Heart Of The Sea

CHAPTER Eighteen

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

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

She would hit, they said, and hit hard.

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

But when the door of the pub burst open, Jude's face was bright as sunbeams. "It came."

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

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

"Is it the book? Yours?" Thrilled, Darcy tried to pry it out of Jude's grip.

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I-"

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

"Aidan, I want to show you something."

"I'll be with you in just a minute, darling. Eighty pence is your change."

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

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

"It just came. It's right off the press. It's real. It's beautiful."

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

"Yes. I- I can't move."

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

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

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

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

JEWELS OF THE SUN

And Other Irish Legends

Jude Frances Gallagher

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

"It's beautiful," he murmured. "Jude Frances, it's beautiful."

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

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

"Start now, with the dedication."

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Aidan who showed me my own heart,

and gave me his.

With him I learned there is no magic

more potent than love.

"May I see it?"

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

"It's gorgeous."

"Of course it is. It's Jude's."

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

"Thanks." She sniffled, dried her eyes.

"Sentiment looks lovely on you."

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

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

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

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

"It's Jude's!" He set the tray on the bar with a clatter and made a grab for the book.

"One drop of chip fat on this, and you're a dead man."

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

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

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

"Do you know how to build a Guinness?"

"I've watched enough of them constructed."

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

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

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

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

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

Then again, she was a woman who made no secret of her calculations. He accepted that, and in many ways admired her lack of artifice. But the Darcy he'd just seen hadn't been calculating or capricious or self-interested.

She'd been thrilled, excited, and sentimental enough to cry over Jude's accomplishment, her brother's pride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's a sucker bet. I'm no sucker."

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

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

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

"Looking forward to serving your last pint?"

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

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

Her stomach jittered. Excitement, anticipation, nerves. "That's quick work."

"Most of it's standard. You'll want to look it over, take it to your lawyer. Solicitor," he corrected. "Any questions, changes, we'll discuss."

"Fair enough."

"I have to go to New York for a couple days."

She was grateful she was sitting down with her feet up, as her knees went soft as jelly. "Do you? You haven't mentioned it."

"I'm mentioning it now." Having just decided. "Come with me."

Yes, a very good thing she was sitting down. She stayed stretched out as every muscle of her body tensed. "Come with you to New York City?"

"You can sign the final papers there." On his turf. "We'll celebrate." He wanted her to meet his family, see his home, his life. "The business won't take that long. I'll show you the city." And give her a taste of what he could offer her.

Trevor and New York. The thrill of being with him in a place she'd seen in dreams. And illusions. "I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more. That's the truth."

"Then I'll make the arrangements."

"I can't, Trevor. I can't go with you now."

"Why?"

"It's high season. You saw how it is in the pub with barely enough hands to go around. I can't leave Aidan and Shawn short that way during summer season. It's not right."

Damn it, he didn't want her to be responsible, to be sensible now. "You can get someone to fill in for you. It's only a few days."

"I could, and that would ease part of the problem. But I can't leave here now, however much it appeals. Jude's due any day. She needs her family, as does Aidan. What kind of a sister would I be to go dancing off at such a moment?"

"I thought she had another week at least."

"Men." She mustered up a smirk. "Babies come when they please, and first babies are the most willful, so I'm told. It's lovely to think about going off with you now, but I couldn't bear the guilt of it."

"We'll take the Concorde. It'll cut the traveling time down to negligible."

The Concorde. She rose, walked behind the bar for a ginger ale. Like a movie star, she thought. Jetting off wherever you pleased, whenever the mood struck, and arriving almost before you'd left.

Dear God, she'd love it. He knew she would.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

She was right, and he knew it. Still, he wanted to push. There was an urgency inside him, to put things back on an even keel. No, that was a lie. To put things back, he thought, disgusted with himself, to his advantage.

"You're right. It's bad timing."

"I can tell you I wish it wasn't. A trip on the Concorde and a whirl through New York City. Any other time, I'd already be packing my bag." She would, no matter what it cost, be cheerful, be casual, be the sophisticated woman he would understand. "So then, when do you go?"

Go? For a moment he was completely, foolishly blank. He'd never intended to go without her. Boxed yourself in, Magee, he realized, and took a swig from her bottle when she brought it back to the table. "I'll get the draft contract to you first, and if you've got no problem with it, have my people put the final together. Couple of days. That way I can do what I have to do there and bring the papers back with me."

