Born in Ice
Page 78
It was good to be home. Adventures and the glamour of traveling were all very fine, Brianna thought, but so were the simple pleasures of your own bed, your own roof, and the familiar view out your own window.
She would not mind winging off somewhere again, as long as there was home to come back to.
Content with routine, Brianna worked in her garden, staking her budding delphiniums and monkshood, while the scent of just blooming lavender honeyed the air. Bees hummed nearby busy flirting with her lupine.
From the rear of the house came the sound of children laughing, and Con’s excited barks as he chased the ball her young American visitors tossed for him.
New York seemed very far away, as exotic as the pearls she’d tucked deep inside her dresser drawer. And the day she had spent in Wales was like some odd, colorful play.
She glanced up, adjusting the brim of her hat as she studied Gray’s window. He was working, had been almost around the clock since they’d set down their bags. She wondered where he was now, what place, what time, what people surrounded him. And what mood would he be in when he came back to her?
Irritable if the writing went badly, she thought. Touchy as a stray dog. If it went well, he’d be hungry—for food, and for her. She smiled to herself and gently tied the fragile stems to the stakes.
How amazing it was to be wanted the way he wanted her. Amazing for both of them, she decided. He was no more used to it than she. And it worried him a bit. Idly she brushed her fingers over a clump of bellflowers.
He’d told her things about himself she knew he’d told no one else. And that worried him as well. How foolish of him to have believed she would think less of him for what he’d been through, what he’d done to survive.
She could only imagine the fear and the pride of a young boy who had never known the love and demands, the sorrows and the comforts, of family. How alone he’d been, and how alone he’d made himself out of that pride and fear. And somehow through it, he’d fashioned himself into a caring and admirable man.
No, she didn’t think less of him. She only loved him more for the knowing.
His story had made her think of her own, and study on her life. Her parents hadn’t loved each other, and that was hurtful. But Brianna knew she’d had her father’s love. Had always known it and taken comfort from it. She’d had a home and roots that kept body and soul anchored.
And in her own way Maeve had loved her. At least her mother had felt the duty toward the children she’d borne enough to stay with them. She could have turned her back at any time, Brianna mused. That option had never occurred to Brianna before, and she mulled it over now as she enjoyed the gardening chores.
Her mother could have walked away from the family she’d created—and resented. Gone back to the career that had meant so much to her. Even if it was only duty that had kept her, it was more than Gray had had.
Maeve was hard, embittered; she too often twisted the heart of the scriptures she so religiously read to suit her own means and uses. She could use the canons of the church like a hammer. But she had stayed.
With a little sigh Brianna shifted to stake the next plant. The time would come for forgiveness. She hoped she had forgiveness in her.
“You’re supposed to look happy when you garden, not troubled.”
Putting a hand on top of her hat, Brianna lifted her head to look at Gray. A good day, she decided at once. When he’d had a good day, you could all but feel the pleasure of it vibrate from him.
“I was letting my mind wander.”
“So was I. I got up and looked out of the window and saw you. For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“It’s a lovely day for being out-of-doors. And you started working at dawn.” With quick and oddly tender movements, she staked another stem. “Is it going well for you, then?”
“It’s going incredibly well.” He sat beside her, indulged himself with a gulp of the perfumed air. “I can barely keep up with myself. I murdered a lovely young woman today.”
She snorted with laughter. “And sound very pleased with yourself.”
“I was very fond of her, but she had to go. And her murder is going to spearhead the outrage that will lead to the killer’s downfall.”
“Was it in the ruins we went to that she died?”
“No, that was someone else. This one met her fate in the Burren, near the Druid’s Altar.”
“Oh.” Despite herself, Brianna shivered. “I’ve always been fond of that spot.”
“Me, too. He left her stretched over the crown stone, like an offering to a bloodthirsty god. Naked, of course.”
“Of course. And I suppose some poor unfortunate tourist will find her.”
“He already has. An American student on a walking tour of Europe.” Gray clucked his tongue. “I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.” Leaning over, he kissed her shoulder. “So, how was your day?”
“Not as eventful. I saw off those lovely newlyweds from Limerick this morning, and I minded the American children while their parents had a lie-in.” Eagle-eyed, she spotted a tiny weed and mercilessly ripped it out of the bed. “They helped me make hot cross buns. After, the family had a day at Bunratty, the folk park, you know. Only returned shortly ago. We’re expecting another family this evening, from Edinburgh, who stayed here two years past. They’ve two teenagers, boys, who both fell a bit in love with me last time.”
“Really?” Idly he ran a fingertip down her shoulder. “I’ll have to intimidate them.”
“Oh, I imagine they’re over it now.” She glanced up, smiled curiously at his snort of laughter. “What?”
“I was just thinking you’ve probably ruined those boys for life. They’ll never find anyone to compare with you.”
“What nonsense.” She reached for another stake. “I talked to Maggie earlier this afternoon. They might be in Dublin another week or two. And we’ll have the baptism when they get back. Murphy and I are to be godparents.”
He shifted, sat cross-legged now. “What does that mean, exactly, in Catholic?”
“Oh, not much different, I’d imagine, than it means in any church. We’ll speak for the baby during the service, like sponsors, you see. And we’ll promise to look after his religious upbringing, if something should happen to Maggie and Rogan.”
