Tears Of The Moon

CHAPTER Fourteen

"And you'll remember Dennis Magee who went off to America-well, neither of us remembers it precisely, as it's been fifty years if it's a day and we weren't yet born, or barely so in my own case, at the time he left Old Parish. But you'll remember hearing of it and how he made his fortune with land and building and such over in New York City."

Kathy Duffy sat cozily in the O'Tooles' kitchen, sipping tea and nibbling on iced cakes-though if truth be known the batter could have used just a splash more vanilla-while she shared news and gossip.

As she was used to having ten words to say for anyone else's one, she didn't notice her friend's distraction, but kept chattering away with the hottest bulletin in Old Parish.

"Always a clever one, was Dennis. So everyone who knew him said. And he married Deborah Casey, who was a cousin of my mother's and was reputed to have a good head on her shoulders as well. Off they went, across the foam with their firstborn still in short pants. They did well for themselves in America, built up a fine business. You know Old Maude was betrothed to the John Magee who was lost in the war, and he was brother to Dennis. In all these years," Kathy went on as she licked a bit of icing from her finger, "it seems Dennis never did look back to Ireland, or the place where he was born. But he had himself a son, and the son a son. And that one, he's looking right enough."

She waited a beat, and Mollie roused herself to raise her eyebrows. "Is he?"

"He is, yes. And he's got his sights set on Ardmore. Planning to build a theater here."

"Oh, yes." Mollie stirred the tea she'd yet to taste. "I heard Brenna talking about it." Distracted she was, but not so deeply that she didn't notice Kathy's crestfallen expression. "I don't have the details of it," she said, to smooth her friend's feathers.

"Well, then." Delighted, Kathy edged forward. "There's a deal being done between the Magees in New York City and the Gallaghers. The word 'round is they'll be building the theater onto the pub. A kind of music hall if I'm hearing correctly. Imagine that, Mollie, a music hall right in Ardmore, and with the Gallaghers having their fingers in it."

"If it's to be, I'd be happier knowing one of our own had some say in the matter. Do you know if Dennis Magee, the younger, will be coming back to Ardmore?"

"I don't see how the matter can be done otherwise." Kathy sat back, patted her hair. Her niece had given her a home perm the week before, and she was well pleased with it. Each curl was like a soldier tucked up in his bedroll.

"Dennis and I had a bit of a flirt when we were both young and foolish and he came to visit one summer back some years." Kathy's eyes went dreamy as she looked back. "On his grand tour, was he, and wanted to see the place where his parents had been born and reared and where he himself spent the first years of his life. He was a fine-looking man, Dennis Magee, as I recall him."

"The way I remember things, you had a bit of a flirt with every fine-looking man before you plucked the one you were after."

Kathy's eyes went bright with humor. "What's the point of being young and foolish if you do otherwise?"

Because it was one of the things worrying her, Mollie managed a wan smile and let her old friend settle back into chattering.

Mollie was certain that her oldest daughter was having a great deal more than a flirtation with Shawn Gallagher. That wasn't such a shock, not really, but the fact that Brenna wasn't talking of it with her was both a shock and a concern. She'd raised her girls to know there was nothing they couldn't share with their mother.

She'd known the night her Maureen had fallen in love, as the girl had come in flushed and laughing and full of the wonder of it. And when Kevin had asked her Patty to marry, she'd known the minute her girl had come into the house and thrown herself weeping into her mother's arms. That was the way with them, Maureen laughing over joys and Patty weeping over them.

But Brenna, the most practical of her children, had done neither, nor had she, as Mollie had expected, sat down and spoken of what had changed with Shawn.

Hadn't she left that very morning saying that she would be staying over with Darcy that night and not quite looking her mother in the eye when she lied? It hurt, knowing your child had the need to lie to you.

"Where have you gone off to?"

"Hmm?" Mollie focused on Kathy's face again, shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to keep my mind on things these days."

"It's no wonder. You've one daughter married only months ago, and another planning her wedding. Is it making you blue?"

"A little, I suppose." Because she'd let her tea go cold and Kathy's cup was empty, Mollie rose to pour hers down the sink and refill both cups with fresh. "I'm proud of them, happy for them, but-"

"They grow up so much faster than ever you think."

