Tears Of The Moon

CHAPTER Twenty

The puzzled smile slid away from his face. "I've done what?"

"You've sold your song, and there'll be others as well. But the first's the biggest thrill, isn't it?"

Very deliberately, he set his glass down again. "I haven't put any music up for sale, Brenna."

"I did. Well, in a way I did. The song you gave me, I sent it off to the Magee in New York City. He called me today, just this morning, and said how he wants to buy it. And that he wants to see your other work." She spun in a circle, too excited to see how cool his eyes were as they watched her. "I didn't think I'd get through the day without telling you."

"What right did you have to do that?"

Still beaming, she sipped champagne. "To do what?"

"To send my music off that way, to take it on yourself to show a stranger what was mine?"

"Shawn." She put a hand on his arm to give him a little shake. "He's buying it."

"I gave it to you because you asked me-because I thought you wanted it for yourself, and that you valued it for that. Is this what you planned all along, to send it off somewhere, have another put a price on it?"

Something was wrong, badly and dangerously wrong. The only way she knew how to deal with it was temper. "What if it was? It got results, didn't it? What good is it to make songs without doing something with them? Now you can."

He met heat with ice. "And it's for you to decide, is it, what I can and should do, and how and when I should do it?"

"You weren't doing anything about it."

"How do you know what I'm doing or not, planning on doing or not?"

"Haven't I heard you say a thousand times you weren't ready to show it for sale?"

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she recognized her mistake. Even as she searched for a way around it, he was plowing on. "That's right, you have. But that didn't suit you, didn't sit well with the way you want things done. What good is it, you're thinking, if you can't make a living from it. If you don't have coin to show for it at end of day."

"It's not the coin-"

"My music is the most personal thing in my life," he interrupted. "Whether I ever make a pound from it doesn't change what it is to me. You don't understand that, Brenna, or respect that. Or me."

"That's not true." She was beginning to feel something other than anger. It was a clawing in the gut, in the throat, that had nothing to do with temper. "I only wanted you to have something out of it."

"I had something out of it."

She'd never seen anger so cold, so controlled. There was no mistaking it in that rigid face, those hard eyes. It made her feel like a bug not worthy of being squashed. "For Christ's sake, Shawn, you should be dancing instead of hammering at me. The man wants to buy your song. He thinks it should be recorded."

"What he thinks matters more than what I do?"

"Oh, you're twisting this all around. You have an opportunity, and you're too stubborn to take it."

"Is that how it is between us? You make the decisions, you do the thinking, and I'm just to follow, to fall in line and be grateful you're looking out for me as I'm too half-witted to look after myself?"

"Why are you turning this one thing into everything?" Her hand shook as she dragged it through her hair. "Didn't you arrange for the man to look at my design?" It struck her suddenly that she'd forgotten about that, about everything Magee had said to her about her own work. She'd forgotten all that in the thrill of his offering for Shawn's.

"I did," Shawn countered. "And you can't see any difference in that, Brenna, than this? I talked to you of showing your design, I didn't go behind your back with it, or pull tricks."

"It wasn't a trick, wasn't meant as one." But she was beginning to see the wrong turn, and the sinking sensation in her stomach layered sickness over understanding. "You never said you didn't want to do something with your music. It was always you weren't ready."

"Because I wasn't ready."

"Well, if we're stuck on that one point, I say you were." Fear made her lash out. "And so does a man who appears to be something of the expert on such things. Damn you, you gave the song to me, and I did what I chose with it. I thought you'd be pleased, but it's not a mistake I'll make again."

He stared her down, viciously pleased when she began to tremble. "And neither will I." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the house.

"You son of a bitch." She kicked the door behind him. "You shortsighted, ungrateful, simple bastard. This is the thanks I get for trying to do something for you. If you think I'm running after you, you'll have a long wait."

She snatched up her glass, downed the contents. Bubbles exploded in her throat, set her eyes to watering.

To think of all the time and trouble she'd gone to, only to have him act as if she were some sort of shrew or bully. Well, she wasn't crying over it, or him for that matter.

She braced her hands on the counter, leaning forward and breathing slow to try to relieve the horrible pressure in her chest.

