A Woman's Heart (27 page)

She patted the cheek she'd kissed, rubbing at the faint smear of pink lipstick. “Now, you'd best be getting to your lady. And don't worry about Nora's car. We'll send someone to fetch it.”

As he drove down the twisting narrow road to the lake—to Nora—Quinn tried to remember a time when he'd been more nervous and came up totally blank.

Dreamers and Believers

N
ora sat alone on the bank of the lake, looking out over the black satin water, thinking back to the time she'd been in this private place with Quinn and explained to him the old Irish saying,
ciunas gan uagineas.
Quietness without loneliness.

Well, it had certainly never been more quiet. There wasn't even a nighttime breeze to sigh through the reeds or ripple the glassy waters. There were no cheerful clicks of crickets, no deep croaks of bullfrogs calling for their mates. The clear April night was almost eerily still. But for the first time in her life, Nora felt absolutely devastatingly alone.

She reached into the pocket of her black dress and pulled out a small smooth stone inscribed with ogham. Kate had given her the stone this morning before Brady's funeral mass.

“It's a wishing rune,” she'd explained as she'd curled Nora's fingers around the black stone. “I know you feel as
if you've left things unsettled with Brady, Nora. If you open your heart, this stone will help you contact him.”

In truth, Nora hadn't really believed that at the time, but not wanting to hurt her sister-in-law's feelings and knowing the gesture was born out of love, she'd slipped the stone into her pocket and promptly forgotten it.

Not surprisingly Kate hadn't been the only one to offer Nora some gift of the heart. Once they'd returned to the farm after the interment, her grandmother had pulled her aside and offered a gilt-edged holy card depicting a pretty young nun with gentle loving eyes.

“Pray to Sister Bernadette,” Fionna had urged. “Open your heart, Nora, darling, and Bernadette will make a miracle.”

“Open your heart,” Nora murmured now as she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek on them. Pain was an anvil, pressing down on her chest, crushing that aforementioned heart. “And doesn't that sound simple?”

It should have been. Hadn't her mother told her that her strength—and her weakness—had always been her generosity of spirit? Her willingness to let her emotions overrule her head, even when it could lead to heartbreak?

She closed her eyes and pressed the hand holding the rune hard against her breast, as if subconsciously hoping it could melt the ice that seemed to have filled all her empty places.

“Oh, please.” The whispered words were part plea, part prayer.

When she heard a sound, like footfalls on wildflowers, Nora opened her eyes again and looked up. The moon was rising, casting the castle that brooded over the lake in a ghostly silvery light.

“Da?” When her father suddenly appeared, walking out of the moonlit mist, looking as he did when she'd been a girl, Nora was certain she must be hallucinating. Hadn't she
read that a lack of sleep combined with emotional distress could play havoc with your mind?

“It's not your imagination, Nora, darling,” the wonderfully familiar voice assured her. “It's your prodigal da.”

He was bathed in a shimmering light that made him look as if he was surrounded by dancing moonbeams.

“Oh, Da,” she said, barely managing to push the words past the painful lump that had taken up residence in her tight throat. “I'm so sorry.”

“Now what would me favorite girl have to be feeling sorry for?”

“For losing my temper.” She sniffled just as she had that long-ago day she'd fallen off her pony for the first time. “For saying those dreadful things to you.”

“Now didn't I know you were upset?” he asked blithely. “And wasn't that because of my own foolishness in the first place, thinking I could trick you into getting Rory a pony?”

“I'm keeping the mare.”

“I know.” His grin shone like a beacon in the dancing silvery light. “I do believe the Lady's going to be having to put up with a rival for your son's attention.”

Nora smiled at that. “Aye. I believe you're right.” Then she sighed and shook her head. “If only I'd agreed sooner, we'd not have exchanged hard words, and you'd not have been walking all the way into the village to The Rose, and—”

“Nora. Darling.” His voice wrapped around her like a warm woolen shawl. “You're taking too much responsibility on those lovely young shoulders again. I love you, daughter. You were my joy from the moment you were born, the light of my life. And ever since my dear Eleanor passed on, you've been my anchor, just as your mam was before you.

