Eamon saddled Niamh and led her to the door. Catriona came outside, carrying a bag full of shawls she had knitted.

            "There's not as many this time," Catriona said ruefully. She handed the bag to Eamon, who slung it over Niamh's back.    

            "Never mind," Eamon consoled. "I'll sell as many as I can." He climbed into the saddle and looked down at Catriona. "Don't be worried if it's late when I get back."

            Catriona nodded. "I won't be worrying." She looked Eamon over from head to toe and frowned. "Why do you have your pistols?"

            Eamon hesitated, then quickly made up an answer. "I don't want to be robbed on the way home." That is about as far from the truth as you could get, Eamon.

            Catriona seemed to accept his explanation. "Sure, I wouldn't want to be robbed, either. I'm wishing Tadhg was going with you."

            Eamon grunted in agreement. "I'm wishing that, too." His friend had been busy in his married life. Tadhg had ridden out with Eamon only a few times in the month since his wedding. Eamon missed Tadhg's company and lighthearted talk.

            "I'll invite them for supper some night soon." Catriona smiled and placed her hand on Eamon's knee. "Hurry back."

            "I will." Eamon grinned and started down the road.

***

            Attymass was less busy than when Eamon and Tadhg had last visited the town. Eamon felt more conspicuous as he rode into the town on Niamh's back. People gave him a wide berth, going out of their way to avoid Niamh.

            Eamon dismounted and picked a spot to lay out the shawls Catriona had made. He again wished that Tadhg was with him. Tadhg could always find the best places for selling.

            Nonsense! I should be able to do just as well as Tadhg! Eamon paused and glanced around the street. Think about it in terms of the road. If this were the road, where would you hide? There were several alleyways that would make adequate hiding places. But you don't need to hide. You need to be seen. What place has the most people? The pub, of course.

            Eamon led Niamh to the pub, where he tied the horse to a hitching post. Instead of hiding, you need to be out in the open. He chose a spot across from the pub where he could see everyone who left or entered, and they could see him. Now comes the waiting. Eamon sighed resignedly and seated himself against the edge of a building.

***

            Business was slow. Very slow. It's like waiting for Christmas, Eamon grumbled to himself as he sat by the shawls. The people were simply not buying. Eamon rested his chin in his hand and propped his elbow on his knees.

            A figure across the street caught Eamon's eye. He sat up straight and stared. A girl with red-gold hair was walking towards the pub, arm in arm with a young man with fiery red hair. Is that Orla?

            It was Orla. She stopped at the door of the pub, letting the red-headed man go in without her. She smiled to herself, then continued down the street. Suddenly she looked up and locked eyes with Eamon. Her smile faltered, then reappeared, and this time her mouth tilted upward mischievously.

            Eamon froze. He held his breath, unsure whether he should maintain eye contact or look away. If it were any other girl, I would wink at her. He wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do in this situation. Oh, well. He winked and gave her a smile, but was unsure what to do next. Orla solved his dilemma by deliberately tossing her hair, squaring her shoulders, and walking further down the street.

            Eamon frowned after Orla as she walked away, a smile playing around her lips. She knows I'm watching her. Eamon had been around women enough to know that Orla was quite aware of his gaze. And she's enjoying it, too.

            Orla was stopping every so often to look in a shop or inspect the wares of some person on the street. She deliberately passed me by! Eamon frowned, rubbing his chin. He took out his knife and began turning it in his fingers, leaning his head back against the wall in a bored manner. He stretched his legs out and pretended to be relaxed. In reality, he was watching Orla out of the corner of his eye.

            It was not long before Eamon caught a glimpse of Orla's dress in his peripheral vision. He turned his head away slightly and focused his attention on his knife, tossing it in the air and catching it again. Act like you don't see her.

            "And where's your friend?" Orla's voice came from right beside Eamon. He started and dropped the knife, which stuck point down in the street. "The one with the yellow hair?"

            Eamon looked up at Orla. "Tadhg? He's been married." It can't be that Tadgh was the one that caught her fancy, can it?

            Orla arched one eyebrow. "I'd be thinking that's happy news, but it seems you're not happy about it. Did he steal your girl?" She spoke lightly, but watched Eamon carefully.

            "Níl!" Eamon said quickly. "I have no girl." He stood, slipping his knife back into his boot. "I answered your question; now you answer mine. Who was the man who was walking with you?"

            Orla's eyebrow arched higher. "He's to be my husband." Eamon took a half-step back and Orla began to laugh, tilting her head back. "He's not really! He's my brother." She quickly sobered. "Tá brón orm. I just wanted to see what you would do."

            Eamon rested his hands on his belt. "Well..." What do I say to that? "What would you do...if I said I was glad he wasn't your husband?" He tried to remember how he acted around other girls, but he couldn't. He settled for widening his eyes and partially raising one eyebrow.

            Orla stopped laughing, a surprised look flitting over her face. She recovered quickly and replied, "I'd tell you that you're not the first to be saying that." She squared her shoulders and Eamon noticed that she was wearing the shawl Catriona had knitted. "I want you to tell your aunt that she does fine work."

            "Go raibh maith agat. I will." Eamon hesitated, then moved closer to Orla. "Orla-"

            "How do you know my name?" She interrupted, an amused smile on her face.

            Eamon relaxed and shrugged nonchalantly. Playful talk - this was something he was good at. "Your friends said it the last time I was here. When they were convincing you to buy that shawl. I didn't hear your last name, though..." He trailed off.

            "Orla Teirney," the girl said quickly. "And you remembered my name?"

