Jewels of the Sun - Nora Roberts

[Dalyia]

Shivering, she rubbed her free hand over her face. Okay, either way she was crazy.



Then why did she feel so damn good?



She walked slowly, fingering the priceless jewel as a child might a pretty stone. She needed to write it all down, she decided. Carefully, concisely. Exactly how he'd looked, what he'd said, what had happened.



And after that, she would try to get some sort of perspective on it. She was an educated woman. Surely she would find a way to make sense of it all.



When she came down the slope toward her cottage, she saw the little blue car in the drive and Darcy Gallagher just getting out.



Darcy was wearing jeans and a bright red sweater. Her hair tumbled down her back like wild black silk. One glance had Jude sighing with envy even as she cautiously tucked the diamond into the pocket of her slacks.



To once, she thought-just once-look that carelessly gorgeous, that absolutely confident. She fingered the jewel absently and thought it would be worth the price of diamonds.



Darcy spotted her and shaded her eyes with the flat of one hand while she waved with the other. "There you are. Out for a walk, are you? It's a fine day for it, even if they're calling for rain tonight."



"I've been visiting Maude." And I talked to a faerie prince who left me a diamond that could probably buy a small Third World country before he vanished into thin air. With a weak smile, Jude decided she'd keep that little bit of information to herself.



"I just went a couple rounds with Shawn and took a drive to cool off." Darcy skimmed her gaze over Jude's shoes, casually, she hoped, to try to gauge how close in size they were to what she wore herself. The woman, Darcy thought, had fabulous taste in shoes. "You're looking a bit pale," she noted when Jude walked closer. "Are you all right?"



"Yes, I'm fine." Self-consciously, she pushed at her hair. The breeze had teased strands out of the band. Which, she thought, would make her look unkempt rather than wonderfully tousled like Darcy. "Why don't we go in and have some tea?"



"Oh, that would be nice, but I've got to get back. Aidan'll already be cursing me." She smiled then, a dazzle of charm. "Maybe you'd like to come back with me for a time, and then he'd be distracted with you and forget to skin my ass for walking out."



"Well, I-" No, she thought, she didn't think she was up to dealing with Aidan Gallagher when her head was already light. "I really should work. I have notes to go over."



Darcy pursed her lips. "You really enjoy it, don't you? Working."



"Yes." Surprise, surprise, Jude thought. "I enjoy the work I'm doing now very much."



"If it was me, I'd find any excuse in the world to avoid working." Her brilliant gaze scanned the cottage, the gardens, the long roll of hill. "And I'd die of loneliness out here all by myself."



"Oh, no, it's wonderful. The quiet, the view. Everything."



Darcy shrugged, a quick gesture of discontent. "But then you've got Chicago to go back to."



Jude's smile faded. "Yes. I have Chicago to go back to."



"I'm going to see it one day." Darcy leaned back against her car. "All the big cities in America. All the big cities everywhere. And when I do, I'll be going first class, make no mistake." Then she laughed and shook her head. "But for now, I'd best be getting back before Aidan devises some hideous punishment for me."



"I hope you'll come back when you have more time." Darcy shot her that dazzling look again as she climbed into her car. "I've the night off, thank the Lord. I'll come by with Brenna later, and we'll see what kind of trouble we can get you in. You make me think you could use a bit of trouble."



Jude opened her mouth without a clue how to respond, but was saved the trouble when Darcy gunned the motor and shot out into the road with scarcely more care than Brenna took.

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER Nine



There are three maids, Jude wrote, as she nibbled on a shortbread biscuit, and each represents some particular facet of traditionally held views of womanhood. In some tales two are wicked and one good, as in the Cinderella myth. In others, the three are blood sisters or fast friends, poor and orphaned or caring for one sickly parent.



Some variations have one or more of the female characters possessing mystical powers. In nearly all, the maidens are beautiful beyond description. Virtue, i.e., virginity, is vital, indicating that innocence of physical sexuality is an essential ingredient to the building of legend.



Innocence, a quest, monetary poverty, physical beauty. These elements repeat themselves in a number of perpetuated tales that become, over generations, legends. The interference, for good or ill, of beings from the otherworld-so to speak-is another common element. The mortal or mortals in the story have a moral lesson to learn or a reward to glean from their selfless behavior.



Almost as often simple beauty and innocence are equally rewarded.



Jude sat back and closed her eyes. She struck out there, didn't she? Since she wasn't beautiful or innocent, had no particular power or skill, it didn't look like she was going to be whisked away into a fairy tale with a happy ending.



Not that she wanted to be. The mere idea of coming face-to-face with the inhabitants of a faerie hill or a sky castle, or a witch, wicked or otherwise, made her shaky.



Shaky enough, she admitted, to imagine jewels turning into flowers. Warily, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled the bright stone out to examine it yet again.



Just glass, she assured herself, beautifully faceted certainly, sparkling like sunlight. But glass.



It was one thing to accept that she was sharing the cottage with a three-hundred-year-old ghost. That had been leap enough. But she could reason that out as there had been studies on that particular phenomenon, documentation. Parapsychology wasn't universally accepted, but some very reputable scientists and respected minds believed in the energy forms that laymen called ghosts.



So she could deal with that. She could rationalize what she had seen with her own eyes.



But elves and faeries and- whatever. No. Saying you wanted to believe and stating you did believe were two different matters. That was when the indulgence of it all stopped being harmless and became a psychosis.



There were no handsome faeries wandering the hills, visiting graveyards to hold philosophical discussions, then becoming annoyed with people who happened by.



And those nonexistent faeries didn't go around tossing priceless jewels at strange American women.



Since logic didn't seem to apply to the situation, she had to assume that her imagination, always a bit of a problem, had tipped out of control.



All she had to do was yank it back on track, do her work. It was very possible she'd had some sort of episode. A fugue state during which she'd incorporated various elements from her research. The fact that she felt almost ridiculously healthy didn't enter into it. The stress of the past few years could have caught up with her, and while her body was fine, her mind could be suffering.



She should go to a good neurologist and have a full workup to rule out a physical problem.









And visit a reputable jeweler to have the diamond-the glass, she corrected herself-examined.



The first idea frightened her and the second depressed her, so she defied logic and put both notions on hold.



Just for a few days, she promised herself. She would do the responsible thing, but not quite yet.



All she wanted to do was work, to pour herself into the stories. And she would resist the urge to wander down to the pub, to spend the evening pretending not to watch Aidan Gallagher. She'd stay at home with her papers and notes, then drive into Dublin in a few days and find both jeweler and doctor.



She'd shop, buy books, do a bit of sight-seeing.



One solid evening of work, she told herself. After that, she would take a few days to explore the countryside and the cities, the villages and the hills. She'd take a logical step back from the stories she was gathering and studying, and that would help her with her own perspective before she went to Dublin.



At the knock on the front door her fingers fumbled on the keys of the computer. And her heart jumped. Aidan, was her first thought, and that alone irritated her. Of course it wasn't Aidan, she told herself, even as she dashed to the mirror to check her hair. It was well after eight, and he'd be busy at the pub.



Still, when she hurried downstairs to answer, her heart was beating just a little fast. She opened the door and barely had time to blink.



"We brought food." Brenna strolled in, a brown grocery sack propped on her hip. "Biscuits and crisps and chocolate."



"And best of all, wine." Darcy clinked the three bottles she carried as she casually booted the door closed behind her.



"Oh. Well-" Jude hadn't taken Darcy seriously, hadn't been able to think of a reason either she or Brenna would want to come over. But they were already heading toward the kitchen in a flurry of movement and chatter.



"Aidan tried to have me work another shift tonight to make up for walking out today. I told him to bugger it," Darcy said cheerfully as she set the wine on the counter. "The man'd have me chained to the taps if I wasn't fast on my feet. We'll need a corkscrew."



"There's one in the-"



"Got it," Brenna interrupted and simply shot a quick grin at Jude as she plucked it out of the drawer. "You should've seen the black looks Aidan sent us when we left the pub. 'Why can't you fetch her down and drink here,' he wants to know, grumbling and muttering all the while."



"Then he sees I'm taking three bottles," Darcy continued, rooting out glasses while Brenna opened the wine. "And he's blathering on about how Jude Frances doesn't have much of a head for spirits and we're not to get you sick. Like you were some puppy we were going to give too many table scraps to on the sly. Men are such pea-brains."



"Now that's a fine thing to drink to first off." With a flourish, Brenna poured three glasses. "To the tiny brains of the male of the species," she stated, thrusting a glass at Jude and lifting her own.



"Bless them every one," Darcy added and drank. Then her eyes sparkled brilliantly at Jude, who'd done little more than stare. "Drink up, darling, then we'll sit around and discuss the highs and lows of our sex lives just to get better acquainted."



Jude took one long gulp, blew out a breath. "I won't have a great deal to contribute to that area of discussion."



Darcy laughed, a throaty sound of amusement. "Aidan's after changing all that, now, isn't he?"



Jude opened her mouth, shut it again, then decided the best thing to do with it was drink after all.



"Don't tease her so, Darcy." Brenna ripped open the bag of potato chips and dug in. Then winked. "We'll get her drunk first, then pry it all out of her."



"When she's drunk I'm going to talk her into letting me try on all her clothes."



They were talking so fast, Jude couldn't keep up. "My clothes?"



"You've wonderful clothes." Darcy dropped into a chair. "We're not that far from coloring and size, so I'm thinking some may fit me well enough. What size shoe do you wear?"



"Shoe?" Jude looked down blankly at the half boots she wore. "Um, seven and a half, medium."



"That's American sizing, let me think-" Darcy shrugged, sipped. "Well, close enough, take those off and let me see how they work on me."



"Take my shoes off?"



"Your shoes, Jude." Darcy's eyes twinkled as she slipped off her own. "A couple more drinks and we'll try on the trousers."



"You may as well," Brenna advised around another mouthful of potato chips. "She's a demon about clothes, our Darcy, and she'll hound you to death about it."



Feeling as mystified as she had by Maude's graveside that afternoon, Jude sat and took off her shoes.



"Oh!" Darcy stroked the boot like an indulgent mother her child's cheek. "They're like butter, aren't they?" She looked up, her face stunning and filled with sheer female delight. "This is going to be fun."



