Born in Shame
Page 17
“He is, yes. But he’s handy about all manner of things.”
“Oh.” Shannon’s smile widened at the small, gleaming room with its claw-foot tub and pedestal sink and fussy fingertip towels hanging over brass rods. “It’s like a doll house.”
“It is, yes.” Nervous as she would have been with no other guest, Brianna linked her hands together. “Shall I help you unpack, or would you rather have a rest first?”
“I don’t need help, thank you. I might make use of that tub.”
“Be at home then. There’s extra towels in that little trunk, and I think you’ll find everything else you’d be needing.” She hesitated again. “Would you want me to bring you up a tray at teatime?”
It would have been easier to agree, Shannon thought. She could have snuggled into the room alone and blocked out everything else.
“No, I’ll come down.”
“Take all the time you need.” Brianna laid a hand on Shannon’s arm to let her know the statement didn’t refer only to having tea. “I’ll be just downstairs if you want anything.”
“Thank you.”
When the door closed behind Brianna, Shannon sat on the edge of the bed. In private she could let her shoulders droop and her eyes close.
She was in Ireland, and hadn’t a clue what to do next.
Chapter Five
“So what’s she like, this Yank sister of yours?” As at home as he would have been in his own kitchen, Murphy Muldoon helped himself to one of the cream tarts Brianna was arranging on a tray.
He was a tall man who tended toward lankiness. He’d taken off his cap when he’d come into the kitchen, as his mother had taught him, and his dark hair was tousled from the fingers he’d raked through them, and in need of a trim.
“Keep your fingers off,” she ordered, swatting at them. “Wait until I’m serving.”
“I might not get all I want then.” He grinned at her, dark blue eyes dancing, before stuffing the tart in his mouth. “Is she as pretty as you, Brie?”
“Flattery won’t get you another tart before tea.” But there was a laugh at the edge of her voice. “Pretty isn’t the word for her. She’s beautiful. Her hair’s calmer than Maggie’s, more like the hide on that chestnut mare you love so. Her eyes are like Da’s were—though she wouldn’t like to hear that—the clearest of greens. She’s about my height, slim. And . . . sleek, I suppose you’d say. Even after the traveling she hardly looked rumpled at all.”
“Maggie says she’s a cold one.” Since Brianna was guarding the tarts like a hen with one chick, Murphy settled for tea.
“She’s reserved,” Brianna corrected. “It’s that Maggie doesn’t want to like her. And there’s a sadness about her she hides with coolness.” And that Brianna understood perfectly. “But she smiled, really smiled, when we came up over the road where the valley spreads out.”
“It’s a fair sight, that.” Murphy moved his shoulders as he poured his tea. His back was aching a bit, for he’d been plowing since dawn. But it was a good ache, a solid-day’s-work ache. “She wouldn’t see the like of it in New York City.”
“You always speak of New York as if it were another planet instead of across the sea.”
“It’s as far as the moon as far as I’m concerned.”
With a laugh, Brianna glanced over her shoulder at him. He was more handsome than even he’d been as a boy. And the women of the village had talked of his angel face in those days. Now there was a good bit of the devil as well to add impact to those vivid blue eyes and quick, crooked smile.
The outdoor life he led suited him, and over the years his face had fined down to a kind of sculpted leanness that drew women’s eyes. A fact that he didn’t mind a bit. His unruly thatch of black waves defied proper combing. His body was tough, with muscled arms, broad shoulders, narrow hips. Brianna knew first hand that he was as strong as one of his beloved horses, and a great deal more gentle.
Despite the strength and ruggedness, there was something poetic about him. A dreaming in the eyes, she thought with affection.
“What are you looking at?” He wiped a hand over his chin. “Have I cream on my face?”
“No, I was thinking what a shame it is you haven’t found a woman to share your pretty face with.”
Though he grinned, he shifted with some embarrassment. “Why is it whenever a woman marries she thinks everyone should do the same?”
“Because she’s happy.” She looked down to where Kayla sat contentedly in her infant chair. “Don’t you think she’s looking more like Grayson?”
“She’s the image of you. Aren’t you, Kayla love?” He bent over to tickle the baby’s chin. “What are you doing about your mother, Brie?”
“Nothing, at the moment.” Wishing she didn’t have to think of it, she gripped her hands together. “She’ll have to be told, of course, but I want to give Shannon time to relax before that storm hits.”
“It’ll be a gale of some proportion. Are you sure she knows nothing about the matter? Has no idea there was another woman, or a child because of her?”
“As sure as I am of my own name.” Brianna sighed and went back to setting up family tea. “You know how things were between them. If Mother had known, she’d have hounded him to death over it.”
“That’s true enough. Brie.” Murphy skimmed his knuckles down her cheek until she looked back at him again. “Don’t take it all on yourself. You’re not alone in this.”
“I know that. But it’s worrying, Murphy. Things are still strained between Mother and me, and they’ve never been smooth between her and Maggie. I don’t know how much worse this will make it. Yet there’s nothing else we could do. Da would have wanted her to come, and have a chance to know her family.”
“Then rest easy for a while.” With his cup still in one hand, he cuddled her with the other and bent to touch his lips to her cheek.
Then his world turned upside down.
The vision stood in the doorway, watching through cool and glorious green eyes. Her skin was like the alabaster he’d read of, and looked as soft as fresh milk. Her hair shone as it followed the lines of her face to sweep the chin that was lifted high.
