Born in Shame
Page 60
“Oh, a little of this and that. I saw you met my family.”
“There are so many of them. And they all think the sun rises in Murphy’s eyes.” She chuckled when he winced.
“I think we should dance.”
She shook her head when he took her hand. “As I’ve explained to several lovely gentlemen, I’m very happy to watch. No, Murphy.” She laughed again when he pulled her to her feet. “I can’t do that stuff—jigs or reels or whatever.”
“Sure you can.” He was steadily drawing her out. “But they’re going to play a waltz, like I asked them. The first time we dance should be a waltz.”
It was his voice that had her hand going limp, the way it had softened over the words. “I’ve never waltzed in my life.”
He started to laugh, then his eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“No. It’s not a popular dance in the clubs I go to, so I’ll just sit this one out.”
“I’ll show you.” He slipped an arm around her waist, changed his grip on her hand. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”
“I know the stance, it’s the steps.” It was too enchanting a night not to accommodate him. Lowering her head, she watched his feet.
“You know the count, surely.” He smiled at the top of her head. “So you go one, and a quicker two and three. And if you slide the back foot a bit on the last count, you’d glide into it. Aye, that’s it.”
When he circled her, she looked up again, laughing. “Don’t get fancy. I’m a fast study, but I like plenty of practice.”
“You can have all you want. It’s no hardship for me to hold you in my arms.”
Something shifted inside her. “Don’t look at me like that, Murphy.”
“I have to, when I’m waltzing with you.” He whirled her in three long circles, as fluid as wine. “The trick when you’re waltzing is to look right into your partner’s eyes. You won’t get dizzy that way, when you’re turning round.”
The idea of spot focusing might have had its merits, but not, Shannon discovered, when the focus was those dark blue eyes. “You have lashes longer than your sisters,” she murmured.
“It was always a bone of contention between us.”
“Such wonderful eyes.” Her head was spinning, around and around like the dance. On the edge of giddy, on the verge of dreams. “I see them in my sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The muscles of his stomach twisted like iron, then tightened. “Darling, I’m doing my best to keep a promise here.”
“I know.” Everything was in slow motion now, a drift, a turn, a note. All of the colors and movements and voices seemed to fade mistily into the background until it was only the two of them, and the music. “You’d never break a promise, whatever it cost you.”
“I haven’t before.” His voice was as tense as the hand holding hers. “But you’re tempting me. Are you asking me to break it?”
“I don’t know. Why are you always there, Murphy, on the tip of my mind?” She closed her eyes and let her head fall to his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m doing—what I’m feeling. I have to sit down. I have to think. I can’t think when you’re touching me.”
“You drive a man past the end of his tether, Shannon.” With an effort he kept his hands gentle as he drew her away, led her back to her seat. He crouched in front of her. “Look at me.” His voice was quiet, below the music and the laughter. “I won’t ask you again, I swore I wouldn’t. It isn’t pride that holds me back, or that makes me tell you the next step, whatever it is, has to be yours.”
No, Shannon thought. It was honor. As old-fashioned a word as courtship.
“Stop flirting with the lass.” Tim stopped by to slap Murphy hard on the back. “Sing something for us, Murphy.”
“I’m busy now, Tim.”
“No.” Shannon edged back, found a smile. “Go sing something, Murphy. I’ve never heard you.”
Fighting to compose himself, he stared down at the hands he’d rested on his knees. “What would you like to hear?”
“Your favorite.” In a gesture that was as much apology as request, she laid her hand over his. “The song that means the most to you.”
“All right. Will you talk with me later?”
“Later.” She smiled at him as he straightened, certain she would feel more like herself later.
“So, how do you find your first ceili?” Brianna sat down beside her.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s great. All of it.”
“We haven’t had such a grand, big party since Gray and I married last year. The Bacachs we had on the night we got back from our honeymoon.”
“The what?”
“Oh, a Bacachs is an old tradition, where people disguise themselves and come into the house after dark, and—Oh, Murphy’s going to sing.” She gave Shannon’s hand a squeeze. “I wonder what he’ll do.”
“His favorite.”
“ ‘Four Green Fields,’ ” Brianna murmured and felt her eyes sting before the first note was played.
It took only that first note for voices to hush. The room went still as Murphy lifted his to the accompaniment of a single pipe.
She hadn’t known he had that inside him—that pure, clean tenor, or the heart behind it. He sang a song of sadness and hope, of loss and renewal. And all the while the house grew as quiet as a church, his eyes were on hers.
It was a love song, but the love was for Ireland, for the land, and for family.
Listening to him, she felt that something that had moved inside her during the dance shift again, harder, firmer, further. The blood began to hum under her skin, not in passion so much as acceptance. Anticipation. Every barrier she had built crumbled and fell, soundlessly, under the effortless beauty of the song.
His voice simply vanquished her.
There were tears on her cheeks, warm, freed by his voice and the heartbreaking words of the ballad. There was no applause when he had finished. The hush was acknowledgment of a beauty simple and grand.
Murphy’s eyes stayed on Shannon’s as he murmured something to the piper. A nod, and then a quick bright tune was played. The dancing began again.