“But as God has taught us, Nora, to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”

“A time to be born, and a time to die,” she murmured the familiar words. The passage from Ecclesiastes had always been a favorite of her father's, which is why Finn had chosen to recite it to the mourners who'd gathered at the hilltop ceremony this morning.

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh,” Brady continued, his voice ringing out over the hillsides as if he were telling a tale to the multitudes. “A time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

“I don't want to argue with you, Da,” Nora countered softly. “But I don't really feel like laughing right now.”

“Ah, but you will, Nora. And that's the point of my wee tale. I wept like a babe after your poor mother died—”

“I didn't know that.”

“Well, didn't you have enough to deal with? Without having to see your da bawling his eyes out and keening into his pillow every night so as not to wake the rest of his family?

“But my children are now almost grown, all but Celia, and I have not a single doubt that you and Quinn will raise my youngest daughter as if she's your own dear girl. Everything's all settled now, don't you see? You have a fine man you love…”

“I do, indeed.” Her voice was a little stronger.

“And isn't that obvious to anyone with eyes? And, to continue my point, that very same man loves you back—”

“He hasn't said that.”

“Jaysus!” The exclamation was expelled on a hearty laugh. “Isn't it bad enough you interrupt your poor old da when he's alive? Can't you be letting him finish a sentence after he's passed on? It seems, if my memory isn't failing
me, that Ecclesiastes mentions something about a time to keep silence.”

Despite the grief that had taken hold of her heart these past days, Nora found herself smiling back at him. “I'm sorry. Of course I want to let you finish.”

“Well, now, as I was trying to say, before I was interrupted, Quinn Gallagher might not have said the words out loud yet. But it's obvious you're holding his heart in your hands, darling.

“And although I'm not overly fond of admitting I could be wrong about anything, mind you, I'll have to say that I misjudged the Yank. He's a good man, Nora. He'll make you a good husband. And a fine father for the children.”

“Aye. You know that, Da. And I know that. I believe even Rory and poor dear Maeve understand it, too. But that doesn't change the fact that Quinn's still planning to leave Ireland next week.”

“Now don't you be worrying about that. The pope will be taking back Saint Patrick's sainthood before Quinn Gallagher chooses a lonely life in America over a full and loving one with my eldest daughter here in Ireland. Can't I recognize a lovestruck man when I see one, having been one meself?

“The point to my little narrative, Nora, is that you can begin building your own family now. And I'm finally free to be with my own darling Eleanor, don't you see.”

He smiled again, that dazzling infectious smile that everyone had always said could charm a leprechaun out of his pot of gold. “I love you, daughter. I always have and I always will.”

Tears clogged her throat, filled her eyes. “I love you, too, Da. And I always will.”

“Slan agat,”
he murmured as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“Slan leat,”
Nora answered her father's final farewell in the language of her roots. Her heart.

And then he faded away, like misty morning fog. Just when Nora thought Brady was truly gone for good, something drew her gaze to the far side of the lake. It was her parents walking hand in hand over the moonlit velvety hills.

She touched her fingertips to her cheek, felt the lingering warmth and knew that her father's visit had been no hallucination.

A time to every purpose under heaven.
With her father's words ringing in her ears, Nora buried her face in her hands and finally allowed herself to weep.

 

When he saw her sitting in the moonlight, rocking back and forth in the age-old rhythm of mourning, Quinn made yet another new discovery. A heart really could ache.

She was weeping into her hands. Although the sobs were silent, from the shaking of her shoulders, Quinn could tell they were violent. He put the blanket Kate had sent along with him on the ground, sat down beside her and without a word pulled her into his arms. He found it encouraging that she came willingly, without a struggle. Wondered how it was that he found her trust even more amazing, and humbling, than her love.

“That's it, baby.” He stroked her hair as she buried her face in his shirt. Drew her closer, kissed the top of her head. “Let it all out.”

