just as fretting over it shows yours.'
'That may be, and I'll admit it's put Mollie's mind at rest even if she doesn't say so.' Still his fingers worried the edge of the sheet. 'He's a good man and a fair boss, but I need to know he's got his money's worth from me.'
'Since when haven't you given full shot for the pound? The sooner you're healed through, the sooner you'll be working again. And I'll tell you my plumbing needs another look.'
She'd made that one up, but saw it brightened him.
'I'll take a look-see the minute they let me on my feet again. 'Course, if it's urgent you can have Brenna see to it.'
'It'll wait for you, and so will I.'
'That's fine, then.' He settled back, and the sparkle on her wrist caught his eye. 'Well, now, what's this?'
He took her hand, turned it so the bracelet shimmered. 'That's quite the little bauble, isn't it?'
'It is. Trevor gave it to me.' And she watched Mick's wicked smile.
'Did he now?'
'He did, and I shouldn't have taken it, but I decided not to refuse such a generous gesture.'
'Why should you? He's got his eye on you, and has since you first came into view. The man has fine taste if you're asking me, and you, my girl, could hardly do better than with the likes of Trevor Magee.'
'It won't do to get those sorts of notions, Mr. O'Toole. It's no more than a bit of a frolic for both of us, with neither looking for seriousness.'
'Is it?' Mick questioned, then seeing Darcy set her chin, as he'd seen her set it all her life, he let it lie. 'Well, sure and we'll see about that, won't we?'
And to Mick's pleasure, it was barely more than an hour after Darcy left his bedside when Trevor came to it. He brought a pint of Guinness with him, and Mick appreciated his boldness in not troubling to hide it, just as he'd admired the neatness with which Darcy had delivered hers under cover.
'Now, that's a man after me own heart.'
'Oh, did you want one too?' With an easy smile, Trevor passed the glass and sat. 'I figured you'd be feeling restless by now.'
'That I am. If you'd get me some pants I'd walk out of here with you.'
'Tomorrow. I've just had a word with your doctor, and he says they'll release you in the morning.'
'Well, that's better than a jab in the eye with a sharp stick. I was thinking, I could be on the job straightaway, in a kind of supervisory capacity. No lifting.' He hurried on as Trevor merely stared blandly. 'No actual labor, just what you'd call keeping an eye on things.'
'In a week.'
'Bloody hell, man, I'll go mad in a week. Do you know what it is to be laid low this way and have a brood of hens clucking about you?'
'Only in my cherished fantasies.'
Mick gave a short laugh and settled into his pint. 'Darcy left hardly an hour ago.'
'She loves you.'
'That feeling's very mutual between us. I happened to notice the trinket you gave her, the wrist bauble.'
'It suits her.'
'It does indeed, being bright and rich and shiny. Some see the girl and think, now that's a flighty one only looking for fun and the easy way. They'd be wrong.'
'I wouldn't disagree with you.'
'As her father, and my good friend, Patrick Gallagher is across the pond, I'm taking it upon myself to say this to you in plain speech. Don't toy with that girl, Trevor. She's not a bauble like that pretty bracelet you picked out of a glass case somewhere. She's a big and seeking heart in her, even if she doesn't like to let it show. And for all she may tell you, and herself for that matter, that it's all fun and games, she'll bruise like any other woman with rough handling.'
'I don't intend to handle her roughly.' His voice was cool now, just a step away from aloof.
Not the sort of man who's accustomed to being given orders, Mick thought, or advice, or even warnings about his behavior. 'Maybe the word I should use is 'careless.' And a man can be careless with a woman even without intending it, especially if the woman expects it.'
'I'll make a point of being careful, whatever she expects.'
Mick nodded, and again let it lie. But he wondered just what Trevor himself expected.
Mick was right about one thing. Trevor wasn't a man who particularly cared for advice, and certainly not when it pertained to a woman. He knew what he was doing with Darcy. They were both clear-sighted adults, adults who had a very elemental attraction to each other. Mixed with it was simple affection and respect. What more could anyone want from a relationship, and a temporary one at that?
But Mick's words troubled him, and followed him on the drive back to Ardmore. Rather than head back to the job as he'd intended, he turned up Tower Hill. He'd yet to return to his ancestor's gravesite, or even to explore the ruins. He could spare another half hour.
The round tower loomed over the village and could be seen from below from almost every vantage point. He passed it often enough on his way to and from the cottage, but had never followed the urge to take real time to study it. This time he pulled to the shoulder of the narrow road and stepped out of the car. And into the wind.
When he walked through the little gate, he saw a scatter of tourists climbing over the hilly ground between the old stones and crosses, over toward the roofless stone building that had been the church built in the name of the saint. His first reaction surprised him, as it was mild resentment that anyone should be there, with their cameras and backpacks and guidebooks.
Stupid, he thought. These were just the people he hoped to appeal to with his theater. These, and more who would come for the beaches when the summer spread warmth along the coast.
So he joined them, picking his way down the slope to the church, taking the time he'd yet to allow himself to study the Roman arcading, the carving going weak from time and wind.
Inside with the rubble and graves, two ogham stones had been placed for safekeeping. And how, he wondered, had those lines dug into stone been read as words? A kind of Morse code, he imagined, devised by ancients and left at crossroads for a traveler.
He heard a woman call out for her children in the flat accent that said States to him, East Coast, North. And seemed so out of place here. Did his voice have that same slightly-out-of-tune sound to it? Here voices should lilt and flow and have old music under each word.
He stepped out again, looking up now at the tower. The old defense had its conical roof still attached and seemed even now as if it could withstand any attack.
What had they come for, all the invaders? Romans, Vikings, Saxons, Normans, Britons. What fascination did this simple little island hold for them that they would war and die to take it?
And turning, he looked out and away, and thought he saw part of the answer.
The village below was neat and pretty as a painting, with the broad beach a sweep of sand glittering golden in the fitful sunlight. The sea spread, blue as summer, shimmering in that same restless light, foaming white at the edges.
The hills stretched back and back, green and lush with patches of rich brown, muted gold to complete the quilt of land. Just the shadow of dark mountain peaks rose behind them.
Even while he watched, the light changed, shifted, grew, and he could see the shadows of clouds swim over the land as the sunlight beat through them.
The air smelled of grass, fading flowers, and sea.
He doubted it was the beauty of the country that brought those who wanted to land here. But he was sure it was part of the reason they had fought to stay.
'We're a land that absorbs our invaders, and makes them one of us.'
Trevor glanced around, expecting to see an Irish tourist or one of the locals behind him. Instead he looked into Carrick's wild blue eyes.
'You get around.' With some surprise, Trevor saw that they were alone, when only moments before there had been at least half a dozen people exploring the hill.
'I prefer a bit of privacy.' Carrick winked at him. 'Don't you?'
'It's difficult for me to be private when you pop up at will.'
