But there was more, much more. Enough to have her sit carefully on the edge of the bed while her gaze stayed riveted on the canvas. She knew it had come out of her, every brushstroke. Yet it seemed impossible that she could have done such work.

She’d made a vision reality. She’d been meant to do so all along.

On a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and waited until she was sure, until she could see inside herself as clearly as she had seen the people she’d brought to life with paint and brush.

It was all so easy, she realized. Not complicated at all. It was logic that had complicated it. Now, even with logic, it was simple.

She had calls to make, she thought, then picked up the phone to finish what she’d started when she’d first stepped onto Ireland.

She waited until morning to go to Murphy. The warrior had left the wise woman in the morning, so it was right the circle close at the same time of day.

It never crossed her mind that he wouldn’t be where she looked for him. And he was standing in the stone circle, the broach in his hand and the mist shimmering like the breath of ghosts above the grass.

His head came up when he heard her. She saw the surprise, the longing, before he pulled the shutter down—a talent she hadn’t known he possessed.

“I thought you might come here.” His voice wasn’t cool; that he couldn’t manage. “I was going to leave this for you. But since you’re here now, I’ll give it to you, then ask if you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

She took the broach, was no longer stunned or anxious when it seemed to vibrate in her palm. “I brought you something.” She held out the canvas, wrapped in heavy paper, but he made no move to take it. “You asked if I’d paint something for you. Something that reminded me of you, and I have.”

“As a going-away gift?” He took the canvas, but strode two paces away to tilt it, unopened, against a stone. “It won’t do, Shannon.”

“You might look at it.”

“They’ll be time for that when I’ve said what’s on my mind.”

“You’re angry, Murphy. I’d like to—”

“Damn right I’m angry. At both of us. Bloody fools. Just be quiet,” he ordered, “and let me say this in my own way. You were right about some things, and I was wrong about some. But I wasn’t wrong that we love each other, and are meant. I’ve thought on it most of the past two nights, and I see I’ve asked you for more than I’ve a right to. There’s another way that I didn’t consider, that I turned a blind eye to because it was easier than looking straight at it.”

“I’m been thinking, too.” She reached out, but he stepped back sharply.

“Will you wait a damn minute and let me finish? I’m going with you.”