Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy)

by Clare Austin

  She’d been distracted and, he admitted to himself, a bit chilly toward him, all day. But when he found her outside An Ceol, it was obvious she’d been on her phone and was visibly troubled.

  He was confused but dauntless. Perhaps by the time they drove back to Ballinacurragh she’d be herself again. There was no use in trying to be noble; he’d been looking forward to a tumble.

  As he clicked the car open, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Ty’s phone had been silent since he’d left Boston. His family and friends would only ring him for a very good reason. His heart notched up in tempo when he saw it was from Cade.

  Check ur email was the extent of the message. Ty was dizzy from holding his breath. He let it out and put his mobile back in his pocket. If Flann had been in hospital or the baby born already, Cade’s text would have said much more.

  The worrisome half hour of silence that pervaded the trip back to Ballinacurragh put a damper on his hopes for a romantic evening. Ty tried to calm his apprehensions. If he’d had a nickel for every time his sisters clammed up over some minor thing, he’d be a rich man by now.

  When they reached Muireann’s cottage, he parked the car and waited for her to say something. At last he had to speak.

  “Muireann?” he said, and waited.

  “I think I need to be alone tonight, Ty.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but stared blindly ahead. Muireann didn’t even seem slightly curious about what he had to tell her. “This is all going too fast for me.” He reached to touch her arm but she flinched and pulled away. “Please, I can’t think when you touch me.”

  “Thinking is over-rated,” he said with a grin, but regretted his curtness as soon as the words left his lips. “Sorry. Whatever’s making you sad, I’d like to help you work it out.”

  Muireann closed her eyes and took a deep breath as though she needed strength of resolve. “You don’t know me.”

  “I want to—”

  “Wait,” she cut him off. “You really think you want a relationship with me? You still think of me as that bit of a girl who flirted with you over a decade and a half ago. Now you think you’re in love with me… after three days and a tumble or two?” She turned in her seat. Tynan had come to recognize determination in her expression. Muireann was not being coy. “You’re a kind, gentle, and very sweet man. You’re great in the sack.”

  “That’s a damn brilliant start, if my opinion stands for anything.” He couldn’t stop the quiver of man-pride from buzzing through his frontal lobe.

  “But that’s not enough,” Muireann added.

  “Oh,” he said and immediately knew how shallow his disappointment would seem to a woman…any woman.

  “How long are you really going to be here? Two weeks? That’s ridiculous. And then what? I’m not interested in a long distance affair.”

  “Nor am I,” he defended. “I’ll be here as long as you want me here.” As he said the words he knew he’d better not make this promise lightly. Would he really leave his family and settle in Ireland? It was too early to make those kinds of decisions. “I have obligations in Boston but—”

  “Yes, you do. And everything I have is here.” She reached for the door handle. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let this go so far.”

  Ty was sure he felt a ten-pound stone hit him in the chest. He had to think fast. No way was he letting this woman get away that easy. He got out of the car, popped his umbrella open and walked around to her side to shelter her from the rain.

  “See,” she said, exasperation in her voice. “It’s that.”

  Ty stepped back, looked over his shoulder for the “that,” and then back to Muireann. “That…what?”

  “You open car doors for me. You hold umbrellas over my head to keep me dry. You ask if I’m comfortable…if I’m happy.” She shook her wet head and rain droplets flew in all directions. “You make love to me like I’m the only woman in the world.”

  Ty almost laughed. “What the hell is so wrong with that?”

  “You make me want to depend on you.”

  She had him spot on. He was, above all else, a dependable man. It had always been satisfying to him to take care…of his sisters, his friends, even strangers in need. The characteristic was planted so deep in Tynan, he couldn’t imagine it being rooted out of him.

  Muireann was not done. “You would be so easy to fall for.”

  The propensity didn’t seem like something he should defend as an unforgivable flaw. “Yeah, I’m just one very nice bloke. Something wrong with that?”