"So he has it in his head that because I let him take me to dinner a time or two, and let him stick his tongue in my mouth, which was not nearly as exciting as he thought it was, that I'd be pleased and proud to strip naked and let him bounce on me. Sex is a fine pastime," Darcy continued as she licked chocolate from her fingers. "But half the time or more, you're better off just painting your nails and watching the telly."



"Maybe it's the men you let lap at you." Brenna gestured with her wineglass. "They're all so dazzled they end up fumbling. What you need, Darcy my girl, is a man who's as bone-deep cynical and self-absorbed and vain as you are yourself."



Jude choked on her wine, certain the insult would cause an argument, but Darcy merely smiled craftily. "And when I find him, and providing he's rich as Midas, I'll wrap him tidily around this finger here." She held up her right index finger. "And allow him to treat me like a queen."



Brenna snorted, reached for more chips. "And the moment he does, he'll bore you to tears. Darcy's a perverse creature," she told Jude. "That's what we love about her. Now me, I'm a simple, straightforward sort. I'm after a man who'll look me straight in the eye, see what and who I am-" She drank, snickered. "Then fall to his knees and promise me everything."



"They never see what you are." Shocked, Jude glanced around to see who'd spoken, then realized she had.



"Don't they?" Brenna wanted to know, lifting her brow as she topped off Jude's glass yet again.



"They see a reflection of their own perception. Whore or angel, mother or child. Depending on their view, they're compelled to protect or conquer or exploit. Or you're a convenience," she murmured. "Easily discarded."



"And you say I'm cynical," Darcy said with a smirk for Brenna. "Have you been discarded then, Jude?"



There was a pleasant buzz in her blood, a lovely spin in her head. The logical part of her said it was the wine. But the heart of her, the needy heart, said it was the company. Girls. She'd never had a foolish girl night in her life.



She picked up a chip, examined it, nibbled, sighed. "Three years ago next June I was married."



"Married?" Both Brenna and Darcy leaned closer.



"Seven months later, he came home and calmly told me he was very sorry, but he was in love with someone else. He thought it best for all parties involved if he moved out that night, and we filed for divorce immediately."



"Why, the cad!" In sympathy, Brenna poured wine all around. "The bastard!"



"Not really. He was honest about it."



"Fuck honesty. I hope you skinned him." Darcy's eyes sparkled with malice. "Hardly more than six months into marriage and he's in love with someone else? The snake barely waited long enough to change the sheets on the marriage bed. What did you do about it?"



"Do?" Jude's brows drew together. "I filed for divorce the next day."



"And took him for everything he had."



"No, of course not." Sincerely shocked at the notion, she gaped at Darcy. "We just each took what was ours. It was very civilized."



Because Darcy appeared to have been struck speechless, Brenna took up the torch. "If you're asking me, civilized divorces are why there are so many bloody marriages that end in it. Me, I'd rather a good fight, screaming and broken crockery, fists flying. If I loved a man enough to vow to be part of him for life, I'd damn well make him pay in blood and flesh if he threw me over."



"I didn't love him." The minute the words were out, Jude's mouth dropped open. "I mean-I don't know if I loved him. My God, that's just awful, that's horrible! I just realized it. I have no idea if I loved William at all."



"Well, I say he was a bastard and you should have kicked his ass, then set it out for the dogs, love or not." Darcy selected one of Mollie O'Toole's homemade brownies and bit into it with gusto. "I promise you this-in fact, I take an oath on it here and now-whatever man I'm with, whenever I'm with him, it'll be me who ends it. And if he should try to close it off before I'm ready, he'll pay for it the rest of his days."

[Dalyia]

"Men don't leave women like you," Jude put in. "You're the kind of woman they leave me for." She caught her breath. "I didn't mean-I only meant-"



"Don't worry yourself. I think there was a compliment in there." And being more pleased than offended, Darcy patted Jude's arm. "And I'm also thinking if your tongue's that loose, you've had enough wine that you'll let me play with your clothes. Let's take all this upstairs."



Jude didn't know what to make of it. Perhaps it was because she'd never had any sisters to casually raid her closet. None of her friends had shown particular interest in her wardrobe, other than the usual comments on a new jacket or suit.



She'd never considered herself especially fashion-wise and tended to lean toward classic lines and good fabrics.



But from the muffled sounds coming from where Darcy's head was buried in the armoire, Jude's wardrobe had taken on the sheen of Aladdin's treasure.



"Oh, just look at this jumper! It's cashmere." Darcy yanked out a hunter-green turtleneck and pleasured herself by rubbing it against her cheek.



"It's a good layering piece," Jude began, then watched openmouthed as Darcy stripped off her own sweater.



"Might as well make yourself comfortable." Brenna stretched out on the bed, crossed her ankles, and sipped her wine. "She'll be a while at this."



"Soft as a baby's bum." Darcy all but cooed as she posed in front of the mirror. "Gorgeous, but the color's a bit deep for me. More you, I'm thinking, Brenna." Cheerfully, she stripped it off and tossed it on the bed. "Give it a look."



Absently, Brenna fingered the sleeve of the sweater. "Got a nice feel to it."



Lowering herself to the bed, Jude watched Darcy try on a cream-colored silk blouse. "Ah, there's more in the other bedroom."



Darcy's head came up like a wolf scenting sheep. "More?"



"Yes, um, lighter-weight clothes and a couple of cocktail things I brought along in case-"



"Be right back."



"Now you've done it." Brenna spoke in dire tones as Darcy dashed out of the room. "You'll never be rid of her now." Setting her wine aside, she flipped open the buttons of her shirt. As a delighted squeal was emitted from the next room, Brenna rolled her eyes and tugged the sweater over her head.



"Oh, this is lovely." Surprised by the pleasure the soft wool brought to her skin, Brenna got up to take a look in the mirror. "The way it fits, it almost looks as if I have tits."



"You have a wonderful figure."



Though she'd never be accused of vanity, Brenna twisted and turned in the mirror. "Be nice to have breasts, though. My sister Maureen got mine, I think. I should have had the breasts, by right as the oldest."



"You need a decent bra," Darcy claimed as she came back in a black cocktail dress and carrying a heap of clothes. "Make use of what God gave you instead of letting it flop about. Jude, this dress is brilliant, but you really need to whack an inch or two off the hem."



"I'm taller than you."



"Hardly a bit. Here, put it on and let's have a look."



"Well, I-" But Darcy was already wriggling out of it. Faced with a woman holding out a little black number while dressed in bra and panties, Jude took the dress. She took a deep gulp to swallow her modesty and stripped.



"I knew you had good legs," Darcy said with a nod of approval. "Why are you after hiding them in a dress like this? Needs a good inch off, don't you think, Brenna?" Still half naked, Darcy knelt down and folded up the hem, pursing her lips as she studied the result. "Inch and a half, and you wear it with those spiky black shoes with the open toes. You'll be a killer."



She nodded, then got up to try on a pair of gray pipestem trousers. "Just put the dress over there, and I'll hem it for you."



"Oh, really, you don't have to-"



"As payment," Darcy said with a wicked gleam, "for you letting me borrow your clothes."



"Darcy's a fine hand with a needle," Brenna assured her. "You don't have to worry." Getting into the spirit, she found a charcoal blazer and topped the sweater with it.



"Try this vest to jazz it up," Jude suggested and dug out one with tiny checks in green and burgundy.



"You've a good eye." Darcy beamed approval and added to it by giving Jude a quick one-armed hug. "Now, Brenna, you finish that with a really short excuse for a skirt and men'll be falling all over you."



"I don't want them falling all over me. You just have to boot them out of the way again."



"When enough of them fall, you just climb over their prone bodies and go on to the next." Darcy found a suit in slate blue and wiggled into the skirt. "You are going to give Aidan a tumble, aren't you, Jude?"



"A tumble?"



"Skirt needs to be lifted here, too. A tumble," she continued. "You haven't slept with him yet, have you?"



"I-" She stepped back to pick up her wine again. "No. No, I haven't."



"Didn't think so." Darcy swiveled to check the line of the jacket from the back. "Figured you'd have more a gleam in your eye if you'd wrestled with him." Experimenting, she scooped her hair up, turning this way and that, and imagined borrowing those pretty silver dangles she'd seen Jude wear on her ears. "You're going to sleep with him, aren't you?"



"Darcy, you twit, you're embarrassing her."



"Why?'' Darcy let her hair fall so she could choose from two pairs of bone-colored heels. "We're all of us female and none of us virgins. Nothing wrong with sex, is there, Jude?"



Don't blush, Jude ordered herself. You will not blush. "No, of course not."



"Aidan's supposed to be damn good at it, too." She laughed when Jude gulped down more wine. "So, when you do the deed with him, Brenna and I would appreciate some of the details as, at the moment, neither of us has a particular man we're after tumbling with ourselves."



"Talking about sex is the next best thing to having it." Brenna spotted a striped shirt in the armoir and pulled it out. "Of the three of us, you look most likely to be having it in the foreseeable future. The closest I've come in nearly a year is when I had to punch Jack Brennan for copping a feel last New Year's Eve-and I'm still not sure he wasn't just reaching for another pint as he claimed to be."



Discarding the shirt, she sat down in her underwear and poured more wine.



"I, for one, know when a man's reaching for me or for his beer." Darcy cocked her head in the mirror. She looked rather elegant, she thought. Like a lady who had lovely places to go and wonderful things to do. "What do you wear a suit like this for, Jude?"



"Oh, for meetings, lectures, luncheons."



"Luncheons." Darcy sighed and did a slow turn. "In some fancy restaurant or ballroom, with waiters in white jackets."



"And this week's miserable chicken surprise," Jude answered with a smile. "Along with the most tedious luncheon speaker the committee could dig up."



"That's just because you're used to them."



"So used to them, I'd live happily with the knowledge I never have to attend another. I was a poor academic."



"Were you now?" Brenna topped off Jude's wine before reclaiming her own sweater.



"Terrible. I hated planning courses, having to know the answers, and judging papers. On top of that, the politics and the protocol."



"Then why did you do it?"



Distracted, Jude glanced back at Darcy. The woman was so confident, Jude thought, so completely comfortable with herself even as she stood there in a cotton bra and another woman's skirt. How could anyone so sure of who and what she was understand what it was not to know. Just not to know.



"It was expected," Jude said at length.



"And did you always do what was expected?"



