"Have things been that difficult?"

A slight frown marred her brow, as if she'd given away too much. " Tisnothing I can't handle on me own."

Nicholas studied her for a moment, wanting answers to the questionsplaguing him, like why she had run off. A particularly ugly thought reared itshead again.

Could he have hurt her when they'd made love?

Snippets came to him, glimpses of them together in unbridled passion. Dreamor reality?

Either way, the desire he felt was entirely real.

He opened his mouth, but an excited shriek from the top of the stairshalted him.

"Sheridan!"

Sheridan's eyes widened, a jubilant gleam making them sparkle. "Jules?" Shewhipped around. "Jules!"

Hoisting her skirt above her ankles, Sheridan flew up the stairs andwrapped her arms around her friend, hugging her close, allowing the joy she'dput on hold for more than two weeks to pour forth.

Jules stepped back, her face glowing with the same happiness reflected onSheridan's face. "Oh, Danny! It's so good to see you. How I've missed you!"Jules gave her another quick hug.

"I've missed ye as well."

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

Sheridan nibbled the inside of her lip, wondering how much to reveal to herfriend. Telling Jules the details of her delay meant inevitably impartingsomething about Nicholas's rescuing her, and that might lead to otherthings--things Sheridan was not prepared to discuss.

An odd way to think, considering she and Jules had shared everything at onetime. Seeing her friend reminded Sheridan of the conversations they'd hadabout their families. Sheridan suddenly recalled a few tidbits Jules hadimparted about Cousin Nicky, as she called him.

Jules had said he was a handsome devil--sensitive, sweet, and charming. ToSheridan's ears, he had sounded too good to be true, a character straight outof a fairy tale or a white knight from the days of yore.

But what stood out the most in Sheridan's mind was Jules' s claim that her cousin had changeable eyes that shifted from jade to emerald and all shades inbetween.

Sheridan had assumed her friend waxed fanciful. Yet Jules hadn't exaggerated. Nicholas Sinclair did have shade-shifting green eyes, and anunequalled perfection of face and form--and his smile could charm the bark offtrees.

Sweet and sensitive, however, was clearly Jules's love for her familyspeaking.

Sheridan cast a quick glance at Nicholas, trying to ignore howdevastatingly handsome he was, the way the morning sun shining through therectangular window in the vestibule streaked his hair with gold. His eyesglistened like gems, and the look he gave her made her heart skip a beat nomatter how hard she tried to harden herself to its effect.

Returning her gaze to Jules, Sheridan smiled. "I'm sorry I worried ye. Tisa long story, and I want to hear about this first." She patted her friend'sstomach, wondering if ever the day would come when she, too, would be amother. "Ye never told me ye were expectin'."

Jules's eyes held secret delight. "So many times I wanted to tell you, butI kept hoping you'd be able to visit so I could surprise you."

" Tis a joyous surprise."

Enraptured, Nicholas watched a wistful smile cross Sheridan's face, makinghim wonder how she felt about children. Did she want to have any? If so, wouldshe prefer a boy with whom she could climb trees or a little girl to dress up?Did she fancy two children or ten?

He pictured her with two little cherub-cheeked urchins hanging on herskirts, gazing up at her with love and adoration. The thought never crossedhis mind that she might not want children. She was too full of life not toshare such a gift.

For himself, he wanted a brood, strong sons and sweet-faced daughters. Hewanted to be the kind of parent his parents never were.

A beautiful, awe-filled expression spread across Sheridan's face. "The weelassie is kickin' her knickers up like she's tappin' an Irish jig."

Jules's belly jiggled like old Saint Nick's. "And how do you know it's anIrish jig? Why not a nice English two-step or a Scottish reel?"

"Bite yer tongue!" Sheridan scolded. "Scottish reel, indeed. 'Tis toostrong a kick this babe has to be doin' anythin' other than a lively jig."

Nicholas sat down on the step and wondered how this woodland sprite madewhatever emotion he experienced ten times stronger--anger, joy. Desire.

