Intrigued despite herself, she glanced down at his busy fingers. “Then I’m to think the Irish are carefree and quick on their feet.”

“One tune doesn’t tell the whole tale.” Though the child was dozing now in his lap, he played on, shifting to something so suddenly sad, so suddenly soft, Shannon blinked.

Something in her own heart broke a little as Brianna began to quietly sing the lyrics. Others joined in, telling the tale of a soldier brave and doomed, dying a martyr for his country, named James Connolly.

When he’d finished, Rogan took the sleeping boy into his own lap, and Murphy reached for his beer. “It’s not all ‘MacNamarra’s Band,’ is it?”

She’d been touched, deeply, and wasn’t sure she wanted to be. “It’s an odd culture that writes lovely songs about an execution.”

“We don’t forget our heros,” Maggie said with a snap in her voice. “Isn’t it true that in your country they have tourist attractions on fields of battle? Your Gettysburg and such?”

Shannon eyed Maggie coolly, nodded. “Touché.”

“And most of us like to pretend we’d have fought for the South,” Gray put in.

“For slavery.” Maggie sneered. “We know more about slavery than you could begin to imagine.”

“Not for slavery.” Pleased a debate was in the offing, Gray shifted toward her. “For a way of life.”

“That should keep them happy,” Rogan murmured as his wife and brother-in-law dived into the argument. “Is there anything you’d particularly like to do or see while you’re here, Shannon? We’d be pleased to arrange things for you.”

His accent was different, she noted. Subtly different, smoother, with a hint of what she would have termed prep school. “I suppose I should see the usual tourist things. And I don’t suppose I could go back without seeing at least one ruin.”

“Gray’s put one nearby in his next book,” Murphy commented.

“He did, yes.” Brianna glanced behind her, trying not to fret because Diedre had yet to return the baby. “He did a nasty murder there. I’m just going to go back and see how Kayla’s fairing. Would you have another pint, Murphy?”

“I wouldn’t mind. Thanks.”

“Shannon?”

With some surprise, Shannon noted her glass was empty. “Yes, I suppose.”

“I’ll get the drinks.” After passing Liam to his wife, Rogan rose, giving Brianna a pat on the cheek. “Go fuss with the baby.”

“Do you know this one?” Murphy asked as he began to play again.

It only took her a moment. “ ‘Scarborough Fair’.” It meant Simon and Garfunkel to her, on the oldies station on the radio.

“Do you sing, Shannon?”

“As much as anyone who has a shower and a radio.” Fascinated, she bent her head closer. “How do you know which buttons to push?”

“First you have to know what song you’ve a mind to play. Here.”

“No, I—” But he had already slipped an arm around her and was drawing her hands under the straps beneath his.

“You have to get the feel of it first.” He guided her fingers to the buttons, pressed down gently as he opened the bellows. The chord that rang out was long and pure and made her laugh.