Jude let out a long breath and picked up her wine again. "I'm afraid so."



"Well, now." Swept along by affection, Darcy grabbed Jude's face in her hand and kissed her. "We'll fix that."



By the time the second bottle of wine was emptied, the bedroom was a disaster. Brenna had the wit to start a fire, then to hunt up cheese and biscuits. She sat on the floor, vaguely disappointed that Jude's shoes were too big for her. Not that she had any place to wear them, but they were awfully smart.



Jude lay sprawled on the bed, her head propped on her fists as she watched Darcy try on endless variations of outfits. The goofy expression on her own face made Jude wonder if she were drunk or just soft in the head.



Every now and then she gave a quiet hiccough.



"The first time," Darcy was saying, "was with Declan O'Malley and we swore we would love each other ever and a day. We were sixteen and fumbling at it. We did it on a blanket on the beach one night when we both snuck out of the house. And let me tell you, there's nothing a bit romantic about rolling around on the sand, even when you are sixteen and stupid as a turnip."



"I think it's sweet," Jude said dreamily, imagining the moonlight and the crash of waves and two young bodies gleaming with love and discovery. "What happened to Declan O'Malley?"



"Well, forever and a day lasted about three months for the pair of us, and we went on to other things. Two years back he got Jenny Duffy in trouble, so they married and have a second daughter to go with the first. And seem happy enough."



"I'd like to have children." Jude rolled over to find her wine. It had begun to taste like ambrosia. "When William and I discussed it-"



"Discussed it, did you?" Brenna put in, and as guardian of the bottle, took Jude's glass to refill it.



"Oh, yes, in a very logical, practical, and civilized manner. William was always civilized."



"I think William needed a boot in the arse." Brenna handed the glass back, ducking so the wine that slopped as Jude laughed missed splashing on her hair.



"His students call him Dour Powers. That's his name, William Powers. Of course, being a modern professional woman, I kept my own name, so I didn't have all that fuss with the divorce. Anyway- what was I saying?"



"How civilized Dour Powers is."



"Oh, yes. William decided that we'd wait five to seven years. Then, if circumstances were acceptable, we would discuss having a child again. If we decided to go ahead with it, we would research and choose the proper day care, preschool facilities, and once we knew the sex of the child, we'd determine which educational plan to put into action straight up to college."



"College?" Darcy turned. "Before the baby's born?"



"William was very forward-thinking."



"For a man with his head up his bum."



"He's probably not as bad as I'm making him out to be." Jude frowned into her wine. "Probably. He's much happier with Allyson." To her shock, tears sprang to her eyes. "He just wasn't happy married to me."



"The bastard." Swamped with sympathy, Darcy abandoned the closet and sat on the bed to wrap an arm around Jude's shoulders. "He didn't deserve you."



"Not for a bloody minute," Brenna agreed, patting Jude's knee. "Stuffy, stub-nosed, philandering bastard. You're a hundred times better than any Allyson."



"She's blond," Jude said with a sniffle. "And has legs up to her ears."



"Blond from a bottle, I'll wager," Darcy said staunchly. "And you have wonderful legs. Gorgeous legs. I can't keep me eyes off them."



"Really?" Jude swiped a hand under her nose.



"They're fabulous." Brenna gave Jude's calf a bolstering stroke. "He's probably going to bed each night steeped in regret for losing you."



"Oh, hell." Jude exploded. "He was a boring son of a bitch. Allyson's welcome to him."



"He probably can't even get her off," said Darcy, and Jude snorted with glee.



"Well, I certainly never heard the angels sing. This is great." She rubbed the heels of her hands over her face to dry it. "I never had friends to come over and get drunk and toss my clothes around before."



"You can count on us." Darcy gave her a hard squeeze.



Sometime during the third bottle of wine, Jude told them about what she'd seen-thought she'd seen-in the old cemetery.



"It comes down through the blood," Darcy said with a knowing nod. "Old Maude had the sight, and it's often she talked to the Good People."



"Oh, come on."



Darcy only lifted one elegant brow at Jude's comment. "And this from the woman who's just described two meetings with a faerie prince."



"I never said that. I said I met this odd man twice. Or thought I did. I'm afraid I have a brain tumor."



Brenna grimaced at the very idea. "Nonsense. You're healthy as a horse."



"If not that, if there's no physical cause, then I'm just crazy. I'm a psychologist," she reminded them. "Well, I was one, a mediocre one, but still, I have enough training to recognize the symptoms of a serious mental disfunction."



"Why should that be?" Brenna demanded. "As far as I can tell, you're the most sensible of women. My ma thinks because of that, and your ladylike manner, you'll be good for me." Cheerfully, Brenna gave Jude a light punch on the shoulder. "And despite that I like you anyway."



"You really do, don't you?"



"Of course I do, and so does Darcy, and not just for your fine clothes."



"Of course I don't just like our Jude for her clothes." Darcy's tone radiated insult at the very idea. "I like her for her baubles, too." With that, she collapsed in laughter. "I'm joking. Sure we like you, Jude. You're fun to be with and a wonderful puzzle to listen to half the time."



"That's so nice." Her eyes welled up again. "It's so nice to have friends, especially when you're either dying of brain cancer or acting like a raving lunatic."



"You're neither. You saw Carrick of the faeries," Brenna announced. "Wandering the hills above his raft until Lady Gwen joins him."



"Do you really believe that?" It seemed possible now, in a way it hadn't-a way she hadn't let it-only a few hours before. "Believe in faerie forts and ghosts and spells that last centuries? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"



"I'm not, no." Wrapped in Jude's thick robe, Brenna dipped into what was left of the chocolate. "I believe in lots of things until it's proved otherwise. So far as I know, no one's ever proved there absolutely aren't faerie forts under the hills hereabouts, and people say there are more often than not."



"Yes!" Even blurred by wine, Jude's enthusiasm was ripe as she slapped Brenna on the shoulder. "Exactly my point. Legends are perpetuated, and often take on the sheen of truth by the repetition. Arthur of history becomes Arthur of legend with additions of magic swords and Merlin. Vlad the Destroyer becomes a vampire. The wise women, the healers, of villages become witches, and so on. The human tendency to expound, to extrapolate, to garnish with fantasy to make a tale more entertaining in turn makes the tale a legend that certain groups then take into their culture as fact."



"Just listen to her. She sure talks fancy and fine." Darcy, delighted to be wearing one of the cashmere sweaters, pursed her lips in thought. "And I'm sure, Jude darling, there's something in what you just said that's profound and miraculous, even for one who claims to have been a mediocre psychologist. But it sounds like bullshit to me at the moment. Did you or did you not see Carrick of the faeries this very day?"

[Dalyia]

"I saw someone. He didn't tell me his name."



"And did this someone vanish into the air before your very eyes?"



Jude scowled. "It seemed he did, but-"



"No, no buts, just the facts. That's how it's done, isn't it, logically speaking? If he talked to you, he wants something from you, as I haven't heard of him talking to anyone but Old Maude in my lifetime. Have you, Brenna?"



"No, I can't say as I have. Were you frightened of him, Jude?"



"No, of course not."



"That's good, then. I think you'd know if he meant to cause you harm or mischief. I think he's just lonely and wanting his lady beside him. Three hundred years," she said longingly. "It's a kind of comfort to know love can last."



"You're such a romantic, Brenna." Darcy yawned and curled up in a chair. "Love lasts easy as long as there's yearning. Put the two of them together, and it's just as like they'd be sniping and snarling at each other in six months' time."



"You've just never had a man courageous enough to take a good hold of your heart."



Darcy shrugged and snuggled down. "And I don't intend to ever give one the chance. Holding theirs keeps you on top of things. Let them get a grip on yours, and you're sunk."



"I think I'd like to be in love." Jude's eyes drifted shut. "Even if it hurt. You couldn't feel ordinary if you were in love, could you?"



"No, but you can surely feel stupid," Brenna muttered, and Jude laughed lightly as she slipped into sleep.

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER Ten



Tiny dancers wearing sturdy clogs were doing a brisk step-toe inside Jude's head when she woke. She could count the beats, each little shuffle-stomp-kick against her temples. It was more baffling than unpleasant, and her eyes twitched as she cautiously opened them.



Hissed at the light, closed, then much more cautiously slitted them open again.



Clothes were everywhere. At first she thought there'd been some sort of violent storm, a kind of Dorothy out of Oz tornado that had swooped in and swirled her things every which way around the room.



That would have explained why she was lying crosswise, half naked, and facedown on the bed.



At a soft snuffling sound beneath the bed she caught her breath, then it came fast. She imagined rodents at best; at worst she was sure it was one of those maniacal little dolls that come to life and carry knives and like to slash at people's hands and feet if they're unwary enough to let them hang over the bed at night.



She'd had nightmares about those hideous dolls since childhood and never, ever let any part of her hang over the bed. Just in case.



Whatever was down there, she was alone with it and had to defend herself. Fortunately, there happened to be a navy suede pump on her pillow. Without questioning the why of that, Jude gripped the shoe like a weapon and steadied herself



With gritted teeth, she crawled closer to the edge of the bed, peered over, and prepared to do what had to be done.



Brenna was on the floor, wrapped like a mummy in Jude's thick robe, with her head pillowed on a stack of sweaters and an empty wine bottle at her feet.



Jude stared, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then popped them open to stare again.



The evidence was there, she thought. It was irrefutable. Wine bottles, glasses, empty bowls, scattered clothes.



She hadn't been invaded by rodents or evil dolls. She had hosted a drunken party.



The snicker snuck up on her, and she quick had to bury her face in the tangled sheets for fear of waking Brenna up and then having to explain why she was hanging over the bed and laughing like a loon.



Oh, wouldn't her friends, relations, and associates be shocked if they could see the morning-after here? Holding her aching stomach, she rolled over and stared happily at the ceiling. The entertaining she'd done in Chicago had always involved scrupulously planned dinners or get-togethers, with the background music as carefully selected as the proper wine.



And if anyone had one too many, it was always dealt with discreetly. The hostess never passed out on the bed, no, indeed, but graciously saw each of her guests to the door, then responsibly tidied up the disarray.



She'd never had anyone curl up to sleep on her floor, and she'd never awakened the next morning with what was surely a hangover.



She liked it.



