Tears Of The Moon

CHAPTER Four

He was a man who liked to take his time with things. To mull and consider, to weigh and to measure. So that's what he did, telling no one, for the moment, of his meeting with Carrick at the side of Old Maude's grave.

It concerned him a bit. Oh, not the meeting with a faerie prince so much. It was in his blood to accept the existence of magic, and in his heart to appreciate it. The manner of the discussion was what worried him, and the direction it had taken.

He'd be damned if he'd find himself picking out, or being picked out by, a woman, and stumbling into love just to fall in line with Carrick's plans and wishes.

He just wasn't the marrying and settling-in sort, as Aidan was. He liked women, that he did. The smell of them, the shape of them, the heat of them. And there were, well, so many of them out there. All fragrant and rounded and warm.

As much as he tended to write about love, in all its delightful and painful varieties, on the personal level he preferred to skirt around its edges.

Love, the sort that grabbed the heart with both hands and took it over, was such a bloody responsibility. And life was so pleasant just as it was. He had his music and the pub, his friends and his family, and now the little cottage on the hill that was all his.

Well, except for the ghost, who didn't appear to want his company in any case.

So he took his time, thinking it all through and going about his business. He had fish to fry and potatoes to slice and a great whopping shepherd's pie cooking in the oven. The sounds of Saturday night were beginning to heat up in the pub beyond his kitchen door. The musicians from Galway that Aidan had booked were slipping into a ballad, and the tenor was doing a fine job singing about Ballystrand.

Since Darcy had gotten in her shopping fix with Jude in Dublin, she was in a rare mood, all smiles and cooperation. Orders she called out to him like a song, then danced back out with them when he'd finished his part. Why, they hadn't had a hard word between them for the whole of the day.

He thought it might be a record.

When he heard the kitchen door swing open, letting in a flood of music, he slid a long slice of golden fish onto a plate. "I've all but got this last order done here, darling. And the pie needs only five minutes more."

"I'd love some of it when it's done."

He glanced over his shoulder and beamed. "Mary Kate! I thought you were Darcy. And how are you, then, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine and well." She let the door swing shut behind her. "And you?"

"The same." He drained chips and arranged the orders even as he studied her.

Brenna's younger sister had blossomed during her university years. He thought she'd be about one and twenty now, and pretty as a picture. Her hair was a sunnier, more golden red than Brenna's, and she wore it in soft waves that fell just past her chin. Her eyes had a touch of gray over the green, and she smudged them up prettily. She wasn't much taller than her oldest sister, but fuller at the bust and hip, and she wore a dark green Saturday-night dress to show off a very attractive figure. "You look more than fine and well to me." He tucked the orders under the wanner, then leaned back on the counter so they could have a little chat. "When did you manage to grow up on me? You must be flaying the lads off with sticks on a daily basis."

She laughed, struggling to make the sound mature and female rather than the giggle that wanted to bubble out of her throat. The crush she'd developed on Shawn Gallagher was very recent, and very strong. "Oh, I've been too busy to do much flaying, what with working at the hotel and all."

"You like your work there."

"Very much. You should come 'round." She stepped closer, trying to keep her movements both casual and seductive. "Have yourself a busman's holiday and let me treat you to a meal there."

"That's a thought, isn't it?" He gave her a wink that set her pulse skipping, then turned to open the oven and check his pie.

She moved closer. "That smells wonderful. You've such a hand with cooking. So many men are bumblers in the kitchen, it seems."

"When a man, or a woman for that matter, bumbles about in the kitchen it's usually because they know someone will come along and chase them out and deal with the matter to save the time and annoyance."

"That's wise." She all but whispered it, with reverence. "But though you're so good at it, I'll bet you'd like to have someone fix you a meal now and then instead of always fussing with it yourself."

"Sure and I can't say as I'd mind it."

When Brenna walked in the back door, the first and only thing she saw was Shawn Gallagher smiling into her sister's dazzled eyes.

"Mary Kate." Her voice was sharp as the tip of a whip, and at the sound of it her sister flushed and jerked back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm-just talking with Shawn."

"You've no business being back here in the kitchen wearing your good dress and getting in Shawn's way."

"She's not in the way." Used to being scolded by his elders, Shawn gave Mary Kate a comforting pat on the cheek. And being a man, he didn't see the dream clouds come into her eyes.

But Brenna saw them. Teeth gritted, she strode forward, took Mary Kate's arm in an iron grip, and pulled her toward the door.