“There are so many of them. And they all think the sun rises in Murphy’s eyes.” She chuckled when he winced.
“I think we should dance.”
She shook her head when he took her hand. “As I’ve explained to several lovely gentlemen, I’m very happy to watch. No, Murphy.” She laughed again when he pulled her to her feet. “I can’t do that stuff—jigs or reels or whatever.”
“Sure you can.” He was steadily drawing her out. “But they’re going to play a waltz, like I asked them. The first time we dance should be a waltz.”
It was his voice that had her hand going limp, the way it had softened over the words. “I’ve never waltzed in my life.”
He started to laugh, then his eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“No. It’s not a popular dance in the clubs I go to, so I’ll just sit this one out.”
“I’ll show you.” He slipped an arm around her waist, changed his grip on her hand. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”
“I know the stance, it’s the steps.” It was too enchanting a night not to accommodate him. Lowering her head, she watched his feet.
“You know the count, surely.” He smiled at the top of her head. “So you go one, and a quicker two and three. And if you slide the back foot a bit on the last count, you’d glide into it. Aye, that’s it.”
When he circled her, she looked up again, laughing. “Don’t get fancy. I’m a fast study, but I like plenty of practice.”
“You can have all you want. It’s no hardship for me to hold you in my arms.”
Something shifted inside her. “Don’t look at me like that, Murphy.”
“I have to, when I’m waltzing with you.” He whirled her in three long circles, as fluid as wine. “The trick when you’re waltzing is to look right into your partner’s eyes. You won’t get dizzy that way, when you’re turning round.”
The idea of spot focusing might have had its merits, but not, Shannon discovered, when the focus was those dark blue eyes. “You have lashes longer than your sisters,” she murmured.
“It was always a bone of contention between us.”
“Such wonderful eyes.” Her head was spinning, around and around like the dance. On the edge of giddy, on the verge of dreams. “I see them in my sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The muscles of his stomach twisted like iron, then tightened. “Darling, I’m doing my best to keep a promise here.”
“I know.” Everything was in slow motion now, a drift, a turn, a note. All of the colors and movements and voices seemed to fade mistily into the background until it was only the two of them, and the music. “You’d never break a promise, whatever it cost you.”
“I haven’t before.” His voice was as tense as the hand holding hers. “But you’re tempting me. Are you asking me to break it?”
“I don’t know. Why are you always there, Murphy, on the tip of my mind?” She closed her eyes and let her head fall to his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m doing—what I’m feeling. I have to sit down. I have to think. I can’t think when you’re touching me.”
“You drive a man past the end of his tether, Shannon.” With an effort he kept his hands gentle as he drew her away, led her back to her seat. He crouched in front of her. “Look at me.” His voice was quiet, below the music and the laughter. “I won’t ask you again, I swore I wouldn’t. It isn’t pride that holds me back, or that makes me tell you the next step, whatever it is, has to be yours.”
No, Shannon thought. It was honor. As old-fashioned a word as courtship.
“Stop flirting with the lass.” Tim stopped by to slap Murphy hard on the back. “Sing something for us, Murphy.”
“I’m busy now, Tim.”
“No.” Shannon edged back, found a smile. “Go sing something, Murphy. I’ve never heard you.”
Fighting to compose himself, he stared down at the hands he’d rested on his knees. “What would you like to hear?”
“Your favorite.” In a gesture that was as much apology as request, she laid her hand over his. “The song that means the most to you.”
“All right. Will you talk with me later?”
“Later.” She smiled at him as he straightened, certain she would feel more like herself later.
“So, how do you find your first ceili?” Brianna sat down beside her.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s great. All of it.”
“We haven’t had such a grand, big party since Gray and I married last year. The Bacachs we had on the night we got back from our honeymoon.”
“The what?”
“Oh, a Bacachs is an old tradition, where people disguise themselves and come into the house after dark, and—Oh, Murphy’s going to sing.” She gave Shannon’s hand a squeeze. “I wonder what he’ll do.”
“His favorite.”
“ ‘Four Green Fields,’ ” Brianna murmured and felt her eyes sting before the first note was played.
It took only that first note for voices to hush. The room went still as Murphy lifted his to the accompaniment of a single pipe.
She hadn’t known he had that inside him—that pure, clean tenor, or the heart behind it. He sang a song of sadness and hope, of loss and renewal. And all the while the house grew as quiet as a church, his eyes were on hers.
It was a love song, but the love was for Ireland, for the land, and for family.
Listening to him, she felt that something that had moved inside her during the dance shift again, harder, firmer, further. The blood began to hum under her skin, not in passion so much as acceptance. Anticipation. Every barrier she had built crumbled and fell, soundlessly, under the effortless beauty of the song.
His voice simply vanquished her.
There were tears on her cheeks, warm, freed by his voice and the heartbreaking words of the ballad. There was no applause when he had finished. The hush was acknowledgment of a beauty simple and grand.
Murphy’s eyes stayed on Shannon’s as he murmured something to the piper. A nod, and then a quick bright tune was played. The dancing began again.
