The car crested a hill, and it seemed that all of Ireland opened up in front of him. A wide sweep of valley so green it hurt to look at it. Stone fences threaded through the green like gray ribbon, and a few scattered cottages looked as though they’d been plunked down in the middle of a painting. Cows and sheep dotted the fields, and not far off, a farmer rode a tractor, churning up black earth. Sunlight speared through the clouds and lay like gold across the fields. The sky was as blue as Aine had promised, and the distant sea glittered darkly like a sapphire.
Even better, Brady spotted the hulking shadow of the castle not far off. In a few minutes, he was driving through the entry, making a mental note to have the tall metal gates painted. On the right stood the guest cottage where Aine lived with her family. He almost stopped, then decided to go to the castle first, then find his hotel manager.
It was impressive, was all he could think as he parked the car in front of the wide double doors. The three-story building was gray stone that contained enough mica to make it glitter when the sun slanted across it. He did a slow turn, taking in the whole picture, and had to admit that it was a different thing entirely to actually stand in front of the castle than it had been to see the pictures of it. A cold wind sliced at him, belying the fact that it was August. The wide lawn was trimmed, the ancient oaks provided shade for the castle entrance and flowers in the neatly tended beds dipped and swayed in a wind that carried the scent of the sea.
He hadn’t expected it all to be so beautiful. Or to feel almost...familiar. Which just went to prove that jet lag had set in.
Behind him, the front door opened and Brady turned around to see a short barrel-chested man with gray hair and sharp blue eyes glaring at him.
“You’ve come, then,” the man said with a brisk nod. “And about time if you’re asking me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s not my pardon you should be begging, is it?”
Irritation stirred. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking man-to-man about what’s decent, aren’t I? You’ll be Brady Finn.” The man came down the steps like a bull chasing down an intruder in his field. “I know your face from the pictures Aine showed me.”
Brady looked down at the much shorter man. “Who’re you?”
“Danny Leary,” he said and didn’t offer his hand. “I’m one of those putting the castle to rights.”
So this was the man Aine had gone to bat for. “Aine told me about you,” Brady said and didn’t add that she hadn’t mentioned he was a little nuts.
“Did she, now? Well, she told all of us about you as well, Brady Finn, and as I said, it’s high time you showed yourself.” Danny propped fists on his hips, scowled up at Brady and said, “As her father, God rest him, was my friend, I’ll stand for him now. You’ve been too long in coming, but as you’re here now, we’ll settle this for good and all.”
“Settle what?” Brady was tired, hungry and in no mood for playing games. Besides all that, he wasn’t used to having his employees chew him out as though he was ten years old.
A storm cloud settled on the older man’s features. “Follow me, then.” Danny turned and charged back up the stairs, not bothering to see if Brady came after him or not.
He followed the man into the castle and stopped dead in the entryway. A wall of noise greeted him. Saws, hammers, men shouting, music playing. The place was huge, so the sound ricocheted off the cathedral ceiling and slammed back down to crash into Brady’s head. Gray stone walls were dotted with pennants, tapestries and broadswords. Leaded windows allowed sunlight to spear into the open space. He could see the wide staircase off to the right, its ancient stone steps covered by a deep red runner. A highly polished, intricately carved wooden banister gleamed in the light.
“Aine!” Danny shouted from off to Brady’s left. “What’re you doing on that ladder, lass? You’ve no business climbing that thing.”
Brady walked into what was clearly the banquet hall. In a split second, his gaze swept the room and he was impressed. It was exactly as he’d imagined it. The feel of the Middle Ages and the comfort of the twenty-first century. Perfect. Right down to the paintings of warriors, werewolves and banshees on the walls.
“Come on down now and careful,” the man was saying. “Mind your step, lass.”
“I’m fine, Danny,” she said on a laugh, “I was just putting a new bulb in this sconce. What do you think? A lower wattage looks more like torchlight, but ’tisn’t as bright as a higher-watt bulb.”
“I like the torch idea myself,” Danny answered.
“As do I.”
The musical voice that had haunted Brady for five months fisted something inside him. He watched as Danny helped her down the last few rungs of a ladder and couldn’t take his eyes off her. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he took advantage of the moment to indulge himself by letting his gaze sweep over her. That amazing hair of hers hung loose in waves and curls of dark fire that fell around her shoulders. She wore a thick sweater over jeans and boots, and Brady thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Damn, he’d missed her. Hadn’t wanted to. Had tried to talk himself out of it time and again, yet she hadn’t left his mind once over the past five months.
“Danny,” she was saying, “you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I’ve known you all your life, lass. And if you haven’t the sense to know a pregnant woman has no business climbing a ladder, what choice do I have but to worry?”
“Pregnant?”
Aine whirled around so fast, her hair swung out in an arc around her head. Her face was pale, her green eyes wide and startled. But all he could see was the rounded belly defined by a tight yellow shirt exposed when her sweater swung open. “Brady? What’re you doing here?”
