Jewels of the Sun, Page 25

  She guided his hands where she wanted them, reveling in the feel of them over her slickened skin as she rode him closer and closer to the edge.

  She felt his body plunge helplessly under her, heard his breath strangle in a gasp, and thrilled with what she’d done to him, let herself leap after.

  It was he who shuddered, he whose hands slid limply away when she lowered to nuzzle her mouth to his. When she pressed her lips to his throat, she felt the wild beat of his pulse.

  Then with a sound of triumph, she drew back and threw her arms high. “Oh, God, I feel wonderful! People should always make love outside. It’s so . . . liberating.”

  “You look like a faerie queen yourself.”

  “I feel like one.” She shook her hair back, then looked down to smile at him. “Full of magic and marvelous secrets. I’m so glad you’re not angry with me. I was sure you would be.”

  “Angry? How could I be?” He gathered enough energy to sit up so he could hold her, torso to torso. “Everything about you delights me.”

  She snuggled closer, still flying on the pleasure of the moment. “You weren’t delighted with me last night.”

  “No, I can’t say I was, but since we’ve straightened it all out, it’s nothing to worry us.”

  “Straightened it out?”

  “Aye. Here, let’s get you back into your jumper before you get cold.”

  “What do you mean—” She broke off as he dragged her sweater over her head.

  “There, that’s all you’ll need, as I’m going to get it off you again as soon as we get inside.” He began to gather clothes and bundle them into her arms.

  “Aidan, what do you mean we’ve straightened it all out?”

  “Just that we have.” Smiling easily, he picked her up and carried her toward the cottage. “We’ll be married in September.”

  “What? Wait.”

  “I am, till September.” He nudged open her garden gate.

  “We’re not getting married in September.”

  “Oh, we are, yes. Then we’ll go off to the places you want to see.”

  “Aidan, that’s not what I meant.”

  “It was what I meant.” He smiled at her again, pleased he’d found just the way to handle the situation. “I don’t mind if you need to wiggle around it for a while, darling. Not when we both know it’s what’s meant.”

  “Put me down.”

  “No, not quite yet.” He carried her inside and started up the stairs.

  “I’m not marrying you in September.”

  “Well, it’s only a few months away, so we won’t have long to see who’s right in the matter.”

  “It’s insulting, and it’s infuriating that you simply assume I’ll fall in line with your plans. And that I’m too stupid to know what I want for myself.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” He walked down to the bathroom. “Fact is, darling, I believe you’re one of the smartest people I know. A bit stubborn is all, but I don’t mind that.” He hitched her up a bit, so he could reach out and turn on the shower.

  “You don’t mind that,” she repeated.

  “Not at all. Just as I don’t mind having your eyes shoot darts at me as they are at the moment. I find it . . . stimulating.”

  “Put me down, Aidan.”

  “All right.” He obliged by setting her in the tub, right under the stream from the shower.

  “Damn it!”

  “Don’t worry about the jumper, I’ll take care of it.” And laughing while she shoved and wiggled, he stripped it off and tossed it with a wet plop onto the floor.

  “Keep your hands off me. I want to settle this.”

  “You’ve settled it in your mind just as I have in mine. I say I want my way more than you want what you’re thinking is yours. But . . .” He brushed the wet hair out of her face. “If you’re so sure of yourself, you’ve nothing to worry about, and we can just enjoy the time we spend together.”

  “That isn’t the point—”

  “Are you saying you don’t enjoy being with me?”

  “Yes, of course I do, but—”

  “Or that you don’t know your own mind?”

  “I certainly know my own mind.”

  He pressed still curved lips to her brow, her temples. “Well then, what’s wrong with giving me at least the chance to change it?”

  “I don’t know.” But there had to be something wrong with it. Didn’t there? Reason, she decided. Cool reason. Even if she was standing naked in the shower. “We’re not talking about a whim here, Aidan. I take all of this very seriously, and I don’t intend to change my mind.”

  “All right, then, in the fine Irish tradition, we’ll wager on it. A hundred pounds says you will.”

  “I’m not betting on such a thing.”

  He lifted a shoulder carelessly, then picked up the soap. “If you’re afraid to risk your money . . .”

  “I’m not.” She hissed out at him, trying to see exactly where he’d turned things around and trapped her. “Make it two hundred pounds.”

  “Done.” He kissed the tip of her nose to seal it.