She liked it so much that she wanted to write about it in her journal right away. She climbed out of bed, wincing, then grinning when her head pounded. Her very first hangover. It was marvelous!



She tiptoed out, thrilled at the thought of noting it all down in her journal. Then she'd have a shower, and make coffee. Make a huge breakfast for her guests.



Guests, she remembered abruptly. Where in the world was Darcy?



Jude had her answer the minute she stepped into her little office. The lump under the covers on the little bed was bound to be Darcy, which meant the journal entry would have to wait a bit longer.



No matter, Jude thought, amused and delighted that her new friends had felt at home enough to settle in for the night. Despite her aching head, she all but danced into the shower.



It had been the best night of her life. She didn't care how pathetic that sounded, she thought as she ducked her head under the hot spray. It had been wonderful-the talk and the laughter, the foolishness. These two interesting women had come to her, enjoyed her, made her feel part of what they had together.



A friendship. Just as easy as that. And none of it had hinged on where she'd gone to school, what she did for a living, where she'd grown up. It was all about who she was, what she had to say, how she felt.



And not a little to do with her wardrobe, she added with a giggle. But her clothes were a reflection of who she was, weren't they? At least a reflection of how she saw herself. And why shouldn't she be flattered that a beautiful woman like Darcy Gallagher admired her clothes?



Still smiling, she stepped out to dry off, then took a couple of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. She wrapped the towel around her, figuring she could find something to wear just by cruising her bedroom floor, then with her hair a dripping mass of curls she stepped out into the hall.



Her first shriek could have cracked glass-it certainly scored her throat and caused her abused head to reel. The second came out more like a yip as she clutched at the towel and gaped at Aidan.



"Sorry to startle you, darling, but I did knock-front and back-before letting myself in."



"I was-I was in the shower."



"So I see." And what a treat for the eyes she was, he decided, with her all pink and damp and her hair dripping in wet ropes about her shoulders. A dense, glossy brown it was against that pink and white skin.



It took all a man's will not to just step forward and take a bite somewhere.



"You-you can't just come in."



"Well, the back door was unlocked, as back doors usually are hereabouts." He continued to smile, to look directly into her eyes. Though it was tempting-more than tempting-to let his gaze go wandering. "And I saw Brenna's lorry parked in your street, so I figured she and Darcy were still here. They are still here, aren't they?"



"Yes, but-"



"I need to fetch Darcy. She has the lunch shift today and she tends to forget such matters."



"We're not dressed."



"I've seen that for myself, darling, and I've tried not to comment on it overly. But since you mention it, I'd like to say you're looking lovely this morning. Fresh as a rose and-" He stepped a little closer and sniffed at her. "Twice as fragrant."



"How's a body to sleep with all that yammering going on!" Jude jolted as Brenna's voice erupted from the bedroom. "Kiss her, for sweet Christ's sake, Aidan, and stop talking her ear off."



"Well, now, I was working my way along to it."



"No!" The squeal was so foolish, Jude immediately wished to be buried alive. The best she could do was dash to the bedroom and snatch up a sweater. Before she'd pushed her way through the piles for trousers, Aidan had come in behind her.



"Mother of God, what secret female ritual results in this?"



"Jesus, Aidan, put a cork in it, will you? Me head's falling off me shoulders."



He crouched down beside the tangle of red hair. "You know wine gives you a bad head, lass, if you overindulge."



"There wasn't any beer," Brenna muttered.



"Then what's a body to do, after all? I brought along the Gallagher Fix."



"Did you?" She rolled, turning her white face and bleary eyes up to him and grasping at his hand. "Truly? God bless you, Aidan. The man's a saint, Jude. A saint, I tell you. There should be a monument to him in the square of Ardmore."



"When you get yourself on your feet, crawl down to the kitchen. I brought a jug along just in case." He gave Brenna a light kiss on the forehead. "Now where's my sister?"



"She's in my office, the second bedroom," Jude told him with what she hoped was cool dignity as she clutched the clothes to her breast.



"Is there much breakable in there?"



"I beg your pardon?"



Aidan straightened. "Just pay no mind to the screams and crashes. I'll do my best to keep the property damage to a minimum."



"What does he mean by that?" Jude hissed the question at Brenna the moment he was out of the room, even as she rushed to drag on the slacks.



"Oh." Brenna yawned hugely. "Just that Darcy doesn't wake cheerful."



At the first scream, Brenna clutched her head and moaned. Shocked, Jude yanked the sweater over her head and rushed toward the sound of the thumps and curses.



"Get your hands off me, you blackhearted baboon. I'll kick your ass from here to Tuesday."



"It's your ass that'll be kicked if you don't get it out of bed and to work, my girl."



If the words and the vicious tone in which they were delivered had shocked her, it was nothing to the visual impact. Jude burst into the room in time to see Aidan, his face grim and set, drag Darcy, dressed in nothing but her bra and panties, from the bed to the floor.



"Why, you brute! Stop that this minute!" Driven to protect her new friend, Jude leaped forward. The order and the movement managed to distract Aidan just long enough for Darcy to ball her fist, bare her teeth, and deliver a short-armed punch straight to his crotch.



Jude wasn't sure the sound he made was human. Torn between yet another layer of shock and a wave of pure female amusement that she wasn't the least bit proud of, she watched Aidan crumple to his knees and Darcy fall on him like a she-wolf.



"Ouch. Jesus! Bloody hell!" He did what he could to defend himself as his sister thumped, yanked, and bit exactly as he'd taught her, and still wheezing from that first blow, he finally managed to pin her.



"One of these days, Darcy Alice Mary Gallagher, I'm going to forget you're a female and plant one on you."



"Go ahead, you great bully." She thrust out her chin, blew her hair out of her eyes. "Plant one now."



"I'd likely break my hand on that face of yours. However pretty it is, it's stretched over a skull made of rock."



Then they were grinning at each other, and he was rubbing his hand over her face with what surely was as much affection as exasperation. Jude just kept staring as they got to their feet.



"Put some clothes on, you shameless hussy, and get in to work."



Darcy pushed at her tumbled hair and didn't seem in the least bothered by the recent tumble. "Jude, can I borrow the blue cashmere jumper?"



"Urn, yes, of course."



"Oh, you're a sweetheart, you are." She danced by, giving Jude a peck on the cheek. "Don't worry, I'll tidy up what I can before I go."



"Oh, well, that's all right. I'll make coffee."



"That would be lovely. Tea even better if you have it."



"Coffee?" Aidan said when Darcy had sauntered out the door. "I think you owe me a cup at least."



"Owe you?"



He stepped toward Jude. "That's the second time you've distracted me in battle and caused me to take a blow I'd have dodged otherwise. Oh, and very well you might bite your cheek to hold back the grin, but I see your eyes laughing clear enough."



"I'm sure you're mistaken." Jude looked deliberately aside. "But I'll make the coffee."



"And how's your head faring this morning?" he asked as he followed her out and down the stairs.



"It's fine."



He lifted a brow. "No ill effects due to squeezing a bit too much of the grape?''



"Maybe a little headache." She was too proud of it to be embarrassed. "I took some aspirin."



"I've better than that for you." He rubbed a hand casually over the back of her neck, miraculously hitting just the spot that made her want to purr, then moved to the counter as they entered the kitchen. The jar he picked up was filled with some dark and dangerous-looking red liquid.

[Dalyia]

"A bit of this, a bit of that, and a little lie-me-down." He nudged the glass on her. She was a bit pale and her eyes were shadowed. He wanted to cuddle her until she felt herself again. "You'll wake up forgetting you had a hedonistic orgy last night."



"It wasn't an orgy. There weren't any men."



He grinned, fast and bright. "Next time invite me. Here now, sip a little and start the coffee, and some tea as well. I'll see to the rest."



It seemed like a nice connection to the evening to have a handsome man cooking breakfast in her kitchen. That was one more thing that had never happened to her before.



It was amazing, she thought, just how quickly, and how completely, a life could change. Jude sipped carefully, found the brew more tolerable than expected. Drinking the rest, she put on the kettle.



"Jude, you've no sausage. You've no bacon."



The quiet shock in his voice amused her. "No, I don't really eat it."



"Don't eat it? How do you cook breakfast?"



Because the shock wasn't so quiet now, she couldn't resist fluttering at him. Imagine, she thought, flirting before breakfast. "Usually by putting a piece of whole wheat bread in the toaster and pressing down the little lever."



"A single piece of toast?"



"And a half a grapefruit or a cup of whatever fresh fruit I have on hand. But now and then, I confess, I go wild and have an entire bagel with low-fat cream cheese."



"And this is what a sensible person calls breakfast?"



"Yes, a healthy one."



"Yanks," Aidan shook his head, as he took out eggs. "Why is it you think you'll live forever and why do you want to, I'd like to know, when you deny yourselves so many of the basic pleasures in life?"



"Somehow I manage to get through day after day without gnawing on greasy pig meat."



"A little testy in the morning, are we? Well, you wouldn't be if you'd eat a proper breakfast. But we'll do what we can for you."



She turned, prepared to snarl at him, but with the hand that wasn't holding the eggs, he cupped the back of her neck and nudged her up against him, then nipped her bottom lip. Before she'd recovered from that, he was following up the quick bite with a long, soft kiss that drained what few thoughts were left in her head.



"Do you have to do that before breakfast?" Brenna complained.



"Aye." Aidan ran that wonderful hand down Jude's spine, then up again. "And after, if I have my way about it."



"Bad enough you come in, stomping about and waking a body up." Scowling, and wearing the robe she'd wrapped herself in the night before, Brenna headed straight for the jar and poured some Gallagher's Fix into a glass. Gulping it down, she eyed Aidan narrowly. "Are you making breakfast then?"



"I'm about to. You're looking a bit peaked this morning, Mary Brenna. Do you want a kiss as well?"



She sniffed, then grinned at him. "I wouldn't mind it."



He obliged her by putting the eggs aside and stepping up to lift her off the floor by her elbows. When she whooped, he planted a loud, smacking kiss on her lips. "There you have it, and some roses back in your cheeks as well."



"That's from two punches of a fix by Gallagher," she said and made him laugh.



"We aim to please. Is my sister still on her feet?"



"She's in the shower, and still cursing you. As I would be if you weren't so free with your kisses."



"If God didn't want a woman's lips to be kissed, he wouldn't have made them so easy to reach. Are mere potatoes in the larder, Jude?"



