"I was afraid you'd have finished packing." She saw his suitcase open on the bed, nearly full, and her fingers tightened on the sweater she carried.
"I was going to come down and talk to you." Braced for it, he turned to her, wishing he could read her face. But she'd found a way to close it off from him. "I thought I could make Dublin tonight."
"It's a long drive, bu
t you'll have light for a while yet."
"Brianna-"
"I wanted to give you this," she said quickly. Please, she wanted to beg, no excuses, no apologies. "I made it for you."
He looked down at her hands. He remembered the dark green wool, how she'd been knitting with it the night he'd come into her room late and picked a fight with her. The way it had spilled over the white of her nightgown.
"You made it for me?"
"Yes. A sweater. You might find use for it in the fall and winter." She moved toward him, holding it up to measure. "I added to the length of the sleeves. You're long in the arm."
His already unsteady heart shifted as he touched it. In the whole of his life, no one had ever made him anything. "I don't know what to say."
"Whenever you gave me a gift, you'd always tell me to say thank you."
"So I did." He took it, felt the softness and warmth on the palms of his hands. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Do you need some help with your packing?" Without waiting for an answer, she took the sweater back and folded it neatly into his suitcase. "You've more experience with it, I know, but you must find it tedious."
"Please don't." He laid a hand on her shoulder, but when she didn't look up, dropped it again. "You've every right to be upset."
"No, I don't. And I'm not. You made no promises, Gray-son, so you've broken none. That's important to you, I know. Have you checked the drawers? You'd be amazed at what people forget."
"I have to go, Brianna."
"I know." To keep her hands busy, she opened the dresser drawers herself, painfully distressed to find them indeed empty.
"I can't stay here. The longer I do now, the harder it is. And I can't give you what you need. Or think you need."
"Next you'll be telling me you've the soul of a gypsy, and there's no need for that. I know it." She closed the last drawer and turned around again. "I'm sorry for saying what I did earlier. I don't want you to go remembering hard words between us, when there was so much more."
Her hands were folded again, her badge of control. "Would you like me to pack you some food for the trip, or a thermos of tea perhaps?"
"Stop being the gracious hostess. For Christ's sake, I'm leaving you. I'm walking out."
"You're going," she returned in a cool and steady voice, "as you always said you would. It might be easier on your conscience if I wept and wailed and made a scene, but it doesn't suit me."
"So that's that." He tossed some socks into the case.
"You've made your choice, and I wish you nothing but happiness. You're welcome back, of course, if you travel this way again."
His gaze cut to hers as he snapped the case closed. "I'll let you know."
"I'll help you down with your things."
She reached for his duffel, but he grabbed it first. "I carried them in. I'll carry them out."
"As you please." Then she cut out his heart by coming to him and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Keep well, Gray-son."
"Goodbye, Brie." They went down the steps together. He said nothing more until they'd reached the front door. "I won't forget you."
"I hope not."
She walked part way with him to the car, then stopped on the garden path, waiting while he loaded his bag, climbed behind the wheel. She smiled, lifted her hand in a wave, then walked back into the cottage without looking back.
An hour later she was alone in the parlor with her mending basket. She heard the laughter through the windows and closed her eyes briefly. When Maggie came in with Rogan and the baby, she was nipping a thread and smiling.
"Well, now, you're out late tonight."
"Liam was restless." Maggie sat, lifting her arms so Rogan could pass the baby to her. "We thought he'd like some company. And here's a picture, the mistress of the house in the parlor mending."
"I'm behind in it. Would you like a drink? Rogan?"
"I wouldn't turn one down." He moved toward the decanter. "Maggie?"
"Aye, a little whiskey would go down well."
"And Brie?"
"Thank you. I think I will." She threaded a needle, knotted the end. "Is your work going well, Maggie?"
"It's wonderful to be back at it. Yes, it is." She planted a noisy kiss on Liam's mouth. "I finished a piece today. It was Gray talking about those ruins he's so fond of that gave me the notion for it. Turned out well I think."
She took the glass Rogan handed her, lifted hers. "Well, here's to a restful night." "I'll give you no argument there," her husband said with fervor and drank.
"Liam doesn't think the hours between two and five A.M. should be for sleeping." With a laugh Maggie shifted the baby onto her shoulder. "We wanted to tell you, Brie, the detective's tracking Amanda Dougherty to-where is that place,