  NINETEEN

  IT WAS RIDICULOUS. She had actually bet money on whether or not she would marry Aidan. It was laughable. And annoying. And not a little embarrassing.

  Temper had pushed her into it, which was odd in itself. She usually had such a mild and easily controllable temper.

  She would forget the bet entirely, of course, when the time came. What point would there be in making herself or Aidan feel foolish by bringing it up?

  For now she had chores and work to concentrate on. She needed to take Finn for a walk, and return the dishes that Mollie O’Toole had brought to her party. It was time to call home and check in with her family. Then, if the weather held, she’d set up her outside work area.

  She wanted to write down the story Aidan had told her the night before. Already she had the rhythm of it in her head, and the images of the white bird and the black wolf. She doubted she would do them justice, but she needed to try.

  She gathered the dishes, along with a container of sugar cookies she’d baked. Ready to set out, she glanced around for the dog just in time to see him squat under the kitchen table and pee. Naturally he’d missed the paper by two feet.

  “Couldn’t have waited one more minute, could you?” She only chuckled when he cheerfully thumped his tail, then she set the dishes down again to deal with the puddle.

  He had to leap and lick at her face and make growling sounds while she scrubbed it up, which made her forget to scold him. Since cuddling him made her as happy as it made him, she spent ten minutes nuzzling, wrestling, and scratching his belly.

  She’d spoil him, of course, Jude admitted. But who could have known she had all this love inside her she needed to give?

  “I’m nearly thirty,” she murmured as she stroked Finn’s long, silky ears. “I want a home. I want a family. I want them with a man who loves me outrageously.” She cuddled as Finn wiggled around to lick her hand. “I can’t settle again. I can’t take a life in pieces just because it looks like the best I can get. So . . .”

  She picked Finn up to rub her nose against his. “For right now, it’s just you and me, pal.”

  The minute she opened the back door, he was off like a spotted arrow. It delighted her to see him race even if his first sprint was directly toward her flowers. He stopped, skidding and tumbling, when she called his name sharply. She considered it progress that he flattened only one row of ageratum.

  Finn darted ahead of her, darted back, raced in circles around her feet, then zigged and zagged off to sniff at everything of interest. She imagined how he’d look when he grew into his feet, a big, handsome dog with a whipcord tail who loved to run the hills.

  What in God’s name was she going to do with him in Chicago?

  Shaking her head, she pushed that worry aside. There was no point in thinking of something that would spoil the pleasure of her walk.

  The air w
as crystal, with the sun sliding and streaming through clouds on their way to England. She caught glimpses of Ardmore Bay, rolling dark green toward shore. If she stopped, concentrated, she could almost hear its music in the shimmering silence. Tourists would flock to the beaches today, and some of the locals as well if they had an hour or two to spare.

  Young mothers, she thought, letting their toddlers dip their toes in the surf, or fill their red plastic buckets with sand. Castles would be built today, then washed away by the sea.

  The hedgerows that lined the road were ripe with summer blossoms, and the grass beneath her feet was springy and sparkled with morning dew. To the north, the mountains hulked under the clouds that covered their peaks. And between them and Jude, it seemed the green, glorious hills rolled forever.

  She loved the look of them, the simple and sheer beauty of land, the tumble of old castles that had been swamped not by sea but by time and enemy. They made her think of knights and maidens, of kings both petty and grand, of merry servants and clever spies. And of course of magic and witchcraft and the songs of faeries.

  More tales to be told, she mused, of sacrifices for love and glory, of the triumph of the heart and of honor, of spells cast and broken.

  In a place like this, a storyteller could spend years collecting them, creating them, and passing them on. She could spend silvery mornings like this one roaming and imagining, rainy afternoons writing and compiling. Evenings would be for curling up after a satisfying day and finding pictures in the turf fire, or wandering into the pub for noise and company and music.

  It would be such a lovely life, full of interest and beauty and dreams.

  She stopped short, startled by the thought, more startled yet that the thought had been in her head at all. She could stay, not just for three more months but forever. She could write stories. The ones that were told to her and the ones that seemed always forming in her head.

  No, of course she couldn’t. What was she thinking of? She let out a laugh, but it was edgy and weak. She had to go back to Chicago as planned, to find work in some area of the field she knew to support her sensibly while she pursued the dream. To consider anything else was completely irresponsible.

  Why?

  She’d only taken two more steps when that question struck out.

