He was only a pace away now, and waited, and watched. “What did you hear, Shannon?”

Her throat was dry; she cleared it. “Must have been a bird. It sounded like someone crying for a second.”

Murphy laid a hand on her hair, let it run through as he had before. “I’ve heard her. So have some others. Your sisters. Don’t stiffen up,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “Blood’s blood, and it’s useless to ignore it. She weeps here because she lost her lover. So the story goes.”

“It was a bird,” Shannon insisted.

“They were doomed, you see,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He was only a poor farmer, and she was the daughter of the landlord. But they met here, and loved here, and conceived a child here. So it’s said.”

She was cold again and, fighting back a shiver, spoke lightly. “A legend, Murphy? I’d expect there’d be plenty about a spot like this.”

“So there are. This one’s sad, as many are. He left her here to wait for him, so they could run off together. But they caught him, and killed him. And when her father found her the next day, she was as dead as her love, with tears still on her cheeks.”

“And now, of course, she haunts it.”

He smiled then, not at all insulted by the cynicism. “She loved him. She can only wait.” Murphy took her hands to warm them in his. “Gray thought of doing a murder here, but changed his mind. He told me it wasn’t a place for blood. So instead of being in his book, it’ll be on your canvas. It’s more fitting.”

“If I get to it.” She should have tugged her hands away, but it felt so good to have his around them. “I need more supplies if I decide to do any serious painting while I’m here. I should get back. I’m keeping you from your work, and Brianna’s probably holding breakfast for me.”

But he only looked at her, enjoying the way her hands felt in his, the way the air blushed color in her cheeks. Enjoyed as well the unsteady pulse he felt at her wrists, and the quick confusion in her eyes.

“I’m glad I found you sitting on my wall, Shannon Bodine. It’ll give me something to picture the rest of my day.”

Annoyed with the way her knees were melting, she stiffened them and cocked her head. “Murphy, are you flirting with me?”

“It seems I am.”

“That’s flattering, but I don’t really have time for it. And you’ve still got my hands.”

“So I do.” With his eyes on hers, he lifted them, pressed his lips to her knuckles. His smile was quick and disarming when he let her go. “Come walking with me again, Shannon.”

She stood a moment when he turned and stepped out of the dance. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she darted to one of the arches and watched him walk, with a whistle for the dog, over his field.