"They do. One minute I'm scrubbing faces, and the next I'm buying wedding gowns." To her surprise, helpless tears rushed to her eyes. "Oh, Kathy."

"There, now, darling." She took both of Mollie's hands and squeezed. "I felt the same way when mine left the nest."

"It's Patty's doing." Sniffling, Mollie dug a handkerchief out of her pocket. "I never cried with Maureen except at the wedding. Thought I'd go mad from time to time as my Maureen wouldn't settle for less than perfection, and her idea of it changed daily. But Patty, she gets weepy if we talk about what flowers she'll have. I swear to you, Kathy, I live in fear that the child will bawl her way down the aisle to poor Kevin. People would think we've a gun to her head, forcing her to take her vows."

"Oh, now, nothing of the sort. Patty's your sentimental one. She'll make a lovely bride, tears and all."

"Of course she will." But Mollie indulged herself with a few tears of her own. "Then there's Mary Kate. She's taken to mooning about-over some boy, I'm sure-and brooding and closing herself off to write in her diary. Half the time she won't let Alice Mae in the room."

"Sure, there's probably a lad at the hotel she fancies herself in love with. Is it worrying you?"

"Not overmuch, I suppose. Mary Kate's a great brooder, and she's of an age where having her younger sister in her pocket becomes a trial."

"Just growing pains. You've done a fine job of mothering your girls, Mollie. They're a credit to you, each and every one. Not that that stops a woman from worrying over her chicks. Well, at least Brenna's not giving you any grief at the moment."

Carefully, Mollie lifted her cup and sipped. "Brenna's steady as a rock," she said. There were some things you couldn't share, even with a friend.

With the pub closed for an hour between shifts, Aidan stuck his head in the kitchen. "Can you leave that for a few minutes?"

Shawn cast a look around the general disorder caused by a busy afternoon crowd. "Without a second's hesitation. Why?"

"There's something to talk about, and I want a walk." Shawn tossed his dishcloth aside. "Where?"

"The beach'll do." Aidan came through the kitchen and started out the back door. He paused there a moment, studying the slight rise of land, the tidiness of it before it gave way to a smattering of trees the wind had bent seaward.

"Second thoughts?" Shawn asked him.

"No, not about this." But he continued to look and measure. The shops and cottages that ran along the sides of his pub, the back gardens, the ancient dog who lay claim to a shady spot for a nap, the corner at the far end of their land where he'd kissed his first girl.

"It'll change more than a little," Aidan mused.

"It will. It changed when Shamus Gallagher put up the walls of the pub. And every one of us since has changed it in one way or the other. This is your change."

"Ours." Aidan said it quickly, as it was very much on his mind. "That's one of the things we'll talk about. I didn't catch Darcy. The girl was out of the place like a ball from a cannon. Do you remember playing out here?"

"I do." Absently, Shawn rubbed his nose. "Aye. that I do."

With a quick laugh, Aidan walked around the side. "I'd forgotten that. We had a ball game going out back from time to time, and that's where Brenna rapped one right in your face. Christ, you bled like a pig."

"The bat was as near as big as she was."

"True enough, but the lass has always had an arm on her. I remember you lying there, cursing and bleeding, and when she saw it was no more than your nose that was broken, she told you to stop shouting and offer it up. We had some fine games back of the pub."

"Impending fatherhood's making you sentimental."

"Maybe it is." They crossed the street, quiet this time of day, this time of year. "Spring's coming," Aidan added as they worked their way down to the curve of beach. "And the tourists and holidayers come with it. Winter's short in Ardmore."

Shawn dipped his hands in his pocket. There was still a bit of bite to the wind. "You won't hear me complaining over that."

Sand crunched softly under boots as they walked west. Where it met the horizon, the water was a dreamy blue. Here, where it rolled to land, it fumed, white against green, driven by small, choppy waves. Their tips sparkled in the generous stream of sun.

They walked in silence, away from the boats already docked for the day, and the nets hung for drying, and toward the cliffs that layered their way up toward the sky.

"I spoke with Dad this morning."

"He's well? And Ma, too?"

"They're well and fine. He's expecting to meet with the lawyers early next week. Papers, at least some of them, should be ready to sign. He's decided, while he's about that, to have more drawn up. Papers that would put the pub in my name, in a legal way."

"It's time for that, as we've known they've found their spot in Boston."

