by Clare Austin
Dervla kicked and squirmed, dropping the pelt in her effort to escape his hold.
The water was now ankle deep and the sand sucked Ty down, making it difficult to walk. With the struggling woman in his arms, he wasn’t at all sure he could climb back to the strand over the jagged rock ledges.
Instinct told him they had few choices. Ty tried to get her to focus on him before he spoke. She stopped struggling and he thought she was about to relent, but her face came up, her gaze not on him but over his shoulder.
Dervla’s eyes grew wide and she trembled.
“What?” he asked.
The answer came, but not from her lips. A grinding roar. He turned at the sound and the earth shuddered beneath his feet. At once the sky grew black. A green-grey swell built in the sea, roiled and rolled toward land, toward the cave, toward them, and swallowed the light of day.
Like an angry python, the force gripped him, twisted and tumbled him. Ty had only a vague sense that he held in his arms something very precious. Something he would give his life to preserve.
His lungs burned and begged for new breath to fill him. Pain thundered through his shoulder as it hit something hard and unmovable. Then, as suddenly as the water covered him, it retreated, gathered, and threatened again. He choked and sputtered, then breathed the salt air.
Dervla was limp against his chest. He thought she might be unconscious until she shouted, “Let me go.”
“Not in this lifetime,” he shouted above the crash and din. “I promised your daughter I’d get you back, and I’ll go to a wet grave before I’ll break a promise to the woman I love.”
The tide raged against his efforts to scramble up the rocks. Ty knew he was going to have to swim. He tried to remember how his da had held him when he was ten years old and got caught in a rip tide. I won’t let you go, he’d said as his strong forearm circled Tynan’s chest. Michael Sloan had held his son with one arm and swam with the other. Even now, with the roar of tons of salt water crashing in his ears, Tynan could hear his father’s voice, clear as it had been two decades ago. Don’t let go! I’ve got you.
Ty could attempt nothing less. He gripped Dervla; one long arm encircled the slender woman without much difficulty. There was no delicacy in it, but he held her firmly against him.
Another wave, stronger than the last, struck with an explosive boom against the cliff wall. Ty braced for the onslaught. White water appeared ephemeral but was hard as bullets against his body. The force hit him and he slammed hard onto the sandy bottom before popping up again to catch a breath on the surface.
Ty kicked his legs and stroked through the water with his free arm. He was an inefficient swimmer and would make very slow progress. He just hoped he wouldn’t be pushed farther out by each successive thrust of the sea.
Off in the distance he could hear Cú howl. As the water once again receded, Ty gained a bit of purchase with his feet on the sea floor.
Dervla was silent, eyes wide, shaking her head in protest, clawing to break free, and reaching for something in the water.
The pelt.
Ty watched as it was stripped from them and returned to the sea from which it came. For a moment it seemed to float, teasing him, calling him to let go of his burden and reach for it. Then, it slipped silently beneath the steely surface and was gone. A little of his hope was carried with it, but he gathered his thoughts and tried to steal himself for another attempt to get around the rocky outcrop and onto solid earth.
The next sea surge slammed his head back as though he’d been punched by a giant’s fist. Air expelled from his already burning lungs and made it impossible to hold onto breath. His head spun and blackness tried to take his consciousness. Uncontrollable shivers seized him. He fought the urge to let the sea float him away in the chilled depths.
I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. This became his mantra as he held his breath in preparation for another assault. Ty swam, pulled, scrabbled, and fought…for his life, for Dervla, for Muireann.
He battled for his integrity, for his manhood, for everything he believed family, love and life deserved from him. Dervla slumped against him. Cú howled. Darkness descended.
I don’t make promises…His arms burned. I don’t intend to keep…His legs kicked, teeth gritted, and anger he’d never felt toward any person gathered from the innermost parts of him and aimed indignant fury at the forces in his way.
And at fate. A fate with which he refused to negotiate.
Blackness descended, covering him.
