Maeve was hard, embittered; she too often twisted the heart of the scriptures she so religiously read to suit her own means and uses. She could use the canons of the church like a hammer. But she had stayed.
With a little sigh Brianna shifted to stake the next plant. The time would come for forgiveness. She hoped she had forgiveness in her.
"You're supposed to look happy when you garden, not troubled."
Putting a hand on top of her hat, Brianna lifted her head to look at Gray. A good day, she decided at once. When he'd had a good day, you could all but feel the pleasure of it vibrate from him.
"I was letting my mind wander."
"So was I. I got up and looked out of the window and saw you. For the life of me I couldn't think of anything else."
"It's a lovely day for being out-of-doors. And you started working at dawn." With quick and oddly tender movements, she staked another stem. "Is it going well for you, then?"
"It's going incredibly well." He sat beside her, indulged himself with a gulp of the perfumed air. "I can barely keep up with myself. I murdered a lovely young woman today."
She snorted with laughter. "And sound very pleased with yourself."
"I was very fond of her, but she had to go. And her murder is going to spearhead the outrage that will lead to the killer's downfall."
"Was it in the ruins we went to that she died?"
"No, that was someone else. This one met her fate in the Burren, near the Druid's Altar."
"Oh." Despite herself Brianna shivered "I've always been fond of that spot." "Me, too. He left her stretched over the crown stone, like an offering to a bloodthirsty god. Naked, of course."
"Of course. And I suppose some poor unfortunate tourist will find her."
"He already has. An American student on a walking tour of Europe." Gray clucked his tongue. "I don't think he'll ever be the same." Leaning over, he kissed her shoulder. "So, how was your day?"
"Not as eventful. I saw off those lovely newlyweds from Limerick this morning, and I minded the American children while their parents had a lie-in." Eagle-eyed, she spotted a tiny weed and mercilessly ripped it out of the bed. "They helped me make hot cross buns. After, the family had a day at Bunratty, the folk park, you know. Only returned shortly ago. We're expecting another family this evening, from Edinburgh, who stayed here two years past. They've two teenagers, boys, who both fell a bit in love with me last time."
"Really?" Idly he ran a fingertip down her shoulder. "I'll have to intimidate them."
"Oh, I imagine they're over it now." She glanced up, smiled curiously at his snort of laughter. "What?"
"I was just thinking you've probably ruined those boys for life. They'll never find anyone to compare with you."
"What nonsense." She reached for another stake. "I talked to Maggie earlier this afternoon. They might be in Dublin another week or two. And we'll have the baptism when they get back. Murphy and I are to be godparents."
He shifted, sat cross-legged now. "What does that mean, exactly, in Catholic?"
"Oh, not much different, I'd imagine, than it means in any church. We'll speak for the baby during the service, like sponsors, you see. And we'll promise to look after his religious upbringing, if something should happen to Maggie and Rogan."
"Kind of a heavy responsibility."
"It's an honor," she said with a smile. "Were you not baptized ever, Grayson?"
"I have no idea. Probably not." He moved his shoulders, then cocked a brow at her pensive frown. "What now? Worried I'll burn in hell because nobody sprinkled water over my head?"
"No." Uncomfortable, she looked away again. "And the water's only a symbol, of cleansing away original sin."
"How original is it?"
She looked back at him, shook her head. "You don't want me explaining catechism and such, and I'm not trying to convert you. Still, I know Maggie and Rogan would like you at the service."
"Sure, I'll go. Be interesting. How's the kid anyway?"
"She says Liam's growing like a weed." Brianna concentrated on what her hands were doing and tried not to let her heart ache too much. "I told her about Mr. Smythe-White-I mean Mr. Carstairs."
"And?"
"She laughed till I thought she'd burst. She thought Rogan might take the matter a bit less lightly, but we both agreed it was so like Da to tumble into a mess like this. It's a bit like having him back for a time. 'Brie,' he might say, 'if you don't risk something, you don't win something.' And I'm to tell you she was impressed with your cleverness in tracking Mr. Carstairs down, and would you like the job we've hired that detective for."
"No luck on that?"
"Actually, there was something." She sat back again, laid her hands on her thighs. "Someone, one of Amanda Dougherty's cousins, I think, thought she might have gone north in New York, into the mountains. It seems she'd been there before and was fond of the area. The detective, he's taking a trip there, to, oh, that place where Rip van Winkle fell asleep."
"The Catskills?"
"Aye, that's it. So, with luck, he'll find something there."
Gray picked up a garden stake himself, eyeing it down the length, wondering absently how successful a murder weapon it might be. "What'll you do if you discover you've got a half brother or sister?"
"Well, I think I would write to Miss Dougherty first." She'd already thought it through, carefully. "I don't want to hurt anyone. But from the tone of her letters to Da, I think she'd be a woman who might be glad to know that she, and her child, are welcome."
"And they would be," he mused, setting the stake aside again. "This, what-twenty-six-, twenty-seven-year-old stranger would be welcome."
"Of course." She tilted her head, surprised he would question it. "He or she would have Da's blood, wouldn't they? As Maggie and I do. He wouldn't want us to turn our back on family."
"But he-" Gray broke off, shrugged.
"You're thinking he did," Brianna said mildly. "I don't know if that's the way of it. We'll never know, I suppose, what he did when he learned of it. But turn his back, no, it wouldn't have been in him. He kept her letters, and knowing him, I think he would have grieved for the child he would never be able to see."
Her gaze wandered, followed the flitting path of a speckled butterfly. "He was a dreamer, Grayson, but he was first and always a family man. He gave up a great deal to keep this family whole. More than I'd ever guessed until I read those letters."
"I'm not criticizing him." He thought of the grave, and the flowers Brianna had planted over it. "I just hate to see you troubled."