"I think-yes."



Free with his kisses? She'd been warmly entertained watching the easy and affectionate byplay, but now she stood worrying about just what "free with his kisses" meant while Aidan scrubbed off some potatoes and put them in a pot to boil. Did that mean he just went around scooping up women with both hands? He certainly had the charm for it.



The skill for it.



The looks for it.



What did it matter? They didn't have what anyone would call a relationship. She didn't want a relationship. Not really.



She just wanted to know if she was one of a pack, or if-for once-she was something more special. Just once something special to someone.



"Where have you gone off dreaming?" Aidan asked her.



Jude jerked back, ordered herself not to flush. "Nowhere." She busied herself with the coffee and tried not to feel odd when Brenna rummaged through the cupboards for plates and flatware.



She'd never had people make themselves so easily at home in her house. It surprised her to realize she liked it. It made her feel a part of something friendly and simple.



It didn't matter if Brenna was efficient enough to intimidate a well-programmed robot. It didn't matter if Darcy was so beautiful every other woman looked dull by comparison.



It didn't even matter if Aidan kissed a hundred women before breakfast every day of the week.



Somehow within a few short weeks, they were her friends. And they didn't appear to expect her to be anything but what she was.



It was a small but precious miracle.



"Why don't I smell bacon cooking?" Darcy demanded as she strolled in.



"Jude didn't have any," Aidan told her.



Jude beamed as Darcy helped herself to coffee. "I'll get some. For next time."



The feeling stayed with her all day, the warmth and quiet joy of it. Over breakfast she made plans to drive to Dublin and shop with Darcy, to have Sunday dinner at the O'Tooles', and she scheduled another storytelling session with Aidan.



She wasn't asked to come down to the pub that evening. It was understood that she would. And that was so much better. When you were part of something, she reflected, you didn't need to be asked.



The kitchen smelled of fried potatoes and coffee. The wind chime outside the door sang in the breeze. As she rose to get more coffee, she spotted Betty outside running wildly after a bounding rabbit over hills sprinkled with wildflowers.



Jude imprinted it all on her mind, promising herself she'd take the moment out again when she was feeling low or lonely.



Later, when she was alone and settling down to work, it seemed to her the house still held all that warmth and energy. So she wrote in her journal:



It's odd that I never realized this is so much what I want. A home. A place where people I enjoy and who enjoy me will come when they like. Will feel comfortable and easy. Maybe it wasn't solitude I was looking for after all when I so rashly flew to Ireland. It was what I've had over these last hours. Companionship, laughter, foolishness, and well, romance.



I suppose I didn't realize it because I never let myself really wish for it. Now without even the wish, here it is.



That's a kind of magic, isn't it? Every bit as much as faeries and spells and winged horses. I'm accepted here, not for what I do, or where I come from, or where I went to school. I'm accepted for who I am. For who, more importantly, I'm finally letting myself become.



When I have dinner at the O'Tooles' I won't be shy or feel awkward. I'll have fun. When I go shopping with Darcy I'm determined to buy something extravagant and useless. Because it'll be fun.



And when next Aidan comes through my garden gate, I may take him as a lover. Because I want him. Because he makes me feel something I've never felt before. Outrageously and completely female.



And because, damn it, it'll be fun.



With a satisfied nod she switched documents and settled back to review some of her work. Scanning the screen, sifting through written notes, she slid into the routine of research and analysis. She was deep into the study of a story on a crofter's changeling when her phone rang.



With her mind circling the crofter's dilemma, she picked up the receiver. "Yes? Hello."



"Jude. I hope I'm not interrupting your work."



Jude blinked at the screen and tuned in to her mother's voice. "No, nothing important. Hello, Mother. How are you?"



"I'm very well." Linda Murray's voice was cultured and smooth, and just a little cool. "Your father and I are about to take advantage of the end of the semester. We're going to New York for a few days to attend an exhibit at the Whitney and see a play."



"That's nice." It made her smile, thinking how much her parents enjoyed each other's company. A perfect meeting of minds. "You'll enjoy that."



"Very much. You're welcome to fly in and join us if you like, if you've had enough of country living."



A perfect meeting of minds, Jude thought again. And she'd never quite been able to mesh with that lovely unity. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine. I really love it here."



"Do you?" There was faint surprise in the tone. "You always took after your grandmother, who sends her love, by the way."



"Send mine right back to her."



"You're not finding the cottage a bit too rustic?"



Jude thought of her initial reaction-no microwave, no electric can opener-and grinned to herself. "I have everything I need. There are flowers blooming outside the windows. And I'm starting to recognize some of the birds."



"That's nice. You do sound rested. I hope you're planning on spending some time in Dublin while you're there. They're supposed to have marvelous galleries. And of course you'll want to see Trinity College."



"As a matter of fact, I'm going to Dublin for the day next week."



"Good. Good. A little respite in the country is all well and good, but you don't want your mind to stagnate."



Jude opened her mouth, shut it again, then took a long breath. "I'm working on my paper now, as a matter of fact. I'm finding no end of material here. And I'm learning to garden."



"Really? That's a lovely hobby. You sound happy, Jude. I'm so glad to hear it. It's been too long since you sounded happy."



Jude closed her eyes and felt the burgeoning resentment fade away. "I know you've been worried about me, and I'm sorry. I really am happy. I suppose I just needed to get away for a while."



"I'll admit both your father and I were concerned. You seemed so listless and dissatisfied."



"I suppose I was both."



"The divorce was hard on you. I understand that, better



I think, than you knew. It was so sudden and so final, and it took all of us by surprise."



"It certainly took me by surprise," Jude said dryly. "It shouldn't have. Wouldn't have if I'd been paying attention."



"Perhaps not," Linda said, and Jude winced at her mother's easy agreement. "But that doesn't change the fact that William wasn't the man any of us thought he was. And that's one of the reasons I called, Jude. I felt it would be better if you heard this from me rather than through the gossip mill or some letter from an acquaintance."



"What is it?" Something inside her belly clenched. "Is it about William? Is he ill?"



"No, quite the contrary. He appears to be thriving."



Jude gaped at the sudden and undisguised bitterness in her mother's voice. "Well, that's fine."



"You have a more forgiving nature than I do," Linda snapped back. "I'd prefer it if he'd contract some rare debilitating disease or at least go bald and develop a facial twitch."



Stunned as much by the uncharacteristic violence in her mother's voice as by the sentiment, Jude burst out laughing. "That's terrible! I love it! But I had no idea you felt that way about him."



"Your father and I did our best to maintain a polite front, to make things easier for you. It couldn't have been comfortable for you, facing your mutual friends and colleagues. You remained dignified. We were proud of you."



Dignity, Jude mused. Yes, they'd always found pride in her dignity. So how could she have disappointed them by going into wild rages or having public snits? "I appreciate that."



"I think it showed enormous strength, the way you held your head up. And I can only imagine how much it cost you to do so. I suppose leaving your position at the university and going away like this was necessary. To rebuild."



"I didn't think you understood."



"Of course we did, Jude. He hurt you."



As simple as that, Jude realized and felt her eyes sting. Why hadn't she trusted her family to stand behind her? "I thought you blamed me."



"Why in the world would we blame you? Honestly, your father actually threatened to strike William. It's so rare for that Irish blood to surface, and it took quite some doing to calm him down again."



Jude tried to imagine her dignified father plowing into the dignified William. But it would not compute. "I can't tell you how much better that makes me feel."



"I never said anything because you seemed so determined to keep it all civilized. And I hope this doesn't upset you, but I don't want you to hear it from some other source."



Jude's belly seized up again. "What is it?"



"William and his new wife are taking advantage of semester's end as well. They're going to the West Indies for a couple of weeks. Of all places. William is cheerfully telling anyone who'll listen that they want this exotic holiday before they have to settle in. Jude, they're expecting a baby in October."



Whatever had clutched in her belly sank, dropped through clean to her toes. "I see."



"The man's acting like a fool about it. He actually has a copy of the sonogram and is showing it off like a family photo. He bought her this gaudy emerald ring to celebrate. He's behaving as if she's the first woman to conceive."



"I'm sure he's just very happy."



"I'm glad you can take it well. For myself, I'm infuriated. We have several mutual friends and this, well, glee of his, is very awkward in social situations. You'd think he would show more tact."



Linda paused, obviously to get her temper under control. When she spoke again, it was gently. "He wasn't worth a moment of your time, Jude. I'm sorry I didn't realize that before you married him."



"So am I," she murmured. "Please don't worry about it, Mother. It's history. I'm just sorry it's embarrassing for you."



"Oh, I can manage. As I said, I didn't want you to hear it from someone else. I can see now I needn't have been concerned that you'd be upset or hurt again. Honestly, I wasn't sure you were completely over him. I'm relieved you're so sensible. As always."



"Yes, sensible Jude," she said, even as something hot lodged in her throat. "Absolutely. In fact, be sure to give him my best wishes the next time you see him."



"I'll do that. I really am glad you're happy, Jude. Your father or I will be in touch once we're back from New York."



"Good. Have a wonderful time. Give Father my love."



"I will."



When she hung up, Jude felt paralyzed. Frozen. Her skin was chilled, her blood frigid. All the warmth and pleasure, the simple delight that had carried over from the morning iced up in what she assumed was despair.



William flying off to some charming island in the West Indies with his pretty new wife. Sliding into sparkling blue water, strolling along sugar-white sand under a full moon with hands clasped and eyes dreamy.

[Dalyia]

William giddy over the prospect of fatherhood, bragging about his pretty pregnant wife, poring through baby books with Allyson, compiling lists of names. Pampering the mother-to-be with emerald rings and flowers and lazy Sunday mornings in bed with freshly squeezed orange juice and croissants.



She could visualize it perfectly, a curse of her well-honed imagination. The characteristically buttoned-down William, gleefully nuzzling the lovely Madonna as they lounged on the beach. The usually reserved William telling perfect strangers about the upcoming blessed event.



The notoriously frugal William shelling out the price of an emerald ring. A gaudy one.



The bastard.



She snapped the pencil she held in two, heaved both parts at the wall. It wasn't until she'd leaped out of her chair, knocking it to the floor with a resounding crash, that she realized it wasn't despair she felt. It was fury. Blazing, blistering fury.



