“Dev?” she asked.
He was enjoying watching her expression as she loved up her ring. “Aye, love?”
Her attention came off the ring and her expression washed with reluctance. “I… I suppose it would be well enough for the boys to have toy swords,” she said. “But only if you are with them. They are never to use them alone.”
Devlin’s grin broadened. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“I didn’t give you the ring so you would agree to the swords.”
“I know. But you are correct; it is their legacy, after all. They must learn.”
Devlin wasn’t too enthusiastic in his response because he wanted Emllyn to feel as I she had final say in the matter. Were he too happy about it, she might have second thoughts because she would think he was happy that he had his way in all things.
“I promise we won’t run out and start any wars with them,” he said, but shrugged as if reconsidering. “At least, not this week. Mayhap next week. Mayhap we’ll ride down to Glentiege and challenge Connaught and de Noble to a battle.”
Emllyn laughed softly. “You would, wouldn’t you? And Connaught would lay down and pretend to die while de Noble tried to explain to them the finer art of swordplay.”
Devlin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement, glancing over at his three boys, healthy and intelligent children that he was extraordinarily proud of. They were, after all, his legacy, as his wife had said. They were born of this land.
“I will do the teaching,” Devlin said. “I told you once we would breed fine Irish sons to wreak havoc on the English. Mayhap it’s not so much havoc now as it is now an understanding.”
“What understanding is that?”
Devlin looked at her. “That sometimes peace and family is the far better path to take,” he said, reaching out to stroke hercheek. “And that no matter what, you cannot put a price on true happiness.”
Emllyn smiled faintly. “Is this what you hope to teach them?”
He nodded, watching Flynn and Daven chase a puppy under the bed. “God, what glorious days lie ahead for us,” he said, squeezing her gently. “And no matter what happens, no matter where I go or what I do, know that everything leads me to thee.”
She did.
EPILOGUE
Present day
National Museum of Ireland
Dublin
Tuesday morning andhe could already hear the schoolchildren yelling in the foyer. As a docent for the archaeological department of the National Museum of Ireland, he always seemed to get the school children who, at times, acted more like wild animals than human offspring. He wished for ladies’ clubs but those always went to the female docents who couldn’t be heard over the shouting of excited kids.
As he approached the foyer, listening to the yelling of the wild scallywags reverberate off the one-hundred-year-old walls of the museum, he braced himself. It was going to be a long day.
The children were primary school-aged, dressed in their Catholic school uniforms. But there were Catholic schools all over Dublin so one uniform didn’t look too different from another. As he approached the group, he headed for the woman who seemed to be the zookeeper. She was up to her ears in wild beasts. When he caught her attention, he forced a smile.
“Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Peter Ward. I’m to be your guide today.”
The woman took his hand and shook it. “Hello,” she responded. “Helen Walker. Thank you so much.”
Peter continued to smile weakly, watching the children who were thumping each other and generally playing loudly. He eyed Ms. Walker. “May I?”
She nodded wearily. “Be my guest.”
Peter’s smile vanished and he suddenly emitted a piercing whistle from between his teeth. The kids shrieked but immediately stilled. Some of them even put their hands over their ears. The entire group of thirty-three of them turned to the bald, middle-aged man with the shrill whistle. When Peter saw he had their attention, he smiled thinly.
“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen,” he said formally. “My name is Peter Ward and I will be your guide today. How many of you have been with us before?”
