Born in Shame (27 page)

She turned back. “That leaves one last thing by my calculation. I'm back in New York, boosting myself up the next rung on that ladder, and I'm alone while the man who loves me is three thousand miles away.” She lifted her hands. “There doesn't seem to be any contest. I'm giving up nothing, because there's nothing there. That's the bright flash I had last night. There's nothing there I want, or need, or love. It's all right here, right here with you.

“But you had to jump right in, didn't you?” she tossed out when he would have stepped forward. “Now I'll never be able to throw in your face during an argument what I've done for you. Because I'm not doing anything, and I know it. And you would have done everything.”

He wasn't sure he could speak, and when he did it was only one unsteady sentence. “You're staying with me.”

She circled over to where he'd balanced the painting. With impatient rips, she tore the protective paper aside. “Look at this and tell me what you see.”

A man and a woman on a white horse, their faces as familiar to him as his own, in a land washed with light. The stone circle in the background with two of the cross
stones that had fallen still in place. The copper brooch clipped to a swirling cape.

But what he saw most was that while the man held the horse from bolting with one hand, his other held the woman close. And she him.

“They're together.”

“I didn't mean to paint them that way. He was supposed to be riding away, as he did, leaving her when she begged him to stay. When she pleaded and cast aside every iota of pride and wept.”

Shannon took a careful breath and finished telling him what she had seen in her mind, and her heart, when she'd painted.

“He left her because he was a soldier, and his life was battles. I imagine wars demand to be tended, just as the land does. He wanted to marry her, but he wouldn't stay, and she needed him to stay more than she needed marriage, though she knew she was carrying his child.”

Murphy's gaze shot up, arrested on her face. “His child.”

“She never told him. It may have made the difference, but she never told him. She wanted him to stay for her, to put his sword aside because he loved her more than what he was. When he wouldn't, they fought, here. Right here. And said things to each other to wound because each was wounded. He gave her back the broach in anger, not in memory as the legend suggests, and rode away from her. Always believing she'd wait. She cursed him as he left him, and shouted out that he'd never have peace, anymore than she, he'd never have it until he loved her enough to give up everything else.”

Shannon pressed the broach into his palm, kept hers over it. “She saw, in the fire when he fell in battle, when he bled and died. And she delivered his child alone.
She's been waiting, endlessly, for him to love her enough.”

“I've wondered for a long time, tried to see it, and never could.”

“Knowing the answers spoils the magic.” She set the canvas aside so it would no longer be between them. “They're together now. I want to stay, Murphy. Not her choice, not my mother's. Mine. I want to make a life here with you. I swear I love you enough.”

He took her hand, brought it fiercely to his lips. “Will you let me court you, Shannon?”

“No.” It came out on a broken laugh. “But I'll let you marry me, Murphy.”

“I can settle for that.” He pulled her against him, buried his face in her hair. “You're the one, Shannon. You're the only one for me.”

“I know.” Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his heart. It beat there, strong and steady, as he was. Love, she thought, closed every circle. “Let's go home, Murphy,” she murmured. “I'll cook you breakfast.”