Her breath came in pants, her fists were clenched. There was nothing to pound on, nothing to beat senseless. The rage building inside her was so black, so fierce, she looked around wildly for somewhere to put it before it exploded out of her chest.



She had to get out, to move, to breathe, before the force of anger came out in a scream that shattered every window in the cottage. Blindly she whirled toward the door and raced out, down the stairs, out of the house.



She ran over the hills until she couldn't catch her breath, until her sides stung and her legs trembled. A soft rain began to fall through the sunshine, sparkling the air and dewing the grass. The wind came up strong and sounded like a woman weeping. Through it, like a whisper, was the music of pipes.



Finding herself on the path to Ardmore, Jude continued to walk.

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER Eleven



A rainy evening at the pub had people snuggled into their chairs and doing as much dreaming as talking. Young Connor Dempsey played wistful tunes on the squeeze-box while his father sipped his Smithwick's and discussed the state of the world with his good friend Jack Brennan.



Since Jack's heart was mending now, he paid as much attention to the conversation as he did his own beer.



From behind the bar, Aidan kept an eye on him nonetheless. Jack and Connor Dempsey Senior often disagreed on the state of the world and occasionally felt the need to use their fists to bring the point home.



Aidan understood the need well enough, but he didn't care to have the debate rage in his place.



He checked the progress of the football game on the bar set now and then. Clare was outscoring Mayo and he gave them a quick mental cheer, as he had a small wager on the outcome.



He anticipated a quiet night and wondered if he could call upon Brenna to cover for him. He had an urge to see if Jude would like another meal with him. In a restaurant this time, with flowers and candles on the table and a nice straw-colored wine in pretty glasses.



It would be the sort of thing she was more accustomed to, he imagined, than scrambled eggs and fried potatoes dished up in her own kitchen.



Shy and sweet she might be, but she was a sophisticated woman. City-bred and upper class. The men she was used to would take her to the theater and fancy restaurants. They would wear ties and well-cut suits and talk of literature and cinema in weighty tones.



Well, he wasn't exactly ignorant, was he? He read books and enjoyed films. He'd traveled more than most and had seen great art and architecture firsthand. He could hold his own against any Chicago dandy in conversation.



When he caught himself scowling, he shook his head. What was he doing, for Christ's sake, setting himself up in competition with some imaginary man? It was pathetic the way he couldn't seem to hold three thoughts in his head unless one of them centered on Jude Murray.



It was likely just sexual frustration, he decided. He hadn't slid his hands over a woman's body in a considerable amount of time. Every time he imagined doing so, it was Jude's body under his hands. And thanks to that morning, he had a much clearer picture of just what that body of hers included.



All that soft white skin that tended to show a rosy flush so easily. Long, slim legs, and a tiny, sexy mole just at the rise of her left breast. She had such pretty shoulders, shoulders that just seemed to cry out for the trail of a man's lips.



The way she shied, then melted when he touched her. Was it any wonder he was fixated on her? A man would have to be dead a decade not to be stirred.



A part of him-one that he wasn't particularly proud of-wished he could just charm her into bed and be done with it. Release and relief and a pleasure for both of them. Another part admitted, just a bit uneasily, that he was just as fascinated by her mind and her manner as he was by the package wrapped around it.



Quiet and shy, tidy and polite. She just made a man want to keep rubbing away at the sheen of composure until he found everything that lay hidden beneath.



The door opened. Aidan glanced over casually, then he looked again, eyes widening in something close to shock.



Jude stepped in. No, it was more a stalking. She was wet down to the skin, her hair wild and dripping around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, and though he told himself it was a trick of the light, they looked dangerous. He would have sworn they sent off sparks as she strode up to the bar.



"I'd like a drink."



"You're soaking wet."



"It's raining, and I've been walking in it." Her voice was clipped with an undertone of heat. She shoved at her wet, heavy hair. She'd lost her band somewhere along the run. "That's the usual result. Can I have a drink or not?"



"Sure, I've the wine you like. Why don't you take it over by the fire there, and warm yourself a bit. And I'll get you a towel for your hair."



"I don't want the fire. I don't want a towel. I want whiskey." She issued it like a challenge and dropped a fisted hand on the bar. "Here."



Her eyes still made his think of a sea goddess, but it was a vengeful one now. He nodded slowly. "As you like."



He got out a short glass and poured two fingers of Jameson's into it. Jude snatched it up, tossed it back like water. Her breath exploded out of the sudden fire dead center of her chest. Her eyes watered but stayed hot.



A wise man, Aidan kept his face carefully blank. "You're welcome to go upstairs to my rooms if you'd like to borrow a dry shirt."



"I'm fine." Her throat felt as if someone had raked hot needles down it, but there was a rather pleasant little fire simmering in her gut now. She set the glass back down on the bar, nodded to it. "Another."



Experience had him leaning casually on the bar. With some you could empty the bottle and no one was the worse for it. With others you nudged them out the door before they bent their elbow once too often. And there were some who needed to pour out their troubles more than they needed the publican to pour the whiskey.



He recognized which he was dealing with here. Added to that, if a glass and a half of wine gave her a buzz, two shots of whiskey would put her under. "Why don't you tell me what the trouble is, darling?"



"I didn't say there was any trouble. I said I wanted another glass of whiskey."



"Well, you won't get one here. But I'll make you some tea and a seat by the fire."



She drew in a breath, then let it out with a shrug. "Fine, forget the whiskey."



"There's a lass." He patted the fist still bunched on his bar. "Now you go and sit, and I'll bring you tea. Then you can tell me what's the matter."



"I don't need to sit." She tossed her wet hair out of her face, then leaned forward as he was. "Come closer," she ordered. When he obliged and their faces were only inches apart, she took a handful of his shirt. She spoke clearly, concisely, but still had the wit to keep her voice low. "Do you still want to have sex with me?"



"I beg your pardon?"



"You heard me." But it gave her a dark thrill to repeat herself. "Do you want to have sex or not?"



Even as his nerves jangled, he went hard. It was beyond his power to control either reaction. "Right this minute?"



"What's wrong with now?" she demanded. "Does everything have to be planned and patterned and tied up in a damn bow?"



She forgot to keep her voice down this time, and several heads turned and eyebrows wiggled. Aidan laid a hand over the one still clutching his shirt and patted gently.



"Come on back in the snug, why don't you, Jude?"



"In the what?"



"Come on, back here." He patted her hand again, then pried her fingers off. With a gesture he pointed out a door at the end of the bar. "Shawn, come out here and man the bar for a moment, would you?"



He lifted the flap at the end of the bar so Jude could pass through, then nudged her through the door.



The snug was a small, windowless room furnished with two sugan chairs that had been his grandmother's and a table his father had made that wobbled just enough to be endearing. There was an old globe lamp that Aidan switched on, and a decanter of whiskey that he ignored.



The snug was a place designed for private conversations and private business. He couldn't think of anything more private than dealing with the woman he'd been fantasizing about asking him if he wanted to have sex.



"Why don't we-"



"Sit down" was what he'd intended to say, but his mouth was too busy being devoured by hers. She had his back up against the door, her hands fisted in his hair, and her lips hotly, hungrily fastened on his.



He managed one strangled groan, then lost himself in the pleasure of being attacked by a wet and willful woman. She was pressed against him. Jesus, plastered against him, and her body was like a furnace. He wondered that her clothes didn't simply steam away.



Her heart was racing, or maybe it was his. He felt the frantic, nervous beat pound and pitch between them. She smelled of the rain and tasted of his whiskey, and he wanted her with a fervor that was like a sickness. It crawled through him, clawed at him, reeled in his head, burned in his throat.



Dimly, he heard his brother's voice, an answering laugh, the faint tune played by a young boy. And he remembered, barely, where they were. Who they were.



"Jude. Wait." The blood was roaring in his head as he tried to ease her back. "This isn't the place."



"Why?" She was desperate. She needed something. Him. Anything. "You want me. I want you."



Enough that he would easily imagine reversing their positions and mounting her where they stood like a stallion covering a ready mare. With fire in the blood, and no heart at all.



"Stop now. Let's catch our breath here." He stroked a hand over her hair, a hand that was far from steady. "Tell me what's the matter."



"Nothing's the matter." Her voice cracked and proved her a liar. "Why does something have to be the matter? Just make love with me." Her hands shook as she fought with the buttons of his shirt. "Just touch me."



Now he did reverse positions, pressed her against the door and firmly took her face in his hands to lift it. Whatever his body was telling him, his heart and mind gave different orders. He was a man who preferred following the heart.



"I might touch, but I'll never reach you if you don't tell me what's troubling you."



"There's nothing troubling me," she hissed at him. Then burst into tears.



"Oh, there now, darling." It was less worrisome to comfort a woman than to resist one. Gently, he gathered her in, cradled her against his chest. "Who hurt you, a ghra?"



"It's nothing. It's stupid. I'm sorry."



"Of course it's something, and not stupid at all. Tell me what's made you sad, mavourneen."



Her breath hitched, and desolate, she pressed her face into his shoulder. It was solid as a rock, comforting as a pillow. "My husband and his wife are going to the West Indies and having a baby."



"What?" The word came out like a bullet as he jerked her back. "You've a husband?"



"Had." She sniffled, and wished her head could be on his shoulder again. "He didn't want to keep me."



Aidan took two long breaths, but his head still reeled as though he'd swallowed a bottle of Jameson's. Or been clobbered by one. "You were married?"



"Technically." She fluttered a hand. "Do you have a handkerchief?"



Staggered, Aidan dug in his pocket, handed it to her. "I think we'll start back at some beginning, but we'll get you some dry clothes and some hot tea before you catch a chill."



"No, I'm all right. I should-"



"Just be quiet. We'll go upstairs."



"I'm a mess." She blew her nose savagely. "I don't want people to see me."



"There's no one out there who hasn't shed a few tears of their own, and some right here in this pub. We'll go out and through the kitchen and up."



Before she could argue, he took her arm and pulled her to the door. Then even as the first wave of embarrassment hit, he continued to pull her, into the kitchen, where Darcy looked over in surprise.



"Why, Jude, whatever's the matter?" she began, then closed her mouth as Aidan gave a quick shake of his head and nudged Jude up a narrow staircase.



He opened a door at the head of it and stepped into his small, cluttered living room. "The bedroom's through there. Take whatever works best for you, and I'll put on the tea."