"And how do you know it's a wee lassie?" he asked.

Her smile turned saucy. " 'Tis easy. This babe has too much spirit to be aman."

Nicholas quirked a brow. "Too much spirit?"

"Aye."

"And men don't possess spirit?"

Sheridan's expression became contemplative, her eyes probing, as if theanswer to her question resided inside of him. "Some do, but 'tis a rare fewthat possess the soul of a lion and the heart of a saint."

The soul of a lion. Nicholas turned the words over in his mind and wondered about her remarks regarding the soul--a part of him he'd never given muchconsideration.

"Besides," Sheridan added "me mum says I have the gift."

"The gift?" Jules inquired.

Nicholas noticed how content and calm his cousin looked. Something aboutSheridan Delaney soothed the troubled spirit, his included.

"Aye. She says when I lay my hands on people I see things."

"See things? Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. 'Tis different for each person, but mostly 'tis afeelin' inside me. Then there are times when I feel nothin' a'tall. Can be a vexin' and fickle thing." She sighed. " 'Tis just a shame I can't see my ownlife. Perhaps 'twould be less trouble I'd be findin' m'self in." She appeared so disgruntled, Nicholas was hard-pressed not to laugh.

The deep, abiding friendship between the two women was clearly evident. Nomatter her other faults, Sheridan was a true and loyal friend to Jules, andNicholas suspected she behaved similarly with everyone she cared about.

It struck him then that he wanted to be her friend as well, something he'dnever considered in relation to a woman.

To him, women were for enjoyment, keeping a man's home, and bearing hischildren. He gave them the respect due, placed them on a pedestal for the mostpart, but never shared himself with them.

But Sheridan was different. Nicholas sensed he couldn't reach that elusive place inside her without knowing her. She wouldn't give herself up easily. Yetthe twinge of hurt he'd glimpsed in her eyes when she looked at him made himwonder if he hadn't already lost his chance.

Fascinated, he watched Sheridan sink to her knees in front of Jules andplace both her hands on the swell of Jules's stomach.

Jules's bemused gaze swung to Nicholas and then down at Sheridan's head."What are you doing, Danny?"

"I must tell the wee one a story."

"A story?"

"Aye." She nodded. "Me mum started her storytellin' when me brothers andsisters were still inside her belly." Her face took on a faraway expression."Every night as the sun was setting, she'd sit in her rockin' chair, me Da inhis, in front of our cottage and gaze across the water.

"There, out in the middle of the briny blue, in a spot she called the glasslake because of its utter calmness, rose an island out of mist and magic.Legend says only the true of heart can see Tier na Nog."

"Tier na Nog?" Nicholas asked, in thrall to a pixie lass with the face ofan angel and the heart of a warrior.

" 'Tis the land of eternal youth, a special place where all dreams, nomatter how fanciful, can come true."

"How lovely," Jules murmured.

"Aye, 'tis." Sheridan's voice held a wistful note. "But for me, Tier na Nogexists wherever belief exists." She paused. "Do ye believe, Jules Thornton?"

"I do."

Sheridan turned those incredible eyes Nicholas's way. "And ye, NicholasSinclair? Do ye believe?"

Nicholas stopped himself from climbing the rest of the stairs and takingthis enchantress in his arms. "I do, Danny Delaney."

Sheridan gifted him with a smile that lit her whole face and sappedNicholas's breath. Then she bestowed that smile upon her friend. " 'Tis aDelaney tradition to tell the story and pass it on through the family."

"But I'm not a Delaney."

Sheridan clasped Jules' s hand in hers. "Ye are the sister of my heart. Yepossess the true spirit of a Delaney, and I want to share this with ye."

Jules smiled gently and squeezed Sheridan's hand. "Then go on," shemurmured, emotions filling her voice. "Tell us the story."

Nicholas had climbed six more steps before he realized what he was doingand stopped. The words that flowed from Sheridan's mouth entranced him.

