Born In Ice (13 page)

But it wasn't Gray who interrupted her knitting one cool evening, but her mother and Lottie.

She heard the car outside without much surprise. Friends and neighbors often stopped in when they saw her light on. She'd set her knitting aside and started for the door when she heard her mother and Lottie arguing outside it.

Brianna only sighed. For reasons that escaped her, the two women seemed to enjoy their bickering.

"Good evening to you." She greeted them both with a kiss. "What a fine surprise."

"I hope we're not disturbing you, Brie." Lottie rolled her merry eyes. "Maeve had it in her head we would come, so here we are."

"I'm always pleased to see you."

"We were out, weren't we?" Maeve shot back. "Too lazy to cook, she was, so I have to drag myself out to a restaurant no matter how I'm feeling."

"Even Brie must tire of her own cooking from time to time," Lottie said as she hung Maeve's coat on the hall rack. "As fine as it is. And it's nice to get out now and again and see people."

"There's no one I need to see."

"You wanted to see Brianna, didn't you?" It pleased Lottie to score a small point. "That's why we're here."

"I want some decent tea is what I want, not that pap they serve in the restaurant."

"I'll make it." Lottie patted Brianna's arm. "You have a nice visit with your ma. I know where everything is."

"And take that hound to the kitchen with you." Maeve gave Con a look of impatient dislike. "I won't have him slobbering all over me."

"You'll keep me company, won't you, boy-o?" Cheerful, Lottie ruffled Con between the ears. "Come along with Lottie, now, there's a good lad."

Agreeable, and ever hopeful for a snack, Con trailed behind her.

"I've a nice fire in the parlor, Mother. Come and sit."

"Waste of fuel," Maeve muttered. "It's warm enough without one."

Brianna ignored the headache brewing behind her eyes. "It's comforting with one. Did you have a nice dinner?"

Maeve gave a snort as she sat. She liked the feel and the look of the fire, but was damned if she would admit it. "Dragged me off to a place in Ennis and orders pizza, she does. Pizza of all things!"

"Oh, I know the place you're speaking of. They have lovely food. Rogan says the pizza tastes just as it does in the States." Brianna picked up her knitting again. "Did you know that Murphy's sister Kate is expecting again?"

"The girl breeds like a rabbit. What's this-four of them?"

" 'Twill be her third. She's two boys now and is hoping for a girl." Smiling, Brianna held up the soft pink yarn. "So I'm making this blanket for luck."

"God will give her what He gives her, whatever color you knit."

Brianna's needles clicked quietly. "So He will. I had a card from Uncle Niall and Aunt Christine. It has the prettiest picture of the sea and mountains on it. They're having a lovely time on their cruise ship, touring the islands of Greece."

"Honeymoons at their age." And in her heart Maeve yearned to see the mountains and foreign seas herself. "Well, if you've enough money you can go where you choose and do what you choose. Not all of us can fly off to warm places in the winter. If I could, perhaps my chest wouldn't be so tight with cold."

"Are you feeling poorly?" The question was automatic, like the answers to the multiplication tables she'd learned in school. It shamed her enough to have her look up and try harder. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"I'm used to it. Dr. Hogan does no more than cluck his tongue and tell me I'm fit. But I know how I feel, don't I?"

"You do, yes." Brianna's knitting slowed as she turned

over an idea. "I wonder if you'd feel better if you could go away for some sun."

"Hah. And where am I to find sun?"

"Maggie and Rogan have that villa in the south of France. It's beautiful and warm there, they say. Remember, she drew me pictures."

"Went off with him to that foreign country before they were married."

"They're married now," Brianna said mildly. "Wouldn't you like to go there, Mother, you and Lottie, for a week or two? Such a nice rest in the sunshine you could have, and the sea air's always so healing."

"And how would I get there?"

"Mother, you know Rogan would have the plane take you."

Maeve could imagine it. The sun, the servants, the fine big house overlooking the sea. She might have had such a place of her own if ... If.

"I'll not ask that girl for any favors."

"You needn't. I'll ask for you."

"I don't know as I'm fit to travel," Maeve said, for the simple pleasure of making things difficult. "The trip to Dublin and back tired me."

"All the more reason for you to have a nice vacation," Brianna returned, knowing the game well. "I'll speak to Maggie tomorrow and arrange it. I'll help you pack, don't worry."

"Anxious to see me off, are you?" "Mother." The headache was growing by leaps and bounds.

"I'll go, all right." Maeve waved a hand. "For my health, though the good Lord knows how it'll affect my nerves to be among all those foreigners." Her eyes narrowed. "And where is the Yank?"

"Grayson? He's upstairs, working."

"Working." She huffed out a breath. "Since when is spinning a tale working, I'd like to know. Every other person in this county spins tales."

