Jewels Of The Sun - Gallaghers Of Ardmore 1 Part 50

The dim pub with music playing, the O'Tooles' busy kitchen, the hills where she'd walked with Aidan. It would make it more personal, more real.

It would be writing.

She clasped her hands together, palm pressed hard to palm. She could let herself write the way she'd always wanted to. As she thought of it, let herself touch the shining idea of it, she could almost feel that lock inside her slide open.

If she failed, what did it matter? She had been, at best, an average teacher. If she turned out to be no more than an average writer, at least she would be average at something she desperately wanted to do.

Excitement whipping through her, she placed her hands on the keys, then quickly jerked them back. Self-doubt, her oldest companion, pulled up a chair beside her.

Come now, Jude, you don't have any talent for self-expression she told herself. Just stick with what you know. No one's going to publish your paper anyway. You're already indulging yourself outrageously. At least stick with the original plan and be done with it.

Of course no one was going to publish it, she admitted on a long breath. It was already much too long for a paper or an article or a treatise. Two dozen stories was too many. The logical thing to do was pick out the best six, a.n.a.lyze them as planned, then hope some publication on the fringes of academia would be interested.

That was sensible.

A b.u.t.terfly landed on the corner of the table, fanned wings blue as cobalt. For a moment, it seemed to study her as curiously as she studied it.

And she heard the drift of music, pipes and flutes and the weeping rush of harp strings. It seemed to flood down the hills toward her, making her lift her gaze to all that shimmering green.

Why in such a place did she have to be sensible Jude? Magic had already touched her here. She had only to be willing to open herself to more.

She didn't want to write a d.a.m.n paper. She wanted, oh, G.o.d, she wanted to write a book. She didn't want to stick with what she knew or what everyone expected of her. She wanted, finally, to reach for what she wanted to know, for what she'd never dared expect from herself. Fail or succeed, to have the freedom of the experience.

When self-doubt muttered beside her, she rudely elbowed it aside.

The rain fell and mists swirled outside the windows. A fire glowed in the little hearth in my cottage kitchen. On the counter were flowers drenched from the rain. Cups of tea steamed on the table between us as Aidan told me this tale.

He has a voice like his country, full of music and poetry. He runs the pub in the village of Ardmore that his family has owned for generations, and runs it well so that it's a warm and friendly place. I've often seen him behind the bar, listening to stories or telling them while music plays and customers drink their pints.

He has charm in abundance and a face that draws a woman's eye and that men trust. His smile is quick, his temper slow, but both are potent. When he sat in the quiet of my kitchen on that rainy afternoon, this is what he told me.

Jude lifted her hands, pressed them to her lips. Over them, her eyes were bright and shining with discovery. There, she thought. She'd begun. She'd begun and it was exhilarating. It was hers. G.o.d, she felt almost drunk on it.

Drawing another steadying breath, she tapped keys until she'd moved Aidan's tale of Lady Gwen and Prince Carrick under her introduction.

She reread the story, this time inserting how he'd spoken, what she'd thought, the way the fire had wanned the kitchen, the beam of sunlight that had come and gone in a slant over the table.

When she was done, she went back to the beginning and added more, changed some of her phrasing. Driven now, she opened a new doc.u.ment. She needed a prologue, didn't she? It was already rushing through her head. Without pausing to think, she wrote what pushed from her mind to her fingers.

Inside her head there was a kind of singing. And the lyrics were simple and wondrous. I'm writing a book.

Aidan stopped at the garden gate and just looked at her. What a picture she made, he thought, sitting there surrounded by all her flowers, banging away on the keys of that clever little machine as if her life depended on it.

She had a silly straw hat perched on her head to shade her eyes. Gla.s.ses with black wire rims were perched on her nose. A brilliant blue b.u.t.terfly danced over her left shoulder as if reading the words that popped up on the screen.

Her foot was tapping, making him think there was music in her head. He wondered if she was aware of it, or if it played there as background to her thoughts.

Her lips were curved, so her thoughts must be pleasing her. He hoped she'd let him read them. Was it the influence of love, he wondered, or did she really look stunningly beautiful, somehow glowing with power?

He had no intention of disturbing her until she was done, so he simply leaned against the gate with what he'd brought her tucked in the curve of his arm.

But she stopped abruptly, s.n.a.t.c.hing her hands from the keys and pressing one to her heart as her head whipped around. Her eyes met his, and even with the distance he could see the variety of sensations play in them. Surprise at seeing him, and the pleasure. Then the faint embarra.s.sment that seemed to cloud them all too often.

"Good day to you, Jude Frances. I'm sorry to interrupt your work."

"Oh, well-" She'd felt him there, felt something, she thought, however ridiculous that sounded. A change in the air. Now she was caught. "It's all right." She fumbled with the keys to save and close, then took off her gla.s.ses to lay them on the table. "It's nothing important." It's everything, she wanted to shout. It's the world. My own world. "I know it's odd to be set up out here," she began as she rose.

"Why? It's a lovely day for being outside."

"Yes- yes, it is." She turned off the machine to save the battery. "I lost track of time."

Because she said it as if confessing a sin to a priest, Aidan laughed as he unlatched the gate with his free hand. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and getting things done. Why worry about the time?"

"Then I'll just say it's the perfect time for a break. I imagine the tea's cold now, but-"

She trailed off as she noted what he carried. Her eyes lit with delight and she hurried toward him. "Oh, you have a puppy. Isn't it sweet!"

It had been lulled to sleep during Aidan's walk from the village, but stirred now as the voices woke it. The fierce yawn came first, then dark brown eyes blinked open. He was a ball of black and white fur, all floppy ears and big feet, with a thin whip of a tail curled between his legs.

He let out an excited yip and immediately began to wriggle.

"Oh, aren't you adorable, aren't you pretty? And so soft," she murmured when Aidan pa.s.sed the puppy into her hands. When she nuzzled his fur, he immediately covered her face with adoring licks.

"Well, now, there's no need to ask if the two of you like each other. It's the love at first sight that our Jude claims not to believe in."

"Who could resist him?" She lifted the pup into the air, where he wiggled in ecstasy.

"The Clooneys' b.i.t.c.h had a litter a few weeks back, and I thought this one had the most character. He's just weaned and ready for his new home."

Jude crouched, setting the puppy down so he could climb up and over her legs and tumble onto his back for a belly rub. "He looks ready for anything. What will you name him?"

"That'll be up to you."

"To me?" She glanced up, then laughed as the pup nipped at her fingers for more attention. "Greedy, aren't you? You want me to name him for you?"

"For yourself. I brought him to you, if you're wanting him. I thought he could keep you company on your faerie hill."

Her hands stilled. "You brought him to me?"

"You're fond of the O'Tooles' yellow hound, so I thought you might like having a dog of your own, from the ground up, so to speak."

Since she only stared, Aidan backtracked. "If you're not inclined to dealing with one, I'll take him myself."

"You brought me a puppy?"

Aidan shifted his feet. "I suppose I should have asked you first if you were interested in one. My thought was to surprise you, and-"

He broke off when she sat abruptly on the ground, gathered the puppy into her arms, and burst into tears.