gaze rest on her friends, who stood by the window looking out.

Darcy with her gorgeous hair falling wild and free, Jude with her deep, rich brown hair bound neatly back. They were a contrast in styles, she supposed, with Darcy bright as the sun, and Jude subtle as a moonbeam. They were about the same height, about average for a woman, Brenna mused. Which put them both a good three inches over her. Their builds were similar as well, though Darcy had more in the curve department and didn't trouble to hide it.

They were both easily, unmistakably female.

It wasn't something Brenna envied-of course it wasn't. But she did wish, just now and again, that she didn't feel like such a fool whenever she put on a skirt and girl shoes.

Since it wasn't something she cared to dwell on, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her baggy pants and cocked her head.

"How are you going to figure out what you want done in here if you stare out the window all day?"

Jude turned, grinned so that her pretty, serious face lit up. "We're watching Aidan on the beach with Finn."

"The man ran out like a rabbit," Darcy put in as Brenna strolled over, "the minute we started talking paper and paint and fabrics. Said he had to exercise the dog."

"Well, now." Brenna peeked out the window herself, spotted Aidan and the young dog, Finn, sitting on the beach and watching the water. "That's a fine sight, anyway. A broad-shouldered man and a handsome dog on a winter's beach."

"He's thinking deep thoughts, I'll wager, on impending fatherhood." Darcy shot her brother a last look of affection, then turned, hands on hips. "And it's up to us to deal with the practicalities of the matter while he sits and philosophizes."

Brenna gave Jude's flat belly a friendly pat. "How's it all going, then?"

"Fine. The doctor says we're both healthy."

"I heard you're still queasy of a morning." Jude rolled her sea-green eyes. "Aidan fusses. You'd think I was the first woman to conceive a child since Eve. It's just a little morning sickness. It'll pass."

"If it were me," Darcy announced and flopped onto her brother's old bed, "I'd play it up for all it was worth. Pampering, Jude Frances, you should rake in all the fussing and pampering you can manage. For when the baby comes, you'll be too busy to remember your name. Remember when Betsy Duffy had her first, Brenna? She fell asleep every Sunday at Mass for two months running. With the second, she'd just sit there, wild-eyed and dazed, and by the time she had the third-"

"All right." Jude laughed and swatted at Darcy's feet. "I get the picture. Right now, I'm just dealing with pre paring for one. Brenna-" She lifted her hands. "These walls."

"Aye, they're a sight, aren't they? We can fix them up for you. Clean them up, patch the holes-" She flicked a finger over one as big as a penny. "Paint them proper."

"I'd thought of papering, but I decided paint's better. Something sunny and simple. Then we can hang prints. Fairy-tale prints."

"You ought to hang your own drawings," Brenna told her.

"Oh, I don't draw that well."

"Well enough to sell a book with your stories and your drawings in it," Brenna reminded her. "I think your pictures are lovely, and it would mean more, wouldn't it, to the baby as it grew to have something its mother had done hanging here."

"Really?" Jude tapped a finger on her lips, the pleasure of the idea obvious in her eyes. "I suppose I could have some framed, see how they looked."

"Candy-colored frames," Brenna told her. "Babes like bright colors, or so Ma always says."

"All right." Jude took a deep breath. "Now these floors. I don't want to cover them, but they'll need to be sanded and revarnished."

"That's not a problem. Some of this trim needs to be replaced too. I can make some up to match the rest of it."

"Perfect. Now, here's this idea I've been mulling over. It's a large room, so I thought what if we made this corner here a kind of play area." Gesturing, Jude crossed the room. "Shelves up this wall for toys, a little table and chair that would fit right under the window."

"We can do that. But if you were to come 'round the corner with the shelves, you'd make better use of your space, and have it more like a separate spot, if you know what I mean. And I can make them adjustable so you can change the look of them as needs be."

"Around the corner-" Jude narrowed her eyes and tried to picture it. "Yes. I like that. What do you think, Darcy?"

"I think the two of you know just what's needed here, but it's up to me to get you into Dublin for some smart-looking maternity clothes."

Instinctively, Jude laid a hand on her stomach. "I'm not showing yet."

"Why wait? You'll need them long before the baby needs shelves, and you're already thinking of those, aren't you? We'll go Thursday next, when I've the day off." And the portion of her pay she allotted herself for fun in her pocket. "That suit you, Brenna?"

