Orla's cheeks were pink, but she held Eamon's gaze. "Love?" Eamon echoed. "You felt love for me after one song?"

Orla nodded again. "I know that sounds odd, but..." She shrugged. "I know that love - true love - doesn't just appear like that." She snapped her fingers and continued, "but I think that it can...blossom...in the blink of an eye. Or a wink," she added, glancing at Eamon from the corners of her eyes. "I'm thinking that's what happened to me. My feeling blossomed when you sang, and when you sold me this shawl."

"Hm." Eamon considered Orla's words and nodded slowly. "I'm thinking it could happen that way. I know that when I saw you, there was a...a spark?" He grimaced at the overused analogy.

"Is there still a spark?"

"Tá. Sure, it's more of a fire now, but it's there. Orla, tell me something," Eamon said suddenly. "Why are you telling me so much so soon? We've only just learned each other's names, yet you're telling me about your family."

"I told you, Eamon." Orla smiled. "I have this feeling that won't go away. I think that we should be married."

Eamon's eyebrows shot up. Here's a girl who knows what she wants. "You know nothing about me!"

"Then tell me," she said firmly. "Tell me about your family."

Eamon nodded. "I live with my aunt Catriona in Swinford."

"Swinford! That's far away." Orla looked surprised. "Small wonder you don't come to town often."

"My parents are dead," Eamon said bluntly, "but Catriona's been like a mother to me."

"Dead?" Orla echoed, pausing like a deer in the middle of a step. "How...if I'm not prying?"

Eamon smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "My father was killed in the rebellion, and my mother died of fever." He paused. "My uncle died in the rebellion, too."

Orla frowned, pursing her lips. "So you've only got your aunt for company?"

"Níl. I have Niamh, my horse, and Tadhg - the man who came with me last time - and his family."

Orla was silent for a moment. Did I say too much? Eamon wondered, unconsciously increasing his pace. "I thought you said you wanted to walk slowly!" Orla said suddenly. "Slow down!"

"Tá brón orm. I was just...thinking." Eamon slowed his pace and looked up at the sky. I should be going soon...but I can't just leave abruptly. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" Orla quirked an eyebrow. "Why...ah, I know. You're wanting to have your meeting with Cínaed, aren't you?" She stared up at him, a mischievous smile on her lips.

"I..." Eamon shrugged. "Sure, I suppose you could say that." That's not the whole truth, but it's not an untruth.

"Then I suppose I could be hungry if you'd buy my meal at the pub."

"I will." Eamon started towards the pub, then stopped. "Wouldn't it be more proper if I were to talk with Cínaed alone?"

Orla snorted in an unladylike manner. "Eamon, nothing either of us has done today has been proper."

"That's true, it is." Eamon shrugged, squared his shoulders, and held the door open for Orla. "Well...eat whatever you'd like," he said grandly. He waited for his eyes to become adjusted to the dim interior of the pub, then he and Orla made their way over to where Cínaed sat alone, drinking from a tin mug.

"Cínaed," Orla said, touching her brother lightly on the shoulder, "this is Eamon Gallagher."

"Another?" Cínaed looked up, sighed resignedly, and jerked his head towards an empty seat. "Sit, Eamon. Tell me about yourself."

She's had lots of suitors, then. Eamon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I live in Swinford with my aunt."

"How do you support yourself and your aunt?" Cínaed glanced up as a maid brought a mug of ale for Eamon and a bowl of stew and a piece of bread for Orla.

Eamon put a few coins into the maid's hand and turned back to Cínaed. "I do any work I can find." That includes robbing travelers.

Cínaed's mug clanked on the table as he set it down and started laughing. "You have no trade, yet you're wanting to marry Orla?" He stopped laughing suddenly and winced. "Ow!" He said irritably, glancing under the table then frowning at Orla.

Orla smiled demurely, setting her spoon down. "Eamon is a good salesman, Cínaed. He sold me this shawl, remember? And he can sing."

Cínaed snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Eamon didn't mention those things, Orla. Perhaps it's because he knows they're not real trades."

Eamon's cheeks reddened and he took a sip of his drink. "There are plenty of men who make a living by busking and peddling. My aunt knits shawls and I sell them - that's what we live off."

