The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

you. I don’t know when it started, years ago or weeks. But I know my heart’s lost to you, and I wouldn’t have it another way. You’re what I want, all there is of you. Make a life with me. Marry me.”
    She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. The whole world was in his face. “My head hurts,” she managed.
    “God bless you.” With a half laugh, he took her hand, kissed it. “How could I not love such a woman?” He kept her hand firm in his as he took the ring from his pocket.
    The pearl gleamed like the moon, white and pure, in a simple band of gold. “A moon tear,” he told her, “given to me to give to you. I know you don’t wear rings as a rule.”
    “I—they—with the work they get caught and banged around.”
    “So I got a chain for it as well. You can wear it around your neck.”
    He would have thought of such a thing, she realized. Such a small and lovely detail. “I’m not working at the moment.”
    He slid it onto her finger, and her hand steadied under his.
    “I suppose it suits me, as you do. As the whole of you suits me. But you won’t make me cry.”
    “Yes, I will.” He touched his lips to her forehead, her temple. “I bought you land today.”
    “What?” Tears might have dazzled her vision, but she managed to step back. “What? Land? You bought land? Without a word to me, without me laying eyes on it?”
    “If you don’t like it, you can bury me in it.”
    “I might. You bought land,” she said again, but her voice had gone dreamy.
    “So you can build us a house, and the two of us can fill it into a home.”
    “Damn it. There you are, you’ve made me cry.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Just hold on a minute, I’m a mess.” With her face buried against his shoulder, she breathed him in. “I thought it was just a longing for you, and that would be enough for both of us. I do long for you, but it’s not enough and it’s not all. Oh, this is where I want to be. And I did chase you down, nothing will convince me otherwise.”
    She drew back enough to touch her lips to his. “I had it all worked out what I would say to you tonight, and now I can’t remember just how it was to go. Only that I love you, Shawn. I love you as you are. There’s nothing I’d change.”
    “That’s more than good enough. Will you come inside now? I’ll warm your supper.”
    “It’s the least you could do after you let it go cold.” She linked her fingers with his. “You won’t insist on a big, fancy wedding, will you?”
    “I don’t see how when I’ve a mind to have us wed as quick as can be managed.”
    “Ah.” She leaned against him. “I do love you, Shawn Gallagher. There’s one more thing,” she said as they walked toward the cottage. “Won’t you need a name for your song, the one Magee wants?”
    “It’s ‘renna’s Song,’ ” he told her. “It always was.”
     
     
     
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    HEART OF THE SEA
     
     
    The stunning conclusion in Nora Roberts’s
    all-new Irish trilogy of the Gallagher siblings
     
     
    Coming soon from Jove Books!
     
    T HE VILLAGE OF Ardmore sat snug on the south coast of Ireland, in the county of Waterford, with the Celtic Sea spread out at its feet. The stone seawall curved around, following the skirt of the gold sand beach.
    It boasted in its vicinity a pretty jut of cliffs upholstered with wild grass, and a hotel that clung to them. If one had a mind to, it was a pleasant if hearty walk on a narrow path around the headland, and at the top of the first hill were the ruins of the oratory and well of Saint Declan.
    The view was worth the climb, with sky and sea and village spread out below. This was holy ground, and though dead were buried there, only one grave had its stone marked.
    The village itself claimed neat streets and painted cottages, some with the traditional thatched roofs, and a number of steep hills as well. Flowers grew in abundance, spilling out of window boxes, baskets and potsand from the dooryards. It made a charming picture from above or below, and the villagers were proud to have won the Tidy Town award two years running.
    Atop Tower Hill was a fine example of a round tower, with its conical top still in place, and the ruins of the twelfth-century cathedral built in the honor of Saint Declan. Folks would tell you, in case you wondered, that Declan arrived thirty years before good Saint Patrick.
    Not that they were bragging, but just letting you know how things