The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  “Why the dream of course. That’s what them old goats, pardon yer honor,” Seamus said as he bowed toward Heaven and nudged down the rim of his cap, “have planned for ye and the lass here.”

  “Predestination? Have you turned Presbyterian on me?” “Balderdash!” Jim said aloud.

  Megan’s gaze shot up to Jim; her brows rose in question. “What’s the matter?”

  “Ah, nothing, just thinking out loud.” He knew his face was bright red. He felt the blush get out of control. Jim glanced at the rim of Megan’s whisky glass, and let the breath he’d been holding slip slowly out between his teeth. Seamus was gone. Thank goodness!

  “Well, we’d best get on upstairs and get to work if we’re going to make that show by seven.” Megan slid off the barstool looking at him curiously.

  She stopped by the desk and ordered their sandwiches and a pot of tea and scones while Jim climbed the stairs to the room. She looked after him quizzically and worried. He had that leprechaun look again.

  Chapter 17

  Megan and Jim walked out into the clear, cold night. It was only a few blocks to the theater. They were to see a murder mystery. The play was one that had been nominated for the annual award at the Arts Festival, but Jim wasn’t too happy about the whole thing. He’d rather have watched a comedy.

  He was too obsessed at the moment, thinking about killing Seamus. Perhaps he was afraid that the plot of the play might give him too many brilliant ideas. But then again, he supposed you couldn’t kill an angel. If that was what he was and not a demon straight from—

  “Ah, ah, ah, mustn’t say that,” said Seamus. The elf sat perched on Megan’s shoulder as they walked toward the theater.

  “Why don’t you make like a tree and leaf?” Jim silently wished.

  “Ha, ha, that’s a rip if I ever heard one,” said the little man, holding his sides in laughter. “Funny. Is that how all you young people talk nowadays?” Seamus stopped laughing rather too abruptly and with his arms akimbo leaned in toward Jim. “Now, you and the young lady here are going the wrong way. St. Ignatius is behind us, laddie.”

  “I’m not going to see a priest tonight; I’m going to see a play.” Jim closed his eyes.

  “A play? Saints preserve us. And with all that you and Megan lass have to do. Boy-o, listen to your uncle now and go back to St. Ignatius. ’Tis the only way that you’ll be saved.”

  “My uncle?” Jim’s eyebrows raised in question.

  “Oh, aye. Six-times, that’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great uncle, you being a direct descendant of my sister Maggie. And didn’t I tell ya? I need to tell you about your ten-times-great-grandmother. What a lass. Feisty as all get out. Take a fist to any lad and best him, she could. I see some of that in you, boy-o. Now your ten-times-great-grandmother—”

  “Please tell me that my ancestors didn’t have pointed ears and slanted eyes like Mr. Spock,” Jim thought in a half prayer.

  “Oh, no, laddie. I just look this way because King Brian looks much the same. He’s the king of the leprechaun’s, don’t ya know. And who the devil is this Mr. Spock?”

  Jim stared at Megan’s shoulder trying to imagine what his great-uncle times six really looked like.

  “Why are you staring at me?” Megan’s tone was curt and wary.

  “Uh, sorry. Actually, I was looking over your shoulder at the houses along the street.”

  Megan liked looking at him with a pretend glare. She could take her time reveling on his blacker-than-night hair and his pale, almost translucent skin. His eyes were the show stoppers. They melted into her right down to her toes.

  She continued walking, staring at him, and suddenly she pitched forward.

  “Ohhhh!”

  Jim grabbed her arm as she stumbled. Her toe had caught on a crack in the pavement.

  “Watch yourself,” he said as he held her arm tightly. He stilled, looking deep into her eyes. “Uh—”

  He searched about in his mind for something to say to break the spell she wove around him. “How far to the theater?”

  “We’re here. You’re standing in front of the bill.”

  Jim turned his head slowly to see the entryway to a small Broadway-type theater with a lighted marquee.

  He shook his head slightly, still holding Megan by the arm.

  “Okay, let’s go in.”