Cínaed glanced at Orla. "And you're sure you're wanting to marry him?"

Orla frowned, a tiny dent appearing in between her eyes. "Cínaed!" She looked appealingly at Eamon.

Eamon curled his fingers around the edge of the table, measuring his words carefully. "Cínaed, while I may not have as much money as you or your father, I have enough to support a family." Or I will soon.

Cínaed stared at Orla. "How long have you known him?"

Orla pursed her lips and gazed down at her stew. "Oh...at least a month, Cínaed."

Eamon tried to hide his grin. It has been about a month, but this is only the second time we've seen each other. "At least," he agreed, sharing a collaborative glance with Orla.

Cínaed rested his elbow on the table, gazing speculatively at Eamon, who held Cínaed's gaze calmly. Finally Cínaed said, "Eamon, you may call on Orla whenever you like."

Eamon felt his lips curling upward in a smirk. As if I needed his permission to see Orla. "Go raibh maith agat," he said. "Orla, would you like to go walking once you're finished eating?"

Tilting her head to one side, Orla smiled. "Of course, Eamon." She continued eating, daintily dipping her bread in the stew. She eats so differently from me and Catriona, she does. Instead of holding her food close and resting her elbows on the table, Orla maintained a dignified distance between herself and her food, sitting up straight in her chair.

Eamon and Cínaed made small talk while Orla ate, and Eamon was impressed by Cínaed's shrewdness. It must run in the family. Orla finished her meal and stood.

"Don't be staying in here too long, Cínaed," Orla warned as Eamon took her by the elbow. "We're both to be home before sundown, remember?"

"Tá," Cínaed grumbled, already raising his cup to his lips again as he waved Eamon and Orla away.

When they were both in the street, Orla wrapped her fingers around Eamon's hand and squeezed. "Cínaed wasn't so bad, was he?'

Eamon gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Níl, not too bad. He seems...reasonable." And I'm thinking he'd be even more reasonable if he knew I was rich. I'm not rich yet, but I will be someday.

"He is reasonable...normally." Orla's mouth tightened briefly. "He just likes making it difficult for men to woo me."

"Why?" Eamon frowned. "Why can't he just be like your father?"

"Níl fhios agam. Some people are just like that." Orla shrugged and they continued down the street.

Eamon's mood was soured by Cínaed's behavior, but he tried not to let it show. As they walked, he told Orla a little more about his family. She in turn told him about her family. Besides Cínaed, Orla had two other siblings who were younger than her.

"You don't have any other siblings, then?" Orla asked.

"Níl," Eamon said regretfully. He had always wanted a younger brother or sister and had even envisioned stealing Abbán or Delma when he was younger.

"So you're not used to being around people," Orla stated.

How can she tell? Eamon shrugged, a bit uncomfortable at her frank and observant nature. "I don't mind people. I'm just not a talker."

"You should talk more," Orla told him.

Eamon spread his hands, at a loss for words. "What do you want me to say?"

Orla smiled. "Say whatever you want to say."

Whatever I want to say? Eamon paused and thought. "I..."

Orla was still smiling. "It doesn't have to be the length of a Mass, Eamon."

"Mass?" Eamon chuckled. "I couldn't say anything half the length of a Hail Mary. Tadhg, now, Tadhg could talk the hind leg off of Niamh."

"You're blaming your friend for your silence, then?" Orla feigned surprise.

"Níl!" Eamon said quickly. "Well...tá."

Orla laughed, tilting her face upwards to meet Eamon's eyes. "It's good that you're honest."

Eamon grimaced inwardly, laughing to cover his discomfort. "I'll try to be honest with you always, Orla."

"Then...tell me why you're carrying two pistols."

Eamon stiffened. Blast. I can't tell her that. "Orla, the road is a dangerous place." That was two lies I told. Half-truths, really, but still I didn't tell her the full truth. His heart sunk almost down to his stomach.

Orla searched his face, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "But you don't duel with your pistols, do you?"

Eamon laughed, his relief making him feel giddy. "Níl. What d'you take me for, then, a troublemaker?"