She would not mind winging off somewhere again, as long as there was home to come back to.
Content with routine, Brianna worked in her garden, staking her budding delphiniums and monkshood, while the scent of just blooming lavender honeyed the air. Bees hummed nearby busy flirting with her lupine.
From the rear of the house came the sound of children laughing, and Con’s excited barks as he chased the ball her young American visitors tossed for him.
New York seemed very far away, as exotic as the pearls she’d tucked deep inside her dresser drawer. And the day she had spent in Wales was like some odd, colorful play.
She glanced up, adjusting the brim of her hat as she studied Gray’s window. He was working, had been almost around the clock since they’d set down their bags. She wondered where he was now, what place, what time, what people surrounded him. And what mood would he be in when he came back to her?
Irritable if the writing went badly, she thought. Touchy as a stray dog. If it went well, he’d be hungry—for food, and for her. She smiled to herself and gently tied the fragile stems to the stakes.
How amazing it was to be wanted the way he wanted her. Amazing for both of them, she decided. He was no more used to it than she. And it worried him a bit. Idly she brushed her fingers over a clump of bellflowers.
He’d told her things about himself she knew he’d told no one else. And that worried him as well. How foolish of him to have believed she would think less of him for what he’d been through, what he’d done to survive.
She could only imagine the fear and the pride of a young boy who had never known the love and demands, the sorrows and the comforts, of family. How alone he’d been, and how alone he’d made himself out of that pride and fear. And somehow through it, he’d fashioned himself into a caring and admirable man.
No, she didn’t think less of him. She only loved him more for the knowing.
His story had made her think of her own, and study on her life. Her parents hadn’t loved each other, and that was hurtful. But Brianna knew she’d had her father’s love. Had always known it and taken comfort from it. She’d had a home and roots that kept body and soul anchored.
And in her own way Maeve had loved her. At least her mother had felt the duty toward the children she’d borne enough to stay with them. She could have turned her back at any time, Brianna mused. That option had never occurred to Brianna before, and she mulled it over now as she enjoyed the gardening chores.
Her mother could have walked away from the family she’d created—and resented. Gone back to the career that had meant so much to her. Even if it was only duty that had kept her, it was more than Gray had had.
Maeve was hard, embittered; she too often twisted the heart of the scriptures she so religiously read to suit her own means and uses. She could use the canons of the church like a hammer. But she had stayed.
With a little sigh Brianna shifted to stake the next plant. The time would come for forgiveness. She hoped she had forgiveness in her.
“You’re supposed to look happy when you garden, not troubled.”
Putting a hand on top of her hat, Brianna lifted her head to look at Gray. A good day, she decided at once. When he’d had a good day, you could all but feel the pleasure of it vibrate from him.
“I was letting my mind wander.”
“So was I. I got up and looked out of the window and saw you. For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“It’s a lovely day for being out-of-doors. And you started working at dawn.” With quick and oddly tender movements, she staked another stem. “Is it going well for you, then?”
“It’s going incredibly well.” He sat beside her, indulged himself with a gulp of the perfumed air. “I can barely keep up with myself. I murdered a lovely young woman today.”
She snorted with laughter. “And sound very pleased with yourself.”
“I was very fond of her, but she had to go. And her murder is going to spearhead the outrage that will lead to the killer’s downfall.”
“Was it in the ruins we went to that she died?”
“No, that was someone else. This one met her fate in the Burren, near the Druid’s Altar.”
“Oh.” Despite herself, Brianna shivered. “I’ve always been fond of that spot.”
“Me, too. He left her stretched over the crown stone, like an offering to a bloodthirsty god. Naked, of course.”
“Of course. And I suppose some poor unfortunate tourist will find her.”
“He already has. An American student on a walking tour of Europe.” Gray clucked his tongue. “I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.” Leaning over, he kissed her shoulder. “So, how was your day?”
“Not as eventful. I saw off those lovely newlyweds from Limerick this morning, and I minded the American children while their parents had a lie-in.” Eagle-eyed, she spotted a tiny weed and mercilessly ripped it out of the bed. “They helped me make hot cross buns. After, the family had a day at Bunratty, the folk park, you know. Only returned shortly ago. We’re expecting another family this evening, from Edinburgh, who stayed here two years past. They’ve two teenagers, boys, who both fell a bit in love with me last time.”
“Really?” Idly he ran a fingertip down her shoulder. “I’ll have to intimidate them.”
“Oh, I imagine they’re over it now.” She glanced up, smiled curiously at his snort of laughter. “What?”
“I was just thinking you’ve probably ruined those boys for life. They’ll never find anyone to compare with you.”
“What nonsense.” She reached for another stake. “I talked to Maggie earlier this afternoon. They might be in Dublin another week or two. And we’ll have the baptism when they get back. Murphy and I are to be godparents.”
He shifted, sat cross-legged now. “What does that mean, exactly, in Catholic?”
“Oh, not much different, I’d imagine, than it means in any church. We’ll speak for the baby during the service, like sponsors, you see. And we’ll promise to look after his religious upbringing, if something should happen to Maggie and Rogan.”