****
A blanket of calm wrapped his body and mind. Was this death? Ty wasn’t convinced. If he were dead, he wouldn’t feel a throb of pain in his head. He wouldn’t hear voices, voices of people he doubted were dead as well.
“Wake up. Yer a freakin’ hero.”
Fingers gripped his shoulders and shook him. His head spun and a wave of nausea surged through him. He could cope with the ache in his head. The worst sensation was the emptiness in his arms.
Minutes passed, perhaps many, before he became conscious of the grit and pebbles beneath his back and the chill wind on his face. A desert’s worth of sand coated his dry throat. When he opened his eyes, Simon was leaning over him, grinning.
“Hey, man, yer a freakin’ hero,” he said with a stupid grin. “Come on. Everybody wants to buy you a pint.”
Ty could hear Muireann’s voice, but he couldn’t see her. He turned onto his side, steadied himself, and sat up. The sun was overhead and the glare off the sea burned his eyes and dulled his ability to focus. Shading his face with a free hand, he peered up the cliff in the direction of the voices.
Muireann was halfway up the Monk’s Ladder, her arms encircling a bent figure wrapped in a dark blanket. From his place on the strand, Tynan could make out Dervla’s pale face leaned against Muireann’s shoulder.
Relief flooded him. He’d kept his promise to Muireann. He tried to rise go to them, but his body refused to comply. Instead, he watched from a distance as Turlough O’Malley met his family at the top of the cliff and they embraced. He waited for Muireann to call down to him, acknowledge him in some way. When she did not, he turned away.
He brushed off a hollow sense of rebuff. They were just relieved to see Dervla safe. He should have felt happy for them. He should be gracious and let them buy him that pint. Instead, he was gripped by an undeniable need to get the hell out of there.
“Si,” he said as he got to his feet. “Can you get me back to An Currach? I need some dry clothes.”
Ty stumbled and Simon steadied him. “Sure…whatever.”
They made their way up the limestone steps and across the grass to Simon’s car. The meadow grass was cool on his bare feet. Ty felt in his pocket for his phone, then remembered he’d left it on a rock ledge with his shoes to keep it dry. It didn’t seem important enough to go back. Easier to replace it.
“Si, can I use your phone?”
“Sure, man. You gonna call Muireann?” He handed the mobile over. “Anything for true love,” he said and winked.
“Yeah.” Ty really wasn’t ready to discuss his love life or lack of it with Simon. If he didn’t get out of Ballinacurragh today, he might never be able to leave.
He scrolled through the numbers until he found one for information. “Aer Lingus, Shannon airport, please.”
Si gave him a startled half frown. “What the fuck?”
Ty ignored him. “Thanks, connect me, would ya please,” he said into the mobile phone. He waited through the automated reply and punched the number for reservations. “What time is the next flight to Boston?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tynan hadn’t looked back. He had not tried to catch her glance from his place on the beach. She’d waited as long as she could after handing her shivering mother into her father’s embrace.
She peered back to the strand one last time. Tynan was turned away. In resignation she made her way past the Monk’s Ladder and onto the windswept field. They all piled into Ma
ry Conneely’s car and drove the short distance to the O’Malley home.
Niabh Delaney had arrived early, warmed the cottage with a peat fire, and prepared the tea. An unusual quiet fell over the usually gregarious group. In a black moment, Muireann thought it reminded her of how people act when a death has occurred.
But her mam was alive, thanks to Tynan. He’d got to her just in time, pulled her through the incoming tides, and delivered her safe in the arms of her family. Muireann would never be able to thank him properly, but she vowed to try.
So where was he?
In the bathroom, she washed her face and borrowed a brush to untangle her hair. Muireann rubbed the chill out of her arms, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and headed back out to the front room.
Niabh and her eldest daughter, Émer, were busy pouring tea and arranging biscuits on a tray. “Sit, Muireann, and warm yourself. I’ll fix you a sandwich. You’ve been through enough today,” Niabh encouraged.
“Thanks,” she said and picked up a cup of hot tea. “But I’ll wait until Ty gets here for that sandwich. He’ll be starved.”