  She was standing close to stay under the umbrella. Her scent mixed with rain and wet summer flowers intoxicated him. This seemed a crazy conversation when they could be naked in each other’s arms. “Can we talk about this inside?” he dared to suggest.

  Muireann moved back from him as though the suggestion was the most horrific she’d ever heard. The rain pounded down on her hair and shoulders, ran over her face, stuck to her eyelashes, and mixed with tears. She wiped the wetness away with her sleeve. “No. I need time to think. Go home. Go back to Mary’s.” She turned and he watched her as she stepped inside her cottage and slammed the door behind her.

  The air was punched out of his lungs. A tingle of fear ran up his spine like an electrical circuit gone haywire. He’d always been able to coax and cajole, use his charm and innate sense of persuasion to get what he wanted. Had he underestimated this woman? Tynan had to admit he was at a loss.

  He got back into the car. Rain beat an ancient tempo on the roof. A tune rambled through his consciousness. It wasn’t an old tune, traditional and well played. This was a new song that followed the pace of his heart with lyrics yet unspoken. These words, this music and tempo belonged only to Muireann.

  Ty started the car and backed, the wheels spinning in the deep, rain-soaked earth. He dare not spin his wheels where love was concerned.

  Muireann was a challenge he would not lose.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A storm broke in Muireann’s chest and she sobbed until her throat was raw. In response the sky opened and the deluge beat a cruel rhythm on the slates of her cottage. It seemed the universe had turned a cold eye on her.

  Nothing had truly changed. Her da still served pints every evening in his pub and her mam was just up the road, tending the garden in the same house where Conneely women had done the same for generations.

  Briefly, she thought about going down to the strand simply to hear the sea’s roar, but somehow the idea left Muireann knowing it would be fruitless.

  She had what she’d wanted, but she was like a child lost in the dark with no one to call out to her the way she needed to go. Where were the tethers that, for all her life, had held her to this place? Perhaps they had been too fragile to hold her chaotic world together.

  Tonight her life here in Ballinacurragh seemed ephemeral at best and, at the worst, a dead end. A strong temptation to flee gripped her. The last time she’d run away from home she’d been thirteen and had fought with her mother over the length of her school uniform skirt. If only life had been no more complex than that.

  Let someone else save the seals, she thought. And if the people of Ballinacurragh didn’t possess enough pride in their heritage to protect the remains of the O’Malley fortress, let it crumble under the wheels of progress.

  Right now, she couldn’t even save herself.

  Muireann picked up the damask shawl that had kept the dust off Ronan’s harp until today and crumpled it in her hands. She’d done the only thing she could have.

  She held the shawl to her nose and breathed in the fragrance of the wood it had covered for so long, but even Muireann’s active imagination could not bring back the feel of carved maple timbers.

  The turf stove was cold and the image of Tynan only yesterday bent over the leaded glass door stoking the fire only made Muireann shiver. Now, she’d likely chased him away for good.

  Cú flopped a big paw in Muireann’s lap and whined.

  “You really don’t want to go
outside,” she said and patted his big hairy head. “It’s a feckin’ monsoon out there.”

  He gave her a look of resignation and ambled across the room to pick up something out of his toy box and returned to drop the object in her lap.

  A shoe.

  Tynan’s shoe.

  “Oh God, Cú, what have I done?” Her breath caught and new rivulets of tears tracked down her cheeks. Muireann curled up on her sofa, clutched the shawl to her face and cried herself to sleep.

  ****

  The drumming of rain on the hood of Tynan’s car almost blocked the crunch of gravel under the wheels out of his hearing. It all added to the cacophony of thoughts crashing in his head.

  He rarely escaped his worries by drink or random overindulgence. He faced issues head on. Sobriety and a calm approach had worked for him in the past and he didn’t want to imagine Muireann’s seeming rejection of him being any different. The only factor that raised his anxiety was what he had to lose: This was the woman he was certain he had waited for and would love forever.