“You’re pregnant?” he demanded. “What the hell, Aine?”
“Don’t curse at me,” she snapped.
“He didn’t know?” Danny bellowed. “You’ve kept it from the man all this time?”
“No,” Brady ground out, answering Danny’s question himself. “I didn’t know. She didn’t bother to tell me.”
His gaze drilled into Aine’s, and he had some small satisfaction in seeing shame flicker briefly in her eyes. It felt as if there was a giant iron band wrapped around his chest, slowly tightening until he could hardly breathe. His brain was racing and was still outpaced by the damn anger that had him by the throat.
“How could you not tell the man he’s to be a father?”
Aine shot Danny a look. “I’ve my reasons.”
“I’m sure they’re great ones,” Brady snapped. “Can’t wait to hear ’em.”
Danny folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’d like to know that, as well.”
“What were you waiting for, Aine?” Brady took a step closer and forced himself to stop. “When the kid needs college money?”
Little by little, Brady noticed, the noise in the castle was beginning to die off. First it was the saw, then the hammers. Music, though, still pumped through the air, and a few men shouted to be heard over it.
Aine sucked in a gulp of air and fired a furious look at him. “Did I ever ask you for anything?” she demanded, clearly outraged. “How can you say I’d come to you for money?”
“Aye, that was a bit harsh,” Danny put in.
Brady wasn’t listening. “What else am I supposed to think? You don’t tell me you’re pregnant and I’m supposed to, what? Congratulate you on your integrity and honesty?”
Her incredible green eyes narrowed and a splash of temper appeared on her pale cheeks. “You’ve no call to question my honesty.”
Brady waved one hand at her belly. “Looks as if I’ve got about five months’ worth of reason.”
“Well, he has you there, love,” Danny said.
N
ow the quiet in the castle was nearly ghostly. The silence was so profound, Brady was sure he could hear his own heart crashing in his chest.
A father? He’d spent his entire adult life avoiding just this situation, and all it had taken was one night of forgetting—one night of incredible sex mixed with a lack of control—to plunk him right in the middle of it. He couldn’t sort through the dozens of emotions and reactions racing through him. All he could think was he was a father. And hell if he knew what to do about it.
Vaguely, he noticed the banquet room filling with curious people. One by one, men came in from wherever they’d been working, following the sounds of shouting. They stood in a wary half circle, waiting for the argument to continue. And for the first time, Brady came to himself long enough to realize he was discussing damned private things with a damn audience.
“That’s it for the show,” he announced, his voice deep and dark and loud enough to carry throughout the castle. “You men get back to work—”
“Who’s he to be ordering us about?” someone whispered.
“He’s your boss, Jack Dooley,” Danny said loudly enough to cover any other questions. “And he’s right and all. Back to work, the lot of you.” Then the older man gave Brady a nod and a wink before joining the rest of the crew in their slow shuffle out of the room.
Stalking across the few feet of space separating him from Aine, Brady grabbed her upper arm in a tight grip and fought to ignore the expected flare of heat that zipped from her to him and back again. “We’ll finish this in private.”
She pulled away and said, “There’s nothing to finish.”
Brady laughed shortly, but there was no humor in it. “You can’t be serious.”
“Fine. We’ll go upstairs to my room.”
“Your room? I thought you lived in the guest cottage.”
“I moved into the castle some time ago, to better keep an eye on things as they happen.” She walked past him, chin lifted, head held high. Like a damn queen, Brady told himself and followed after, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet.
“You’ll notice the work on the ground floor’s progressing,” she said, voice thin and tight, like a bored tour guide. “The first floor—second to you—is nearly finished as well, but the top floor’s another matter entirely.”
He was hardly listening. In spite of the anger rushing through him he was distracted by the sway of her behind as she climbed the stairs. Gritting his teeth, he looked away and when he did, he noticed some of the work done on the place. At the landing, thick bloodred carpets ran the length of the hallway, and pewter sconces chased away gloomy day shadows. Paintings based on the “Fate Castle” game were framed and hung, and he lost a moment or two admiring them.
“It looks good,” he said, grudgingly.
“It does.” She turned to the right and walked down the hall to the room at the far end, where she opened the door and Brady followed her inside.
The room was big, filled with antiques and boasting a window seat. There was a fireplace, two chairs pulled up in front of it. A heavy wooden chest sat at the end of a massive four-poster bed opposite a wide flat-screen television hanging over the hearth.
Brady walked to the window, pulled the drapes aside and looked down on what appeared to be a maze. He didn’t give a damn about the scenery, though—he was only trying to ease the tightness in his chest, get a grip on his anger. But that wasn’t working, so he thought, Screw it, and turned around to face Aine.
His heart felt as if a tight fist were closed around it, and even with that, his body stirred at the sight of her. Apparently righteous anger wasn’t enough to quench the desire he felt for her.
“You should have told me you were coming,” she blurted out, crossing her arms over her chest. The edges of her sweater slid back and the rounded bump of her belly was proudly displayed.
