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Jude sat back and closed her eyes. She struck out there, didn’t she? Since she wasn’t beautiful or innocent, had no particular power or skill, it didn’t look like she was going to be whisked away into a fairy tale with a happy ending.
Not that she wanted to be. The mere idea of coming face-to-face with the inhabitants of a faerie hill or a sky castle, or a witch, wicked or otherwise, made her shaky.
Shaky enough, she admitted, to imagine jewels turning into flowers. Warily, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled the bright stone out to examine it yet again.
Just glass, she assured herself, beautifully faceted certainly, sparkling like sunlight. But glass.
It was one thing to accept that she was sharing the cottage with a three-hundred-year-old ghost. That had been leap enough. But she could reason that out as there had been studies on that particular phenomenon, documentation. Parapsychology wasn’t universally accepted, but some very reputable scientists and respected minds believed in the energy forms that laymen called ghosts.
So she could deal with that. She could rationalize what she had seen with her own eyes.
But elves and faeries and . . . whatever. No. Saying you wanted to believe and stating you did believe were two different matters. That was when the indulgence of it all stopped being harmless and became a psychosis.
There were no handsome faeries wandering the hills, visiting graveyards to hold philosophical discussions, then becoming annoyed with people who happened by.
And those nonexistent faeries didn’t go around tossing priceless jewels at strange American women.
Since logic didn’t seem to apply to the situation, she had to assume that her imagination, always a bit of a problem, had tipped out of control.
All she had to do was yank it back on track, do her work. It was very possible she’d had some sort of episode. A fugue state during which she’d incorporated various elements from her research. The fact that she felt almost ridiculously healthy didn’t enter into it. The stress of the past few years could have caught up with her, and while her body was fine, her mind could be suffering.
She should go to a good neurologist and have a full workup to rule out a physical problem.
And visit a reputable jeweler to have the diamond—the glass, she corrected herself—examined.
The first idea frightened her and the second depressed her, so she defied logic and put both notions on hold.
Just for a few days, she promised herself. She would do the responsible thing, but not quite yet.
All she wanted to do was work, to pour herself into the stories. And she would resist the urge to wander down to the pub, to spend the evening pretending not to watch Aidan Gallagher. She’d stay at home with her papers and notes, then drive into Dublin in a few days and find both jeweler and doctor.
She’d shop, buy books, do a bit of sight-seeing.
One solid evening of work, she told herself. After that, she would take a few days to explore the countryside and the cities, the villages and the hills. She’d take a logical step back from the stories she was gathering and studying, and that would help her with her own perspective before she went to Dublin.
At the knock on the front door her fingers fumbled on the keys of the computer. And her heart jumped. Aidan, was her first thought, and that alone irritated her. Of course it wasn’t Aidan, she told herself, even as she dashed to the mirror to check her hair. It was well after eight, and he’d be busy at the pub.
Still, when she hurried downstairs to answer, her heart was beating just a little fast. She opened the door and barely had time to blink.
“We brought food.” Brenna strolled in, a brown grocery sack propped on her hip. “Biscuits and crisps and chocolate.”
“And best of all, wine.” Darcy clinked the three bottles she carried as she casually booted the door closed behind her.
“Oh. Well. . .” Jude hadn’t taken Darcy seriously, hadn’t been able to think of a reason either she or Brenna would want to come over. But they were already heading toward the kitchen in a flurry of movement and chatter.
“Aidan tried to have me work another shift tonight to make up for walking out today. I told him to bugger it,” Darcy said cheerfully as she set the wine on the counter. “The man’d have me chained to the taps if I wasn’t fast on my feet. We’ll need a corkscrew.”
“There’s one in the—”
“Got it,” Brenna interrupted and simply shot a quick grin at Jude as she plucked it out of the drawer. “You should’ve seen the black looks Aidan sent us when we left the pub. ‘Why can’t you fetch her down and drink here,’ he wants to know, grumbling and muttering all the while.”
“Then he sees I’m taking three bottles,” Darcy continued, rooting out glasses while Brenna opened the wine. “And he’s blathering on about how Jude Frances doesn’t have much of a head for spirits and we’re not to get you sick. Like you were some puppy we were going to give too many table scraps to on the sly. Men are such pea-brains.”
“Now that’s a fine thing to drink to first off.” With a flourish, Brenna poured three glasses. “To the tiny brains of the male of the species,” she stated, thrusting a glass at Jude and lifting her own.
“Bless them every one,” Darcy added and drank. Then her eyes sparkled brilliantly at Jude, who’d done little more than stare. “Drink up, darling, then we’ll sit around and discuss the highs and lows of our sex lives just to get better acquainted.”
Jude took one long gulp, blew out a breath. “I won’t have a great deal to contribute to that area of discussion.”
Darcy laughed, a throaty sound of amusement. “Aidan’s after changing all that, now, isn’t he?”
Jude opened her mouth, shut it again, then decided the best thing to do with it was drink after all.