Brenna was already taking her measuring tape out of her toolbox. "Suits me for the pair of you. I've too much work just now to take a day being dragged around Dublin shops and waiting while you gasp over the next pair of shoes you can't live without."

"You could do with a new pair of boots yourself." Darcy skimmed her gaze down. "Those look like you wore them to march over to the west counties and back again."

"They do fine for me. Jude, tell Shawn to find a place for his junk here, and I'll start on this room first of next week."

"'Tisn't junk," Shawn said from the doorway. "I spent many a happy night in that bed where Darcy's making herself at home just now."

"Well, junk's what it is now," Brenna shot back with a little sniff. "And in the way. And how many times, I'd like to know, do you have to hit a nail to put holes this size in a wall?"

"You put pictures over them, and it doesn't matter how big the holes are."

"Since that's your thinking on it, if you've a mind to put up anything in the cottage, call someone who knows one end of a hammer from the other. You'll want to make him swear to that, Jude," Brenna warned, "else the cottage'll be rubble by spring."

"I'll fix the damn holes meself if it'll shut you up." His tone was pleasant, dangerously so. And that was just enough to give Brenna's heart a little jerk and make her cover the reaction with sarcasm.

"Oh, to be sure, you'll fix them. Like you fixed the sink at the pub the last time it plugged up so I had to wade through an inch of water on the floor to repair the damage."

When Darcy snickered, Shawn sent her a cool and silent look. "I'll have what's left of mine out by tomorrow, Jude, if that's all right with you."

Recognizing scraped male pride, she started to step forward quickly. "There's no hurry, Shawn. We were just-" She trailed off as the room took a sick, slow spin.

Before she could stagger, Shawn darted across the room at a speed that had Brenna's mouth falling open and scooped his sister-in-law into his arms.

"It's nothing." Her head already clearing, Jude patted his shoulder. "I was just dizzy for a minute, that's all. It happens now and then."

"You're for bed," he said, already striding out. "Get Aidan." He tossed the order to Darcy over his shoulder.

"No, no, I'm fine. Shawn, don't-"

"Get Aidan," he repeated, but Darcy was already up and running.

Brenna stood where she was for a moment, her measuring tape in her hand. As the oldest of five, she'd seen her mother stretch right out on the floor during a dizzy spell while pregnant, so she wasn't particularly alarmed by Jude's behavior. What she was, was stunned by the fluid strength she'd just witnessed. Why the man had plucked Jude up as if she'd been weightless.

Where had that been hiding?

Shaking herself clear, she hurried into the master bedroom in time to see Shawn lay Jude gently on the bed and pull a throw over her.

"Shawn, this is ridiculous. I-"

"Lie down." He jabbed a finger at her in a way that made Jude obey and Brenna goggle. "I'm calling the doctor."

"She doesn't need the doctor." Brenna nearly flinched from the furious glare he aimed at her when he whirled around. But she also saw sheer male fear behind his eyes, and was touched by it. "It's just a part of carrying, that's all." She moved to the bed to sit and pat Jude's hand. "My mother used to lie right down on the kitchen floor when she had a spell, especially with Alice Mae."

"I feel fine."

"Of course you do. But a little rest doesn't hurt. Why don't you fetch our Jude some water, Shawn?"

"I think she should have the doctor."

"Aidan's likely to make her." Because Jude looked so unhappy at the thought, Brenna gave her a look of quiet sympathy. "Oh, don't take on now. Ma says that Dad did the same with her when she carried me. By the time the others came along, he was used to it. A man's got a right to panic, after all. He doesn't know what's going on inside you the way you do, does he? Shawn, let's have that water now."

"All right, I'll fetch it. But don't let her get up."

"I'm fine, really."

"Of course you are. Your color's back, your eyes are clear." Brenna gave Jude's hand another squeeze. "Do you want me to go out and head Aidan off, try to calm him down?"

"If you think-" She broke off as she heard the front door slam like a gunshot, and then footsteps rushing up the stairs. "Too late."

Brenna got up and made it halfway across the room before Aidan came flying in. "She's fine. Just a little expectant-mother spell. She's-" Then she only sighed as Aidan dashed right past her.

"Are you all right? Did you faint? Did someone call the doctor?"

