The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

sunk, young Gallagher.” Carrick sent another star over the water. “You’ve not quite resigned yourself to having your head under, but there you are. Mortals, why is it that half the time they’d rather suffer than dance?”
    This time when he flicked his wrist he held a crystal, smooth and clear as a pool of water. Passing his hand over it, he watched the image swimming inside. Fair of face, she was, with eyes soft and green as freshly dewed grass and hair pale as winter sunlight.
    “I miss you, Gwen.” Holding the glass to his heart, he called for the white horse to ride the sky, as he did night by night. Alone.
    •  •  •
    The house was empty when he got back, and that’s what he’d expected. It was, he told himself, what he wanted. The solitude. She’d put the food away, and that surprised him. Knowing her temper, he’d expected to find she’d hurled pot and pan or whatever else around the room.
    But the kitchen was tidy as a church, with only the faint scent of candle wax clinging to the air. Since it made him feel churlish to find it so, he got himself a beer and took it into the parlor.
    He hadn’t intended to play, but to sit by the cold fire and brood. But by God if he was going to have an evening off shoved down his throat, he’d spend it doing something that pleased him.
    He sat, laid his fingers on the keys, and played for his own pleasure.
    It was the song he’d given her that Brenna heard when she walked back toward the garden gate. Her first reaction was relief that she’d found him. The second was misery, as the song was salt in a fresh wound.
    But it was a misery that had to be faced. She put her hand on the gate. And it held fast against her. She shoved it, yanked at the latch, then stepped back in shocked panic when it refused to open.
    “Oh.” A sob rose in her throat. “Oh, Shawn. Have you closed me out then?”
    The music stopped. In the silence she fought back the tears. She wouldn’t face him with them. But when the door opened, she hugged her arms hard, digging her fingers in to keep those tears at bay.
    He thought he’d heard her call, a teary whisper in his mind. He’d known she was out there, whether it was sense or magic, didn’t matter. She was there, standing under the spill of moonlight. Her eyes were wet, her chin was up.
    “Are you coming in, then?”
    “I can’t . . .” The weeping tried to get the better of her, and she ruthlessly battled it back. “I can’t open the gate.”
    Baffled, he started down the path, but she leaped forward, gripped the top of the gate in her hands. “No, I’ll stay on this side. It’s probably best. I went looking for you, then I figured, well, you’d come back here sooner or later. I, ah, I had to think it through awhile, and maybe I don’t do that often enough. I . . .”
    Was he ever going to speak? she thought desperately. Or would he just stand there looking at her with eyes shielded so she couldn’t see into him?
    “I’m sorry, I’m so truly sorry, Shawn, for doing something that upset you. I didn’t do it with that in mind, you have to know. But some of what you said before is true. And I’m sorry for that as well. Oh, I don’t know how to do this.” Frustration rang in her voice as she turned her back on him.
    “What is it you’re doing, Brenna?”
    She stared straight ahead, into the dark. “I’m asking you not to cast me off for making a mistake, even a big one like this. To give me another chance. And if there can’t be anything else between us now, that you won’t stop being my friend.”
    He would have opened the gate to her then, but thought better of it. “I gave you my word on the friendship, as you gave me yours. I’ll not break it.”
    She pressed a hand to her lips, held it there until she thought she could speak again. “You mean so much to me. I have to clear this between us.” Steadying herself, she turned around. “Some of what you said was true, but some was wrong. Some of the most important parts were wrong.”
    “And you’ll tell me which was which?”
    She flinched at the icy sarcasm, but couldn’t find enough of her temper to scrape together for a retort. “You know how to aim and shoot as well as any,” she said quietly. “And it’s all the more effective as you do it so rarely.”
    “All right, I’m sorry for that.” He had to be, as he’d never seen her look quite so wounded. “I’m angry still.”
    “I’m pushy.” She drew a breath in, let it out,