"A duelist is not always a troublemaker," Orla said gravely. "Some duels are justifiable, like duels that are fought over a woman's honor." She glanced at Eamon from beneath her eyelashes and continued, "Since you mention troublemaking...a few years back, there was an incident with a young lord from County Mayo and two...ruffians." Orla was watching Eamon's face as she added, "I remember seeing the "ruffians," Eamon, and they looked very much like you and Tadhg."

Eamon sighed and looked at his feet. "It was us." He shot a glance at Orla, who was waiting for him to continue. She looked neither pleased nor displeased, just interested. "It was the first time we'd come to Attymass, and we were both in high spirits. Maírtín Newell - he's the young lord - rode by and Tadhg made a joke about him, but he spoke too loud. Maírtín was angered at us and sent his servants after us."

Orla laughed. "That was all it was? A joke?"

Eamon fidgeted, feeling like a small boy. "That's not all. I tried to fight his servants, but there was only one of me and there were three of them."

"You tried to fight three men? That was..." Orla paused.

"Stupid," Eamon supplied. "Tadhg was smarter. He ran away."

"He left you?" Orla's eyebrow's shot up and she stomped her foot. "Some friend he is!'

Eamon grinned. "He did leave me, but he thought I was right behind him." Eamon knew it had been an accident that Tadhg got away, but Orla's reaction had set off a chain of thoughts in his head. He did leave me then, and he left me when I got into trouble with Maírtín the first time. How many other times have I gotten in trouble when he's just as guilty as me?

Orla spoke again and Eamon started. "Well? What happened?"

"Oh." Eamon frowned. "Maírtín had me horsewhipped."

Orla stopped walking, anchoring herself and Eamon firmly to the cobblestones. She frowned, but a disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. "Horsewhipped? And you talk about it so carelessly?"

Eamon shrugged. "It has been at least three years, Orla. The memory fades, even if the scars don't."

Orla touched Eamon's shoulder. "Scars? Oh, Eamon." She clenched her small hands, taking another few steps. "Doesn't it make you angry?"

Eamon agreed bitterly, anger springing up suddenly like a weed. "Tá. Furious...but I can't do anything. Lord Newell takes our rent." He stopped suddenly. I can't do anything, but maybe a highwayman could! He envisioned holding up Lord Newell's shiny brass coach; taking jewels and gold from Maírtín, Lord Newell, and even Lady Newell.

"He holds that much power over you?" Orla frowned.

"Tá." Eamon hung his head. She's smart enough to figure out that I'm poor. He raised his head suddenly. "And don't you have to pay rent for your house?"

Orla shook her head, looking as though the notion of rent was completely new to her. "Níl. We own our house and everything in it."

Eamon winced. "We own Niamh...and my pistols. Everything else in and around our cottage can be taken away like that." He snapped his fingers savagely. "Even the extra money we earn has to be kept secret or Lord Newell will raise the rent."

Orla looked down at her feet. "I never knew..." She went silent for a moment. "But your aunt has lived like this all her life. If she can do it, so can I."

Eamon felt warm all over. He felt honored and ashamed at the same time. She still feels the same way about me? He took Orla's hand in his. "You don't mind living under a lord's thumb for the rest of your life?"

"Eamon," Orla said gravely, "I'm always under someone's thumb. Whether it's my father, you, Lord Newell, the English, or even the Lord, I'll always be under someone else's rule."

"Orla Tierney." Eamon turned toward her and took both her hands in his. His words came deep from his chest and seemed to get stuck in his throat. The words sounded strange to his ears, but they sounded right. "I swear to you that one day, I will have a house. You'll not have to answer to a lord. You'll never have to answer to anyone except me."

Orla's cheeks were flushed with color. "Your promise is...touching." She looked down at their intertwined hands. "I don't need a house of my own, Eamon. I just need a husband who loves me." She smiled and looked up at him. "Any man who would promise me the things you just promised is a man worth loving." She paused, then said, "I thank you for the walk and the meal, Eamon. I look forward to seeing you again." She slid her hands out of Eamon's and stood back.

Eamon dropped his hands to his sides, feeling oddly bereft. "I'll come again soon, Orla." It was as if there was a wall separating him from Orla. He adjusted the strap on his bag and turned, glancing over his shoulder. Orla lifted her hand and gave him a tiny wave. Eamon grinned and started down the street to where he had left Niamh.