“That’s a lass.”

There were fifteen, Shannon thought when she collapsed onto the tangled sheets somewhere near dawn. Fifteen rooms in the sprawling stone farmhouse, and it wasn’t through lack of wanting that they hadn’t managed to christen all of them. Somewhere along the line their bodies had simply betrayed them. They’d tumbled back into bed with no thought of anything but sleep.

As she drifted toward it, under the weight of Murphy’s arm, she reminded herself they would have to talk seriously and talk soon. She had to explain things to him. Make him see why the future was so much more complex then the present.

Even as she tried to formulate the words in her mind, she drifted deeper.

And she saw the man, her warrior, her lover, on the white horse. There was the glint of armor, the swirl of his cape in the wind.

But this time, he wasn’t riding toward her across the fields. He was riding away.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Murphy figured it was love that made a man so energetic after an hour’s sleep. He dealt with the milking, the feeding of stock, the pasturing, all with a song on his lips and a spring in his step that had the young Feeney boy grinning at him.

As usual, there were a dozen chores to see to before breakfast. Grateful it was his neighbor’s turn to haul the milk away, Murphy gathered up the morning’s eggs, eyed one of the older ladies who would need to do her turn in the pot shortly, and headed back toward the house.

He was having a change of heart about his earlier idea of letting Shannon sleep while he grabbed a quick cup of tea and a biscuit, then set out to turn his turf.

It seemed much more inviting to take her up that tea and biscuit and make love with her while she was warm from sleep and soft from dreaming.

He never expected to find her in his kitchen, standing at the stove with the apron his mother used when visiting wrapped around her waist.

“I thought you’d be sleeping.”

She glanced over, smiling at the way he took off his cap when he came in the house. “I heard you outside, laughing with the boy who helps you milk.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” The kitchen smelled gloriously of mornings from his childhood. “What are you doing there?”

“I found some bacon, and the sausages.” She prodded the latter with a kitchen fork. “It’s cholesterol city, but after last night, I thought you deserved it.”

The foolish grin broke over his face. “You’re cooking me breakfast.”

“I figured you’d be hungry after doing whatever you do at dawn, so—Murphy!” She squealed, dropping the fork with a clatter as he grabbed her and swung her around. “Watch what you’re doing.”

He set her down, but couldn’t do anything about the grin as she muttered at him and washed off the fork. “I didn’t even know you could cook.”