“Alice, darling, Ma’s calling. Go on now.”

Mary Kate gave her hair one more toss. “I’m coming with you, Alice Mae.”

“No, you’re not,” Brenna corrected and stepped in front of the doorway. “You’ll have to make a later Mass.”

“I don’t have to do anything you say.”

“You can come with me and have this out away from the house, as I’ve promised Ma there’d be no fighting in it. Or you can sulk day and night like a child. If you want to be a woman, Mary Kate, I’ll be in my lorry waiting.”

It took less than five minutes for Mary Kate to saunter out of the house and climb into the lorry. She’d added lipstick, Brenna noted as she zoomed out into the road. She couldn’t understand why so many females saw paint as a kind of shield or weapon.

Then again, she knew her ancestors had painted themselves blue before screaming into battle.

As she figured it as neutral turf, or if anything leaned a bit toward Mary Kate’s side, she drove to the cliff hotel and parked. She got out and began to walk, knowing her sister would follow.

“And where are you going?” Mary Kate demanded. “Somewhere you can toss me off a cliff?”

“Somewhere I think the both of us will respect enough not to start pulling hair or punching.”

They followed the path, crossing the cliffs, where the air still had a bite. It seemed winter wasn’t quite ready to surrender to spring. But there were wildflowers beginning to show their faces and tuneful birds that sang out as high and loud as the crying gulls.

She passed the ruin of the cathedral once built in the name of Saint Declan and moved beyond his well, beyond the three stone crosses, toward the ground that held the dead and their markers.

“This is holy ground,” Brenna began. “And I’m standing on it when I tell you I wronged you. You’re my sister, my blood, and I didn’t consider your feelings, not as I should have. I’m sorry for it.”

It threw Mary Kate off, and that alone was enough to stir her temper again. “Do you think that makes up for it?”

“I’m thinking it’s all I can say.”

“Are you giving him up?”

“I thought I would,” Brenna said slowly. “That was part pride. ‘I’ll give him up for her,’ I thought. ‘Then she’ll see how I’d sacrifice to keep her happy.’ The other part was guilt that I’d done something to hurt you, and ending things with Shawn would be my penance for it.”

“I’d think you’d have more guilt than pride in the way you’ve behaved.”

Temper flashed once, a bright warning in her eyes. Then Brenna snuffed it. She knew her sister, and she knew just how clever Mary Kate could be in inciting anger to overpower her opponent’s reason.

“I’ve no guilt over what’s been between myself and Shawn, but only that what is between us has hurt and embarrassed you.” The cool delivery only added impact to the words. “And for that I was prepared to turn from him, as a lover, and perhaps as a friend as well. Then, reconsidering, it seemed to me that doing that would be something akin to giving in to a child’s tantrum, and that’s hardly treating you or your feelings with respect.”