Free The Secret Chord: The Virtuosic Spy - Book 2 by Kathryn Guare Page B

gave lessons in Tralee. This violin belonged to him—an 1830 Pressenda he left to me when he died."
    Kate took the instrument from its case and held it up to the fading light. She turned it over and ran a finger over its back. The gorgeous striated pattern resembled the skin of an exotic animal.
    "Demonstrate." She handed the violin to him. "Play something Classical."
    Conor's expression faltered. "I'm not exactly at the top of my game. Until a few weeks ago I hadn't played the thing for almost a year."
    "I promise not to wince."
    He rose to re-tune, pacing in front of her, and without warning launched the bow over the strings in a staccato burst of notes. In contrast to the slow air this tune was hectic, played at a frenzied pace. Assuming a more formal posture, Conor had transferred his entire attention to the violin, and after he'd plucked the final two notes with his fingers his eyes slowly re-focused on her.
    "And?" He cocked an eyebrow.
    "Was it supposed to sound like mosquitoes on speed?"  
    He laughed, settling back on the ground next to her. "Wrong bug. It's called the 'Flight of the Bumblebee,' although your description is better."
    Kate imagined any idiot would recognize Conor's skill, but from her own creative perspective she saw the intangible element transforming his talent into something sublime—virtuosity pushed beyond technical brilliance, becoming art. The source was a mystery impossible to teach or easily explain, and as she knew from painful experience it could leave without warning.
    "What made you stop for nearly a year?" Envy lent an impatient bite to her abrupt question.  
    "Guilt, I suppose—imagining I'd lost the right to the pleasure it gave me."
    Without thinking, Kate let her emotions override any sense of discretion. "What a load of self-indulgent bullshit. You have a miraculous gift; you can't bottle that up and pretend it doesn't exist. It deserves more respect. To be nurtured and shared. How could you think you'd lost the right to play? You don't have the right not to."
    Conor had again circled his arms around his knees with the violin in one hand, and for a long moment he stared at the ground. The light was nearly gone, but when he turned his mischievous grin cut through the darkness.
    "You mean focus on art, instead of myself?"
    "I mean— " Kate's brain caught up with her spleen and her argument trailed off into confusion. "Oh."
    "Do you see what I did there?" he teased softly.
    Flustered, she was quiet for a moment, but then her eyes narrowed. "Are all Irishmen as devious as you?"
    "Of course, darlin'. You've always to be watching us. We can't help ourselves."
    For just an instant the light in Conor's eyes held something at odds with his lilting humor, a flare of heat that disappeared so quickly Kate could sense only its effect on her—a sudden tickle in the center of her abdomen. Startled by the unexpected ripple of energy between them she waited for him to say something, but Conor swiveled his head to the horizon, and after a moment of awkward silence Kate stretched and rose from the grass.
    "Time to go face Abigail. I've deserted my post for long enough. Thank you for the concert—and for schooling me. Both helped."
    "Right. Grand." He glanced up at her and dropped his eyes away again. "Be sure to tell her you ate all your dinner. I'll be expecting a gold star."
    After watching her descend the pasture Conor reclined on his back against the hillside and stared at the sky. "You're an awful feckin' eejit, McBride. You can't go there, and you know it."
    He rested a hand on the violin lying on his chest, grateful to have at least one avenue of fulfillment available to him. His fingers fidgeted on the fingerboard, reveling in the restored connection, itching for something more. He stood up again and lifted the instrument to his shoulder. The bow hovered shyly over the strings then gently moved down over them in a loving stroke. After the first few notes he recognized what he was