"I told him my thoughts, and I'll tell you. I feel it would be better, and more fair, if the pub was titled between the three of us."

When a shell caught his eye, Shawn bent, picked it up, examined it. "That's not our way."

Which had been precisely what his father had said. Aidan hissed out a breath, paced off, then back. "Christ, you're more like him than any of us."

"Sure, that doesn't sound like a compliment to either our father or myself just at the moment." Tickled, Shawn stood where he was while Aidan paced a bit more.

"It wasn't meant as one. You've both heads like bricks about certain things. Wasn't it you who just spoke of change as a good thing? If we can change the pub, why the devil can't we change the way it's passed down?"

Absently, Shawn tucked the shell in his pocket. "Because some things you change, and some you don't."

"Who decides, I'd like to know?"

Shawn cocked his head. "We do. You're outnumbered on this, Aidan, so let it go. Gallagher's is yours, and you'll pass it down to the child Jude's already carrying. It doesn't make it less ours, Darcy's and mine, not the heart of it."

"I'm talking about a legal matter."

"Exactly. It's going to be a fine, fresh evening," Shawn said, considering the matter closed. "Business should be good."

"What about your children when you have them?" Aidan asked. "Don't you want them to have some legal standing in all of it?"

"So why does it have to get legal all of a sudden?"

"Because it's changing, Shawn." Exasperation sparked from him as he threw up his hands. "The theater changes Ardmore, changes Gallagher's. Changes us."

"It doesn't, not the way you're worrying right now. More people will come, for different reasons," Shawn mused, trying to see it in his mind. "Another B and B might pop up along the way, and someone might be inclined to open another shop along the water. But Gallagher's will still be serving food and drink, and offering music as it always has. One of us will man the bar. And while we're about it, the boats will go out, nets'll be cast. Life goes on as it means to, whatever you do about it."

"Or whatever you don't?" Aidan asked.

"Well, now, some might disagree with that. It's the business of it that's weighing on you, Aidan. And better you than me. I mean it sincerely. Carrying the Gallagher name is standing enough, legal or otherwise, for my needs."

Shawn turned back so he could look at the pub, the dark wood, the cobbled stone, the etched glass that caught winks of sunlight. "It's done well enough till now, hasn't it? When the time comes, your children, and mine and Darcy's, will work it out for themselves."

"You might marry a woman with other ideas."

Shawn thought of Brenna, shook his head. "If a woman didn't believe in me and my family enough to trust in this, I'd have no business marrying her."

"You don't know what it is to be in love beyond reason. I'd have walked away from here, from this, from everyone, if she'd asked it of me or wanted it so."

"She didn't ask it of you, or want it so. You might have desired a woman who would have, Aidan, but you'd never have lost your heart to her."

Aidan started to speak, then huffed out a breath first. "An answer for everything. And it's not a little vexing that each one seems a right one."

"I've given the matter some thought over time. Now you give me one, as I've a question. When you love a woman, beyond reason, does it hurt, or give you pleasure?"

"Both, very often at the same time."

Shawn nodded as they started back. "I thought that might be the case, but it's interesting to hear it confirmed."

It was a fair and fresh evening, and business was brisk as the wind that tripped in over the sea. Music drew customers, some to listen while they sipped their pints, others to join in on the chorus, and more than a few who found the music pulled them to their feet to dance.

Despite the fast pace, Shawn found time to pop out now and then. And once, watching Brenna circling the tables in a pretty waltz with old Mr. Riley, he pondered an idea.

"I've a notion here, Aidan." Shawn served two orders of fish and chips at the bar himself. He took a glass to pull himself a Harp and cut his thirst. "You see Brenna dancing there?"

"I do." Aidan topped off the last layer of two Guinnesses. "But I don't believe she's running off with him to Sligo, no matter how often she promises."

"Women are born to deceive a man." Taking his moment, Shawn sipped, enjoying the way Brenna moved in the old man's bony arms. "But I'm watching them, and the others who'll get up now and then, and I wonder wouldn't it be interesting if when we shuffle things about with the theater, we found someplace for dancing."

"That's what the stage is for now, isn't it?"

"Not professional dancing, but this sort. You know, how they do in a beer garden, but I'm thinking more intimate."