  The theater had rows and rows of old-fashioned, wooden, flip-down seats. Jim and Megan walked down almost an entire row before they found their assigned places.

  The play was a murder mystery with shadowy lighting and strange voices that occasionally spoke from the wings. Suspense filled the theater and the lighting and acting created an aura of anxiety for the audience. Sometime after the second act intermission, Megan looked over her shoulder, coming halfway out of her seat as she did so.

  “What’s the matter?” Jim asked.

  Megan sat flat again, stared straight ahead for a moment, and then shook her head slightly. She leaned closer to Jim, cupped her hand over her mouth and spoke in his ear.

  “Remember last night when I said someone was watching me? Well, there goes that feeling again.”

  Jim looked around nonchalantly and couldn’t be sure that he didn’t see a shadow lurking in one of the upper boxes.

  “Seamus, is there someone watching Megan?” Jim sent the thought heavenward, hoping Seamus would catch it on the way.

  “Can’t say, boy-o. Not my department. I don’t watch after the corporeal body, so to speak. Just the soul.”

  Jim let out a disgusted sigh. The house lights went down and the play resumed.

  ****

  He stared at her from the upper box, willing her to look at him. Her red-gold hair, hanging low over her shoulder, fell softly around her face as she turned and looked. Ah, he knew she could feel him. He knew it. Their bond was as strong as ever. He’d prove to her that she needed him, still loved him.

  He had to get rid of the Yank. But if he killed again here, they might catch him sooner than he wanted them to.

  No, he’d have to wait until he got back to Dublin. Then he’d make plans that included Megan.

  He’d keep her in the little flat he’d hired on the River Liffy.

  If she didn’t behave, he’d just have to tie her up he supposed.

  But with time, surely she’d come to her senses and realize just how much she loved and needed him. Yes, the little place he’d picked out near the river would be just the thing.

  Chapter 18

  Jim thought about Megan’s corporeal body the rest of the evening, successfully ignoring even the suspense-filled play. He thought about her on the short walk to the hotel and again when he escorted her to their room and told her he would be up after he had a nightcap. He thought about the problem until he felt like his head was too small for all the thoughts crowding about in his brain.

  He could see no way at all for them to be together. The most obvious and glaring problem was where they each lived.

  Boston was a real hometown in every sense of the word, and he really didn’t want to leave there. Not ever. She lived in Dublin, and he couldn’t very well ask her to move either. He knew she had just as many attachments in Dublin as he did in Boston.

  He couldn’t ask her to give up her job. He was certain hers meant as much to her as his did to him. But he had a sneaking suspicion that he was getting past the point of not being able to live without her.

  It worried him. It worried him like nothing had for a very long time. What would happen to his heart that was so inexplicably attached to his brain when he got on that plane in Shannon and left?

  He walked into the bar and settled himself on the stool before he looked about. He had to get his mind off his problems.

  A man read poetry to an attentive crowd. Jim thought he might be reading Yeats but wasn’t sure. Ireland crawled with intellectuals, and sometimes Jim felt a bit like a cultural boob comparatively.

  Jim’s mind was on the reading and his own morbid thoughts when th
e barkeep brought his whisky. Some niggling feeling nudged at him and Jim’s mind came back into the present. His attention was drawn to a man standing at the other end of the bar. He stared at Jim, only at him. The man was dressed for the weather in a soft-billed cap and a type of slick overcoat. The bill of his cap was strategically pulled down over the man’s eyes, hiding most of his features. He continued to stare at Jim, and Jim stared back for several seconds before the man moved away toward the back wall and the kitchens.

  Something about the way the man acted, the way he stared at him, made Jim’s hair stand on end. A memory nagged at him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it left an ominous cloud hovering behind. Jim got up to follow the man. He moved quickly, trying to note facts about his appearance rather than just emotional impressions. The man continued to retreat until he was through the side entrance.

  Jim ran toward the door and pulled it open. He walked out onto the top step. He stood quite still and scanned the rainy darkness. There was no one there. Who was it? A feeling of apprehension worried him. A sinister, palpable thing, curled down his backbone. There was no one; just the rain spattering against the concrete step and black pavement just beyond the pool of light. He felt it now, hard, Megan was in trouble.