"That's efficient."

"Yeah." He set the bottle down. It tasted foul. "My middle name."

"Let me know when you've made your plans." She trailed a finger over the back of his hand. "I'll give you a bon voyage that will hold you until your welcome back."

She was not cooperating, Trevor decided. The woman was not following the rules here. He brooded at his office table, staring out into the storm-tossed night when he should have been working.

Why hadn't she asked him to postpone his trip a few days? Even a couple of weeks? It would have provided the perfect opportunity to give in to her, to show her he was willing to make concessions to keep her happy.

And why the hell hadn't he looked before he'd leaped? Any moron would have known she wasn't able to leave home just now. Which only proved that love made a man less than a moron. That was pathetic.

The lightning that shattered the sky in one blinding streak perfectly suited his mood. Edgy, electric.

Why hadn't he come clean with her? Well, not clean, Trevor mused. Just more direct. It would have been simpler, and more productive, to have told her he wanted to take her to New York. Winding business through it, certainly, but that would have put a different tone on the whole thing. He'd clutched before the first swing, he admitted, then boxed himself in when he started the whole conversation by announcing he was going.

Now he either went without her or made excuses.

He hated making excuses.

Thunder rumbled like laughter, whipped by the howling wind, and rain danced a frantic jig against his window.

The trouble was, he didn't know how to play it. And he always knew how to play it, how to find the most constructive route through a problem to the solution. But there were more obstacles, more wrong turns in love than he'd ever imagined. Still, he'd never come up against a wall he couldn't scale, break through, or tunnel under.

This wasn't going to be the first.

He needed to let the problem simmer, to brew a bit until the solution came to him. The best way to do that was to concentrate on something else.

He started with the faxes that had come in throughout the day. Since he'd already read over the draft of Darcy's contract, he put that in a folder. The one thing that was clear, he thought, was this angle. She was a hell of a find for Celtic Records. And Celtic would nurture her. Neither of them had to worry about this part of their relationship.

He wanted his parents to hear that voice. A tape recording. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He'd get her voice on tape before he headed back to New York. That would at least partly introduce the woman he loved to his family.

He would take the papers down to her at the pub once he'd cleaned off his desk, go over them with her, answer her questions. She was bound to have questions. Then he'd tell her he needed a tape.

Satisfied with the idea, Trevor set the folder down and turned to his other paperwork.

He thought about going downstairs and making more coffee, foraging for a meal. He didn't want to eat alone, and that annoyed him. It had never bothered him before. The fact was, he wanted to chuck even the idea of work and go down to the pub, where there were people. Where there was Darcy.

Despite the risk of the storm, he ran his E-mail instead. He knew he should shut the computer down, but he had to do something to keep busy, to stop himself from leaving the cottage for the pub.

It gave him perverse satisfaction to imagine her watching the door, wondering if and when he'd come through it.

He didn't care how stupid that made him. It was the damn principle of the thing.

The business inquiries came first, as was his habit. He answered them, printed out or saved what he wanted a record of, then shifted over to personal posts.

One from his mother gave him his first smile in hours.

You don't call, you don't write. Well, not often enough. I think I've convinced your father that what we need is a nice trip. To Ireland. It's taken very little convincing, actually. He misses you as much as I do, and I think he wants to get his fingerprints on the theater. I hope it's progressing well-am sure it is, under your hand.

He's already started shuffling work and schedules though he doesn't think I know it. I'm doing the same. If all goes well, we'll come next month. Once our plans are finalized, I'll let you know all.

I assume you're well as you haven't said otherwise, and busy because you always are. I hope you're taking some time for yourself. You were working much too hard before you left, punishing yourself because of Sylvia.

I won't say any more on that, as I can see you're getting that irritated look in your eye. No, I lied, I'll say one thing more. Give yourself a break, Trevor. No one, not even you, can live up to your standards.

There, I'm done. I love you. Prepare for an invasion.

Mom

Did he have an irritated look in his eye? He studied the faint reflection of his face in the window and decided, yes, probably. It was comforting, and disconcerting, to be understood quite that well.

He hit Reply.

Nag, nag, nag.

That, he knew, would make her laugh.

Hurry and come over so you can nag me in person. I miss that.

Yes, the theater's going well, though we had to knock off early today. Hell of a storm blowing through. I'm going to have to shut down in a minute.

