Her brow furrowed as she looked over the hills. She couldn’t begin to estimate the acreage or figure the boundaries. “It seems like a lot of land.”

“It’s enough.” He came to a wall, stepped easily over it, then, to Shannon’s surprise, he simply put his hands at her waist and lifted her over as if she’d weighed nothing. “Here’s what I wanted to show you.”

She was still dealing with the shock of how strong he was when she looked over and saw the stone circle. Her first reaction wasn’t surprise or awe or pleasure. It was simple acceptance.

It would occur to her later that she hadn’t been surprised because she’d known it was there. She’d seen it in her dreams.

“How wonderful.” The pleasure did come, and quickly now. Tilting her head over her eyes to block the angle of the sun she studied it, as an artist would, for shape and texture and tone.

It wasn’t large, and several of the stones that had served as lintels had fallen. But the circle stood, majestic and somehow magically in a quiet field of green where horses grazed in the distance.

“I’ve never seen one, except in pictures.” Hardly aware that she’d linked her fingers with Murphy and was pulling him with her, she hurried closer. “There are all sorts of legends and theories about standing stones, aren’t there? Spaceships or druids, giants freezing or fairies dancing. Do you know how old it is?”

“Old as the fairies, I’d say.”

That made her laugh. “I wonder if they were places of worship, or sacrifice.” The idea made her shudder, pleasantly, as she reached out a hand to touch the stone.

Just as her fingers brushed, she drew them back sharply, and stared. There’d been heat there, too much heat for such a cool morning.

Murphy never took his eyes off her. “It’s an odd thing, isn’t it, to feel it?”

“I—for a minute it was like I touched something breathing.” Feeling foolish, she laid a hand firmly on the stone. There was a jolt, she couldn’t deny it, but she told herself it came from her own sudden nerves.

“There’s power here. Perhaps in the stones themselves, perhaps in the spot they chose to raise them in.”

“I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

“You’ve too much Irish in you not to.” Very gently he drew her through the arch of stone and into the center of the dance.

Determined to be practical, she folded her arms over her chest and moved away from him. “I’d like to paint it, if you’d let me.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. The land around it’s mine, but it belongs to itself. You paint it if it pleases you.”

“It would.” Relaxing again, she wandered the inner circle. “I know people back home who’d pay for a chance to stand here. The same ones who go to Sedonna looking for vortexes and worry about their chakras.”

Murphy grinned as he scratched his chin. “I’ve read of that. Interesting. Don’t you think there are some places and some things that hold old memories in them? And the power that comes from them?”

She could, nearly could, standing there. If she let herself. “I certainly don’t think hanging some pretty rock around my neck is going to improve my sex life.” Amused, she looked back at him. “And I don’t think a farmer believes it, either.”

“Well, I don’t know about wearing a necklace to make things more interesting in bed. I’d rather depend on myself for that.”

“I bet you do,” Shannon murmured and turned away to stroke one of the stones. “Still, they’re so ancient, and they’ve stood here for longer than anyone really knows. That’s magic in itself. I wonder—” She broke off, holding her breath and listening hard. “Did you hear that?”

He was only a pace away now, and waited, and watched. “What did you hear, Shannon?”

Her throat was dry; she cleared it. “Must have been a bird. It sounded like someone crying for a second.”

Murphy laid a hand on her hair, let it run through as he had before. “I’ve heard her. So have some others. Your sisters. Don’t stiffen up,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “Blood’s blood, and it’s useless to ignore it. She weeps here because she lost her lover. So the story goes.”

“It was a bird,” Shannon insisted.

“They were doomed, you see,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “He was only a poor farmer, and she was the daughter of the landlord. But they met here, and loved here, and conceived a child here. So it’s said.”

She was cold again and, fighting back a shiver, spoke lightly. “A legend, Murphy? I’d expect there’d be plenty about a spot like this.”

“So there are. This one’s sad, as many are. He left her here to wait for him, so they could run off together. But they caught him, and killed him. And when her father found her the next day, she was as dead as her love, with tears still on her cheeks.”

“And now, of course, she haunts it.”

He smiled then, not at all insulted by the cynicism. “She loved him. She can only wait.” Murphy took her hands to warm them in his. “Gray thought of doing a murder here, but changed his mind. He told me it wasn’t a place for blood. So instead of being in his book, it’ll be on your canvas. It’s more fitting.”

“If I get to it.” She should have tugged her hands away, but it felt so good to have his around them. “I need more supplies if I decide to do any serious painting while I’m here. I should get back. I’m keeping you from your work, and Brianna’s probably holding breakfast for me.”

But he only looked at her, enjoying the way her hands felt in his, the way the air blushed color in her cheeks. Enjoyed as well the unsteady pulse he felt at her wrists, and the quick confusion in her eyes.

“I’m glad I found you sitting on my wall, Shannon Bodine. It’ll give me something to picture the rest of my day.”

Annoyed with the way her knees were melting, she stiffened them and cocked her head. “Murphy, are you flirting with me?”

“It seems I am.”

“That’s flattering, but I don’t really have time for it. And you’ve still got my hands.”

“So I do.” With his eyes on hers, he lifted them, pressed his lips to her knuckles. His smile was quick and disarming when he let her go. “Come walking with me again, Shannon.”