"We'll leave it to her to calm him down." Giving Darcy a little wave, Brenna nudged her out of the room and shut the door.

"Are you sure she's all right? She looked so pale for a minute."

"She's fine, I promise you. And Aidan'll likely keep her in bed the rest of the day no matter how she argues."

"Bad enough a woman has to get fat as a cow with a baby. But add to that the hanging over the toilet every morning and fainting without a moment's notice." Darcy blew out a breath and ordered herself to calm down. "It's a sorry state of affairs what a woman goes through. And you-" She stabbed a finger at Shawn as he walked down the hallway with a glass of water. "All the lot of you have to do is have your pleasure, whistle away nine months, then pass out smelly cigars."

"It just goes to proving God's a man," he said with a weak smile.

Darcy's lips quirked at that, but she shook her head. "I'm going to make Jude some tea and toast."

She sauntered away, leaving Shawn staring at the bedroom door.

"Let's give them a bit of privacy." Brenna took his arm and tugged him toward the stairs.

"Shouldn't I take her the water?"

"You drink it." Feeling kindly toward him, Brenna reached up and touched his cheek. "You're white as a sheet."

"Scared ten years off my life, she did."

"I can see that. But you acted fast and did just the right thing." She slipped into the next room, picked up her measuring tape again. "She's got all those changes going on inside her, and likely isn't resting as much as she might. She's all caught up in her plans," she added, taking a measurement, writing it down in her little book. "So much new in her life in so short a time."

"I guess it's easier for women to take such matters in stride."

"I suppose." Brenna continued to measure and take notes. "You must remember when your mother was carrying Darcy."

"Some." He sipped at the water, as his throat was still dry with nerves. Brenna was calm enough, he noted, moving gracefully around the room in those thick old boots, taking measurements, writing things down, making little pencil marks and noting numbers right on the wall.

Some of her hair was falling out of her cap. Just a few long, spiraling red curls, loosened, he supposed, by her dash into the bedroom.

"What do you remember best?"

"Hmm?" He'd lost the thread somewhere, and now shifted his gaze from the red curl that teased her shoulder back to her face.

"About when your mother was pregnant with Darcy? What do you remember best?"

"Laying my head against her belly, feeling all those kicks and movements. It was like Darcy was fretting to get outside and get on with things."

"That's a nice one." Brenna put her tape and notebook away, lifted her toolbox. "I'm sorry I snapped and snarled at you before. I was in a bit of a mood today."

"You're in a bit of a mood most days." But he smiled and tapped the bill of her cap down over her eyes. "I'm too used to your nips to mind much."

The problem was, she wanted to take a real nip-right there, just along his jaw. To see how it tasted. And if she tried it, she imagined he'd be the one to faint. "I won't be able to get started in here until Monday or Tuesday, so there's no real rush getting your things out. But-"

She lifted a finger, tapped it against his chest. "I meant what I said about hanging pictures at the cottage."

He only laughed. "If I get the urge to pick up a hammer," he began, then threw her off balance by bending down to place a quick, friendly kiss on her cheek. "I'll be sure to call the O'Toole."

"Aye, do that." Irritated all over again, she started to stride out. Aidan, looking frazzled, came to the doorway.

"She's fine. She says she's fine. I called the doctor, and he says she's fine. Just to rest a bit and keep her feet up."

"Darcy's making her some tea."

"That's good, that's fine, then. Jude's fretting some because she'd planned to take flowers to Old Maude this afternoon. I'd run them up myself, but-"

"I'll do it," Shawn told him. "You'll feel better if you can stay with her a bit longer. I can drive up, have a bit of a visit with Old Maude, then be back in time for the pub."

"I'd be grateful-am grateful," he corrected, his face clearing a little now. "She told me how you picked her up and carted her off to bed. Made her stay there."

"Just ask her not to go into a swoon around me again. My heart won't take it."

Shawn took flowers to Maude, the cheerful purple and yellow pansies that Jude had already gathered. He didn't often come to the old cemetery. He'd lost no one truly close to him who'd been laid to rest there. But he thought since the cottage was close, he could take over the task from Jude until she was more up to the climb.