Oh, God, what had she done? She just couldn't get her mind around where she'd gone so completely wrong. The method, yes, there she had surely mis-stepped. But the results- How could something she'd thought would be a joy to him whip out of her hands to lash at them both?

She turned, wanting to sit down until she felt steadier, and saw Lady Gwen. "A lot of help you've been. His song, you told me. His heart's in his song and I was to listen. Isn't that just what I did?"

"Not closely enough," was the answer. Then Brenna was alone.

He knew how to walk off a mad. He'd done so before. He trooped over the fields, letting the moonlight guide him. Thinking wasn't the order of business, movement was.

He climbed the cliffs, let the wind and the water clear his head. But the anger wouldn't pass. He'd given his heart to a woman who thought very little of him as a man.

Sent off his music, had she? And to a stranger, a man neither of them had met face-to-face or measured. And not a word to him about it, just following her own whim and expecting him to shuffle right along in her wake.

Well, he wasn't having it.

Didn't she think he could see her line of thinking? Just how simpleminded did she think he was? Oh, Shawn's an affable sort, and clever enough in his way, but he'll not get off his arse unless someone plants a boot on it.

So this was her boot this time around. If the man's going to sit about and play with music half the time, we'd best see if we can do something practical with it.

It was his music, not hers, and she'd never troubled herself to so much as pretend to understand or appreciate it.

And what did this man Magee know about it anyway?

Celtic Records, Shawn's mind murmured. Come now, you've looked into such matters enough to know just what Magee and his like know about it. Why pretend otherwise?

"Neither here nor there," Shawn muttered and heaved a rock over the cliff. Hadn't he already turned it over in his head that once he'd met Magee for himself, gotten a feeling on the man, he'd consider the possibility of showing him a piece of music?

A piece he chose. A piece he decided was right. Because by Christ it was his work and no one else's.

And when was the last time he'd decided a piece was finished and ready and right?

Approximately never, he was forced to admit and heaved another rock for the hell of it.

Magee wanted to buy it.

"Well, fuck me." Struggling to separate his anger from the rest, Shawn sat on the ledge.

How could he explain to anyone what he felt when he pulled notes and words out of himself? That there was a fine and quiet joy in that alone. And that the rest, the doing something with it, as Brenna put it, made him feel like he was standing way out on the edge of a cliff. He hadn't been ready to take the leap.

Now he'd been pushed, and he resented it. No matter that the result was something he wanted, the pushing was uncalled for. And that's what she'd never understand.

So where were they, then, if they had no better understanding of each other than this?

"Pride's an important thing to a man," Carrick commented from his perch on the rocks.

Shawn barely spared him a glance. "I'm having a personal crisis here, if you don't mind."

"She's slashed a gash in yours, and I can't blame you for taking the stand you have. A woman ought to know her place, and if she doesn't, she needs to be shown it clear."

"It's not a matter of place, you arrogant jackass."

"Don't take it out on me, boy-o," Carrick said cheerfully. "I'm with you on this one. She overstepped, no question of it. Why, what was the woman thinking, taking something of yours and going off with it that way?

No matter that you'd given it to her, a kind of gift, one might say. That's nothing but a technicality."

"Well, it is."

"And so I'm saying. Then as if that wasn't nerve enough, what does she do? Fixes it up so you've the evening free-"

"She fixed it up?" For lack of something more satisfying, Shawn heaved another rock. "I knew I wasn't crazy. Damn it all."

"Playing with your mind, that's what she's about." Carrick waved a hand, then tossed the little star that clung to his fingertips out over the water, where it trailed silver light. "Cooking you a meal, making everything, herself included, pretty for you. A more devious female I've never known. You're well shed of her. Maybe you should take another look at her sister, after all. She's young, but she'd be malleable, don't you think?"

"Ah, shut up." Shawn got to his feet and strode off, scowling at the merry sound of Carrick's laughter.

"You're sunk, young Gallagher." Carrick sent another star over the water. "You've not quite resigned yourself to having your head under, but there you are. Mortals, why is it that half the time they'd rather suffer than dance?"

This time when he flicked his wrist he held a crystal, smooth and clear as a pool of water. Passing his hand over it, he watched the image swimming inside. Fair of face, she was, with eyes soft and green as freshly dewed grass and hair pale as winter sunlight.