"Well, you're thinking that's for certain." But Aidan paused long enough to watch, scan the faces, consider. "It's something we might slide around with Magee when we get to the design of it all."

"Ah, Brenna, she had a kind of design she sketched up. I have it in the kitchen still. Maybe you'd like to take a look, and if you like what you see, you might be interested in the more formal drawing I asked her to do."

Intrigued, Aidan looked away from the dancing and into his brother's eyes. "You asked her, did you?"

"I did, because I think she knows what we want and what Magee should build. Is that a problem for you?"

"Not a problem, no problem at all. It's making me think, Shawn, that you had it right about the legalities of things not changing the heart. I'd like to see what our Brenna has in her mind."

"That's fine, then. And if you like what you see, you could send it off to Magee for his thoughts."

"I could, but I'd think the man would have his own designers."

"Then we'll have to find a way to bring him 'round to it, if it's what we want. Couldn't hurt," Shawn murmured, still watching Brenna, "to have our fingers in it early on."

"It couldn't," Aidan agreed.

However prettily Brenna could dance, Aidan needed her back behind the bar shortly. He caught her eye, sent her a quick signal. But even as she acknowledged it, he saw her gaze slip past him to Shawn. Even though he was a bystander, Aidan felt the heat of it.

"I'll thank you not to distract my bartender when we're three-deep around here."

"I'm just standing, drinking my beer."

"Well, stand and drink in the kitchen, unless you're after having half the customers raising their eyebrows over the pair of you."

"It wouldn't bother me." He held the look another moment, a kind of test. "But it does her." Because it would annoy him if he dwelt on it, Shawn slipped back into the kitchen.

It wasn't a problem to keep himself busy until closing, and he calculated another hour at least to clean up before he could call it a night.

He was scouring pots when one of the musicians strolled in. She was a pretty blonde named Eileen, with sharp features and hair chopped short to show them off. She had a fine, clear voice and a warm disposition. Shawn had admired the first and taken advantage of the second, in a friendly sort of way, when her band had been booked at Gallagher's before.

"We did well by each other tonight."

"That we did." He rinsed off the pot, and angling his body toward her, started on the next. "I liked the arrangement you've put together for 'Foggy Dew.'"

"It's the first time we've tried it outside of rehearsal." She walked to him, turning to lean back against the sink while he worked. "I've been working on a couple of other numbers. I wouldn't mind running them by you." She ran her fingertip down his arm. "I don't have to be back tonight. Would you care to put me up as you did last time?"

Last time, they'd enjoyed music and each other for half the night. The woman, Shawn recalled, wasn't the least shy about her talents. The memory made him grin even as he contemplated the most polite way to turn her down.

The only thing Brenna saw-besides red-when she carted in the last tray of empties, was the way Shawn had his head tipped down and the way the blonde had her hand on him. She stalked over, slammed the tray down on the counter by the sink with enough force to make the glasses dance.

"Is there something you're after in here?"

Eileen was quick enough to read the threat in the eyes that were burning over her face, and the meaning behind them. "Not anymore." In a cheerful gesture, she patted Shawn's arm. "I guess I'm heading back after all. Some other time, Shawn."

"Ah- hmm." He had a split second to make up his mind, and going with instinct, fixed a guilty, sheepish expression on his face. "Well."

"Always a pleasure, coming to Gallagher's," Eileen added as she strolled to the door. She kept the snicker inside and wondered how the pint-size redhead was going to make Shawn suffer.

"Is this the last of it, then?" Shawn began scrubbing the pot again, as if he'd dedicated his life to that single purpose.

"It is. And what was that about, I'd like to know?"

"What?"

"You and the singer with the big breasts and boy's hair?"

"Oh, Eileen." Deliberately, he cleared his throat as he set the pot aside to deal with the glasses. "She was just saying good night."

"Hah." She skewered a finger into his side and made him jump. "If she'd been any closer, she'd have been inside your skin."

"Well, now, she's just a friendly sort."

"Just keep this in mind, while you and I are rolling on the sheets, you keep your distance from the friendly sorts."

Even while delight rippled through him, he straightened slowly. "Are you accusing me of something, Brenna?" It pleased him that he managed the right mix of hurt and insult. "Of making moves toward another woman while I'm with you? I didn't realize how little you thought of me."

"I saw what I saw."