“Don’t tease her so, Darcy.” Brenna ripped open the bag of potato chips and dug in. Then winked. “We’ll get her drunk first, then pry it all out of her.”
“When she’s drunk I’m going to talk her into letting me try on all her clothes.”
They were talking so fast, Jude couldn’t keep up. “My clothes?”
“You’ve wonderful clothes.” Darcy dropped into a chair. “We’re not that far from coloring and size, so I’m thinking some may fit me well enough. What size shoe do you wear?”
“Shoe?” Jude looked down blankly at the half boots she wore. “Um, seven and a half, medium.”
“That’s American sizing, let me think. . .” Darcy shrugged, sipped. “Well, close enough, take those off and let me see how they work on me.”
“Take my shoes off?”
“Your shoes, Jude.” Darcy’s eyes twinkled as she slipped off her own. “A couple more drinks and we’ll try on the trousers.”
“You may as well,” Brenna advised around another mouthful of potato chips. “She’s a demon about clothes, our Darcy, and she’ll hound you to death about it.”
Feeling as mystified as she had by Maude’s graveside that afternoon, Jude sat and took off her shoes.
“Oh!” Darcy stroked the boot like an indulgent mother her child’s cheek. “They’re like butter, aren’t they?” She looked up, her face stunning and filled with sheer female delight. “This is going to be fun.”
“So he has it in his head that because I let him take me to dinner a time or two, and let him stick his tongue in my mouth, which was not nearly as exciting as he thought it was, that I’d be pleased and proud to strip naked and let him bounce on me. Sex is a fine pastime,” Darcy continued as she licked chocolate from her fingers. “But half the time or more, you’re better off just painting your nails and watching the telly.”
“Maybe it’s the men you let lap at you.” Brenna gestured with her wineglass. “They’re all so dazzled they end up fumbling. What you need, Darcy my girl, is a man who’s as bone-deep cynical and self-absorbed and vain as you are yourself.”
Jude choked on her wine, certain the insult would cause an argument, but Darcy merely smiled cra
ftily. “And when I find him, and providing he’s rich as Midas, I’ll wrap him tidily around this finger here.” She held up her right index finger. “And allow him to treat me like a queen.”
Brenna snorted, reached for more chips. “And the moment he does, he’ll bore you to tears. Darcy’s a perverse creature,” she told Jude. “That’s what we love about her. Now me, I’m a simple, straightforward sort. I’m after a man who’ll look me straight in the eye, see what and who I am . . .” She drank, snickered. “Then fall to his knees and promise me everything.”
“They never see what you are.” Shocked, Jude glanced around to see who’d spoken, then realized she had.
“Don’t they?” Brenna wanted to know, lifting her brow as she topped off Jude’s glass yet again.
“They see a reflection of their own perception. Whore or angel, mother or child. Depending on their view, they’re compelled to protect or conquer or exploit. Or you’re a convenience,” she murmured. “Easily discarded.”
“And you say I’m cynical,” Darcy said with a smirk for Brenna. “Have you been discarded then, Jude?”
There was a pleasant buzz in her blood, a lovely spin in her head. The logical part of her said it was the wine. But the heart of her, the needy heart, said it was the company. Girls. She’d never had a foolish girl night in her life.
She picked up a chip, examined it, nibbled, sighed. “Three years ago next June I was married.”
“Married?” Both Brenna and Darcy leaned closer.
“Seven months later, he came home and calmly told me he was very sorry, but he was in love with someone else. He thought it best for all parties involved if he moved out that night, and we filed for divorce immediately.”
“Why, the cad!” In sympathy, Brenna poured wine all around. “The bastard!”
“Not really. He was honest about it.”
“Fuck honesty. I hope you skinned him.” Darcy’s eyes sparkled with malice. “Hardly more than six months into marriage and he’s in love with someone else? The snake barely waited long enough to change the sheets on the marriage bed. What did you do about it?”
“Do?” Jude’s brows drew together. “I filed for divorce the next day.”
“And took him for everything he had.”
“No, of course not.” Sincerely shocked at the notion, she gaped at Darcy. “We just each took what was ours. It was very civilized.”
Because Darcy appeared to have been struck speechless, Brenna took up the torch. “If you’re asking me, civilized divorces are why there are so many bloody marriages that end in it. Me, I’d rather a good fight, screaming and broken crockery, fists flying. If I loved a man enough to vow to be part of him for life, I’d damn well make him pay in blood and flesh if he threw me over.”
“I didn’t love him.” The minute the words were out, Jude’s mouth dropped open. “I mean—I don’t know if I loved him. My God, that’s just awful, that’s horrible! I just realized it. I have no idea if I loved William at all.”
“Well, I say he was a bastard and you should have kicked his ass, then set it out for the dogs, love or not.” Darcy selected one of Mollie O’Toole’s homemade brownies and bit into it with gusto. “I promise you this—in fact, I take an oath on it here and now—whatever man I’m with, whenever I’m with him, it’ll be me who ends it. And if he should try to close it off before I’m ready, he’ll pay for it the rest of his days.”