"I miss you, Gwen." Holding the glass to his heart, he called for the white horse to ride the sky, as he did night by night. Alone.

The house was empty when he got back, and that's what he'd expected. It was, he told himself, what he wanted. The solitude. She'd put the food away, and that surprised him. Knowing her temper, he'd expected to find she'd hurled pot and pan or whatever else around the room.

But the kitchen was tidy as a church, with only the faint scent of candle wax clinging to the air. Since it made him feel churlish to find it so, he got himself a beer and took it into the parlor.

He hadn't intended to play, but to sit by the cold fire and brood. But by God if he was going to have an evening off shoved down his throat, he'd spend it doing something that pleased him.

He sat, laid his fingers on the keys, and played for his own pleasure.

It was the song he'd given her that Brenna heard when she walked back toward the garden gate. Her first reaction was relief that she'd found him. The second was misery, as the song was salt in a fresh wound.

But it was a misery that had to be faced. She put her hand on the gate. And it held fast against her. She shoved it, yanked at the latch, then stepped back in shocked panic when it refused to open.

"Oh." A sob rose in her throat. "Oh, Shawn. Have you closed me out then?"

The music stopped. In the silence she fought back the tears. She wouldn't face him with them. But when the door opened, she hugged her arms hard, digging her fingers in to keep those tears at bay.

He thought he'd heard her call, a teary whisper in his mind. He'd known she was out there, whether it was sense or magic, didn't matter. She was there, standing under the spill of moonlight. Her eyes were wet, her chin was up.

"Are you coming in, then?"

"I can't-" The weeping tried to get the better of her, and she ruthlessly battled it back. "I can't open the gate."

Baffled, he started down the path, but she leaped forward, gripped the top of the gate in her hands. "No, I'll stay on this side. It's probably best. I went looking for you, then I figured, well, you'd come back here sooner or later. I, ah, I had to think it through awhile, and maybe I don't do that often enough. I-"

Was he ever going to speak? she thought desperately. Or would he just stand there looking at her with eyes shielded so she couldn't see into him?

"I'm sorry, I'm so truly sorry, Shawn, for doing something that upset you. I didn't do it with that in mind, you have to know. But some of what you said before is true. And I'm sorry for that as well. Oh, I don't know how to do this." Frustration rang in her voice as she turned her back on him.

"What is it you're doing, Brenna?"

She stared straight ahead, into the dark. "I'm asking you not to cast me off for making a mistake, even a big one like this. To give me another chance. And if there can't be anything else between us now, that you won't stop being my friend."

He would have opened the gate to her then, but thought better of it. "I gave you my word on the friendship, as you gave me yours. I'll not break it."

She pressed a hand to her lips, held it there until she thought she could speak again. "You mean so much to me. I have to clear this between us." Steadying herself, she turned around. "Some of what you said was true, but some was wrong. Some of the most important parts were wrong."

"And you'll tell me which was which?"

She flinched at the icy sarcasm, but couldn't find enough of her temper to scrape together for a retort. "You know how to aim and shoot as well as any," she said quietly. "And it's all the more effective as you do it so rarely."

"All right, I'm sorry for that." He had to be, as he'd never seen her look quite so wounded. "I'm angry still."

"I'm pushy." She drew a breath in, let it out, but the ache was still there. "And single-minded, and I can be careless with people even when they matter to me. Maybe more when they matter. I did think, well, the man's doing nothing with this music of his, so I'll have to do it for him. That was wrong of me-wrong to put the way I'd do things or think about them onto what was yours. I should have told you, as you told me."

"On that we agree."

"But it wasn't wholly selfish. I wanted to give you something, something important, something that would make you happy and matter to you. It wasn't about the money, I swear it. It was for the glory."

"I'm not looking for glory."

"I wanted it for you."

"What does it matter to you, Brenna? You don't even care for my music."

"That's not true." Temper spiked a bit now, at the sheer unfairness of it. "What am I, deaf and stupid now as well as a bully? I love your music. It's beautiful. It never mattered to you what I thought, anyway. Christ knows, poking at you about it over the years never riled you enough to prove me wrong. You've been wasting a gift, a kind of miracle, and it makes me furious with you."