He studied her a moment, then began to wipe off counters with a moody and injured air. It would be interesting, he thought, to see how much she worked to bring him around.

"She had her hand on you."

"I didn't have mine on her, did I?"

"That's not the-" Damn it. Brenna folded her arms, unfolded them and jammed her hands in her pockets.

She'd wanted to shred the skin off the blonde's face. Still did, she admitted, if it came to that. It wasn't in character at all. Not that she'd back down from a fight, but she wasn't one to start a brawl. And surely not over a man.

"You were smiling at her."

"I'll be sure not to smile at anyone unless you approve it first."

"It looked overly cozy." Her hand was still balled in her pocket. If she hadn't felt so foolish, she might have given in to the urge to pop him with it. "I'll apologize if I misunderstood."

"Fine." Leaving it at that, he walked over to push open the door and call out his good nights. When he turned back, she looked so frustrated and unhappy he nearly relented. But a man had to finish what he started. He spoke coolly, with just enough bite to let her know she had more making up to do. "Would you prefer staying over with Darcy?"

"No. No, I wouldn't."

"All right, then." He crossed to the back door, opened it, waited. She got her cap and jacket from the hook by the door, then bundled them under her arm and stepped out into the chill.

They didn't speak as they got into opposite sides of his car. She brooded out the window while he drove out of the village and up the road toward the cottage.

She told herself she'd had a perfectly normal reaction. And shifting in her seat, she told him the same. When he didn't answer, she had to struggle not to squirm. "Can we agree this is new territory for both of us?"

Ah, he thought, just the direction he'd hoped for. He sent her one quiet look, then nodded.

"And we never, I suppose you could say, discussed the boundaries of it."

"You wanted sex. You're getting it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. Perfect.

"That's true. That's true," she repeated in a mutter when he pulled up to his cottage. She was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach. "But I- it's only that I-" She cursed and had to scramble out of the car to keep up with him. "Damn it, you can at least hear me out."

"I'm listening to you. Do you want tea?" he asked, viciously polite as he walked inside.

"No, I don't want tea. And take that stick out of your arse for one bloody minute. If you don't have the sense to see that woman wanted to jump you, you're blind as six bats and twice as dim."

"More to the point would be what I wanted-and intended." He started up the steps.

"She's beautiful."

"So are you. What does that have to do with it?"

As her mouth was hanging open, it took a minute to get her feet moving. In all the years she'd known the man, he'd never told her she was beautiful. It threw her off her stride. She could feel her mind trip as she tried to keep it on track.

"You don't think of me that way, and that's all right. It's not what I'm trying to get to, anyway."

"I know when we started this-when I started this-I never said what I expected." Wishing she had his clever way with words, she dragged a hand through her hair. "What I mean is, that while we're together this way, until one of us or both of us decide this has run its course, I wouldn't consider being with another man."

He sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed to take off his boots. "You're meaning that this area of our relationship should be an exclusive one? That neither of us sees anyone else? Is that the way of it?"

"Aye, that's my feeling on it."

They would be exclusive to each other, and it was her idea-even demand. A strong first step, he thought, to where he wanted her to lead him. He took his time, letting her believe he was considering. "That fits in with my feeling on it as well. But-"

"But?"

"How do we know, and who decides when that changes, Brenna?"

"I don't have an answer to that. I never expected this to be complicated. I didn't know it was until I saw that singer hanging all over you. I didn't like it."

"While I'm touching you, I'm touching no one else. You'll have to trust me."

"I can trust you, Shawn." Easier now, she stepped toward him. "It's the big-breasted blondes I have trouble with."

"Recently, my taste is running strong for well-packed redheads."

Because she was relieved that the chill had gone out of his eyes, she laughed. "Well-packed, my ass. Have we made up, then?"

"It's a beginning." He patted the space beside him. "Let's have your boots off and we'll make up some more."

Happy to oblige, she sat, tugged on the laces. "I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry for that."

"I don't mind spatting with you, Mary Brenna." He stroked a hand over her hair. "But I don't like you thinking that I'd think of another woman in that way when I'm with you."

"Then I won't think it." After toeing off her boots, she straightened, but her eyes went wary at the way he was staring at her. "What is it?"

"I like looking at you."

"Nothing new to see here."