The dead were buried near the Saint Declan's Well, where those who had made the pilgrimage to honor the ancient Irish saint had washed the travel from their hands and feet. Three stone crosses stood nearby, guarding the holy place, and perhaps, he thought, giving comfort to the living who came high on this hill to honor the dead.

The view was spectacular-Ardmore Bay stretched out like a gray swath under storm-ready skies. And the beat of the Celtic Sea, the heart that pulsed day and night, spread to the horizon. Between that drumming and the wind there was music, and birds, undaunted by winter, sang to it.

The sunlight was weak and white, the air damp and going raw. The wild grass that fought its way among the stones and cobbles was pale with winter. But he knew winter never had much of a march here, and soon enough fresh green shoots would brave their way among the old.

The cycle that such places stood for never ended. And that was another comfort.

He sat beside Maude Fitzgerald's grave, folding his legs companionably and laying the pansies under her stone where the words "Wise Woman" were carved.

His mother had been a Fitzgerald before her marriage, so Old Maude had been a cousin of sorts. Shawn remembered her well. A small, thin woman with gray hair and eyes of a misty, far-seeing green.

And he remembered the way she'd sometimes looked at him, deep and quiet, in a manner that hadn't made him uneasy so much as unsettled. Despite it, he'd always been drawn to her, and as a child had often sat at her feet when she'd come into the pub. He'd never tired of listening to her tell stories, and later, years later, had made songs out of some of them for himself.

"It's Jude who sends you the flowers," he began. "She's resting now, as she had a bit of a spell with the baby. She's fine, so there's nothing to worry about. But as we wanted her to lie down for a while, I said I'd bring her flowers to you. So I hope you don't mind."

He fell silent a moment, letting his gaze wander. "I'm living in your cottage now that Aidan and Jude have moved into the house. That's the Gallagher way, as I'm sure you know. And now with the baby coming, the cottage would be a wee bit small. Jude's granny, that would be your cousin Agnes Murray, signed the cottage over to her as a wedding gift."

He shifted to find more comfort on the ground, and his fingers began to tap on his knee in an unconscious match to the rhythm of the sea.

"I like living there, in the quiet. But I wonder that I haven't seen Lady Gwen. Do you know she showed herself to Brenna O'Toole? You'll remember Brenna, she's the oldest of the O'Toole girls who live down from your cottage. She's the redhead-well, most of the O'Toole girls are redheaded, but Brenna's got like- sunfire at the edges of it. You'd think it would burn your fingers to touch it, and instead it's just warm and soft."

He caught himself, frowned a little, cleared his throat. "In any case, I've been living there near to five months now, and she hasn't shown herself to me, not clearly. And there's Brenna come by to fix the stove, and the lady not only shows herself but speaks to her as well."

"Women are perverse creatures."

Shawn's heart gave one quick thud, as he hadn't expected anyone to speak back to him in such a place. He looked up and saw a man with long black hair, eyes of piercing blue, and a smile wicked at the corners.

"So I've often thought myself," Shawn said calmly enough, but his heart had decided one quick thud wasn't enough and began to gallop in his chest.

"But we can't seem to do without them, can we?" The man unfolded himself from the stone chair that crouched near the trio of crosses. His movements were graceful as he walked over grass and stone on soft leather boots, then sat on the opposite side of the grave.

The wind, the chilly snap of it, played through his hair, fluttered the short red cape tossed regally over his shoulders.

The light brightened, cleared so that everything-stones, grass, flowers-stood out in sharp relief. In the distance, entwined with the sound of sea and wind, came the dance of pipes and flutes.

"Not for any real length of time," Shawn answered, kept his gaze level and hoped his heart rate would soon do the same.

The man laid his hand on his knees. He wore hose and a doublet of silver, both shot through with threads of gold. And on one hand was a silver ring with a brilliant blue stone. "You know who I am, don't you, Shawn Gallagher?"

"I've seen pictures Jude's drawn of you for her book. She's clever with a sketch."

"And well and happy now, is she? Wedded and bedded?"

"Aye, she's all of that, Prince Carrick."

Carrick's eyes gleamed, both power and amusement alive in them. "Does it worry you to converse with the prince of the faeries, Gallagher?"

"Well, I've no desire to be taken off to a faerie raft for the next century or so, as I've things I prefer to do here."

