Under it all, quiet as grief, was the sound of a woman's desperate weeping.

He stomped on the gas, fishtailed sickly around the next curve. In the distance, he saw a sprinkling of lights that was Ardmore.

Candle- and lamplight in the houses. Some would have generators, he realized. The pub did. Darcy was fine, tucked inside, warm, dry, safe. There was no reason to drive like a madman when there was nothing wrong.

But the sense of urgency, the brutal need to hurry stayed with him. With his hands clamped to the wheel, he skidded around the turn at Tower Hill. And his car stopped dead.

"What the hell is this?" Frantic, infuriated, he twisted the key, pumped impatiently at the gas. But all he got in return was a faint and mocking click.

Swearing, he punched open the glove compartment, snatched out the flashlight he kept there, and felt only grim satisfaction when the beam shot on.

With its next violent gust, the wind nearly swept him off his feet as he climbed out of the car. It seemed to want to. Pitting himself against it, he fought his way to the gate, muscled it open while the rain slashed and the hail pummeled. He would just cut through, save time.

The boggy ground sucked at his feet, slowed him to a jog when he wanted, needed, to run flat out. The stones of the dead speared up like teeth out of a knee-high layer of fog that lay nowhere else.

Carrick, Trevor thought, in disgust and fury. Pulling out all the stops.

Lightning burst again, seemed to glow blue over the grave of the long-dead John Magee.

Flowers? Trevor skidded to a halt, panting, and stared down at the carpet of flowers blooming like a rainbow. The grass was bent and flattened by the force of the storm, but those fragile petals were open and perfect. The wind that shoved against him only fluttered them gently, and no cold finger of fog touched them.

Magic, he thought, then looked out, toward the sea where he could see the white-tipped walls of waves rear and crash. Magic wasn't always bright and pretty. Tonight, it was full of wrath.

He turned from the grave and rushed on.

He skidded, slithering down the hill. He rapped hard into the trunk of a tree that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. Pain pounded in his shoulder, racing to match the pounding of his heart. Every time he lost his balance, should have tumbled over the stony ground to the road below, he managed to gain it again.

Later, he would think that that alone had been a miracle.

On solid ground once more, he ran, feet pounding against the wet footpath, around yet one more turn. He could see the pub now, the warm, welcoming glow of light against the window.

Lungs burning, he focused on that. Then something drew his gaze over and up, a whisper under the wind? A weeping. He saw in the top window of the Gallagher house a woman. Pale hair glowing against the dark, green eyes watching him.

That was wrong, he thought, and she was gone as soon as he thought it. Against the glass was the faintest of light, and no movement behind it.

Wrong. Something was wrong. So he turned away from the pub and pushed through the wind to the door of the house. He shoved it open, letting in wild wind and wilder rain. Before he could call out, he saw Jude, sitting at the top of the stairs. Her face was sheet white, her hair a tangle, and the nightgown she wore damp with sweat.

"Thank God. Oh, thank God. I can't get down." She let out a little gasp, clutched her belly. "The baby. The baby's coming."

Ruthlessly he shut down panic, though he took the stairs two at a time to reach her, grip her hand. She squeezed it hard enough to grind bone. "Breathe. In and out, come on. Look at me and breathe."

"Yes, okay, yes." Her eyes clung to his, wide, glazed with the pain that ripped through her as the contraction crested. "God, oh, God, it's huge!"

"I know. I know, honey. Keep breathing. You're coming down the other side now."

"Yes. It's passing, but- I never expected- It's all so fast." Even as her breath gushed out in relief from the absence of that wicked pain, she lifted a shaky hand to push at her hair. "I was having tea in bed. I talked to Aidan and told him I was going to bed. And then the power went out and it all started at once."

"We'll get you to the hospital. Everything's fine."

"Trevor, it's too late. I won't make it."

Panic wanted to flood back, but he dammed it up before it could touch her. "This business usually takes a while. How far apart are the contractions?"

"I haven't timed the last few. The phones are out. I couldn't call the pub or the doctor. I thought if I could get downstairs- but I couldn't. Before, they were close, two minutes, and now they're coming faster and harder."

Jesus. Sweet Jesus Christ. "Did your water break?"

"Yes. It's not supposed to happen so fast. All the classes, all the books. It should take hours. Get Aidan. Please, get- Oh, oh, God, here it comes!"

He helped her through it, voice calm and bracing as his mind raced. Much too close, much too hard. He'd seen the process three times and that was enough to know Jude was right. She would never make the hospital.

"Let's get you into bed. Put your arms around my neck. That's the way."

"I need Aidan." She wanted, badly, to weep. Just to scream out with sobs.

"I know. I'm going to go get him. You stay calm, Jude. You just hold on." He laid her in bed, glanced around quickly. She'd managed to light several candles. That would have to do. "When the next one comes, breathe through it. I'll be right back."

"I'll be all right." She lay her head back where he'd propped pillows. Had to be. Everything in the world depended on it. "Women used to do this all the time without doctors and hospitals." She did her best to smile. "Only, damn it, none of them were me. Hurry."

He didn't want to think how many contractions she'd go through alone, how frightened she'd looked lying there alone in bed with only candles for light. He didn't want to think of what could go wrong.

He sprinted back into the storm. The wind had changed and was at his back, pushing him faster, shoving as if it, too, urged him to hurry. Still, it seemed he'd run miles before his hand closed over the knob of Gallagher's Pub.

He burst into the warmth, the music and laughter.