The humiliation of it whisked away the mature sophistication Mary Kate had worked so hard to display. "Let go of me, you gnat-assed bully." Her voice spiked upward as she struggled. They very nearly plowed Darcy over when she came in while they were going out. "What's the matter with you? You've no right hauling me about. I'm telling Ma."

"Oh, fine, you go ahead." Without breaking stride, or loosening her grip, Brenna yanked her sister into the snug at the end of the bar, then shut the door of the little private room. "You go right ahead, you lamebrain, and I'll be sure to tell her how you were throwing yourself at Shawn Gallagher."

"I was not." Freed, Mary Kate sniffed, lifted her chin, and very meticulously smoothed down the sleeves of her best dress.

"You were all but biting his neck when I walked in. What's got into you? The man's nearly thirty, and you barely twenty. Do you know what you're asking for when you rub your breasts up against a man that way?" Mary Kate merely lowered her gaze to her sister's baggy sweater. "At least I have breasts."

It was a sore point, a very tender area, as Brenna had resented the fact that every one of her sisters, including young Alice Mae, had more bosom than she did. "That being the case, you ought to have more respect for them than to go shoving them into a man's face."

"I was not. And I'm not a child who needs to be lectured by the likes of you, Mary Brenna O'Toole." She stiffened her spine, rolled back her shoulders. "I'm a grown woman now. I've been to university. I have a career."

"Oh, that's fine, then. I suppose it's past time you jump the first man who catches your fancy and take a wild ride."

"He's not the first who's caught it." With a slow smile that made Brenna's eyes go cold and narrow, Mary Kate tossed her hair. "But caught it he has, and there's no reason not to let him know it. It's my business, Brenna. And not yours."

"Oh, you're my business, all right. Are you still a virgin?"

The utter shock in Mary Kate's eyes was enough to reassure Brenna that her sister hadn't been throwing her self naked around the corridors of the university in Dublin. But before she could so much as sigh, Mary Kate's temper lashed out. "Who the hell are you thinking you are? My romantic dealings are my business. You're not my mother or my priest, so mind your own."

"You are my own."

"Just stay out of it, Brenna. I've a right to talk to Shawn or go out with him or anything else I choose. And if you think you'll go running to Ma with tales on my behavior, well, we'll just see what she thinks about how I came on you and Darcy playing poker with your holy cards."

"That was years ago." But Brenna felt a little panic at the thought. Her mother wouldn't consider the years between. "Harmless girls' foolishness. What I came in on in the kitchen isn't harmless, Mary Kate, but it is foolish. I don't want to see you hurt."

"I can take care of myself." Mary Kate gave one last toss of her head. "If you want to be jealous because I know how to attract a man instead of going about trying to be one, that's your problem. Not mine."

The slice came so fast and true, Brenna stood frozen, hardly realizing that she bled until Mary Kate stormed out and slammed the door behind her. Tears stung at her eyes and made her want to slide into one of the old sugan chairs and just let them come.

She wasn't trying to be a man, she was just trying to be herself.

And she'd only wanted to protect her sister. To stop her before she did something that would hurt or embarrass her. Or worse.

It was all Shawn's fault, she decided. The little voice inside her head that whispered differently was ignored. It was Shawn's fault for luring her young and innocent sister into infatuation, and she was just going to deal with that right this minute.

She strode out, shaking her head as Aidan shifted to lay a hand on her arm and ask her what was the matter. When she stalked into the kitchen now, her eyes were bright. But not with tears. It was something closer to murder.

"Now, why did you go dragging Mary Kate out like that for, Brenna? We were just-"

He broke off because she'd marched up to him, the toes of her boots ramming hard against the toes of his, and her finger was drilling a hole in his chest. "You just keep your hands off my sister."

"What on God's green earth are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, you bloody lecher. She's barely twenty, hardly more than a girl."

"What?" He shoved her hand away before she could stab straight into his heart. "What?"

"If you think I'm going to stand by idle while you add her to your string of ladies, then you'd best keep thinking."

"My- Mary Kate?" Sheer shock came first. Then he remembered how the young girl-no, no, young woman, he corrected-had looked when she'd smiled and fluttered her pretty lashes. "Mary Kate," he said, more thoughtfully, and with just a hint of a smile.

A hot red haze filled Brenna's head. "You get that gleam out of your eye, Shawn Gallagher, or I swear I'll blacken both of them."