"Putting them on paper would be different, I'd think. And there are times when he comes down after he's been at it for a while he looks as though he's been digging ditches. He seems that tired."

"He looked frisky enough in Dublin-when he had his hands all over you."

"What?" Brianna dropped a stitch and stared. "Do you think I'm blind as well as ailing?" Spots of pink rode high on Maeve's cheeks. "Mortified I was to see the way you let him carry on with you, in public, too."

"We were dancing," Brianna said between lips that had gone stiff and cold. "I was teaching him some steps."

"I saw what I saw." Maeve set her jaw. "And I'm asking you right now if you're giving your body to him."

"If I'm..." The pink wool spilled onto the floor. "How can you ask me such a thing?"

"I'm your mother, and I'll ask what I please of you. No doubt half the village is talking of it, you being here alone night after night with the man."

"No one is talking of it. I run an inn, and he's my guest." "A convenient path to sin-I've said so since you insisted on starting this business." She nodded as if Grayson's presence there only confirmed her opinion. "You haven't answered me, Brianna."

"And I shouldn't, but I'll answer you. I haven't given my body to him, or to anyone."

Maeve waited a moment, then nodded again. "Well, a liar you've never been, so I'll believe you."

"I can't find it in me to care what you believe." It was temper she knew that had her knees trembling as she rose. "Do you think I'm proud and happy to have never known a man, to have never found one who would love me? I've no wish to live my life alone, or to forever be making baby things for some other woman's child." "Don't raise your voice to me, girl." "What good does it do to raise it?" Brianna took a deep breath, fought for calm. "What good does it do not to? I'll help Lottie with the tea."

"You'll stay where you are." Mouth grim, Maeve angled her head. "You should thank God on your knees for the life you lead, my girl. You've a roof over your head and money in your pocket. It may be I don't like how you earn

it, but you've made some small success out of your choice in what many would consider an honest living. Do you think a man and babies can replace that? Well, you're wrong if you do."

"Maeve, what are you badgering the girl about now?" Wearily Lottie came in and set down the tea tray.

"Stay out of this, Lottie."

"Please." Cooly, calmly, Brianna inclined her head. "Let her finish."

"Finish I will. I had something once I could call mine. And I lost it." Maeve's mouth trembled once, but she firmed it, hardened it. "Lost any chance I had to be what I'd wanted to be. Lust and nothing more, the sin of it. With a baby in my belly what could I be but some man's wife?"

"My father's wife," Brianna said slowly.

"So I was. I conceived a child in sin and paid for it my whole life."

"You conceived two children," Brianna reminded her.

"Aye, I did. The first, your sister, carried that mark with her. Wild she was and will always be. But you were a child of marriage and duty."

"Duty?"

With her hands planted on either arm of her chair, Maeve leaned forward, and her voice was bitter. "Do you think I wanted him to touch me again? Do you think I enjoyed being reminded why I would never have my heart's desire? But the Church says marriage should produce children. So I did my duty by the Church and let him plant another child in me."

"Duty," Brianna repeated, and the tears she might have shed were frozen in her heart. "With no love, no pleasure. Is that what I came from?"

"There was no need to share my bed with him when I knew I carried you. I suffered another labor, another birth, and thanked God it would be my last."

"You never shared a bed with him. All those years."

"There would be no more children. With you I had done what I could to absolve my sin. You don't have Maggie's wildness. There's a coolness in you, a control. You'll use that to keep yourself pure-unless you let some man tempt you. It was nearly so with Rory."

"I loved Rory." She hated knowing she was so near tears. For her father, she thought, and the woman he had loved and let go.

"You were a child." Maeve dismissed the heartbreak of youth. "But you're a woman now, and pretty enough to draw a man's eye. I want you to remember what can happen if you let them persuade you to give in. The one upstairs, he'll come and he'll go as he pleases. Forget that, and you could end up alone, with a baby growing under your apron and shame in your heart."

"So often I wondered why there was no love in this house." Brianna took in a shuddering breath and struggled to steady her voice. "I knew you didn't love Da, couldn't somehow. It hurt me to know it. But then when I learned from Maggie about your singing, your career, and how you'd lost that, I thought I understood, and could sympathize for the pain you must have felt."

"You could never know what it is to lose all you've ever wanted."

"No, I can't. But neither can I understand a woman, any woman, having no love in her heart for the children she carried and birthed." She lifted her hands to her cheeks. But they weren't wet. Dry and cold they were, like marble against her fingers. "Always you've blamed Maggie for simply being born. Now I see I was nothing more than a duty to you, a sort of penance for an earlier sin."

"I raised you with care," Maeve began.

"With care. No, it's true you never raised your hand to me the way you did with Maggie. It's a miracle she didn't grow to hate me for that alone. It was heat with her, and cold discipline with me. And it worked well, made us, I suppose, what we are."