  “Why?” She said it out loud, flustered. “Of course there’s a reason why. A dozen reasons why. I live in Chicago. I’ve always lived in Chicago.”

  There was no law that said she had to live in Chicago. She wouldn’t be chained in a dungeon for relocating.

  “Of course not, but . . . I have to work.”

  And what have you been doing these past three months?

  “That’s not work, not really.” Her stomach began to jitter, her heart to flutter toward her throat. “It’s more of an indulgence.”

  Why?

  She closed her eyes. “Because I love it. I love everything about it, so that must make it an indulgence. And that is incredibly stupid.”

  It might have been an odd place for an epiphany, on a shaggy hill in the middle of the morning. But she decided it was the perfect place for hers.

  “Why can’t I do something I love without putting restrictions on it? Why can’t I live somewhere that’s so much more home than anywhere else? Who’s in charge of my life,” she said on a baffled laugh, “if I’m not?”

  With her knees a little shaky, she began to walk again. She could do it; if she could dig down and find the courage. She could sell her condo. She could do what she’d been avoiding out of fear of failure and send a sample of her work to an agent.

  She could finally stick, win or lose, with something she wanted for herself.

  She would think about it, seriously, carefully. Walking faster, she ignored the voice in her head that urged her to act now, right away, before she could find excuses. It would be a big move, she reasoned, an enormous step. A sensible person thought through big moves and enormous steps.

  Jude was grateful when she saw the O’Toole cottage over the hill. She needed the distraction, something to take her mind off herself for a while.

  Clothes were already drying on the line, making her wonder if Mollie did laundry twenty-four hours a day. The gardens were in glorious bloom and the little shed as stuffed and jumbled as ever. Betty rose from her morning nap in the yard and gave a welcoming woof that sent Finn into devoted yips as he streaked down the hill toward her.

  Jude started after and had just reached the edge of the yard when the kitchen door opened.

  “Well, good morning to you, Jude.” Mollie sent her a wave. “You’re up and about early today.”

  “Not as early as you, from the looks of things.”

  “You have yourself a houseful of chattering girls and a man who likes his tea before his eyes are open, you don’t have much chance to stay in bed. Come in, have some tea and visit with me while I make my bread.”

  “I brought your dishes back, and some of the sugar cookies I made yesterday. I think they’re better than the last batch.”

  “We’ll sample them with the tea and see.”

  She held the door open wide, and Jude walked into the warmth and the scents and the clatter of Brenna wielding tools under the kitchen sink.

  “I’ve about got it now, Ma.”

  “So you’d better.” Mollie moved to the stove. “I tell you, Jude, I’m the shoemaker’s wife in this house. Off himself goes, as does this girl here, fixing and fiddling with everyone else’s matter, while I live with drips and rattles day and night.”

  “Well, you don’t pay a body a living wage, now do you?” Brenna said and earned a light kick from her mother.

  “A living wage, is it? And who ate a mountain of eggs and a tower of toast and jam just this morning?”

  “I only did so I’d have my mouth full and not tell Maureen to stop her harping on the wedding plans. The girl’s driving us all batty, Jude, fussing and whining and bursting into tears for no reason at all.”

  “Getting married’s plenty of reason for all of the above.” Mollie set out the tea and cookies, nodded for Jude to sit, then plunged her hands back into the ball of dough she was kneading. “And when your time comes you’ll be worse yet.”

  “Ha. If I was thinking of marriage, I’d haul the man before the priest, say the words and be done with it,” Brenna declared. “All this fancy work—dresses and flowers and just which song needs to be played just when. Months in the making for one single day, for a dress that will never be worn again, flowers that will fade and wither, and songs you could sing any damn time.”

  She scooted out from under the sink and gestured with her wrench. “And the cost of it all is sinful.”

  “Ah, Brenna, you romantic fool.” Mollie sprinkled more flour onto her dough and turned it. “That one single day is the start of a life, and worth every minute of time and every penny that goes into it.” But she sighed a little. “Still, it does get wearying, dealing with her nerves.”

  “Exactly.” Brenna put the wrench in her dented toolbox and rose to snatch one of the cookies. “Look at our Jude here. Calm as you please. You don’t hear her blathering on about whether she’ll have white roses or pink in her bouquet.” Brenna bit into the cookie and dropped into a chair. “You’re a sensible woman.”

  “Thank you. I try. But what are you talking about?”

