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him, and no mistake.”
    Keefe seemed not to hear her when she rounded
the corner. He was squatting down, hands busy, tongue firmly
clamped between his teeth in concentration. The rapt expression on
his face told Brenna he was deeply engrossed in his work, and for a
moment, she allowed herself to admire his golden hair, fine
features, and darkly even brows.
    Keefe Murphy must be a
snare sent from Satan him self, Brenna
decided. It wasn’t in nature for a man to be so... beautiful. She
forced herself to look at the chair.
    “Oh!” Brenna skittered over
and knelt beside him. She ran a finger
reverently over the carved back, now neatly pegged together with a new section wedged in where it
had previously been shattered. “Ye’ve done it.”
    His smile nearly made her forget the
chair.
    “It’s not finished yet,” he
said. “I plan to carve the new section to
match the old. The pattern ran true all the way across, didn’t it?”
    “Aye,” Brenna said. “I can’t believe ye’ve
made it whole again.”
    “But that’s just the
start.” Keefe’s enthusiasm was infectious as he pointed to the
newly turned leg. “I had to use a different type of wood. The chair
was made of something that doesn’t seem to
grow around here.”
    “That’s right,” Brenna said. “It came from
the south, from me mother’s people.”
    “I wondered. I couldn’t
match the wood to any thing nearby, but I
should be able to make a stain that will
bring it closer to the rest of the chair in
appear ance.” He ran a hand over the leg.
“Once I’m done you’ll have to look closely to tell which one is the
replacement.”
    Brenna sighed. “It’ll never be the same,
though.”
    “No. When something is
broken, you can’t make it new, however
hard you try.”
    When he turned to look at
her, Brenna suspected he saw beneath her
face to her scarred soul.
    “It’ll never be the same,” he admitted.
    Brenna’s shoulders
slumped. Of course not. Once things are done, they can’t be undone.
    “It won’t be the same, but
it can be better,” he said, turning the
chair on end. “Look here. I’ve reinforced the seat and the back so it’s much stronger than before. But
it’s repaired in a way that doesn’t add any bulk or destroy the
line of the chair.”
    Brenna smiled. “That’s cleverly done.”
    “Why, Princess, is that a kind word?”
    When she lowered her brows at him and
scowled, he raised his hands in mock surrender.
    “Forget I said that.” Then
he leaned toward her. “I can tell this
means something to you, though. Why is this chair so important?”
    Brenna traced a fingertip
over the carving, worn smooth in places
from countless backs. “ ‘Tis old be yond
reckoning. I was told it came to the family so many generations ago me people believe ‘twas made by the
Tuatha De Danaan.” The ancient tribe of Erin was held in such high
regard they’d been elevated to godlike
status among the more superstitious. “As such, it was priceless. It belonged to me mother.”
    “I thought as much. A
delicate chair for a deli cate lady. It
suits her.”
    “Aye,” Brenna said. “She’s
always been fair. Moira takes her looks
from the Connacht side of the family. I
favor me father’s people.”
    “She’s very quiet, your mother.”
    “That’s putting it mildly.
She hasn’t said a word since the chair was broken.” Brenna thought
for a moment about her distant mother, Una, a fragile beauty with a
figure too waiflike to ever be considered matronly. “A few weeks
ago, some of me fa ther’s men were drunk
and things got a bit lively. By the time
the scuffle was over, the chair was in pieces and Mother stopped talking.”
    “She stopped talking
because of a chair?” Keefe picked up a small chisel and began to
carve the en twined pattern, taking care
to match the new to the old.
    “ ‘Twas not for its value,
though ‘tis hard to put that aside. The
chair itself was special to her,” Brenna said. “ ‘Twas sent to her by