  Jim stepped back inside and returned to the bar and his drink. He slugged down the whisky and waited a moment for the reader at the end of the bar to finish the poem. An eerie premonition came over him. He had to go now, quickly, and make sure she was safe. He took the stairs two at a time to the attic room and Megan.

  He reached the attic landing and the door to the room in a half dozen strides. With a forceful push on the door he stepped into the room.

  He stopped and with an effort just short of shouting spoke calmly. At first. “Megan, this door is not locked. Why isn’t this door locked?” He heard his own voice booming off the walls of the little room.

  “Because,” she said coming toward him, barefoot and wearing a heavy, fuzzy robe. “I didn’t know if you had your key.”

  “Well sh—!” Jim slammed the door, glared at her, and then began pacing the floor. He turned abruptly and locked the door, checked the window above the desk that was so tiny Seamus couldn’t have slipped through, and sat heavily in the desk chair.

  Megan padded toward him in her bare feet.

  “What the devil is going on?” Megan put her hand on Jim’s forearm, forcing him to look at her.

  “I think I’ve seen…okay, remind me…what does Richard look like? Does he have a mustache, a beard, a toupee, anything like that?”

  “Richard? No-o. Why are you asking about Richard?”

  “I think I saw him downstairs. I think he was staring at me. I followed him to the door but I lost him in the dark.”

  “Why would Richard be here?” Megan frowned.

  “My guess is”—Jim got up and began to pace the confines of the small room—“he’s following you.” Jim stopped short and leaned into Megan, nose to nose. “Now, tell me everything you remember about him.”

  Megan looked as if she were humoring Jim. She took a breath and sat on the edge of the chair. “He’s got dark hair, auburn with black. Dark brown eyes, and no, he hasn’t a mustache or a beard or a toupee.”

  “How tall is he?” Jim wanted to complete the picture in his mind.

  “About an inch or so shorter than you, but he’s not as well built, he’s almost slender. Tell me what’s up here.”

  “You said you felt as though someone’s been watching you during the time we’ve been here, right?”

  Megan nodded as she retreated to her bed, sat, and pulled her feet under her. She felt a chill run down her spine, leaving a trail of ice on its way. “But—” she began.

  “I know this sounds whack-o, but sometimes well, I just feel things before they happen. You know?” Jim looked down at his hands self-consciously. How he could run on! “Maybe it’s just something that happens to me sometimes, I don’t know.” He had to explain, he had to make her understand. “But I just have a feeling that the man I saw was Richard, or someone dangerous…to you. I think we should head back to Dublin and you can stay at my hotel. Maybe we’ll change the hotel, and I’ll register under my mother’s maiden name or something so it will be harder for him to track you.”

  Megan’s mouth opened in shock; she shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. Jim stepped over to her and drew her into his arms and held her close. He pulled Megan’s head against his chest, letting his fingers slowly massage away the tension along her spine.

  Her scent enveloped him, and he sighed deeply until he almost lost track of why he was holding her. He cleared his thoughts and focused on why he’d charged into the room.

  “Megan, if it is Richard stalking you, I’m not going to let him do anything to harm you.”

  Megan looked up at him in surprise and he knew instinctively she’d forgotten why she was snuggled up next to him.

  She broke from his embrace and stood. “You are too far off the mark there, O’Flannery, too far by half. How can you make outrageous statements like that?” she demanded. She glared at him, and began to pace the floor. “St. Joseph, you’re an investigative reporter. You know how to find out facts and make assessments without getting emotions into it. I should think that you’d be ashamed of yourself with all this talk. Really. And no, I won’t go to a hotel with you—”

  “Megan,” Jim said exasperatedly, “you aren’t listening to me. I said—”

  “Listen to you?” She stopped, leaning toward him and glared with her hands on her hips, and her face flushed bright red. “Listen to a self-ascribed mystic, who has a bloody leprechaun as his best mate? I should think not.” Megan marched across the room and grabbed her purse and shoes. Her indignant departure was marred by the stubborn lock, but a second later, she stomped from the room, slamming the door behind her, but not before she let out an expletive that made Jim blush. He winced as the door slammed with a resounding thud and then threw himself back on the bed.