  Muireann, it seemed, needed to let the idea of his love for her settle in a bit. Being cautious was perfectly reasonable. They had only had a few days together.

  Perhaps it was time to show her how much he cared in a very concrete way. Tynan had resisted using the O’Malley land as a bargaining tool with Muireann. The idea felt cheap and even a little underhanded, as though he could buy her affections.

  However, he thought she should know what he was willing to do to see her dream of the protected seashore become reality.

  As soon as the bank opened in the morning, he resolved to head into town and settle the matter with Feeney.

  “Ah, Tynan, you’re back,” Mary chirped when he came in the door of An Currach. “I waited up in case you needed anything.”

  Though he didn’t particularly feel like being social, Ty did want to use her computer. “Mary, I wonder if you’d mind if I just check my email on your computer?”

  She led him into her cluttered kitchen. “I was just finishing the brown bread for tomorrow’s breakfast. We’ve a full house this week.” Mary dusted her flour-coated hands off on a tea towel and switched her desktop on. It was old and grindingly slow, but he was able to log in and retrieve his mail.

  Ty hadn’t so much as touched a keyboard since leaving Boston and his inbox was full and ninety-nine percent pure junk. He scrolled down until he found the email forwarded from Cade. It was from the McFallon Trust.

  He held his breath and tried to sort out what this had to do with his dilemma. He highlighted the message but his finger paused over the enter key. Ty braced himself for another roadblock. He was certain the Irish Relics and Poetry Society would have little interest in harbor seals.

  Ty took a deep breath and opened the email addressed to Hunter Kincade. Hunter, a name Cade only used in formal situations.

  Dear Mr. Kincade,

  Thank you for contacting us regarding your concern. The Irish Relics and Poetry Society would be interested in investigating further the possible value of the site near Ballinacurragh, Co. Clare.

  As I’m sure you are aware, there are many requests such as your own. We can only say that if this derelict building and the land adjacent is of historical value, we would, of course, be happy to look at your proof. Local lore, though valuable in these determinations, is not enough of a factor for us to pursue the project with enthusiasm.

  Please have the owner of the property contact us with photos and descriptions of any artifacts related to this alleged historic landmark. We will then be able to allocate the appropriate funds toward restoration or protection.

  Sincerely,

  Michael McFallon, Esq.

  Executor

  Irish Relics and Poetry Society

  A Dublin phone number was included with the message. Cade suggested Ty should ring this Michael McFallon and have him come to Ballinacurragh to check out the place.

  But proof? The man needs proof.

  Cold disappointment strangled Tynan’s chest, but he pushed the negatives to the back of his mind. There were the stories passed down for generations and the ancient chevaux de frise, granted mostly buried under hundreds of years of turf. Was that proof enough for the McFallons to offer a grant?

  If bones, stone carvings, or ancient manuscripts carefully scribed by monks describing the O’Malley fortress had been found, would Muireann have told him?

  He had been so consumed by desire for her they hadn’t delved very deep into details. Now, it might be too late.

  The situation was looking more hopeless by the minute. He could hold off the decision to sell or not for a few more days, but then he needed to move one way or the other. It might give him time to search for some bit of evidence.

  Ty closed the email and turned the computer off. He looked at his phone. If he had any hope of finding evidence, he would need to get Muireann to assist him. To do that, he would have to tell her the plan.

  Just ring her up, he told himself. Muireann would want to know there was some hope from an outside source. But Ty couldn’t make himself dial her number. She had said she wanted to be alone, to think things through without him confusing her further.

  He would have to wait until morning. Surely she would have herself sorted by then. Muireann would realize he loved her and she wouldn’t want to close him out of her life. Or would she?

  Tynan needed time. He had taxes to pay and a bank loan to resolve. Feeney wouldn’t make waiting easy.

  If only he could stop the clock until he had this figured out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Muireann’s eyes refused to open. Tear-snot clogged her head and her body ached from pinching her muscles without conscious thought. Whatever usually motivated her rising had swum out to sea with her determination.

