“I’ve nothing in particular. But I want a pint. You sticking with tea?” he asked with a nod of his head.

“For the moment.”

“I’ll just draw me one. There’s a bit of pudding left if you want.”

She didn’t really, but having a weakness for such things, she dug out a few spoonfuls for a bowl. She was sitting and settled when he came back in with a pint of Harp.

“Tim Riley says the weather will be turning milder by tomorrow.”

“He always seems to know.”

“But we’re in for wet before much longer,” Shawn added and sat across from her. “So, what’s on your mind, then?”

“Well, I’ll tell you.” She’d tried out a dozen different ways in her mind, and settled on the one that seemed best. “After you’d gone off this morning, I stopped off in your parlor to check your flue.”

It was a lie, of course, and she was prepared to confess it to her priest. But she’d be damned if she’d tell him she’d been playing with his music. Her pride was worth the penance.

“It’s drawing well.”

“Aye.” She agreed and added a shrug. “But such things bear checking now and then. In any case, when I turned ’round, there she was, right in the parlor doorway.”

“There who was?”

“Lady Gwen.”

“You saw her?” Shawn set the pint down with a click of glass on wood.

“As clear as I’m seeing you now. She was standing there, sort of smiling at me in a sad way, and . . .” She didn’t want to tell him what had been said, but felt obliged. It was one thing to tell a little lie and another to deceive.

“And what?”

The rare show of impatience from him had Brenna bristling. “I’m getting to it. And then she spoke to me.”

“She spoke to you?” He pushed back from the table, paced around the kitchen, so uncharacteristically agitated that Brenna found herself gawking at him.

“What’s crawled up your arse here, Shawn?”

“I’m the one who’s living there, aren’t I? Does she show herself to me? Speak to me? No, she doesn’t. She waits until you come along to fix the oven and fiddle with the flue, then there she is.”

“Well, it’s sorry I am to have been the one preferred by your ghost, but I didn’t ask for it, did I?” Brenna heaped her spoon with pudding and filled her mouth with it.

“All right, all right, don’t get testy on me.” Scowling, he dropped back into his chair. “What did she say to you?”

Keeping her face bland, Brenna stared through him while she ate her pudding. When Shawn rolled his eyes at her, she picked up her tea and took a dainty sip. “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me? Or is there someone else about that you’ve decided to snap at through no fault of her own?”

“I’m sorry.” He flashed her a smile because it almost always worked. “Will you tell me what she said?”