"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.
She knew he understood before he'd taken the first step toward her. He smiled. She rose and took the hand he offered.
He couldn't get her out quickly. There were too many people who stopped him for a word. By the time he'd led her outside, he could feel her hand trembling in his.
So he turned to her. "Be sure."
"Yes. I'm sure. But, Murphy, this can't make any difference. You have to understand..."
He kissed her, slow and soft and deep so that the words slid back down her throat. Keeping her hand in his, he circled around the house toward the stables.
"In here?" Her eyes went wide, and she felt a quick tug-of-war between dismay and delight. "We can't. All these people."
He found he could laugh after all. "We'll save a roll in the hay for another time, Shannon love. I'm just getting blankets."
"Oh." She felt foolish, and not at all certain she wasn't disappointed. "Blankets," she repeated as he took two down from the line where they'd been airing. "Where are we going?"
He folded them, laid them over his arm, then took her hand again. "Where we started."
The dance. Her heart began to drum again. "I-can you just leave this way? All those people are in your house."
"I don't think we'll be missed." Pausing, he looked down at her. "Do you care if we are?"
"No." She shook her head once, quickly. "No, I don't care if we are."
They crossed into the fields under the streaming light of the moon.
"Do you like counting stars?" he asked her.