He wanted to kiss her, she thought as her eyes grew heavy, some place private. Where he could take his time about it.

It might be interesting.

The man controlled the impatient horse with no visible effort. Rain continued to pelt, icily, so that it sounded like pebbles striking the ground. The white stallion snorted, sending out frosty clouds of smoke as man and woman watched each other.

“You waited.”

She could feel the heavy thud of her own heart. And the need, the terrible need was as strong as her pride. “Walking in my own field has nothing to do with waiting.”

He laughed, a full, reckless sound that rolled over the hills. At the crest of one of those hills stood the stone circle, watching.

“You waited.” In a move as graceful as a dance, he leaned down and scooped her off her feet. With one arm he lifted her, then set her in the saddle in front of him. “Kiss me,” he demanded, twining gloved fingers in her hair. “And make it count.”

Her arms dragged him closer until her br**sts were flattened against the traveling armor over his chest. Her mouth was as hungry, as desperate and rough as his. On an oath, he flung out a hand so that his cloak enfolded her.

“By Christ, it’s worth every cold, filthy mile for a taste of you.”

“Then stay, damn you.” She pulled him close again, pressed her starving lips to his. “Stay.”

In sleep Shannon murmured, rocked between pleasure and despair. For even in sleep, she knew he wouldn’t.

Chapter Eight

Shannon took a day for herself, and was better for it. The morning was damp, but cleared gradually so that as she drove, the landscape surrounding her seemed washed and skillfully lit. Furze lining the road was a blur of yellow blossoms. Hedges of fucshia hinted at droplets of blood red. Gardens were drenched with color as the flowers sunned themselves in the watery light. Hills, the vivid green of them, simply shimmered.

She took photographs, toying with the idea of using the best of them as a basis for sketches or paintings.

It was true enough that she had some trouble negotiating the Irish roads, and the left-side drive, but she didn’t intend to admit it.

She shopped for postcards and trinkets for friends back home along the narrow streets of Ennis. Friends, she mused, who thought she was simply taking a long overdue vacation. It was lowering to realize there was no one back home she felt intimate enough with to have shared her connection here, or her need to explore it.

Work had always come first—with the ambition scrambling behind it. And that, she decided, was a sad commentary on her life. Work had been a huge part of who she was, or considered herself to be. Now she’d cut herself off from it, purposely, so that she felt like a solitary survivor, drifting alone in an ocean of self-doubt.

If she was not Shannon Bodine by birth, and the hot young commercial artist by design, who was she?

The illegitimate daughter of a faceless Irishman who’d bedded a lonely woman who’d been on her own personal oddessy?

That was a painful thought, but one that kept worrying at her mind. She didn’t want to believe that she was so unformed, so weak-hearted that the bald fact of her birth should matter to the grown woman.

Yet it did. She stood on a lonely strand of beach with the wind whipping through her hair and knew it did. If she’d been told as a child, had somehow been guided through life with the knowledge that Colin Bodine was the father who chose her if not the father who’d conceived her, she felt she couldn’t be so hurt by the truth now.

She couldn’t change it—not the facts or the way she’d learned of them. The only option left was to face them. And in facing them, face herself.

“Rough seas today.”

Shannon looked around, startled by the voice and the old woman who stood just behind her. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, but the breakers were crashing, and her mind had been very far away.

“Yes, it is.” Shannon’s lips curved in the polite, distant smile reserved for strangers. “It’s a beautiful spot, though.”

“Some prefer the wildness.” The woman clutched a hooded cloak around her, staring out to sea with eyes surprisingly bright in such a well-lined face. “Some the calm. There’s enough of both in the world for everyone to have their choice.” She looked at Shannon then, alert, but unsmiling. “And enough time for any to change their mind.”

Puzzled, Shannon tucked her hands in her jacket. She wasn’t used to having philosophical discussions with passers-by. “I guess most people like a little of each, depending on their mood. What do they call this place? Does it have a name?”

“Some that call it Moria’s Strand, for the woman who drowned herself in the surf when she lost her husband and three grown sons to a fire. She didn’t give herself time to change her mind, you see. Or to remember that nothing, good or ill, stays forever.”

“It’s a lonely name for such a beautiful spot.”

“It is, yes. And it’s good for the soul to stop and take a long look now and again at what really lasts.” She turned to Shannon again and smiled with great kindness. “The older you are, the longer you look.”

“I’ve taken a lot of long looks today.” Shannon smiled back. “But I have to get back now.”

“Aye, you’ve a ways to travel yet. But you’ll get where you’re going, lass, and not forget where you’ve been.”

An odd woman, Shannon thought as she started the climb up the gentle slope of rocks toward the road. She supposed it was another Irish trait to make an esoteric conversation out of something as simple as a view. As she reached the road, it occurred to her that the woman had been old, and alone, and perhaps needed a ride to wherever she’d been going.

She turned back with thoughts of offering just that. And saw nothing but an empty strand.

The shiver came first, then the shrug. The woman had just gone about her business, that was all. And it was past time that she turn the car around and take it back to its owner.

She found Brianna in the kitchen, sitting alone for once and nursing a solitary cup of tea.

“Ah, you’re back.” With an effort Brianna smiled, then rose to pour another cup. “Did you have a nice drive?”

“Yes, thanks.” Meticulously Shannon returned the car keys to their pegs. “I was able to pick up some of the supplies I needed, too. So I’ll do some sketching tomorrow. I noticed another car out front.”