Glaring at him, she swiped tears from her cheeks. "I can't help that I feel that way, and it doesn't mean I think less of you, you blockhead. It's because I think so much of you. And then you go and write a song that reaches right into my heart, that touches me the way nothing ever has before. Even before it was finished, weeks and weeks ago, when I saw what there was of it there on the piano, just tossed there like you couldn't recognize a diamond if it jabbed your eye out, I loved it. I had to do something with it, and I don't care if it was wrong. I was so proud of what you can do I couldn't see past it. Damn you to hell and back again."

She'd rocked him onto his heels, staggered him. He whistled out a breath. "That's quite the apology, that is."

"Oh, fuck you. I take back every bit of any apology I was foolish enough to make."

There, he thought, was his woman. This time he laid his hands on the gate and gave her a look of wicked satisfaction. "It's too late, I already have it, and I'm keeping it. And here's something back at you. It always mattered what you thought of my music, and of me. It mattered more what you thought than anyone else in the world. What do you say to that?"

"You're just trying to get 'round me now because I'm angry again."

"I've always been able to get 'round you, darling, angry or not." He nudged, and the gate opened smooth and silent. "Come in through the gate."

She sniffled, wished for a tissue. "I don't want to."

"You'll come in regardless," he said, snatching her hand and yanking her through. "Now I've some things to say."

"I'm not interested." She shoved at the gate again, cursed violently when it didn't budge.

"You'll listen." He turned her, trapped her, caught her hands before she could think of making fists out of them. "I don't like what you did, or how you went about it. But your reasons for it soften that considerably."

"I don't care."

"Stop being a twit." When her mouth fell open, he lifted her a couple of inches off the ground. "I'll get tough with you if I must. You know you like it when I do."

"Why, you-"

When she fumbled for words, he nodded. "Ah, speechless, are you? It's a refreshing change. I don't need someone directing my life, but I don't mind someone being part of the direction. I won't be pushed or tricked or manipulated, and if you try, you'll be sorry."

"You'll make me sorry?" she all but sputtered. "I'm already sorry I did the first thing to try-"

"Brenna." He gave her a casual little shake that had her mouth dropping open again. "There are times you're better off to just shut your mouth and listen. This is one of them. Now, as I was saying," he went on while she blinked at him. "Being tricked is one thing, but surprised is another matter. And I'm thinking that, under it all, you wanted to surprise me with something, like a gift, and I threw it back at you. For that, Brenna, I'm sorry."

The fear and sorrow were sliding away, but it was hard to resist grabbing onto the tail of them. "I don't think a great deal of your apology, either."

"Take it or leave it."

"You're awfully damn pushy yourself all of a sudden."

"I've my limits, and you should know them well enough by this time. So- how much is Magee willing to pay me for the tune?"

"I didn't ask," she said stiffly.

"Ah, so you can keep your fingers out of some pies. It's good to know."

"You're a hateful man. I told you it wasn't about the money." She pushed at him, and rather than humiliate herself with the bloody gate again, stomped down the path. "I don't know how I could have been blind to that part of your nature all these years. How I could have thought myself in love with you, I'll never know. The very idea of spending my life with the likes of you gives me a cold chill."

He couldn't stop the grin. It was so lovely to have all the parts of his life nicely in order again. "We'll get to that in just a minute. It matters that it wasn't about money, Brenna, matters that you weren't thinking, 'Well, if I'm going to be with this man he'd damn well better prove he's man enough to make a living off his talents. And since he won't, I will.'"

"I don't give a tinker's damn how you make your living."

"That's what I'm seeing now. It was more of, 'I want to be with this man, and feeling as I do about him, I want to help him with that which matters to him.' It's a lovely thought, but that doesn't change the fact you should've left it to me."

"You can be sure I'll be leaving such matters, and everything else, to you in the future."

"If that vow lasts a week, I'll expect to see pigs flying over Ardmore Bay. And in case you're wondering in that calculating brain of yours, I'll be contacting Magee myself, and I'll send him music if what he says convinces me-which is what I intended to do once he came here and I got his measure."

She stopped at that, eyed him suspiciously. "You were going to show him your work?"