She started to thank him, apologize, something, but he was already moving through a low doorway. There was enough tension in his wake to bow her spirits even lower.


She stepped into the bedroom. Unlike the living room, it was neat as a pin and sparsely furnished. She wished she had the time, and the right, to poke about a bit. But she moved quickly to the little closet, giving herself time only to scan the single bed with its navy cover, the tall chest of drawers that looked old and comfortably worn at the hinges, the faded rug over an age-darkened wood floor.

[Dalyia]

She found a shirt, as gray as her mood. While she changed she studied the walls. There he had indulged in his romantic side, she thought. Posters and prints of faraway places.



Street scenes of Paris and London and New York and Florence, stormy seascapes and lush islands. Towering mountains, quiet valleys, mysterious deserts. And of course, the fierce cliffs and gentle hills of his own country. They were tacked up edge to edge, like a fabulous, eccentric wallpaper.



How many of those places had he been? she wondered. Had he been to them all, or had he places still to go?



She let out a huge sigh, not caring that the sound was ripe with self-pity, and carrying her wet sweater, went back into the living room.



He was pacing, and stopped when she came in. She was dwarfed by his shirt and looked small and miserable and not nearly up to dealing with the emotions swinging around inside him. So he said nothing, not yet, merely took her sweater and carried it into the bath to hang over the shower rod and drip.



"Sit down, Jude."



"You've every right to be angry with me, coming in this way, behaving as I did. I don't know how to begin to-"



"I wish you'd be quiet for a minute." He snapped it at her, telling himself when she winced that he wasn't made of stone. Then he stalked into the kitchen to deal with the tea.



She'd been married, was all he could think. That was quite a detail she'd neglected to mention.



He'd thought her to have had little experience with men, and here she'd been married and divorced and was obviously still pining for the bastard.



Pining for some fancy man in Chicago who wasn't true enough to keep his vows, and all the while Aidan Gallagher had been pining for her.



If that wasn't enough to burn your ass, what was?



He poured the tea strong and black and added a healthy drop of whiskey to his own.



She was standing when he came back, the fingers of her hands twisted together. Her damp hair curled madly, and her eyes were drenched. "I'll go downstairs and apologize to your customers."



"For what?"



"For making a scene."



He set the cups down and drew his brows together to study her with as much bafflement as irritation. "What do I care about that? If we don't have a scene in Gallagher's once a week we wonder why. Will you sit down, damn it, and stop looking at me as if I was about to take a strap to you?"



He sat after she did, then picked up his own tea. Jude sipped, burned her tongue, then hastily set her cup down again.



"Why didn't you tell me you'd been married?"



"I didn't think of it."








"Didn't think of it?" His cup clattered as he snapped it down on the table. "Did it mean so little to you?"



"It meant a great deal to me," she returned with a quiet dignity that had him narrowing his eyes. "It meant considerably less to the man I married. I've been trying to learn to live with that."



When Aidan said nothing, she picked up her tea again to give herself something to do with her hands. "We'd known each other several years. He's a professor at the university where I taught. On the surface, we had a great deal in common. My parents liked him very much. He asked me to marry him. I said yes."



"Were you in love with him?"



"I thought I was, yes, so that amounts to the same thing."



No, Aidan thought, it didn't amount to the same thing at all. But he let it pass. "And what happened?"



"We-he, I should say, planned it all out. William likes to plan carefully, considering details and possible pitfalls and their solutions. We bought a house, as it's more conducive to entertaining and he had ambitions to rise in his department. We had a very small, exclusive, and dignified wedding with all the right people involved. Meaning caterers, florists, photographers, guests."



She breathed deep and, since her tongue was already scalded, sipped the tea again. "Seven months later, he came to me and told me he was dissatisfied. That's the word he used. 'Jude, I'm dissatisfied with our marriage.' I think I said, 'Oh, I'm sorry.'"



She closed her eyes, let the humiliation settle along with the whiskey in her stomach. "That grates, knowing my first instinct was to apologize. He accepted it graciously, as if he'd been expecting it. No," she corrected, looking at Aidan again. "Because he'd been expecting it."



It was hurt he felt from her now, quivering waves of it. "That should tell you that you apologize too much."



"Maybe. In any case, he explained that as he respected me and wanted to be perfectly honest, he felt he should tell me that he'd fallen in love with someone else."



Someone younger, Jude thought now. And prettier, brighter.



"He didn't want to involve her in a sordid and adulterous affair, so he requested that I file for divorce immediately. We would sell the house, split everything fifty-fifty. As he was the instigator, he would be willing to give me first choice in any particular material possessions I might want."



Aidan kept his eyes on her face. She was composed again, eyes quiet, hands still. Too composed, to his thinking. He decided he preferred it when she was passionate and real. "And what did you do about it?"



"Nothing. I did nothing. He got his divorce, he remarried, and we all got on with our lives."



"He hurt you."



"That's what William would call an unfortunate but necessary by-product of the situation."



"Then William is a donkey's ass."



She smiled a little. "Maybe. But what he did makes more sense than struggling through a marriage that makes you unhappy."



"Were you unhappy in it?"



"No, but I don't suppose I was really happy either." Her head ached now, and she was tired. She wished she could just curl into a ball and sleep. "I don't think I'm given to great highs of emotions."



He too was drained. This was the same woman who'd thrown herself lustfully into his arms, then wept bitterly in them only moments before. "No, you're a right calm one, aren't you, Jude Frances?"



"Yes." She whispered. "Sensible Jude."



"So, being such, what set you off today?"



"It's stupid."



"Why should it be stupid if it meant something to you?"



"Because it shouldn't have. It shouldn't have meant anything." Her head snapped up again, and the glitter that came into her eyes didn't displease him in the least. "We're divorced, aren't we? We've been divorced for two years. Why should I care that he's going to the West Indies?"



"Well, why do you?"



"Because I wanted to go there!" she exploded. "I wanted to go somewhere exotic and wonderful and foreign on our honeymoon. I got brochures. Paris, Florence, Bimini. All sorts of places. We could have gone to any of them, and I would have been thrilled. But all he could talk about was-was-"



She circled her hand, as words momentarily failed her. "The language difficulties, the cultural shocks, the different germs, for God's sake."



Furious all over again, she leaped out of the chair. "So we went to Washington and spent hours-days-centuries-touring the Smithsonian and going to lectures."



He'd been fairly shocked before, but this one did it. "You went to lectures on your honeymoon?"



"Cultural bonding," she spat out. "That's what he called it." She threw up her hands and began to stalk around the room. "Most couples have impossibly high expectations for their honeymoon, according to William."



"And why shouldn't they?" Aidan murmured.



"Exactly!" She whirled back, her face flushed with righteous fury. "Better to meet the minds on common ground? Better to go to an environment that is recognizable? The hell with that. We should've been having crazy sex on some hot beach."



A part of Aidan was simply delighted that that hadn't occurred. "Sounds to me like you're well rid of him, darling."



"That's not the point." She wanted to tear her hair out, nearly did. Jude's Irish was up now, bubbling, boiling in a way that would have made her grandmother proud. "The point is, he left me, and his leaving crushed me. Maybe not my heart, but my pride and my ego, and what difference does it make? They're all part of me."



"It makes no difference at all," Aidan said quietly. "You're right. No difference."



The fact that he agreed, without a second's hesitation, only added fuel to her temper. "And now, the bastard, he's going where I wanted to go. And they're having a baby, and he's thrilled. When I talked about having children, he brought up our careers and lifestyles, the population, college costs, for Christ's sake. And he made a chart."



"A what?"



"A chart. A goddamn computer-generated chart, projecting our finances and health, our career status and time management over the next five to seven years. After that, he told me, if we met our goals, we could consider-just consider-conceiving a single child. But for the next several years, he had to concentrate on his career, his planned advancements, and his stupid portfolio."



Fury was a living thing now, clawing viciously at her chest. "He decided when and if we would have a child. He decided should that eventuality take place there would be only one. If he could have managed it, he'd have decided on the sex of the projected baby.



"I wanted a family, and he gave me pie charts."



Her breath hitched, and her eyes filled again. But when Aidan rose to go to her, Jude shook her head frantically. "I thought he didn't want foreign travel and babies. I thought, well, he's just set in his ways, and he's so practical and frugal and ambitious. But that wasn't it. It wasn't it at all. He didn't want to go to the West Indies with me. He didn't want to make a family with me. What's wrong with me?"



"There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all."



"Of course there is." She dug out his handkerchief as her voice rose and fell and broke. "If there wasn't, I'd never have let him get away with it. I'm dull. He was bored with me almost as soon as we were married. People get bored with me. My students, my associates. My own parents are bored with me."



"That's a foolish thing to say." He went to her now, taking her arms to give her a little shake. "There's nothing dull about you."



"You just don't know me well enough yet. I'm dull, all right." She sniffled, then nodded for emphasis. "I never do anything exciting, never say anything brilliant. Everything about me is average. I even bore myself."



"Who put these ideas in your head?" He would have shaken her again, but she looked so pitiful. "Did it ever occur to you that this William with his bloody pie charts and cultural whatever it was is the boring one? That if your students weren't enthusiastic it was because teaching wasn't what you were meant to do?"



She shrugged. "I'm the common factor."



"Jude Frances, who's come to Ireland on her own, to live in a place she's never been, with people she's never met and to do work she's never done?"



"That's different."



"Why?"



"Because I'm just running away."



He felt both impatience and sympathy for her. "Boring you're not, but hardheaded you are. You could give a mule lessons. What's wrong with running away if where you were didn't suit you? Doesn't it follow you're running to something else? Something that does suit you?"



"I don't know." And she was too tired and achy to think it through.



"I've done some running myself. To and from. In the end I landed where I needed to be." He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. "And so will you."



Then he drew her away, rubbed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Now, sit down here while I go clear up a few things in the pub. Then I'll see you home."



"No, that's all right. I can walk back."



"You'll not be walking in the rain and the dark and when you're feeling sad. Just sit and drink your tea. I won't be long."



He left her alone before she could argue, then stood on the stairs for a few minutes to get his own mind in order.



He was trying not to be angry with her for not telling him about the marriage. He was a man who took such commitments seriously, because of his faith and his own sensibilities. Marriage wasn't something you wound in and out of as you pleased, but something that cemented you.