            "Tá. How could I forget?" Eamon was on comfortable ground now. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, glancing sidelong at Orla. "But I'm thinking you don't know my name, do you?"

            "Níl, but you could fix that," Orla said quickly, resting the basket she held against one hip. "Tell me."

            "My name is Eamon Gallagher."

            Orla smiled. "It's happy I am to finally know your name."

            Eamon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. "Finally?" He echoed. "Why finally?"

            Orla suddenly looked uncomfortable, her dignity and poise shattered. Her cheeks grew pink and she stammered, "D-did I say finally?"

            "You did." Eamon felt the corner of his mouth turn upwards in a smirk. "Why?"

            "Oh...I..." Orla looked at her shoes and raised her head, blowing air forcefully out of her nostrils. "Very well. I've been wanting to know your name since the last time I saw you!"

            "I'm touched," Eamon said dryly, hoping to cover his elation with sarcasm. "My bargaining has never made such an impression on anyone else before." Especially not my bargaining on the highway.

            "It wasn't your bargaining, it was your singing!"

            "My singing? But...you weren't there when I sang." Eamon's brow furrowed as he tried to remember back to the time when he and Tadhg had last visited Attymass.

            "I wasn't watching you, no. But I heard you...Eamon. Your song made me stop and listen." Orla closed her eyes as if trying to remember the sound of Eamon's voice. She froze, rising onto the tips of her toes. "It...it made me feel."

            Eamon grinned at Orla. "What did it make you feel?"

            Orla's eyes popped open and she lowered herself to the ground. "I can't describe it," she said softly. "I asked who was singing, but nobody knew your name. The only thing they could tell me was that you were selling shawls."

            Eamon wrinkled his nose. "Why didn't you ask my name while you were buying a shawl?" Sometimes I think I understand women, then something like this happens.

            Orla ran her fingers up and down the edge of her shawl. "I don't know."

            "Were you scared of me?" Eamon asked in a teasing tone.

            "Níl!" Orla shook her head, then hesitated. "Tá...maybe. You're so stern."

            "Stern! You call this stern?" Eamon flashed Orla a smile.

            She smiled back, twirling a finger in her curls. "When you smile, the sternness goes away."

            Eamon's smile grew. You've got a foot in the door, now. Open it wider. "Orla...I know it's bold of me, but...could you think of walking with me for a while?"

            Orla made a sort of coughing sound. "I...that's bold, it is." She bit her lip thoughtfully, then continued speaking. "Will you try to be selling me a shawl if I do walk with you?"

            Eamon chuckled and shook his head. "You've already got the finest shawl Catriona has ever made, Orla." He bent over and started to put the shawls back into the bag.

           "Let me help," Orla offered, taking the bag from him and holding it open. When Eamon didn't move right away, she shook the bag impatiently. "Don't just stand there like an eedjit, put the shawls in!"

            Eamon shook his head in amazement. Here I thought I had her eating out of my hand. Now she's ordering me around! He stuffed the shawls into the bag and took it from Orla, slinging it over one shoulder. "Go raibh maith agat."

           Orla grinned up at him. "Aren't you going to offer me your arm?"

           Eamon frowned. "Don't be hasty, cailín." He adjusted the strap of the bag and played with his collar, deliberately taking his time.

           Orla stomped her foot and stuck her arm through his. "I'm always hasty!" She started off down the street, pulling Eamon off balance. "You wanted to walk, so we're walking!"

            Eamon hurried to match Orla's pace. Once he had caught up with her, he tugged on her arm. "I wanted to enjoy the walk, Orla. I wanted for us to talk."

            Orla slowed her pace and looked him in the eye. "I'm listening."

           Confound the girl! Eamon found himself tongue-tied once again. "Well...you have a brother. What's his name?"

           Orla laughed. "His name is Cináed. You'll want to make friends with him before you go any further with me."

           Eamon scoffed. "Would he want to be friends with me?" He certainly wouldn't if he knew I robbed people on the road.

           "Hmm..." Orla surveyed Eamon's face curiously. "That would be depending on how you acted."

           Eamon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "So...you're telling me that my success with your wooing depends on how well I can convince your brother that I'm likeable."

           "Wooing?" Orla giggled, then sobered quickly. "I suppose that is what you're doing," she said softly, drumming her fingers on Eamon's forearm. "Tá, that's what I'm telling you," she agreed after a moment. "But you're already very likeable, Eamon."

            "Oh...right now I am, but I'm not always." Eamon spoke lightly, but under his nonchalant attitude he was worrying.

           "My father says that no one can be perfect all the time," Orla said wisely.

           "Your father? I'll have to be making friends with him, too, won't I?"

           "You will, but he's less protective than Cináed. He just wants me to be happy. Cináed wants me to be happy, safe, and well-provided for." Orla ticked off Cináed's requirements on her fingers.

           Eamon swallowed. Happy and safe are easy. The last - that's not so easy. He pursed his lips. "Will I find Cináed in the pub?"

           "Tá. You needn't go to him so soon, though." Orla smiled as though she were thinking of a secret. "Wait until he's had the time to get some whiskey."

           "Ah." Eamon took a deep breath and forged ahead. "I'm thinking you wouldn't have agreed to walk with me...and you wouldn't have told me about your father and brother if you didn't have some sort of...feeling for me." He paused and scanned Orla's face.

           Orla wasn't looking at him. She was watching their feet as they walked along. Finally she looked up, met Eamon's eyes, and nodded her head. "Tá. I...told you I didn't know what your singing made me feel. I still don't. But...I think it could be...love."