  “The difference between you and my flighty sister. The both of you have weddings coming up, but are you pacing around the room wringing your hands and changing your mind about the flavor of the cake every two minutes? Of course not.”

  “No,” Jude said slowly. “I’m not, because I don’t have a wedding coming up.”

  “Even if you and Aidan have a small ceremony—though how you’d pull that off when he knows every second soul for a hundred kilometers—it’s still a wedding.”

  Jude had to take a breath, then another. “Where did you get the idea that I’m marrying Aidan?”

  “From Darcy.” Brenna leaned forward for ano
ther cookie. “She had it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  “The horse’s ass is more apt.”

  At the snap of her tone, Brenna blinked and Mollie paused in her kneading. Before Brenna could speak, Mollie shot out a warning look. “Fill your mouth with that biscuit, lass, before you put the rest of your foot in it.”

  “But Darcy said—”

  “Perhaps Darcy misunderstood.”

  “No, I don’t imagine she did.” Temper leaped into Jude’s throat. When she couldn’t choke it down again, she shoved away from the table and got to her feet. “Where does a man get that kind of nerve, that much arrogance?”

  “Most are born with it,” Brenna said, then ducked her head and winced at her mother’s hiss.

  “I have to say, Jude, that I myself thought that’s where the two of you were heading, seeing the way you are with each other.” Mollie kept her voice soothing, and her eyes keen on Jude’s face. “When Brenna told us at dinner last night, not one of us was surprised, but we were pleased.”

  “Told you. . . at dinner.” Jude stopped at the table, braced her palms on it and leaned into Brenna’s face. “You told your whole family?”

  “Well, I didn’t see how—”

  “Who else? How many people have you told this ridiculous story to?”

  “I . . .” Brenna cleared her throat. Having a rare temper herself, she recognized the danger signs when they were stuck in her face. “I can’t recall, precisely. Not many. A few. Hardly anyone at all. We were so pleased, you see, Darcy and myself. As we’re so fond of you and Aidan, and knowing how Aidan can plod about before he gets to the center of things, hoped that the ceili might give him a bit of a boost.”

  “The ceili?”

  “Aye, Midsummer’s Eve and the moon and such. You remember, Ma?” She turned to Mollie with a desperate look in her eye. “Remember how you told us the way Dad proposed to you when you were dancing in the moonlight at a ceili? And at Old Maude’s cottage, too.”

  “I do, yes.” And she began to see. With a quiet smile, she patted her daughter’s shoulder. “You meant well, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, we—ow!” Wincing, Brenna grabbed the nose her mother had just twisted.

  “That’s to remind you to keep that nose of yours out of other people’s business however well meant.”

  “It’s not her fault.” Jude lifted her hands to her hair and barely resisted pulling it out. “It’s Aidan’s fault. What is he thinking of, telling his sister we’re getting married? I said no, didn’t I? Very plainly and several times.”

  “You said no,” Brenna and Mollie said together, with mirror looks of shock.

  “I see what he’s doing, I see what he’s up to.” She whirled away to stalk around the room again. “He needs a wife and I’m available, so that’s it. I’m just to fall in line because, after all, I obviously have no backbone. Well, he’s wrong about that. I’ve got one. Maybe I haven’t used it much, but it’s there. I’m not marrying him or anyone. I’m never going to be told what to do again, or where to live or how to live or what to be. Not ever, ever again.”

  Mollie studied the flushed face, the fisted hands and nodded slowly. “Well, now, good for you. Why don’t you take a bit of a breath now, darling, and sit down here, drink your tea and tell us, as we’re all friends, exactly what happened.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Then you,” she added, jabbing a finger at Brenna. “You can go down to the village and tell everyone just what a brainless fool Aidan Gallagher is and that Jude Murray wouldn’t have him on a platter.”

  “I can do that,” Brenna agreed with a cautious smile.

  “Fine.” Jude took that breath, then sat down to tell the tale.

  • • •

  It helped a great deal to vent to friends. It took the sharpest edge off her temper, strengthened her resolve, and gave her the satisfaction of having two other women outraged at Aidan’s behavior.

  By the time she left, she’d been given pats and hugs and congratulations on her stand against a bully. Of course she had no way of knowing that the minute she left, mother and daughter dug out twenty pounds each to lay on Aidan.

  It wasn’t that they didn’t sympathize with Jude, or believe she had sense