  “Jimmy, I think, that is, I know that you’re off the track as to why I’m here.” The leprechaun floated on air in a sitting position with one ankle braced on the opposite knee. He leaned forward, his brows pulled down in all seriousness.

  “Now, as I’ve said before, I’m here to help you regain your faith. And it looks as the only way you’ll be gettin’ back to the church is by a good girl like Megan Kennedy. Can’t you see, Jim?” he said, throwing his little leprechaun arms out wide. “If you’ve no faith, no love for God and all around you…” The leprechaun stood, poised near Jim’s nose, and pointed at him. “Well, ya know what happens to them.”

  The leprechaun descended to the bed and began to pace back and forth on the coverlet, climbing over Jim’s leg as if it were a hill. Seamus’s head was bent down, chin to chest, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Jim braced himself on his elbow and stared at the little fellow for a moment.

  “You know, Seamus, it’s been a real kick in the teeth to be around you this past week. I meet the most beautiful, talented, plain wonderful woman, a rare woman, and you are constantly trying to screw things up. I mean what was this ‘no patty fingers, if you please’ stuff? I almost broke my neck stopping that kiss. She thinks I’m loony because I told her about you, and in case you don’t remember, I told you that I didn’t want to get serious with Megan…or anyone else for that matter. I doubt if I’m going to Hell because I haven’t fallen in love.” Jim lay back down on the bed with a groan. He scrubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath before he sat up to make eye contact with Seamus.

  “I promise I will see my priest when I go back to Boston, go to confession, and go to mass, okay? Now, lay off. I’ve got enough troubles. And another thing,” Jim said, jutting his face up at Seamus, his nose a scant inch from the leprechaun’s. “When we were in the theater, I asked you to help and you said ‘no, not my department.’ Crap! What if that guy is after her and she ends up in Heaven befor
e her time because you didn’t help, huh?” Jim poked Seamus square in the gut with his finger. “I’ll bet the guys upstairs won’t give you your wings because of that,” he added as he bounced off the bed.

  Seamus stood up, his forefinger poised in the air.

  “ ‘Oh blame not the bard if he flies in the bowers,

  Where pleasure lies carelessly smiling at fame;

  He was born for much more, and in happier hours

  His soul might have burned with a holier flame.’

  Sir Thomas Moore 1779-1852”

  Then the little man bowed from the waist with a “holier than thou” attitude emanating like a halo.

  “He was a little after my time, it is, but you get the general notion, don’t ye now?”

  “Get lost.” Jim poked his finger into the little guy’s chest and watched as Seamus actually fell, right on the thin air.

  Seamus made a disgusted sound, pulled on his earlobes, and disappeared. Jim sat back on the bed, expelling a pent-up breath.

  Megan thought he was crazy, a real idiot and that was obvious. Jim slumped down on the bed again, letting his head fall forward into his hands. Something niggled at his sixth sense, telling him she was in trouble and Seamus sure as heaven wasn’t going to help. If he could use the term heaven loosely, he thought as he scowled at the air. If his nagging suspicion was correct and this crazy Richard character was following her, then he’d move Heaven, pardon the expression, and Earth to protect her. He realized that he hadn’t been in protector mode for a long, long while. He wasn’t the forever kind of guy, was he? His heart whispered, “Oh yes, yes, you are.” Jim scowled at the room, not sure it wasn’t Seamus that whispered instead of his heart.

  He honestly hadn’t thought of forever until he’d met Megan.

  Jim got up from the bed and paced back and forth. He scrubbed his hand over his face, stood exactly in the center of the room, and stretched until all of his bones protested and cracked.

  Now what? He’d find Megan and make sure she knew that they would leave first thing in the morning. That was as good an excuse as any. He’d have to be very careful around her. He’d already laid it on way too thick. Spouting about premonitions and leprechauns was not the thing to do to make points with Megan.