She frowned over it. "So, it's really like one? That's okay then."
"I'm relieved to hear it. Have this one first."
She took the box he offered, lifted the lid. The earrings sparkled up at her, deep and rich multicolored hunks of gems in hammered silver.
"I know you're not much on baubles, and you feel I heap them on you." He picked up his wine as she studied them. "But these are a bit different, and I think you'll appreciate why."
"They're great." She lifted one, and because she'd learned enough to know it would please him, began to fumble it into her ear. "Sort of pagan."
"They suit you. I thought they would. Here, let me do that." He rose, came around the table to fasten the earrings himself. "But I think their history will appeal to you more. They once belonged to Grainne Ni Mhaille— that's the proper name for her in Irish. She was a chieftain, head of her tribe in a time when such things were not heard of—or admitted to. She is sometimes called the Sea Queen, as she was a great sailing captain. So ..."
He sat again, enjoying the way the earrings gleamed on his wife. His voice fell into a storytelling rhythm, so fluid, so Irish, she doubted he heard it. But she did.
"Tribal chief, warrior, queen, what have you. She lived during the sixteenth century. A violent age, in a country that's seen more than its fair share of violence. And known for her courage was Grainne. In her life she had triumph and tragedy, but she never faltered. On the west island where she was fostered, the castle she built still stands on the cliff—strategically. And there, at sea, or at one of the several strongholds she acquired, she held her own against all comers. She stood for her beliefs. She defended her people."
"She kicked ass," Eve said.
"Aye." He grinned at that. "That she did. And so do you, so I think it would please her for you to have them."
"It pleases me."
"And here's the second part."
She took the other silver box. Inside this was a silver medallion, an oval with the figure of a man carved on it.
"Who's this guy?"
"This is St. Jude, and he is the patron saint of police."
"You're kidding? Cops have their own saint?"
"They have Jude, who also happens to be the patron saint of lost causes."
She laughed as she held it up to the light. "Covering all your bases, aren't you?"
"I like to think so, yes."
"So what we've got here are like ... talismans. Good luck pieces." She draped St. Jude over her head. "I like the idea. Adding luck to those brains and grit you mentioned the other day."
This time she got up, skirted the table. She bent down to kiss him. "Thanks. These are really good baubles."
"You're welcome. And now if you want to clear the table..."
"Just hold on, ace. You're not the only one who can give a present. But I have to go get it. Sit tight."
She hurried out in such a way that made him realize she'd forgotten about the sheerness of the robe. Grinning, Roarke poured more champagne and hoped, for the sake of everyone's physical health, she didn't run into Summerset along the way.
Since she came back quickly, and with no rantings, he decided she'd made the round trip without incident. She handed him a package covered with recycled brown paper.
He identified it by shape as some sort of painting or picture. Curious, as Eve was no art critic, he tore the wrappings.
It was a painting, of the two of them as they stood under the blooming arbor where they'd been married. Her hand was in his, their eyes on each other's. He could see the glint of new rings, new vows on her finger and on his.
He remembered the moment, remembered it perfectly. And the one just after when they had leaned into each other and exchanged that first kiss as husband and wife.
"It's wonderful."
"I had it done from the disc of the wedding. I just liked this moment, so I froze, printed and got this artist Mavis knows. He's actually a real artist and not one of the guys she knows who just does body painting. You probably could've got somebody better, but—"