Under that steady regard, Aine pulled her sweater over in front of her, disguising the bump.
Anger, betrayal and a whisper of panic rose up inside him and settled in his chest. “I should have told you?” he asked. “Why? So you could be gone when I got here?”
“No,” she said, lifting that stubborn chin of hers even higher. “This is my home, I wouldn’t have gone, but I might have been prepared—”
“For more lies?” he interrupted.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she insisted, chin high, eyes flashing. “Exactly.”
“Really?” He walked closer and closer until he was just a breath away from her and she was forced to tip her head back to meet his eyes. God, her scent wrapped itself around him and snaked into his brain, where it tangled with memories and lies and secrets and drove him even closer to the edge. “You didn’t lie. When I asked if you were pregnant, what did you say?”
“That you’d nothing to worry about,” she snapped, pushing away from him. “’Tis no more than the truth. My child is not yours to worry over.”
“My child, too, Aine.” God, just saying those words out loud gave Brady a jolt that shook him right to the bones.
“You don’t want him. I do.”
“Him?” Brady asked.
She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Aye. ’Tis a boy.”
A son. He had a son. Hard to wrap his brain around, but knowing what the baby was made this so much more real. More immediate. “And he’s healthy?”
“He is,” she said, laying one hand protectively over her belly.
He caught the action and his heart gave a hard thump. She’d been pregnant for five months. She’d been here, building a life without him. Planning a future for their child without him. He hadn’t suspected. Hadn’t sensed anything during all of the conversations he’d had with her. It seemed he should have known somehow. The fact that he hadn’t was due to her.
“I had a right to know, Aine.”
“You would only have offered me money—”
Stung, mostly because she was probably right, he said, “You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I? When you were in such a rush to get rid of me, your first thought was to offer me a raise.”
He ground his teeth together in pure frustration. Yes, she had a point, but that didn’t negate the fact that she was in the wrong here and had no excuse good enough for what she’d done.
The thought of being a father had never really entered his mind. It wasn’t as if he had any notion how to be a part of a family. But now that he was faced with the very real existence of a child he’d created, he could admit to himself that it wasn’t only worry and anger charging through his system.
For the first time in his life, he would be a part of something. His child. And he wouldn’t let anyone cut him out of the boy’s life.
“You made yourself clear in California, Brady,” Aine was saying. “You wanted no more from me, so why would I assume you would want my child?”
“Half yours,” he corrected. “Half mine.”
“Well, short of Solomon’s solution to this situation, I don’t know what you want of me.”
“I want to know my kid,” he snapped. “And I want him to know me. I won’t have my son wondering where his parents are. Wondering why he wasn’t good enough for his father to stick around or why—”
He broke off, appalled at the words rushing from him. He hadn’t talked about his childhood to anyone. Not even the Ryan brothers knew the whole story, and damned if Brady was going to spill his guts to the woman who’d lied to him. The woman who stood there looking at him through green eyes shining now with anxiety and curiosity.
“Why would he think that?” she asked quietly.
“He won’t. He’ll never have to,” Brady assured her, moving in close again. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do.”
“I suppose we do, at that.” She sighed and walked to one corner of the room. “I’ve a t
ea set up here. Would you like a cup?”
“Are we going to be civilized now?” he asked wryly.
She glanced at him. “We can certainly try.”
“Right.” Nodding, he walked along behind her and tried to let go of the hard knot of anger in his guts. Wouldn’t do him any good to stay angry. Aine would just have to learn that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until they figured out what to do from here.
“The tea services will be in every room,” she was saying, plugging in a kettle and readying two cups. “It’s not proper tea, of course, but bags. Still, it’s welcome on a cold summer day.”
“Cold summer day,” he mused, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he followed after her. “Don’t hear that much at home.”
“True enough, but Ireland’s a different matter, isn’t it?” She busied herself with the tea bags and cups, and when the water in the kettle boiled, she poured it. “The kitchen’s not ready for use as yet, with the stove not installed.” She was talking faster, showing nerves she otherwise would have hidden. “I’ve been eating sandwiches mostly, since the fridge is working fine, or eating with Mum and Robbie. If you’re planning on staying a bit—”
“I am,” he assured her.
She nodded. “Then, sandwiches for you as well, or there’s the village where you can find pub grub.”
“Sounds delicious.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched as she finished preparing the tea and handed him a cup.
“’Tis good,” she told him. “Mick Hannigan’s wife has a way with shepherd’s pie.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said and couldn’t care less about the pub, the village or pretty much anything else but the woman in front of him and the child nestled inside her. To keep her off balance, he asked, “How’s the work on the castle coming?
She gave him a curious glance. “As I’ve told you every week. Much progress has been made, though we’ve hit a bump or two along the way.”
“What kind of bumps?” he asked.
“No more than you’d expect on such a big job,” she said. “We’ve had some trouble with supplies arriving or being misordered, but we’re dealing with them.”
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