"Once upon a time, ever so long ago," she began in a melodious voice,"before the days of Saint Patrick and King Bora, lived two opposin' factions,the leprechauns of the south of Ireland and the pookas of the north.

"The pookas, ye see, were given to makin' mischief. The leprechauns were noangels either, mind ye. They loved to play practical jokes and enjoyed acertain advantage over the pookas. In the twinklin' of an Irish eye, theycould wish themselves anywhere, any time.

"Well, one day, Paeder Og, king of the pookas, weary of the constantwarrin' between the spirit forces, challenged Rory, king of the leprechauns,to a battle. The winner would be the king of both the leprechauns and thepookas. 'Twas quite a nice deal, ye see, and who could resist?"

Resistance was the last thing on Nicholas's mind. What about this girl made him forget his plans for the future and believe a place such as her mysticalTier na Nog existed?

"Oh, but Paeder Og was a sly one," Sheridan continued, with the skill of atrue bard, "and made Rory promise not to do his disappearin' tricks. King Rorywas quick to accept the challenge, confident he'd beat the livin' bejabbersout of his foe ..." She paused, and the breath held suspended in Nicholas'sthroat.

Well? he wanted to shout. What happened between Paeder Og and King Rory?

Moreover, could he convince Sheridan to tell him a bedtime story?

With her mouth close to Jules's stomach, Sheridan said, "Tonight, me weelassie, I'll tell ye the rest of the tale. And 'tis quite a tale indeed, fullof daring-do and fair maidens in distress."

Nicholas figured her story bypassed the poor males who were bedeviled bygamine-faced females and the length of hemp with which said males hungthemselves.

Jules bent forward and placed her hands beneath Sheridan's elbows, raisingher from her knees. "You haven't changed a bit, Danny. Still an original pieceof work." In a conspiratorial whisper that carried, she added, "Although youhave filled out quite nicely. Someday soon you'll be telling stories to yourown child."

That remark brought heat to Sheridan's cheeks that was beyond charming toNicholas. She darted a glance at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow, hisexpression saying, I would be honored. Could we get started now?

Her expression said, Not if your life depended on it -- the abbreviatedversion, excluding the epithets of both American and Irish extraction her eyesflung at him.

He sighed. Where were those magical sunflower seeds when he needed them?

Jules chuckled. "Oh, don't mind him, Danny. Just treat him like another oneof the girls."

Nicholas scowled at his cousin. "Now wait a blasted minute!"

Jules's face had minx written all over it. "Don't forget, dear cousin, youtold me you'd be containing yourself," she said with a chuckle, reminding himof the words he'd innocently spoken to her weeks earlier--before he'd knownwhat he was getting into.

Or with whom.

Nicholas was about to take issue with his cousin when a hackneyed voicethat cracked in varying degrees and sounded like the warbling of a biliousturkey rang out in song.

When St. Patrick this order established, He called us the "Monks of the Screw,"

Good rules he revealed to our abbot To guide us in what we should do.

But first he replenished our fountain With liquor, the best from on high; An' he said, on the wor-rd of a saint, That the fountain should never run dry.

With a sinking sense that the day was going to be a long one, Nicholasclimbed the rest of the stairs. Coming down the hallway was UncleFinny--otherwise known as Maeve, Queen of Connaught.

In one hand, he held a pewter candelabra.

In the other, Nicholas's favorite sword.

*Chapter Twelve*

"Halt!" the old man bellowed, thrusting the sword in front of him. "Whogoes there?"

An embarrassed blush stained Sheridan's cheeks. "Uncle! What are ye doing?Put that sword down right now!"

"Come to me, child. I'll save ye."

"Oh, uncle. I don't need to be saved." She moved toward him. "Now, please,give me that sword before ye injure yerself."

Nicholas placed a hand on Sheridan's arm, stopping her. "Let me do it. Idon't want you to get hurt."

Chivalry was not dead, he thought, but clearly she wished him that unhappyfate if the scowl on her face was any indication.

She sunk her hands onto her hips. "Faith, and yer thinkin' me own unclewould do me harm now?"