Because her fists were raised, he took a cautious step back and lifted his hands palms out. They were well beyond the stage where he could, in all conscience, wrestle with her. "Brenna, calm yourself down. I never touched her, never thought to. Never thought of her in the way you're meaning until you mentioned it yourself. For Christ's sake, I've known her since she was in nappies."

"Well, she's not in nappies now."

"No, indeed, she's not," he said with perhaps an unwise hint of approval. So he supposed the fist that landed in his gut was his own fault. "Jesus, Brenna, a man can't be faulted for appreciating."

"You do that appreciating from a distance. If you make a move in that direction, I promise you I'll break both your legs."

It was rare for him to lose his temper, so he recognized that he was coming dangerously close. To solve the matter, he simply cupped his hands under her elbows and lifted her off her feet until their eyes were level. Both shock and fury fired in hers.

"Don't you threaten me. If I had thoughts of that nature regarding Mary Kate, then I'd act on them and that would be between the two of us, and not you. Do you understand that?"

"She's my sister," Brenna began, then subsided when he gave her one hard shake.

"And that gives you the right to embarrass her and take punches at me when we've done no more than stand in my kitchen and talk? Well, I'm standing here talking to you, too, and have countless times before. Have I ripped your clothes off and had my way with you?"

He dropped her down on her feet again and stung her beyond belief by merely turning his back. "You should be ashamed where you've let your mind run," he said quietly.

"I-" The tears were going to come after all. She struggled with them, swallowed viciously, then could only stare through them as Darcy came in. "I have to go," was the best she could manage. Then she fled through the back door.

"Shawn." Darcy dumped empties in the sink and turned to glare at him. "What the devil did you do to make Brenna cry?"

Guilt, anger, and emotions he didn't care to explore waged an ugly war inside him. "Oh, just bugger it," he snapped. "I've had enough of females for one night."

She was mortified and full of misery. She'd upset, insulted, and embarrassed two people she cared about deeply. She'd butted in where it wasn't her business.

No, she didn't believe that. It was her business. Mary Kate had been flirting outrageously, and Shawn had been oblivious. Typical.

But he wouldn't have stayed oblivious. Her sister was beautiful, she was sweet, she was smart. And she was most definitely a young woman in full bloom.

Protecting her hadn't been the mistake. But the method had been clumsy, and more than a little selfish. Because-and she had to face it-she'd also been a woman defending her territory.

Of which, Shawn was also oblivious. All she could do now was mend her fences. She'd taken a long walk on the beach. To cry it out, to think it through, to settle herself. And to ensure that when she did return home, her parents would most likely be tucked into their bed so that she could talk with Mary Kate alone.

There was a light on outside, shining over the porch, and another left burning in the front window. She left them both on, as she doubted her sister Patty would be back yet from her Saturday date.

Another wedding, she thought as she took off her jacket. More fussing and planning and cranky tears over flowers and fabric swatches.

She couldn't for the life of her understand why a sensible person would want to go through all of that nonsense. Maureen had been a nervous wreck-and had set the entire family on its ear-before she'd finally walked down the aisle the previous autumn.

Not that she hadn't looked lovely, Brenna thought as she hung her cap on the closet hook. All glowing and fresh in her billowy white dress and the lace veil their own mother had worn on her wedding day. Happiness had been like sunbeams, all but shining from her fingertips, and seeing that wash of love over her sister had made Brenna stop, for a short while, feeling like ten times a fool in her own fussy blue maid of honor gown.

Now if she herself ever took the plunge-and since she wanted children, what else could she do but marry eventually-simplicity would be the order of the day.

A church wedding would be fine, as she imagined her mother's heart, and her father's as well, would be set on that for all their daughters. But she'd be damned if she would spend months looking at dresses and searching through catalogs and discussing the pros and cons of roses over tulips or some such.

She'd wear her mother's dress and veil, and maybe carry yellow daisies, as she had a fondness for them. And she'd walk down the aisle on her father's arm to the sound of pipes rather than a fusty old organ. And after, they'd have a party right here at the house. A big, noisy ceili where everyone could loosen their ties and relax.

And what, she thought, shaking her head outside the door of the room that her youngest sisters, Mary Kate and Alice Mae, shared, was she doing dreaming of such things now?

She slipped into the room, stood in the candy-coated, female scent of it while her eyes adjusted, then picked her way over to the lump on the bed nearest the back window.

"Mary Kate, are you awake?"

"She is." Alice Mae's silhouette of a head and shoulders surrounded by a mass of wild curls popped up. "And I'm to tell you that she hates you like poison, always will until the day she departs this earth, and she's not speaking to you."

