“Maggie said you’d made one yourself just as fine, then given it away.”

Enchanted, he only shook his head. “No, ’twasn’t so beautiful as this.” He looked up then, wonder and delight in his eyes. “What made you think to buy such a thing as this for me?”

“I saw it in the window, and I saw you playing it. Will you play it for me, Murphy?”

“I haven’t played the dulcimer in a time.” But he unwrapped the hammers, stroked them as he might the down of a newly hatched chick. “There’s a tune I know.”

And when he played it, she saw that she’d been right. He had that half smile on his face, the faraway look in his eyes. The melody was old and sweet, like some lovely wine just decanted. It filled the kitchen, made her eyes sting and her heart swell.

“It’s the grandest gift I’ve ever had,” he said as he set the hammers gently aside. “I’ll treasure it.”

The impatient beast that had clawed inside of him was calmed. He came around the table and took her hands gently in his. “I love you, Shannon.”

“I know.” She lifted their joined hands to her cheek. “I know you do.”

“You called me yesterday and told me you loved me. Will you tell me now?”

“I shouldn’t have called that way.” She spoke quickly as nerves began to spark in her fingertips. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, and . . .” He kissed those unsteady fingertips, watching her patiently over them. “I do love you, Murphy, but—”

He only laid his lips on hers, silencing the rest. “Ever since I heard you tell me, the first time, I’ve been aching for you. Will you come upstairs with me, Shannon?”

“Yes.” She leaned closer, trapping their joined hands between. “I’ll come upstairs with you.” She smiled, swept up in the romance of it even as she was swept up in his arms.

The light was lovely, trailing through the windows, scattering over the stairs as he carried her up, flowing pale across the bed when he laid her on it.

It was so easy to sink into that light, into the gentle strength of his arms as they wrapped around her, into the warm promise of his mouth.

It occurred to her that this was the first time they’d loved each other with a roof overhead and a bed beneath them. She might have missed the stars and the smell of grass if it hadn’t been for the sweetness he offered her in its place.

He’d brought flowers into the room. Imagining her here, he’d wanted there to be flowers. He caught the fragile scent of them as he dipped his head to trail his lips down her throat.

There were candles, for later, to replace the starlight. There were soft linen sheets, a substitute for woolen blankets and grass. He spread her hair over his pillow, knowing her scent would cling there.

She smiled as he began to undress her. She’d bought a few other things in Dublin and knew, when he’d uncovered the first hint of rose silk, she’d chosen well.