“As I am? You’d throw her in my face. This spawn of your father’s adultery. This is how you show your respect, your loyalty to me, the woman who gave you life.”

“And resented every breath of it we took thereafter,” Maggie tossed out.

“I’d expect it from you.” Maeve’s wrath turned to roll over her eldest daughter. “You’re no different than she. Born in sin.”

“Oh, save your Bible thumping.” Maggie waved the fury away. “You didn’t love him, so you’ll get no sympathy.”

“I took vows with him, and vows I kept.”

“The words, but not the heart of them,” Brianna murmured. “What’s done is done, Mother.”

“Maeve.” Lottie reached out a hand. “The girl’s not to blame.”

“Don’t speak to me of blame. What kind of woman sneaks another’s husband into her bed?”

“One who loved, I imagine.” Shannon stepped forward, unconsciously moving closer to that united wall.

“Love makes it all right to sin? To defile the Church?” Maeve would have stood, but her legs felt shaky, and something inside her heart was burning. “I’d expect no less from the likes of you. A Yank, raised by an adulteress.”

“Don’t speak of my mother,” Shannon warned in a low, dangerous voice. “Ever. She had more courage, more compassion, more sheer goodness in her than you can possibly imagine in your narrow little world. You curse the fact of my existence all you want, but you don’t speak of my mother.”

“You come all the way from America to give me orders in my house.”

“I’ve come because I was invited to come.” Shannon’s anger was too blinding for her to realize that Murphy’s hand was on her shoulder, Gray’s on her arm. “And because it was one of the last things my mother wished me to do before she died. If it disturbs you, it can’t be helped.”

Maeve rose slowly. The girl had the look of him, was all she could think. What kind of penance was it that she had to look into the girl’s face and see Tom Concannon’s eyes?

“The sin’s planted in you, girl. That’s your only legacy from Tom Concannon.” Like the snap of a whip, she shot her gaze to Murphy. “And you, Murphy Muldoon. Standing with her brings shame to your family. You’re showing yourself as weak natured as any man, for you’re thinking she’ll be as free with herself as she was born in sin.”

Murphy’s hand tightened on Shannon’s arm before she could step forward and attack. “Take care, Mrs. Concannon.” His voice was mild, but Shannon could feel the strength of his temper through his tensed fingers. “You’re saying things you’ll need to repent. When you speak of my family, and of Shannon in such a way, the shame is yours.”

Her eyes narrowed so that no one could see the tears swimming behind them. “So you’ll all stand against me. Every one of you.”

“We’re of one mind on this, Maeve.” Subtly Rogan blocked his wife. “When your mind’s calmer, we’ll talk again.”

“There’s nothing to talk of.” She snatched her purse from the table. “You’ve chosen.”

“You have a choice, too,” Gray said quietly. “Holding on to the past or accepting the present. No one here wants to hurt you.”

“I expect nothing but duty, and even that isn’t offered by my own flesh and blood. I’ll not come into this house again while she’s under its roof.” She turned and walked stiffly away.

“I’m sorry.” Lottie gathered her own bag. “She needs time, and talking out.” With an apologetic look at Shannon, she hurried after Maeve.

After one long minute of silence, Gray let out a breath. “Well, that was fun.” Despite the lightness of tone, his arm had gone around his wife and he was rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “What do you say, Shannon. I’ll go out and find a nice pointed stick to jab in your eye.”

“I’d rather have a drink,” she heard herself say, then her gaze focused on Brianna. “Don’t apologize,” she said in a shaky voice. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“She won’t.” Determined to fight back the one that was looming in her own throat, Maggie gave her sister a nudge toward the table. “Sit down, all of you. We’re having whiskey. Murphy, put on the kettle.”

With his hand still on Shannon’s shoulder, he started to turn. “I thought we were having whiskey.”

“You are. I’ll have tea.” It was a good time, she decided. The perfect time for such news. She looked straight at Rogan, a gleam of unholy amusement in her eyes. “It’s not wise to have spirits when you’re carrying.”

He blinked once, then the grin started, and spread. “You’re pregnant.”

“So the doctor said just this morning.” Planting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head. “Are you just going to stand there, gawking like a fool?”

“No.” The laughter burst out as he swept her off her feet and spun her around the kitchen. “By Christ, Margaret Mary, I love you. Pour the whiskey, Gray. We’ve something to celebrate.”

“I’m pouring it.” But he stopped long enough to give Maggie a kiss.

“She did that for you,” Murphy murmured as Shannon stood beside him, watching the lightning shift of mood.

“What?”

“She told him here, told all of us here.” He measured out tea as he spoke. “That was for her sisters, to ease the heaviness around their hearts.”

“For Brianna,” Shannon began, but Murphy cut her off with a look.

“Don’t close yourself off from a gift when it’s offered, darling. Her telling made you smile, just as she wanted it to.”

Shannon stuffed her hands in her pockets. “You have a way of making me feel very small.”

He tipped her chin up with a gentle finger. “Maybe I have a way of helping you look one level deeper.”

“I think I enjoyed being shallow.” But she turned away from him and walked to Maggie. “Congratulations.” She took the glass Gray offered and stood awkwardly. “I don’t know any Irish toasts.”

“Try Slainté o Dhia duit,” Maggie suggested.