"Go back to sleep."

"How can I manage that, with herself there coming in and burning my ears off with abuse of you? Did you really shove her out the kitchen at Gallagher's, then curse at her?"

"I did not."

"She did," Mary Kate corrected in a stiff and formal voice. "And you'll kindly tell her, Alice Mae, to remove her skinny ass from my bedroom."

"She says you're to remove-"

"I heard her, for Christ's sake. And I'm not going."

"Well, then, if she's not going, I am." Mary Kate started to get up, but found herself pinned.

At the sound of muffled curses and struggle, Alice Mae eagerly switched on her bedside lamp to watch the show. "Ah, you'll never best her, Katie, for you fight like a girl. Did you never listen to anything she taught us?"

"Just hold still, you goose brain. How the hell can I apologize when you're trying to bite me hand off?"

"I don't want your flaming apology."

"Well, you're getting it, if I have to ram it down your throat." Annoyed and at her wits' end, Brenna did the simple thing. She sat on her sister.

"Brenna's been crying." Alice Mae, with the softest heart in Ireland, climbed out of bed to pad over to her sister. "There now." Gently, she kissed both Brenna's cheeks. "It can't be as bad as all that, darling."

"Little mother," Brenna murmured, and nearly started crying again. Her baby sister wasn't a baby any longer, but a slim and pretty girl on the verge of womanhood. And that, Brenna thought with a sigh, was a worry for another day. "Go back to bed, sweetheart. Your feet'll get cold."

"I'll sit here." She slid onto the bed, and plopped on Mary Kate's legs. "And help you hold her down. If it was enough to make you cry, she should at least have the courtesy to listen to you."

"Well, she made me cry," Mary Kate protested. "Yours were temper tears," Alice Mae said primly, using one of their mother's expressions.

"Part of mine were, too, I suppose." With a sigh, Brenna snugged an arm around Alice Mae's shoulders. "She had a right to be angry with me. I behaved badly. I'm so sorry, Katie, for the way I acted, and the things I said."

"You are?"

"Truly." Tears swam up again, into her throat, into her eyes. "I just love you."

"I love you, too." Mary Kate sobbed it out. "I'm sorry, too. I said awful things to you. I didn't mean them."

"Doesn't matter." She shifted so that Mary Kate could scramble up to be held. "I can't help but worry about you," she murmured against her sister's hair. "I know you're grown up, but it's not easy to think of you that way. With Maureen and Patty it's not so hard. Maureen's barely ten months younger than me, and Patty came just a year after that. But with you two-" She opened her arms so Alice Mae could slip in as well. "I remember when each of you came along, so it's different somehow."

"But I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"I know." Brenna closed her eyes. "You're so pretty, Katie. And I suppose you have to test your skills. I just wish you'd test them on boys your own age."

"I have." With a watery laugh, Mary Kate lifted her head from Brenna's shoulder and grinned. "I'm thinking I'm ready to move up a level."

"Oh, Mother Mary." Brenna closed her eyes. "Just answer me this. Do you fancy yourself in love with

Shawn?"

"I don't know." She moved her shoulders restlessly. "I might be. It's just that he's so handsome, like a knight on a white charger. And he's like a poet, so romantic and deep somehow. He looks at you, right in the eye. A lot of boys aim their eyes a bit lower, so you know they're not thinking about you, but about the possibility of getting you out of your blouse. Have you ever noticed his hands, Brenna?"

"His hands?" Long, narrow, clever. Gorgeous.

"They're an artist's hands, and you just know, looking at them, how they might feel if he touched you."

"Aye," she said on a long breath, then caught herself. "What I mean to say is I can understand how he'd stir certain, well, juices, being as he's pretty. I just want you to have a care, that's all."

"I will."

"There, now, you're all made up." Alice Mae got up, kissed both of them. "Now will you go away, Brenna, so we can all get some sleep?"

Brenna didn't sleep much, and when she did, there were dreams. Odd and jumbled dreams with moments of clarity that almost hurt the brain. A white-winged horse carrying a rider dressed in silver, with his long black hair flying away from a finely sculpted handsome face.

He flew through the night, with stars burning around him, higher and higher, toward the glowing white ball of a full moon. A moon that dripped light like tears, tears he gathered like pearls in his bag of shining silver. Pearls that he poured onto the ground at the feet of Lady Gwen as they stood outside the cottage on the faerie hill.

"These are the tears of the moon. They are my longing for you. Take them, and me."