The sound of wet boots scraped at the doorstep and her heart leapt.
Finally.
The door burst open and Big Mick caught it from blowing off the hinges. “Wind’s kickin’ up again out there.”
Disappointment lodged like a jagged rock in Muireann’s chest. “Mick,” she said with a forced smile. She helped him hang his jacket on the hook by the door and gave him a hug. “Thank you so much for your help today.”
“Ah, don’t thank me. It was your young man who’s the hero.”
A hot flush crept up Muireann’s neck and into her cheeks. “He’s not my young man by any stretch. But, yes, it was amazing that he found her.” Now if he’d just find his way here. “I expect he’ll be by soon now.”
Mick’s eyes scanned the room as though looking for help before he spoke again. “He was with Simon filling up at the petrol station. They asked about the weather report at Shannon.”
“Shannon?” Muireann couldn’t make sense of any of this. Where was he going?
“Sounds like they’re headed to the airport.”
Mick’s voice came from the bottom of a barrel, like an echo, not quite real. Bees started to buzz in her head and black wings beat the air at the periphery of her visual field. She might be sick.
The airport? He’s going home. To Boston. Of course he is. He said he was done with you. She sat down hard on the sofa and rested her head in her hands.
“Niabh,” Mick called with an edge of panic in his voice. “Niabh, I think our Muireann’s not well.”
Niabh rushed in from the kitchen, pressed the back of her hand to Muireann’s brow and shook her head. “You’ve had a very hard day, dear. Let me help you to lie down. Your mam’s going to sleep for a while. I’ll wake you when she asks for you.”
“No. No, I’m fine. I’m just going to take a little walk.”
“Child, the rain’s spitting sidewise out there.” Niabh put a hand on Muireann’s arm to stop her. “You’ll catch your death.”
Muireann walked to the door, lifted her jacket from the peg, and pulled it on. “I’ll be back before mother wakes,” she said as an afterthought and stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.
Though the sun had hours yet before it dipped into the sea in the west, the evening was dark with clouds. Chilled moisture slicked her cheeks and drilled like frozen nails though the last of her resistance. Tears burned and pooled in her eyes.
Ty had kept his word and driven out of her life. Her mother was completely round the twist. The pelt had been returned to the sea and along with it the dream of saving the fortress. She had given up Ronan’s harp for nothing but a pocket full of useless euros.
Muireann knew now that her determination to save Bertie’s legacy and protect her beloved seals was foolishness. With her betrayal of Tynan, she had lost his respect and any compassion he might have had for her cause. He had no reason to help her now.
As she walked along the cliff edge, past the Leaba Leannán Si, cold rain and hot tears blurred her vision. The tune Tynan had played for her the day they picnicked here spun through her thoughts. It was a tune she couldn’t name, but it spoke of the pleasant moments they had shared.
She made her way down the slippery rock steps, using her hand along the adjacent ledge for balance. Her hand hit something and knocked it to the sand. A shoe.
She lifted one shoe. It was filled with water. As she poured it empty, a mobile phone fell out onto the sand. A choke of pain pierced her throat and Muireann swallowed hard. Tynan’s shoes. His phone. Had he left in such haste that he forgot these essentials? It was a sorrowful example of how badly he wanted—needed—to be away from her.
She sat down on the wet stone and stared out to sea. Her eyes blurred with tears. Her nature would not admit defeat, but ruin snapped at her heels. She had a flyaway lightness, an emptiness, in her chest. The grounding of Tynan’s steady presence was lost. All she could feel was her life in its typical chaotic spin.
Tynan had said he loved her, but even he was gone. She had chased him away as surely as the tide would forever ebb.
All the anchors she had depended on had vanished. Her mother was more fragile than a dandelion seed blown on a gale wind. And her da could no longer shelter his baby girl from her own impetuousness. If only she had Ronan, his wisdom, his unbendable sense of order.
The limestone radiated warmth, even under this bleak sky. She stayed, unmoving, and tried to banish the day from her mind. Muireann closed her eyes and leaned back, wishing she could hear Ronan’s voice guiding her. She wanted direction, whether it be toward Tynan or away from him forever.