I thought you'd like to know I've chosen the name for it. I'm calling it Duachais. It's Gaelic. Well, you probably know that, but I had to look up the spelling. It means the roots of a place, the traditions of it. A very clever woman told me that's what I wanted in the theater. She was right.

Of course, a name like that's going to give Publicity nightmares.

No need to worry, I'm taking time for myself. It's impossible to do otherwise here. You just have to look to be, well, sucked into looking some more.

I'm about to sign Darcy Gallagher to a recording contract with Celtic. She's an amazing talent. Wait until you hear her. Give me a year, and her voice, her name, her face will be everywhere. It's a hell of a face.

She's got ambition, talent, energy, temperament, brains, and charm. This is no shy colleen. You'll like her.

I'm in love with her. Is it supposed to make me feel like an idiot?

He stopped, stared at his last line. He hadn't meant to type that. With a shake of his head, he started to delete.

Lightning burst like a bomb, throwing hot blue light into the room. He saw the thin crack snake down the window glass, then thunder blasted in one ear-deafening roar.

And the lights went out.

"Shit." It was his first thought once his heart stopped screaming in his ears. That one had probably fried his computer.

His own fault. He knew better.

Since the screen was as black as the rest of the world, indicating his battery backup had failed, he swore again and fumbled for the flashlight that he'd set next to the machine.

He switched it on, got nothing. What the hell was this? he wondered and gave it an irritated shake. He'd checked it before he'd started to work, and the beam had flashed on strong and bright.

More annoyed than concerned, he got up, felt his way to the spare bed, worked up to the little table beside it and the matches and candles that were always there.

The next slash of lightning had him jolting, spilling half the matches out of the box, and cursing himself. "Get a grip," he muttered and nearly shuddered at the sound of his own voice coming out of the dark. "It's not your first storm, or your first blackout."

But there was something- different here. Something that, if he'd wanted to be fanciful, he'd have called deliberate about the wind and rain and fierceness of it all. As if the savagery was personal.

That was so ridiculous he laughed as he struck the match. The little flame made him feel more in control. He touched it to the wick of the candle. A little breath of relief escaped as he picked up the candle, intending to carry it with him to light more.

And in the next wild spurt of lightning, he saw her.

"Carrick's temper is up."

The candle flame shook as his hand jerked. He had to be satisfied that he didn't drop it and set the cottage on fire.

"Storms often make people uneasy." Gwen smiled at him gently. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. He knows it too, you can be sure of that, and is indulging himself in a little tantrum just at the moment."

Steadier, Trevor set the candle down. "It seems excessive."

"He's a dramatic sort, my Carrick. And he's suffering, Trevor. Waiting wears on the soul, and when you can nearly see the end of the waiting, it's harder still. I wonder, could I ask you a question, of a personal nature?"

He shook his head. It was all too strange, and somehow eerily ordinary, this talking to a ghost in a little cottage on a storm-ravaged night. "Why not?"

"I hope it doesn't offend you, but I can't help wondering what it is that stops you from telling the woman you love what's in your heart."

"It's not as simple as that."

"I know that's your thinking." A thread of urgency ran through her voice now, though her hands stayed quiet and still, folded together at her waist. "I want to know why it can't be just that simple."

"If you don't lay groundwork, you make mistakes. The more important it is, the more important not to make mistakes."

"Groundwork?" she asked, confused. "And that would be- what, exactly?"

"With Darcy, it's showing her what she can have, the kind of life she could live."

"By that you're meaning all the grand things? The riches and wonders?"

"Yes, that's right. Once she sees-" He broke off, seriously alarmed, when the floor shook under his feet. But before he could move, Gwen held up a hand.

"I beg your pardon. I've a temper of my own." She kept her hand up, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were dark and vibrant. "And what did Carrick offer me, but the same in his way? Jewels and riches, a palace for a home, and immortality. Can you not see the mistake in that, a mistake that cost us both three times a hundred years?"

"Darcy's not like you."

"Oh, Trevor, look closer. Why is it you can stand on the same ground and still not see each other?"

She lowered her hand. "Well, this night's work isn't done. You'll go down to the village now. There's a need for you there."

"Darcy?" Panic pushed him forward. "Is she all right?"

"Oh, aye, she's fine and well. But there's a need for you. 'Tis a night for wonders, Trevor Magee. Go on, now, and be part of them."

He didn't hesitate. She'd hardly faded away when he was snatching up the candle to light his way out of the house and into the storm.