The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

himself for the possibility she would say no. He’d made up his mind that they would marry. She was the one. For him there would only ever be one.
    The sudden fury of the wind streamed through his hair, and the air stung with ozone from the next hurled spear of lightning. He stood in the midst of the oncoming storm struggling to clear his head.
    She just needed a bit more time and persuading. That was it. Had to be it, he thought as he rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. The ache in it was a new and panicky feeling he didn’t care for. She’d come around, of course she would. Any fool could see they needed to be together.
    He just had to make her see she’d be happy here, that he would take good care of her. That he wouldn’t let her down as she’d been let down before. She was just being cautious, that was all. He’d taken her by surprise, but now that she knew his intentions, she’d grow used to them. He’d see to it.
    A Gallagher didn’t retire the field at the first volley, he reminded himself. They stuck. And Jude Frances Murray was about to find out just how hard and how long a Gallagher could stick.
    Face set, he strode back to the house. If he’d glanced up, he might have seen the figure in the window above. The woman stood, her pale hair around her shoulders, and a single tear, bright as a diamond, sliding down her cheek.
    • • •
    Jude managed to get through the rest of the party. She laughed and she danced and she chatted. It took no effort to keep herself surrounded by people and avoid another confrontation with Aidan. It took more to nudge him out the door when people began to leave, to make smiling excuses to him about being exhausted. She needed to sleep, she told him.
    Of course she didn’t. The minute her house was empty, she rolled up her sleeves. She didn’t want to think, not yet, and the best way to avoid it was good, solid work.
    She gathered up plates and glasses from all over the house, then washed and dried and put away every one of them. It took hours, and her body was as exhausted as she’d claimed. But her mind refused to rest, so she continued to push herself, wiping, scrubbing, tidying.
    Once she thought she heard the sound of a woman’s weeping drift down the stairs, but she ignored it. The despair in it made her own eyes sting, and that wouldn’t do. Her own tears wouldn’t help Lady Gwen. They wouldn’t help anyone.
    She dragged furniture back into place, then hauled out the sweeper and vacuumed the floors. Her face was pale with fatigue, her eyes dark with it by the time she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
    But she hadn’t wept, and the sheer manual labor had burned off everything but a reeling physical exhaustion. Still fully dressed, she lay down on the bed, turned her face into the pillow, and willed herself to sleep.
    Dreaming of dancing with Aidan under the silver light of a magic moon with flowers sweeping out, colorful and gay as faeries, and the air charmed by their scents.
    Riding with him, on the broad back of a white winged horse, over glistening green fields, stormy seas, and placid lakes of impossible blue.
    This is what he offered her. She heard him tell her. This, a country that fascinates and calms. A home waiting to be built. A family waiting to be made.
    Take them, and me.
    But the answer was no, had to be no. It was not her country. Not her home. Not her family. Couldn’t be until there was strength in her, trust in them, love from him.
    Then she was alone in the dream, standing at the window while the rain washed the glass, because in all the promises he’d made, there had not been a single word of love.
    When she awoke, the sun was streaming bright, and the sound of the woman’s weeping was her own.
     
    Her mind was fuzzy from lack of sleep, and her body felt frail, as if she’d awakened old and ill. Self-pity, Jude thought, recognizing the symptoms all too well. Encroaching depression. After her marriage had been yanked out from under her feet, she’d fallen into that pattern for weeks.
    Restless nights, endless unhappy days, clouds of misery and embarrassment.
    Not this time, she promised herself. She was in control now, making her own decisions. And the first was not to wallow, not even for an hour.
    She gathered up flowers, tied a pretty ribbon around their stems, and with Finn and Betty for company set out on the walk to Maude’s grave.
    The storm that had threatened the night before had never struck. Though there