With his hands still resting on his knees, Carrick threw back his head and laughed. It was a full, rich sound. Seductive, engaging. "Some of the ladies in court would enjoy you, I'm certain, for your looks and your musical gifts. But I've a use for you here, on your side. And here you'll stay, so don't trouble yourself."

He sobered abruptly, leaned forward. "You said Gwen spoke to Brenna O'Toole. What did she say to her?"

"Don't you know?"

He was on his feet without seeming to move at all. "I'm not permitted in the cottage, nor past the borders of its gardens, though my home is beneath it. What did she say?"

Sympathy stirred in Shawn's heart. The question had been more plea than command. " 'His heart is in his song.' That's what she said to Brenna."

"I never gave her music," Carrick said softly. He lifted an arm and with a flick of his wrist had the light blazing. "Jewels plucked from the fire of the sun. These I gave her, these I poured at her feet when I asked her to come with me. But she turned away from them, from me. From her own heart. Do you know what it is, Gallagher, to have the one you want, the only one you'll ever want, turn from you?"

"No. I've never wanted like that."

"There's a pity for you, for you're not alive until you do." He lifted his other hand, and darkness fell with silver beams and sparkles. Fog, thin and damp, crawled over the ground. "Even so, even when she took another at her father's bidding, I gathered the teardrops from the moon, and these I spilled into pearls at her feet. And still she wouldn't have me."

"And the jewels of the sun, the tears of the moon became flowers," Shawn continued. "And these she tended, year after year."

"What is time to me?" Impatience shimmering now, Carrick glared at Shawn. "A year, a century."

"A year is a century when you're waiting for love."

Emotion swam into Carrick's eyes before he closed them. "You're clever with words as well as tunes. And you're right."

Once more he snapped his wrist and the sun was back, winter pale. "Still, I waited, and too long I waited, to go to her that last time. And from the sea, through the deep blue depths of it, I took its heart. And from this, hundreds of sapphires I gathered for her, and these, too, I poured at her feet. For my Gwen, all that I had and more for Gwen. But she told me she was old, and it was too late. For the first time, I saw her weep about it, weep as she told me if I'd once given her the words that were in my heart instead of jewels, instead of promises of eternities and riches, she might have been swayed to give up her world for mine, her duty for love. I didn't believe her."

"You were angry." Shawn had heard the story too many times to count. When he'd been a boy, he'd often dreamed of it. The dashing faerie prince astride a white winged horse, flying to the sun, to the moon, to the sea. "Because you had loved her, and didn't know how else to show it, how else to tell her."

"What more can a man do?" Carrick demanded, and this time Shawn smiled.

"That I can't tell you. But casting a spell that has you both waiting over the centuries was probably not the wisest action."

"I've my pride, don't I?" Carrick said, tossing his head. "And my temper. Three times I asked, and three times she refused. Now we wait until love meets love three times and accepts all. Flaws and virtues, sorrows and joys. You're clever with words, Gallagher," Carrick said, and the edgy smile was back. "I'll be displeased if you take so long to make use of them as your brother did."

"My brother?"

"Three times." Carrick was on his feet now, his eyes dark and brilliantly blue. "And one is met."

It was Shawn's turn to rise, and his fists were bunched. "Are you speaking of Aidan and Jude? Are you telling me, you bastard, that you put a spell on them?"

Carrick's eyes flashed, and thunder rumbled in answer. "You great fool of a man. Love spells are nothing but wives' tales. You can't play magic inside the heart, for it's more powerful than any spell. Lust you can order up with a wink, desire with a smile. But love is love, and there is nothing can touch it. What your brother has with his Jude Frances is as real as the sun and the moon and the sea. You've my word on it."

Slowly Shawn relaxed. "I'll beg your pardon, then."

"I'll take no offense at a brother standing for a brother. If I did," Carrick added with a thin sneer, "you'd be braying like a jackass. You've my word on that as well."

"I appreciate your restraint," Shawn began, then tensed up again. "Are you after thinking that I'll be the second stage in the breaking of your spell? For if you are, you're looking in the wrong direction."

"I know where I'm looking well enough, young Gallagher. It's you who doesn't. But you will, soon enough. You will." Carrick bowed gallantly. And vanished just as the skies opened and rain fell in a fury.

"Well, that's perfect, isn't it?" Shawn stood in the driving rain, angry and puzzled. And very late for work.