  The only thing that pushed her from her sofa was the need to pee. It only took minimal consciousness and semi-blind groping to make her way into the bathroom. She dared not look at her swollen face in the mirror. It would be a horror and she couldn’t cope with another blow to her self-esteem.

  Flashes of the last conversation she had with Tynan drummed in her skull. The hurt and confusion she’d seen in his eyes cut sharp images in her memory. His fondness for her was obvious. Unbelievable as it seemed to her now, he found something of value in her above her being pretty and a good shag.

  Muireann splashed cool water in her face and toweled it dry. She ran her fingers through her hair, brushed her teeth, and tried to shake off the sense of impending doom that permeated every cell of her body.

  The thought occurred to her that she may be clinically depressed. A good solid psychiatric diagnosis would make everything much easier. She could just take a pill, let folks know she wasn’t responsible for her own stupidity, and carry on without a shred of guilt.

  Yeah, wouldn’t that be convenient?

  Unfortunately, she was sane as tea and biscuits.

  Muireann dressed in clothes more suited to a winter day: corduroy trousers, a polo, and jumper. The bleak weather showed no signs of perking up anytime soon.

  Though at its apex, clouds masked the sun and any sense of time. She knew it was late from the look of distress on Cú’s face.

  She let him out the front and knew he would wander off to her parents’ house where Dervla would fuss over him as he lounged at her feet in front of her turf stove. “Go on now, and no stopping to visit with Niabh’s poodle on your way,” she warned to his deaf ears.

  Shoulders squared, money in her purse, heart splintered in her chest, Muireann headed off with a thin and unsubstantial armor of dulled resolve.

  By the time she walked through the glass door of the Fisherman’s Bank and Loan all parts of her not covered by her mackintosh and wellies were soaked and frozen by the driving downpour.

  Muireann stood trembling and dripping on the Italian tile floor of the foyer, shook like a wet dog, and peeled her slicker off. “Lovely summer weather we’re having,” she mumbled to no one. Th
e office was empty and quiet as a new tomb.

  She’d expected Nora to be seated in her usual place, typing away on her computer, and sneaking peeks at a magazine she kept under her desk to relieve the boredom. The bank hadn’t been exactly hopping with business since the economic downturn.

  Muireann cleared her throat, as though the sound of her annoyance might wake some sleeping bank attendant. When nothing happened, she walked over to the corner office to have a surreptitious glance.

  Feeney and Nora stood with their backs to the glass of the office floor-to-ceiling window. They didn’t see Muireann but were silently watching a man leaf through files spread out on Ian’s desk.

  Muireann ached to get the money in her bag deposited in her account and lighten this heaviness in her chest.

  With Nora’s help, she could conquer the details of her purchase. She depended on the anger of the bank assistant to move the process along.

  It would be done. No going back. Ian would be out of her hair and Ty would be out of her life. She could proceed with her plans for the seal sanctuary and everything would be copacetic.

  Yeah, in a pig’s ear.

  Her life would never be calm and ordered. It would always mimic the tides: moments of tranquility interspersed with storm surges, relentless, disregarding whether she swam or sank.

  She reached for the bell on the teller’s desk. Nora turned and made eye contact with Muireann. After what seemed like an eternity, Nora excused herself and came to the lobby.

  “Jaysus in a lifeboat, Muireann O’Malley, what are ya doing here?” Nora whispered and looked nervously over her shoulder to the inner office.

  “I’ve got the cash—”

  “You’re too late and too short,” Nora snapped and started to walk away.

  Muireann grabbed for her arm and stopped her. “What the hell do you mean? I’ve got the money right here.” She held out the packet of bills. “Just tell me what to do next.”

  Nora closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She spoke with a high-pitched squeak that seemed on the verge of hysteria. “It’s not that easy. You see those men? They’re auditors.”