Hers had crumbled through no fault of her own, but she should have told him. It was the principle of it.



And he'd just have to get by it, Aidan warned himself. He'd also have to do some careful treading over the sensitive areas of her that circumstance had rubbed so raw. He didn't want to be responsible for pinching where it already hurt.



Jesus, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed down to the pub. The woman was a bucket of work.



"What's the matter with Jude?" Darcy demanded the minute he stepped into the kitchen.



"She's all right. She had some news from home that upset her is all." He picked up the receiver on the wall phone to call Brenna.



"Oh, not her granny." Darcy set down the order she'd just picked up, and her eyes were full of concern.



"No, nothing like that. I'm going to call Brenna and see if she can cover for me a couple of hours. I want to drive Jude home."



"Well, and if she can't, Shawn and I will manage."



Aidan paused with the phone in his hand and smiled. "You're a sweetheart when you want to be, Darcy."



"I like her and I think she needs a bit of fun in her life. Seems to be there's been precious little up to now. And having her husband leave her for another woman before her bridal bouquet was dry is bound to-"



"Wait now-hold on a minute. You knew she was married?"



Darcy lifted a brow. "Of course." She hefted the order, sauntered toward the door with it. "It's not a secret."


"Not a secret," he muttered, then with gritted teeth dialed Brenna's number. "The whole village likely knew, but not me."

[Dalyia]

CHAPTER Twelve



By the time Aidan came back and they walked down to his car, Jude had time to calm down, and to review.



Mortification didn't begin to cover it. She had burst into the pub, then had sexually assaulted the man in his place of business. Perhaps in time-twenty or thirty years, she estimated-she would find that particular memory fascinating, and even amusing. But for now it was just humiliating.



Then she had compounded that by raging, weeping, blubbering, and cursing. All in all, she couldn't think of anything she might have done that could have shocked them both more unless it was stripping naked and dancing a jig on his bar.



Her mother had congratulated her on maintaining her dignity while under terrible stress. Well, Mother, she thought, don't look now.



And after all that, Aidan was driving her home because it was dark and rainy, and he was kind.



She imagined he couldn't wait to be rid of her.



As they bumped up her little road, she tried out a dozen different ways to smooth over the embarrassment, and every one sounded stilted or silly. Still, she had to say something. It would be cowardly, and rude, not to.



So she took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.



"Do you see her?"



"Who?"



"In the window." Jude reached out, gripping his arm as she stared at the figure in the window of her cottage.



He looked up, smiled a little. "Aye. She's waiting. I wonder if time stretches out for her, or if a year is only a day."



He switched off the engine so they sat with the rain drumming until the figure faded away.



"You did see her. You're not just saying that."



"Of course I saw her, as I have before and will again." He turned his head, studied Jude's profile. "You're not uneasy, are you, staying out here with her?"



"No." Because the answer came so easily, she laughed. "Not at all. I should be, I suppose, but I'm not the least bit uneasy here, or with her. Sometimes-"



"Sometimes what?"



She hesitated again, telling herself she shouldn't keep him. But it was so cozy there in the warmth of the car with the rain pattering and the mists swirling. "Well, sometimes I feel her. Something in the air. Some-I don't know how to explain-some ripple in the air. And it makes me sad, because she's sad. I've seen him too."



"Him."



"The faerie prince. I've met him twice now when I've gone to put flowers on Maude's grave. I know it sounds crazy-I know I should probably see a doctor for some tests, but-"



"Did I say it sounded crazy?"



"No." She released another pent-up breath. "I guess that's why I told you, because you wouldn't say it. You wouldn't think it."



And neither did she, not any longer.



"I met him, Aidan." She shifted on her seat, her eyes bright with excitement as she faced him. "I talked to him. The first time I thought he was someone who just lived around here. But the second, it was almost like a dream or a trance or- I have something," she said following impulse. "I'd like to show you. I know you probably want to get back, but if you have just a minute."



"Are you asking me in?"



"Yes. I'd-"



"Then I've time enough."



They got out of the car and walked through the rain. A little nervous, she pushed at her damp hair as they stepped inside the cottage. "It's upstairs. I'll bring it down. Do you want some tea?"



"No, I'm fine."



"Just, well, wait," she said and hurried upstairs to her bedroom where she'd buried the stone among her socks.



When she came down, holding it behind her back, Aidan was already lighting the fire. The glow of it shimmered over him as he crouched by the hearth, and Jude's heart gave a pleasantly painful little lurch.



He was as handsome as the faerie prince, she thought. See the way the fire brings out the deep red tones in his hair and shifts and plays over the angles of his face, shoots gold into those wonderful blue eyes of his.



Was it any wonder she was in love with him?



Oh, God, she was in love with him! The force of it struck like a blow in the belly, nearly made her groan. How many more idiotic mistakes could she make in one single day?



She couldn't afford to fall in love with some gorgeous Irishman, to break her heart over him, to make a fool of herself. He was looking for something entirely different, and had made no pretenses about it. He wanted sex and pleasure, fun and excitement. Companionship, too, she imagined. But he didn't want some moony-eyed woman in love with him, particularly one who'd already failed at the only serious relationship she'd allowed herself.



He wanted a love affair, which was a world away from love. And if she wanted to succeed here, with him, to give herself the pleasure of a relationship with him, she would have to learn to separate the two.



She would not complicate this. She would not over-analyze this. She would not ruin this.



So when he rose and turned, she smiled at him. "It's lovely having a fire on a rainy night. Thanks."



"Then come closer to it." He held out a hand.



She was walking into the fire all right, she thought. And she wouldn't give a damn if she got burned. She crossed to him, kept her eyes on his. Slowly, she brought her hand from behind her back, spread her fingers. The diamond nestled in the center of her palm, shooting light and glory.



"Sacred heart of Jesus." Aiden stared at it, blinked. "Is that what I think it is?"



"He poured them like candy out of his bag. Jewels so bright they hurt my eyes. And I watched as they bloomed into flowers over Maude's grave. Except for this one that stayed as it was. I shouldn't believe it," she murmured, thinking as much of love as of the stone in her hand. "But here it is."



He took it from her hand to hold it in the light of the fire. It seemed to pulse, then lay quiet. "It holds every color of the rainbow. There's magic here, Jude Frances." He lifted his gaze to hers. "What will you do with it?"



"I don't know. I was going to take it to a jeweler, have it analyzed, the same way I was going to have myself analyzed. But I've changed my mind. I don't want it tested and studied and documented and appraised. It's enough just to have it, don't you think? Just to know it is. I haven't taken enough on faith in my life. I want to change that."



"That's wise. And brave. And perhaps the very reason it was given into your keeping." He took her hand, turned the palm up. After laying the stone on her palm, he curled her fingers around it. "It's for you, and whatever magic it holds. I'm glad you showed it to me."



"I needed to share it." She held the stone firmly, and though she knew it was foolish, thought she gathered courage from it. "You've been so understanding, and very patient with me. My outrageous behavior, then the way I dumped all my neuroses on you. I don't know how to repay you."



"I'm not keeping a balance sheet."



"I know. You wouldn't. You're the kindest man I know."



He managed not to wince. "Kind, is it?"



"Yes, very."



"And understanding and patient as well."



Her lips curved. "Yes."



"Like a brother might be."



She managed to keep the smile in place. "Well, I- hmmm."



"And are you in the habit of throwing yourself into the arms of men you think of like a brother?''



"I have to apologize for that, for embarrassing you."



"Haven't I told you that you apologize too often? Just answer the question."



"Urn, well- Actually I've never thrown myself into anyone's arms but yours."



"Is that the truth then? Well, it's flattered I am, though you were in some distress at the time."



"Yes. Yes, I was." The stone felt like a lead weight in her hand now. She turned, grateful to have her back to him for a moment, and laid it on the mantel.



"Are you in distress at the moment?"



"No. No, thank you, I'm fine."



"Then let's try it again." He spun her around, and as her lips parted in surprise, captured them. Her body jerked, that instant of shock he always found so arousing. "Are you thinking I'm kind and patient now?" he muttered and bit lightly at the curve of her neck.



"I can't think at all."



"Good." If there was anything more potent than a woman stumbling over her own passion, he'd yet to come across it. "I like you better that way."



"I thought you'd be angry, or-"



"You're thinking again." He nibbled his way up to her temple. "I'll have to ask you to stop that."



"All right. Okay."



Her breathy agreement made him yearn. "Mavourneen dheelish. Let me have you tonight." His mouth came back to hers and sent her already scattered thoughts spinning. "Let it be tonight. I can't go on just dreaming of you."



"You still want me?" The stunned pleasure in her voice nearly dropped him to his knees. It humbled him, her complete lack of vanity.



"I want all there is of you. Don't ask me to go tonight."



She'd followed her heart to this place, and had found him. Now she would follow her heart again. "No." She tangled her fingers in his hair, met his mouth with all the newly discovered love and passion in her. "No, don't go."



He could have lowered her to the floor, taken her there and delighted them both in front of the fire. Neither of them was a child, and both were eager. But he remembered a promise made and scooped her up in his arms. When he saw the dazed surprise on her face, he knew it was right.



"I told you that the first time it would be slow and sweet. I'm a man of my word."



No one had ever carried her before. The romance of it was stunning, an erotic fantasy with gilt edges. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears like thunder as he carried her up the steps, down the little hall into the bedroom.



She was grateful for the dark. It would be easier not to be shy in the dark. When he sat her on the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes. Then they sprang open again when he turned on the bedside light.



"Pretty Jude," he murmured, and smiled down at her. "Just sit a moment, and I'll light the fire."



A fire, she thought. Of course, a fire would be good. She linked her hands together and tried to settle the nerves, smooth out the needs. It would add atmosphere as well as warmth. He'd want atmosphere. Oh, God, why couldn't she think of something to say? Why didn't she have some wonderful negligee or lingerie to change into and dazzle him?



Speechless, she watched him straighten from the fire once it began to flame, then begin to light the candles scattered around the room.



"I was going to call you tonight and ask you to dinner."



The idea was such a surprise, such an intriguing one, she stared. "You were?"


"That'll have to wait for another time now." He kept his eyes on her, seeing her nerves, enjoying them a bit, as he switched off the lamp again. And the room was washed in shadows and shifting light.