But she shed her own tears as she turned away from him, denied him, refused him. And the pearls glowed in the grass and the glowing became moonflowers.

And it was Brenna who picked them, by night, when their delicate white petals were open. She laid them on the little stoop by the cottage door, leaving them there for Shawn because she lacked the courage to take them inside. And to offer.

The lack of sleep and surplus of dreams left her hollow-eyed and broody the next day. After Mass she piddled around, taking apart the engine of the old lawn mower, changing the points and plugs on her truck, tuning it though it didn't need tuning.

She was under her mother's old car, changing the oil, when she saw her father's boots.

"Your ma said I should come out here and see what's weighing on your brain before you take it into your head to strip the engine out of this old tank."

"I'm just seeing to some things need seeing to."

"I see that." He crouched down, then with a wheezy sigh, scooted under the car with her. "So you've nothing on your mind."

"Maybe I do." She worked a few moments in silence, knowing he would let her gather her thoughts. "Could I ask you something?"

"You know you can."

"What is it a man wants?"

Mick pursed his lips, pleased to see how quick and competent his daughter's hands were with a wrench. "Well, a good woman, steady work, a hot meal, and a pint at the end of day satisfies most."

"It's the first part I'm trying to figure here. What is it a man wants from a woman?"

"Oh. Well, now." Flustered, and not a little panicked, he started to scoot out again. "I'll get your mother."

"You're a man, she's not." Brenna caught his leg before he could escape. He was wiry, but she had a good grip. "I want, from a man's own mind, what it is he's looking for in a woman."

"Ah- well- common sense," he said a bit too cheerily. "That's a fine trait. And patience. A man needs patience from a woman, truth be known. Time was, he wanted her to make him a nice comfortable home, but in today's world-and as I have five daughters I have to live in today's world-that's more a give-and-take sort of arrangement. A helpmate." He grabbed the word like a rope tossed over the edge of a very high cliff with a very narrow ledge that was rapidly crumbling under his feet. "A man wants a helpmate, a life's companion." Brenna gave herself a little push so she could sit out beside the car. She kept her hand on his ankle, for she sensed he'd bolt if she gave him the chance. "I think we both know I'm not talking about common sense and patience and companionship."

His face went pink, then white. "I'm not talking to you about sex, Mary Brenna, so get that idea right out of your head. I'm not having a conversation with my daughter about such a matter."

"Why? I know you've had it, or I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Be that as it may," he said and closed his lips. "If I were a son instead of a daughter, we could discuss it?"

"You're not, so we aren't, and that's the end of it." Now he folded his arms as well.

Sitting as he was, he made Brenna think of an annoyed leprechaun, and she wondered if Jude had used him as a model for one of her sketches.

"And how am I to get my mind around something if it can't be discussed?"

Since Mick didn't give a hang about the logic of that at the moment, he simply scowled off into the distance. "If you must talk of such things, speak with your mother."

"All right, all right, never mind, then." She'd go at this from a different angle. Hadn't he been the very one to teach her there was always more than one way to approach a job of work? "Tell me something else."

"On another topic entirely?"

"You could say that." She smiled at him, patting his leg. "I'm wondering, if there was something you wanted, had wanted for some time, what would you do about it?"

"If I've wanted it, why don't I have it?"

"Because you haven't made any real effort to get it as yet."

"And why haven't I?" He arched his sandy brows. "Am I slow or just stupid?"

Brenna thought it over, decided he couldn't know he'd just insulted his firstborn. Then she nodded slowly. "Maybe a bit of both in this particular case."

Relieved to have the conversation turn to a safe area, he gave her a fierce grin. "Then I'd stop being slow and I'd stop being stupid and I'd take good aim at what I wanted and not dawdle about. Because when an O'Toole takes aim, by Jesus, he hits his mark."

That, she knew, was true enough. And was certainly expected. "But maybe you're a bit nervous and not quite sure of your skill in this area."

"Girl, if you don't go after what you want, you'll never have it. If you don't ask, the answer's always no. If you don't step forward, you're always in the same place."

"You're right." She took his shoulders, transferring a little grease from her hands to his shirt as she kissed him soundly. "You're always right, Dad, and that's just what I needed to hear."

"Well, that's what a father's for, after all."

"Would you mind finishing up this business here?" She jerked a thumb under the car. "I don't like to leave it half done, but there's something I have to see to."

"That's not a problem." He wiggled under the car and, delighted he'd put his daughter's mind at ease, whistled while he worked.