"I was, most likely. I'll admit that dozens of times in the past I've come close to sending it off and then pulled back. When something comes out of you, it's precious. There was a fear of others finding it wanting. It was safer not to risk it. I was afraid of losing something that mattered to me. Does that make me less in your eyes, Brenna?"

"It doesn't, no. Of course it doesn't. But if you don't ask," she said, remembering her father's words, "the answer's always no."

"I'm not arguing your point, just your methods. Now tell me this, if Magee had said to you, 'Why, what are you sending me this silly amateur music for? Whoever wrote it has no talent whatsoever,' would you have thought less of me?"

"Of course not, you pinhead. I'd've known that Magee had no taste other than what he may have in his own mouth."

"Ah, well, now, that's tidied up a considerable mess. Can we go back to the part where you're in love with me?"

"No, because I'm not anymore. I've come to my senses."

"That's a damn shame, that is. You'll have to wait here a minute. There's something I need from inside."

"I'll not stand out here. I'm going home."

"I'll only come after you, Brenna," he called over his shoulder as he walked to the door. "And what I have in mind is best done here, and in private."

She considered climbing over the gate just to spite him, but the whole emotional mess had made her tired. It might as well get finished now as later.

So she waited, arms crossed. When he came out, he carried nothing, which only made her scowl.

"The moon's full," he commented as he went to her. "Maybe there's others have more to do with the timing of all this than we know. But it was meant to be in moonlight, and it was meant to be here."

He slipped a hand into his pocket, kept it there. "I had a plan at one time, how I'd let you chase me down, wear at my resistance and convince me there was nothing for me to do but give up and marry you."

Her eyes went blurry with shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do you really think you were tugging me around like a puppy on a leash? Is that the kind of man you want when the day is done, O'Toole? The kind you want walking beside you through life, fathering your children?"

"Is this a game you've been playing?"

"Partly, and as much as you were. Game's over now, and I find I want this done more in what might be the traditional manner. Brenna." He took her hand, not at all displeased that it was trembling. "I love you. I don't know when it started, years ago or weeks. But I know my heart's lost to you, and I wouldn't have it another way. You're what I want, all there is of you. Make a life with me. Marry me."

She couldn't take her eyes from his face. The whole world was in his face. "My head hurts," she managed.

"God bless you." With a half laugh, he took her hand, kissed it. "How could I not love such a woman?" He kept her hand firm in his as he took the ring from his pocket.

The pearl gleamed like the moon, white and pure, in a simple band of gold. "A moon tear," he told her, "given to me to give to you. I know you don't wear rings as a rule."

"I-they-with the work they get caught and banged around."

"So I got a chain for it as well. You can wear it around your neck."

He would have thought of such a thing, she realized. Such a small and lovely detail. "I'm not working at the moment."

He slid it onto her finger, and her hand steadied under his.

"I suppose it suits me, as you do. As the whole of you suits me. But you won't make me cry."

"Yes, I will." He touched his lips to her forehead, her temple. "I bought you land today."

"What?" Tears might have dazzled her vision, but she managed to step back. "What? Land? You bought land? Without a word to me, without me laying eyes on it?"

"If you don't like it, you can bury me in it."

"I might. You bought land," she said again, but her voice had gone dreamy.

"So you can build us a house, and the two of us can fill it into a home."

"Damn it. There you are, you've made me cry." She threw her arms around his neck. "Just hold on a minute, I'm a mess." With her face buried against his shoulder, she breathed him in. "I thought it was just a longing for you, and that would be enough for both of us. I do long for you, but it's not enough and it's not all. Oh, this is where I want to be. And I did chase you down, nothing will convince me otherwise."

She drew back enough to touch her lips to his. "I had it all worked out what I would say to you tonight, and now I can't remember just how it was to go. Only that I love you, Shawn. I love you as you are. There's nothing I'd change."

"That's more than good enough. Will you come inside now? I'll warm your supper."

"It's the least you could do after you let it go cold." She linked her fingers with his. "You won't insist on a big, fancy wedding, will you?"

"I don't see how when I've a mind to have us wed as quick as can be managed."

"Ah." She leaned against him. "I do love you, Shawn Gallagher. There's one more thing," she said as they walked toward the cottage. "Won't you need a name for your song, the one Magee wants?"

"It's 'Brenna's Song,' " he told her. "It always was."