Nora clung to him unashamedly and allowed her tears to flow. Although her father's words of reassurance had helped ease her feelings of guilt, the pain of loss remained. A deep gaping wound she was all too familiar with, having suffered it twice before. Once when her mother died, then when she lost Conor, who, despite all his faults, a part of her—the
young idealistic teenager who'd married the west's most dashing man—would always love.

But she was no longer that starry-eyed virgin bride fresh from the convent. She was a woman. A woman who'd had a child. Who'd kept her family together during bad times and good. A woman who'd suffered heartache and survived, like a piece of handblown Castlelough crystal hardened by its time in the flames.

She was a woman who loved. A woman who was loved, she thought as she ran her hands over Quinn's wide capable shoulders, by a remarkable man. A man who, despite his protests to the contrary, possessed an infinite capacity for caring.

When she was finally cried out, drained of anguish, tumultuous emotions exhausted, she pulled away—just a little.

“Your shirt is soaked.”

“It'll dry.” He brushed at her wet face with the back of his hand. “Feeling better?”

“Aye. I am.” She managed a faint smile at that and cuddled closer again, luxuriating in the feel of his arms around her. “When you were researching the Lady, did you discover the Celtic concept of
Samhain?
”

“What we call Halloween?” Quinn had no idea where this conversation was headed, but glad that she was finally talking again, he would have followed it anywhere. “Sure. It's summer's end, supposedly the time when the veil between the living world and the dead is the thinnest.”

“Do you believe it's possible for that veil to part and allow the dead to communicate with the living?”

Quinn thought about what Father O'Malley had told him about believing in myriad mystical unseen things. “I believe anything's possible. Especially when you're talking about people with strong spirits.”

“Like Da.”

“Yeah.” He continued to stroke her face, thinking that he'd never known a woman with skin as soft as Nora's. When that idea had him wanting to touch her all over, Quinn wondered what kind of guy could even be considering seducing a woman on the day she'd buried her father. “Like Brady.”

“He came to me.” She tilted her head back and looked up at him. Lingering moisture still shone in her eyes. “Here, at the lake. To tell me he loved me.”

With his gaze on hers, he cupped her cheek in his palm. “That's certainly an easy thing to do.”

A flare of surprise leaped into her eyes, a spark that quickly turned into a warm pleased glow. “Would you be saying what I think you're saying?”

Quinn shrugged carelessly. “Now wouldn't that depend on what you'd be thinking?” His smile spread slowly as his fingers slipped into her hair. “But if you're thinking that I was telling you that I love you—” he bent his head and touched his lips to hers “—I suppose you'd be correct.”

The words Nora had longed to hear were like a prayer against her lips, the soft tender kiss a promise. She sighed and felt the last of her tension draining away as the feather-light caress of his fingers at the nape of her neck made her muscles go lax.

“I love you, Nora Joyce Fitzpatrick.” His deep voice thickened with quiet seriousness. “More than I could have ever imagined possible.”

“More than you wanted, I'd be guessing.”

He laughed at that, the explosive release of tension scattering ducks from the reeds at lake's edge. “A helluva lot more than I wanted. More than you should have wanted.” The laughter died suddenly, as if turned off at a tap. His eyes turned serious. “You realize, of course, that I'm not a good bet. I've no idea how to be a good husband or father.”

“You've been wonderful with Rory.”

“He's a great kid. But I'm afraid I'll let him down. Afraid I'll let
you
down.”

“That couldn't happen.”

“You sound pretty sure of that. Considering you don't know anything about me.”

She framed his frowning face between her palms. “I know that you're a generous decent caring man. I know that for some reason you don't believe that.”

“For good reason. You keep making me out to be better than I am. I'm just a man, Nora. With more flaws than most.”

“Well, of course I understand you have flaws, Quinn. I'm not a naive schoolgirl like Mary, after all.” She sighed. “But I suppose I can get used to sleeping with a man who's out of sorts until his second cup of morning coffee and who steals the bedcovers.”

“You're not taking this seriously, dammit. And I do not steal the covers.” Actually, if she wanted to get technical, the only two nights they'd spent together the sheets and blankets had ended up on the floor.