“Oh.” Shannon’s smile widened at the small, gleaming room with its claw-foot tub and pedestal sink and fussy fingertip towels hanging over brass rods. “It’s like a doll house.”
“It is, yes.” Nervous as she would have been with no other guest, Brianna linked her hands together. “Shall I help you unpack, or would you rather have a rest first?”
“I don’t need help, thank you. I might make use of that tub.”
“Be at home then. There’s extra towels in that little trunk, and I think you’ll find everything else you’d be needing.” She hesitated again. “Would you want me to bring you up a tray at teatime?”
It would have been easier to agree, Shannon thought. She could have snuggled into the room alone and blocked out everything else.
“No, I’ll come down.”
“Take all the time you need.” Brianna laid a hand on Shannon’s arm to let her know the statement didn’t refer only to having tea. “I’ll be just downstairs if you want anything.”
“Thank you.”
When the door closed behind Brianna, Shannon sat on the edge of the bed. In private she could let her shoulders droop and her eyes close.
She was in Ireland, and hadn’t a clue what to do next.
Chapter Five
“So what’s she like, this Yank sister of yours?” As at home as he would have been in his own kitchen, Murphy Muldoon helped himself to one of the cream tarts Brianna was arranging on a tray.
He was a tall man who tended toward lankiness. He’d taken off his cap when he’d come into the kitchen, as his mother had taught him, and his dark hair was tousled from the fingers he’d raked through them, and in need of a trim.
“Keep your fingers off,” she ordered, swatting at them. “Wait until I’m serving.”
“I might not get all I want then.” He grinned at her, dark blue eyes dancing, before stuffing the tart in his mouth. “Is she as pretty as you, Brie?”
“Flattery won’t get you another tart before tea.” But there was a laugh at the edge of her voice. “Pretty isn’t the word for her. She’s beautiful. Her hair’s calmer than Maggie’s, more like the hide on that chestnut mare you love so. Her eyes are like Da’s were—though she wouldn’t like to hear that—the clearest of greens. She’s about my height, slim. And . . . sleek, I suppose you’d say. Even after the traveling she hardly looked rumpled at all.”
“Maggie says she’s a cold one.” Since Brianna was guarding the tarts like a hen with one chick, Murphy settled for tea.
“She’s reserved,” Brianna corrected. “It’s that Maggie doesn’t want to like her. And there’s a sadness about her she hides with coolness.” And that Brianna understood perfectly. “But she smiled, really smiled, when we came up over the road where the valley spreads out.”
“It’s a fair sight, that.” Murphy moved his shoulders as he poured his tea. His back was aching a bit, for he’d been plowing since dawn. But it was a good ache, a solid-day’s-work ache. “She wouldn’t see the like of it in New York City.”
“You always speak of New York as if it were another planet instead of across the sea.”
“It’s as far as the moon as far as I’m concerned.”
With a laugh, Brianna glanced over her shoulder at him. He was more handsome than even he’d been as a boy. And the women of the village had talked of his angel face in those days. Now there was a good bit of the devil as well to add impact to those vivid blue eyes and quick, crooked smile.
The outdoor life he led suited him, and over the years his face had fined down to a kind of sculpted leanness that drew women’s eyes. A fact that he didn’t mind a bit. His unruly thatch of black waves defied proper combing. His body was tough, with muscled arms, broad shoulders, narrow hips. Brianna knew first hand that he was as strong as one of his beloved horses, and a great deal more gentle.
Despite the strength and ruggedness, there was something poetic about him. A dreaming in the eyes, she thought with affection.
“What are you looking at?” He wiped a hand over his chin. “Have I cream on my face?”
“No, I was thinking what a shame it is you haven’t found a woman to share your pretty face with.”
Though he grinned, he shifted with some embarrassment. “Why is it whenever a woman marries she thinks everyone should do the same?”
“Because she’s happy.” She looked down to where Kayla sat contentedly in her infant chair. “Don’t you think she’s looking more like Grayson?”
“She’s the image of you. Aren’t you, Kayla love?” He bent over to tickle the baby’s chin. “What are you doing about your mother, Brie?”
“Nothing, at the moment.” Wishing she didn’t have to think of it, she gripped her hands together. “She’ll have to be told, of course, but I want to give Shannon time to relax before that storm hits.”
“It’ll be a gale of some proportion. Are you sure she knows nothing about the matter? Has no idea there was another woman, or a child because of her?”
“As sure as I am of my own name.” Brianna sighed and went back to setting up family tea. “You know how things were between them. If Mother had known, she’d have hounded him to death over it.”
“That’s true enough. Brie.” Murphy skimmed his knuckles down her cheek until she looked back at him again. “Don’t take it all on yourself. You’re not alone in this.”
“I know that. But it’s worrying, Murphy. Things are still strained between Mother and me, and they’ve never been smooth between her and Maggie. I don’t know how much worse this will make it. Yet there’s nothing else we could do. Da would have wanted her to come, and have a chance to know her family.”
“Then rest easy for a while.” With his cup still in one hand, he cuddled her with the other and bent to touch his lips to her cheek.
Then his world turned upside down.
The vision stood in the doorway, watching through cool and glorious green eyes. Her skin was like the alabaster he’d read of, and looked as soft as fresh milk. Her hair shone as it followed the lines of her face to sweep the chin that was lifted high.