"Maybe that's part of it." He framed her face, then combed his fingers through her hair, drawing it back and away. "I know this face," he said quietly, "as well as I know my own. I can conjure it up in my mind, the way it runs from cheek to jaw." He skimmed his lips along the sweep. "The shape and color of the eyes, and the moods of them."

Just now, he noted, the mood was surprised, and not a little uneasy. "The mouth," he continued, brushing it lightly, retreating just as hers softened. "The curves and dips of it. Such a lovely face. I don't mind looking at it, even when you're not around."

"That's an odd thing to-" She trailed off as he brought his mouth back to hers, lingered there.

"Then there's the rest of you." He skimmed his hands down, a light play of fingers. Then captured her hands before she could tug the sweater off. "No, let me." He drew her to her feet, lifting the sweater, inch by inch. "It gives me pleasure to uncover you, to work my way through the layers to that amazing body of yours. It drives me mad the way you cover it up."

She might have gaped if she hadn't been so busy just trying to breathe. "It does?"

"I keep thinking, I know what's under all that." He loosened the hook of her trousers. "I've had that under me." He let the trousers drop, pool at her feet. "Step out of those, darling," he murmured, and toyed with the hem of her undershirt.

"I'm built like a twelve-year-old boy."

"As one who's been a twelve-year-old boy-" He slipped the undershirt over her head, then let his gaze run down her. "I can promise you that's not the case. Milkmaid's skin and strong shoulders." He dipped his head, touching his lips to one, then the other. "And here." Slowly, he trailed his hands from her waist to cup her breasts. Her breath caught, released, shuddered. "Soft and firm and sensitive."

She started to drift along, to cruise on the wonderful slide of his hands. Then gasped, half in shock, half in amusement, when he lifted her, stood her on the little chest.

But the humor that sparked in her eyes went dark when he closed his mouth over her breast, caught her nipple delicately between his teeth. "Oh, God."

"I want you to come." He traced a finger along the edge of cotton that still covered her, and his mouth worked down. "I want you to call out my name when you do." And slipped his finger under the cotton, inside her where she was already hot, already wet.

She rocked against him, a jerk of movement while her fingers dug into his shoulders. Pleasure rushed into her so fast it was almost a panic, built so high, so huge, she wondered her body could survive it.

And it was his name she called out.

Was she falling or flying? She felt her legs give way, like a melting of bone, tried to center herself again when she felt him lift her, carry her to the side of the bed.

"The light."

He laid her on the bed, knelt over her. "We'll see each other clearly this way. This time." Watching her, he took off his shirt. "Do you know how arousing it is to know I can take you up, again and again? That you have that much inside you for me?"

She reached for him, drew him to her. "I want you inside me."

"And I want you weak first." His mouth began to taste, his hands to roam. "And sobbing my name."

"You bastard." The fact that she said it on a moan delighted him. "Just try to make me."

He thought it a lovely challenge, and set about meeting it.

His hands were light as faerie wings one moment, hard as iron the next. And each touch was a separate thrill. He had a way about him that she'd never imagined when she'd fantasized about having him for a lover. The men she'd known before him hadn't given her this, or lured her into giving so much back. There was a freedom here, with him. That odd mix of wicked surprise with easy recognition.

And trust. Absolute trust.

She opened herself to him willingly. Perhaps with his skill she'd have been helpless to do otherwise, but she was willing to take all he offered, and to match it.

Even as shocks of sensation lanced through her, she yielded. It was a surrender she'd given to no other.

As if he sensed it, he took her up again, slowly this time, almost torturously, so that her body was a raw, aching mass of nerves.

Her skin was damp and slick. The heat of her all but stopped his heart with need. She moved against him, under him, with a smooth and sinuous female rhythm that made him ache for joining. In the lamplight his eyes were narrowed, focused on her face as he strained against his own need and kept her shuddering on the edge.

Quaking, she sobbed out his name.

He drove himself into her, more violently than he meant to. But she arched up to meet him, accept him, matching the desperate pace that slapped flesh against flesh and had heart thundering against heart. Glorying in it, he lifted her hips, going deeper, pushing them both toward delirium.

"No one but you, Brenna." The throbbing in his blood was a drumbeat, primitive, constant. "Say it back to me. Say it back."

"No one but you." As she said it, her world exploded.

Swamped with love, he emptied himself into her.