Very carefully she sat again, picked up her yarn. "I've wanted to love you. I used to ask myself why it was I could never give you more than loyalty and duty. Now I see it wasn't the lack in me, but in you."

"Brianna." Appalled, and deeply shaken, Maeve got to her feet. "How can you say such things to me? I've only tried to spare you, to protect you."

"I've no need of protection. I'm alone, aren't I, and a virgin, just as you wish it. I'm knitting a blanket for another woman's child as I've done before, and will do again. I have my business, as you say. Nothing has changed here, Mother, but for an easing of my conscience. I'll give you no less than I've always given you, only I'll stop berating myself for not giving more."

Dry-eyed again, she looked up. "Will you pour the tea, Lottie? I want to tell you about the vacation you and Mother will be taking soon. Have you been to France?"

"No." Lottie swallowed the lump in her throat. Her heart bled for both the women. She sent a look of sorrow toward Maeve, knowing no way to comfort. With a sigh she poured the tea. "No," she repeated. "I've not been there. Are we going, then?"

"Yes, indeed." Brianna picked up the rhythm of her knitting. "Very soon if you like. I'll be talking to Maggie about it tomorrow." She read the sympathy in Lottie's eyes and made herself smile. "You'll have to go shopping for a bikini."

Brianna was rewarded with a laugh. After setting the teacup on the table beside Brianna, Lottie touched her cold cheek. "There's a girl," she murmured.

A family from Helsinki stayed the weekend at Blackthorn. Brianna was kept busy catering to the couple and their three children. Out of pity, she scooted Con off to Murphy. The towheaded three-year-old couldn't seem to resist pulling ears and tail-an indignity which Concobar suffered silently.

Unexpected guests helped keep her mind off the emotional upheaval her mother had stirred. The family was loud, boisterous, and as hungry as bears just out of hibernation.

Brianna enjoyed every moment of them.

She bid them goodbye with kisses for the children and a dozen tea cakes for their journey south. The moment their car passed out of sight, Gray crept up behind her.

"Are they gone?"

"Oh." She pressed a hand to her heart. "You scared the life out of me." Turning, she pushed at the stray wisps escaping her topknot. "I thought you'd come down to say goodbye to the Svensons. Little Jon asked about you."

"I still have little Jon's sticky fingerprints over half my body and most of my papers." With a wry grin Gray tucked his thumbs in his front pockets. "Cute kid, but, Jesus, he never stopped."

"Three-year-olds are usually active." "You're telling me. Give one piggyback ride and you're committed for life."

Now she smiled, remembering. "You looked very sweet with him. I imagine he'll always remember the Yank who played with him at the Irish inn." She tilted her head. "And he was holding the little lorry you bought him yesterday when he left."

"Lorry-oh, the truck, right." He shrugged. "I just happened to see it when I was taking a breather in the village." "Just happened to see it," she repeated with a slow nod. "As well as the two dolls for the little girls." "That's right. Anyway, I usually get a kick out of OPKs." "OPKs?"

"Other people's kids. But now"-he slipped his hands neatly around her waist-"we're alone again."

In a quick defensive move she pressed a hand to his chest before he could draw her closer. "I've errands to do."

He looked down at her hand, lifted a brow. "Errands."

"That's right, and I've a mountain of wash to do when I get back."

"Are you going to hang out the wash? I love to watch you hang it on the line-especially when there's a breeze. It's incredibly sexy."

"What a foolish thing to say."

His grin only widened. "There's something to be said for making you blush, too."

"I'm not blushing." She could feel the heat in her cheeks. "I'm impatient. I need to be off, Grayson." "How about this, I'll take you where you need to go."

Before she could speak, he lowered his mouth, brushed it lightly over hers. "I've missed you, Brianna."

"You can't have. I've been right here."

"I've missed you." He watched her lashes lower. Her shy, uncertain responses to him gave him an odd sense of power. All ego, he thought, amused at himself. "Where's your list?"

"My list?"

"You've always got one."

Her gaze shifted up again. Those misty-green eyes were aware, and just a little afraid. Gray felt the surge of heat spear up from the balls of his feet straight to the loins. His fingers tightened convulsively on her waist before he forced himself to step back, let out a breath.

"Taking it slow is killing me," he muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Get your list and whatever. I'll drive you."

"I don't have a list. I've only to go to my mother's and help her and Lottie pack for their trip. There's no need for you to take me."

"I could use the drive. How long will you be there?"

"Two hours, perhaps three."

"I'll drop you off, pick you up. I'm going out anyway," he continued before she could argue. "It'll save petrol."

"All right. If you're sure. I'll just be a minute."

