Her grin flashed wickedly. “You’re right.” She pressed her lips to his, lost herself a moment in the lingering. With a sigh, she rested her head on his chest. “I’ve never made love outside before.”

“You’re joking.”

She lifted her head again and aimed a bland look. “It’s frowned upon in my neighborhood.”

Because her skin was chilling, he reached for the spare blanket. “Then it’s a night of firsts for you. Your first ceili.” He tossed the blanket over her, fussing with the edges until he was satisfied she was covered. “Your first waltz.”

“It was the waltz that did it. No, that’s wrong.” She shook her head, then shifted so that she could frame his face with her hands. “The waltz seduced me. But it was when you sang. When I listened to you I couldn’t understand how, why, I’d ever said no.”

“I’ll have to remember to sing for you often.” He lifted a hand, cupped the back of her neck. “Pretty green-eyed Shannon, love of all my lives. Come and kiss me.”

He woke her from a light doze just as the eastern sky was pearling. He was sorry to, for he’d loved watching her sleep, the way her lashes lay on her cheek with the light flush beneath them. And he wished there was time for him to love her once again as dawn broke.

But there were obligations and family waiting for him.

“Shannon.” Gently, he stroked her cheek, kissed it. “Darling, it’s nearly morning. The stars are going out.”

She stirred, whimpering, and clutched at his hand. “Why won’t you stay? Why? How could you come back to me only to leave again?”

“Ssh.” He drew her close, pressed his lips to her brow. “I’m here. Right here. ’Tis only a dream.”

“If you loved me enough, you wouldn’t go again.”

“I do love you. Open your eyes now. You’re dreaming.”

She followed the sound of his voice, opened her eyes as he’d asked. For a moment she was lost between two worlds, both of which seemed familiar and right.

Dawn, just before dawn, she thought hazily. And the smell of spring. The stones rising up, gray and cold in the waning dark and the feel of her lover’s arms hard around her.

“Your horse.” She looked around blankly. She should have heard the jingle of its bridle and the impatient stomp of hooves as it waited to ride.

“They’re stabled yet.” Firmly Murphy cupped her chin and turned her face back to his. “Where are you?”

“I . . .” She blinked and floated out of the dream. “Murphy?”

His eyes were narrowed on her face, with a hint of frustration in them. “Do you remember what happened then? What did I do to lose you?”

She shook her head. The sense of despair, and the fear, were waning. “I was dreaming, I guess. That’s all.”

“Tell me what I did.”

But she pressed her face to his shoulder, relieved to find it warm and solid. “Just a dream,” she insisted. “Is it morning?”