“As good as any, I suppose. But thank you.” He had a feeling she’d just excused more than adolescent intellectual blathering. “Now, would you care to tell me why we’re here? To reminisce?”
“No, actually. I thought I would come look for the bloc na nollag.”
She hadn’t planned on choosing a Christmas log so soon. Something in his face, however, as he’d faced her over the dining table, had put the idea in her head. Gareth needed to be out of the house. That hadn’t changed. Beyond that, he needed to see the estate again. Altogether too soon, it might be his. Best to start with the good memories, and the woods were the best place to start.
“There.” She pointed to a fallen branch. “How about that one?”
He guided her over, snorted at her choice. “Too small. It needs to fill the hall hearth.”
“Very well, then. That one.”
Too thin, too lumpy, too rotted. They tromped over the mossy earth, surveying log after log. Any number would have done, but they had slipped back into the amicable bickering of years past. As Gareth rolled his eyes at yet one more of her choices, Alice smiled to herself. Then laughed scornfully at his.
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps he would stay. Perhaps. And perhaps they would be friends again.
“There! That is our log.” Gareth removed her hand from his arm, lifted her by both elbows, and swung her to face a massive, craggy beast of a log. It was nearly as tall as the fireplace and easily twice as wide. Alice told him so. “We’ll cut it to fit,” he announced. “Now tell me it’s perfect.”
“It’s perfect.”
Nodding in satisfaction, Gareth drew a handkerchief from his pocket and, with a flourish, spread it over the top of the log. Then he lifted her again and settled her on the makeshift seat. Alice regarded her feet, dangling a good foot from the ground, and laughed.
“I must look like a little girl!”
He stepped back, stared at her. “You look,” he said eventually, voice low, “like a wood elf among the greenery.”
Her pulse skittered. “Gareth—”
“Yes, yes, I know. You dislike being called an elf.”
True, she always had. Until now. And he so obviously hadn’t meant anything by it. Certainly hadn’t meant to . . . unsettle her. She slid down from her perch and handed him his handkerchief.
“I’ll send some boys out to fetch this.” She patted the log, then dusted her hands briskly on her skirts. “I should be getting back. There’s so much to do. The gift baskets, menus, gifts . . .”
Gareth stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “You’ve taken on too much, you know.”
“It’s Christmas. Someone has to manage things.”
She hadn’t meant to sound as sharp as she did. He’d rattled her. And she, apparently, had just needled him.
“It isn’t me, Alice,” he said shortly.
“Not yet, perhaps. But the estate, the title—”
“Arthur’s. Arthur’s baby’s. I don’t want it. Any of it. I never did.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But you might not have a choice.”
For a moment he looked ready to yell. Then, slowly, his lip uncurled, his shoulders relaxed. “Don’t prod me, Alice. And don’t try to bolster me into some noble resignation. You’ll only be wasting your time and your breath.”
“Fine.” For a moment she wanted to yell. “Fine.” She sighed instead and managed a smile. “Shall we go home?”
She thought she heard him mutter something about home, but took his advice and neither prodded nor commiserated. She took his arm, warm and corded with muscle beneath her hand, and started back toward the house. In the distance, she could see a farm wagon wending its way toward Kilcullen village.
“Tell me something,” Gareth commanded as they went.
“If I can.”
“Why was your grandfather in Tommy Sullivan’s field last night?”
She had expected him to ask sooner or later. She debated lying, but couldn’t see why.
“He was dueling.”
“What?”
“Dueling. Or at least pretending. He and Thaddeus O’Neill try to blast at each other at every opportunity.”
“Good Lord, why?”
Alice shrugged. “I’ve never been entirely clear on the matter, but it has something to do with an argument they had. Forty-three years ago. Or was it forty-four?” She smiled at his incredulous expression. “Yes, well, they both consider it an enduring matter of honor.” And pleasure, she thought. Both entertaining and serious enough to have them sneaking about like brigands on their illegal ventures.