While he waited, Gray stepped into the path of the front garden. In the month he'd been there, he'd seen gales, rain, and the luminous light of the Irish sun. He'd sat in village pubs and listened to gossip, traditional music. He'd wandered down lanes where farmers herded their cows from field to field, and had walked up the winding steps of ruined castles, hearing the echos of war and death. He'd visited grave sites and had stood on the verge of towering cliffs looking out on the rolling sea.

Of all the places he'd visited, none seemed quite so appealing as the view from Brianna's front garden. But he wasn't altogether certain if it was the spot or the woman he was waiting for. Either way, he decided, his time here would certainly be one of the most satisfying slices of his life.

After he dropped Brianna off at the tidy house outside Ennis, he went wandering. For more than an hour he clambered over rocks at the Burren, taking pictures in his head. The sheer vastness delighted him, as did the Druid's Altar that drew so many tourists with their clicking cameras.

He drove aimlessly, stopping where he chose-a small beach deserted but for a small boy and a huge dog, a field where goats cropped and the wind whispered through tall grass, a small village where a woman counted out his change for his candy bar purchase with curled, arthritic fingers, then offered him a smile as sweet as sunlight.

A ruined abbey with a round tower caught his eye and had him pulling off the road to take a closer look. The round towers of Ireland fascinated him, but he'd found them primarily on the east coast. To guard, he supposed, from the influx of invasions across the Irish Sea. This one was whole, undamaged, and set at a curious slant. Gray spent some time circling, studying, and wondering how he could use it.

There were graves there as well, some old, some new. He had always been intrigued by the way generations could mingle so comfortably in death when they rarely managed it in life. For himself, he would take the Viking way-a ship out to sea and a torch.

But for a man who dealt in death a great deal, he preferred not to linger his thoughts overmuch on his own mortality.

Nearly all of the graves he passed were decked with flowers. Many of them were covered with plastic boxes, misty with condensation, the blossoms within all no more than a smear of color. He wondered why it didn't amuse him. It should have. Instead he was touched, stirred by the devotion to the dead.

They had belonged once, he thought. Maybe that was the definition of family. Belong once, belong always. He'd never had that problem. Or that privilege. He wandered through, wondering when the husbands, the wives, the children came to lay the wreaths and flowers. On the day of death? The day of birth? The feast day of the saint the dead had been named for? Or Easter maybe. That was a big one for Catholics.

He'd ask Brianna, he decided. It was something he could definitely work into his book.

He couldn't have said why he stopped just at that moment, why he looked down at that particular marker. But he did, and he stood, alone, the breeze ruffling his hair, looking down at Thomas Michael Concannon's grave.

Brianna's father? he wondered and felt an odd clutch around his heart. The dates seemed right. O'Malley had told him stories of Tom Concannon when Gray had sipped at a Guinness at the pub. Stories ripe with affection, sentiment, and humor.

Gray knew he had died suddenly, at the cliffs at Loop Head, with only Maggie with him. But the flowers on the grave, Gray was certain, were Brianna's doing.

They'd been planted over him. Though the winter had been hard on them, Gray could see they'd been recently weeded. More than a few brave blades of green were spearing up, searching for the sun.

He'd never stood over a grave of someone he'd known. Though he often paid visits to the dead, there'd been no pilgrimage to the resting place of anyone he'd cared for. But he felt a tug now, one that made him crouch down and brush a hand lightly over the carefully tended mound.

And he wished he'd brought flowers.

"Tom Concannon," he murmured. "You're well remembered. They talk of you in the village, and smile when they say your name. I guess that's as fine an epitaph as anyone could ask for."

Oddly content, he sat beside Tom awhile and watched sunlight and shadows play on the stones the living planted to honor the dead.

He gave Brianna three hours. It was obviously more than enough as she came out of the house almost as soon as he pulled up in front of it. His smile of greeting turned to a look of speculation as he got a closer look.

Her face was pale, as he knew it became when she was upset or moved. Her eyes, though cool, showed traces of strain. He glanced toward the house, saw the curtain move. He caught a glimpse only, but Maeve's face was as pale as her daughter's, and appeared equally unhappy.

"All packed?" he said, keeping his tone mild.

"Yes." She slipped into the car, her hands tight around her purse-as if it was the only thing that kept her from leaping up. "Thank you for coming for me."

"A lot of people find packing a chore." Gray pulled the car out and for once kept his speed moderate.

"It can be." Normally, she enjoyed it. The anticipation of going somewhere, and more, the anticipation of returning home. "It's done now, and they'll be ready to leave in the morning."

God, she wanted to close her eyes, to escape from the pounding headache and miserable guilt into sleep.

"Do you want to tell me what's upset you?"

"I'm not upset."

"You're wound up, unhappy, and as pale as ice."

"It's personal. It's family business."