Darcy spun around, beaming. "Well, now, look what the storm's blown in." She got no farther than that before the look in his eye registered. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, gripped her shoulder while he turned to Aidan. "It's Jude."

"Jude?"

Trevor had never seen the blood drain as completely, as quickly, from a man's face before. "What is it?" Even as he asked, Aidan was throwing the pass-through up, bulleting through.

"The baby's coming. Now."

"Ring the doctor," Aidan shouted, and was out the door.

"Now," Trevor repeated to Darcy. "It's coming now. There's no time for the doctor, and the phones are out in any case."

"Oh, Mother of God." Then she bit back the spurt of fear. "Let's hurry, then. Jack, Jack Brennan-man the bar. Someone tell Shawn and Brenna. Tim Riley, will you go for Mollie O'Toole? She'll know what to do."

Leaving her jacket on the hook in her rush, she scurried out into the rain. "How did you find her?" She was shouting, but her voice was all but swept away by the wind, drowned under the crashing of the waves against the seawall.

"I was coming down, the house was dark. I thought something might be wrong."

"No, no, I mean how is she? Is she holding up?"

"She was alone." Trevor would never forget the way she'd looked, or that he'd had to leave her. "She was scared. In pain."

Fear skidded down Darcy's spine. "She's a tough one, our Jude Frances. She'll come through it. As for the rest of us, we'll just have to figure out what to do."

Darcy shoved at the hair plastered to her face as she rushed into the house. "You don't have to come up. It must be hard on a man."

"I'm coming."

Jude sat up in bed, her hands clutched in Aidan's as she panted. His eyes were wild, but his voice was crooning. "That's the way, darling, that's just fine. Nearly over now. Nearly done."

She collapsed back, her face running with sweat. "They're getting stronger."

"She's having it here." Aidan got to his feet, but kept his hand gripped on Jude's. "She says she's having it here. She can't be having a baby here. I've told her. But she won't listen."

"Of course she can have it here." Darcy spoke cheerfully over the sick dread in her throat. If Aidan panicked, she knew the desperate would become the impossible. "And won't that be cozy? Such a night you've picked, Jude Frances, for bringing the next Gallagher into the world. It's a wild one."

As she spoke, she moved to the side of the bed, dried

Jude's face with a corner of the sheet. What to do? What was she supposed to do? God, she couldn't think. No, she had to think.

"Now, then, you went to all those classes. Why don't you tell us what we should do first to be some help in this whole business?"

"I don't know. It isn't supposed to be like this. God, I'm so thirsty."

"I'll get you some water."

"Ice." Trevor took a step forward. "She can have ice chips. Aidan, she'd probably be more comfortable if you got into bed behind her, helped support her back. She's better off sitting up a little. I was my sister's backup coach during all three of her labors."

Of course, he thought, that had been something of a lark. All happening in a nice clean and cheerful birthing suite, with his brother-in-law manning the post and a doctor and nurse-midwife in attendance.

"There." Darcy smiled brightly. "A man with experience. Just what we need. I'll get you a cool, damp cloth, darling, then some of those ice chips."

Jude let out a gasp, one hand flailing in the air, grasping for Darcy's arm. "Now! It's coming now!"

"No, not yet." Plan, priorities, order, Trevor told himself and bracing, flipped back the sheet. "It's crowning." He put everything out of his mind but what needed to be done. "Don't push yet, Jude. Blow through it. Breathe. Aidan?"

"That's it, darling. Pant." He wrapped an arm around her, ran his hand in circles on her rock-hard belly. "Hold on to it now and pant, and you'll slide right over the pain."

"Over it, my ass!" With the contraction at its vicious peak, Jude reached back, got a fistful of his hair, and had his eyes bugging out. "What the hell do you know about it? What the bloody hell do you know, you jerk!"

"You can do better than that," Darcy urged and wondered if Jude's fingers would dig right down to the bone on her arm. "There's much better names to call him at such a time."

"Idiot, moron, ape. Bastard!" she shouted when the pain spiked.

"All of those and more, my darling," he murmured, still stroking. "I'm all of those and more. There, there, it's passing. Now, if you could just let go of me hair and leave me what you haven't torn out by the roots."

"Let's get busy." Time, Trevor thought, was getting short. He heard the crash of the front door, the thunder of feet on the stairs and was grateful they'd have more hands.

"Shawn." He shot out orders the minute Shawn and Brenna ran in the room. "Get a fire going in here. We need it warm. Brenna, go down and get some ice, chip some for Jude to chew on. Find some good sharp scissors, and cord. Darcy, fresh sheets and towels."

While they scattered, Trevor looked down at Jude. "I'm going to wash up. My sister liked music during delivery, said it soothed her."

"We were going to have music playing."

Trevor nodded. "Sing," he ordered Aidan before he walked out of the room.

They worked smoothly together, and fast. Within ten minutes the fire was blazing, filling the room with light and heat. Outside, the storm was screaming in a kind of wild triumph, but there, in that room, voices were raised in song.

In bed, Jude leaned back against Aidan, trying to catch the breath the contractions robbed her of. Every ounce of will was focused on the child who was determined to be born. Such focus and purpose left no room for modesty. She could only be grateful that Trevor knelt at her feet, between her updrawn knees.

"I have to push. I have to."

"Hold on a minute." That was for himself, bracing room. "You have to stop when I tell you, so I can turn the baby, the head and shoulders." He'd watched it, he reminded himself, fascinated by the process. He could do it.

"Okay, on the next contraction, push, and when I say stop, pant and blow." He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He took a breath, let it out.

"It's starting. I have to-"