When she opened her eyes, the rain had abated and the sun was trying to creep under the cloud layer. A shaft of light caressed her shoulders and warmed her as it made its way to cast a blue-grey patina on the sea.
The water stirred and the black nose of a seal poked out of a shallow pool. This animal was not one of the family of pinnipeds Muireann expected to see haul out now that the storm had calmed.
This one was dark ebony with silvery speckles over her shoulders, not unlike a lace shawl.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Independence Day, Boston, MA
“Ahhh,” Flann yelled. “Jamie Mac, if ya don’t get a taxi here this minute, I’m gonna birth this child on your bar.” Cade went pale and Jamie fumbled with his mobile. It flew out of his hands and smashed on the oak floor.
“See what you’ve done now,” Jamie shot back. “I’ve busted me smart phone.”
“If it’s so smart, why hasn’t it found me a taxi?” Flann groaned and leaned into Cade for support.
“Tell that to the thousand people jamming up State Street.” Jamie shook his phone, then tapped the screen in an attempt to revive it. “Besides, who in her right mind decides to have a baby on the biggest day of the year in America?”
Jamie left the kitchen with a tray of chips fresh from the fryer.
The back door burst open and Kerry rushed to her sister’s side. “Mother of God, Mary Flannery, we need to get you to hospital.” She immediately set the kettle on the stove. “You’ll need strong tea with lots of sugar.”
Tea, the simple but almighty solution to every dilemma from a bruised knee to a broken heart.
Ty sipped his pint in silence and decided he had best keep to himself any concerns he might have over Flannery’s condition. The pub was jammed with revelers. They were three deep at the bar. The Fourth was not only the biggest day for celebrating, but one of the best for revenue. Jamie had hired two new girls to serve the crowd, and Miguel could build a pint of stout as fine as any Boston Irishman. Soon the pub patrons would head down to the river for the fireworks, but right now, no one went anywhere. Every motorized vehicle in the financial district was at a standstill.
“The parade will pass in a few minutes. Just breathe. We have time,” Cade added. Ty caught a panicked look in the young ma
n’s eyes.”When the street clears, we’ll take my car,” Cade said with a tone belying his anxiety.
Flann moaned and rolled her eyes. “That pile of misunderstood German engineering? It breaks down in a fit of temper every ten minutes. You expect me to birth this baby on the approach to Longfellow Bridge?”
Ty fought to rein in his worry. He’d read that first babies take a long time to come. The traffic would clear and they would all head out to the birth center where the midwife would meet them.
Personally, he was thankful for the distraction. It had only been two weeks since he’d hopped on the first flight he could catch out of Shannon for Boston. And though he’d known a broken heart didn’t heal in a fortnight, he was impatient for the pain to subside.
Two weeks and he still saw her everywhere, heard her melodic voice call his name, felt her wake him at night with soft breath on his cheek. He would hear a woman laugh on the street or in a crowd and turn to see if it was her. He missed the way her face would try without success to remain neutral when she fought to stifle a laugh at one of his lame jokes. But what haunted him most was how her voice could translate depth of emotion in a song.
Muireann.
In the same irrational way, he had thought he’d see her van, resurrected from its junked state, chasing down Simon’s little Fiat as they made their way through Ballinacurragh.
In his imagination, she would confess her love for him, they would kiss right there with the rain pouring down like a baptism from heaven. She would morph into the sea creature he thought she’d been the day he found her on the strand, her hair tangles of kelp and her dark skin slick with salt water.
What a fool he’d been. She’d used him and tossed him in a way he never imagined a woman could. She hadn’t even looked back.
Nor had she called, texted, written a letter, or sent the Gardaí to stop him at the departure gates of Shannon Airport.
Granted the local constabulary had their hands full. The failure of the Balli C bank was all over the Irish news services. Ian Feeney had at last gotten the recognition he had longed for, albeit within the confines of the Limerick prison.
