The Irishman (A Legacy Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 7)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

Eleanor’s sour face fractured into a smile and she took the bit of carrot he offered to her. “You certainly will, or you’ll be sleeping out of doors until you can acquire replacements.”

  She popped the vegetable in her mouth with an air of complete confidence, which was rightly felt. Darren might have been an alpha at heart, but he let his wife have her dominant moments. If she didn’t want him in her bed, he wasn’t going to fight her. He had done that plenty of times and failed miserably.

  He chuckled to himself as an idea entered his head. If Darren couldn’t control Dustin, Eleanor certainly could.

  Chapter Five

  Glengarriff, Ireland

  Tobias was the first one through the gate and was not too surprised to find the hinges were in want of oiling. The condition of the cottage alone was rather dilapidated in general, but he knew he shouldn’t have been so severe on a future patron. Being accustomed to more stately homes and manors, he hated to stoop so low in his want of work. However, he couldn’t afford to pass up this potential commission.

  Beside him, Oliver was not so reserved in his feelings toward the home and farm. “Are we sure we want to bother with this old man?”

  Tobias gave him a stern look that might have silenced him forever on the matter. His partner knew very well that they needed the money, so yes, they did need to bother with the old man.

  Their general inquiries about the murder of Cassandra Flanagan had first sparked their interest. To also know that her widower husband had been missing after the brutal killing endorsed that they needed to give this little town in southern Ireland a visit.

  He rapped on the door and straightened out his waistcoat before a young woman answered the door. For a moment, he wondered if they had been misinformed of the address.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted with a short bow. “We’d like to call upon Mr. Flanagan. Is he home?”

  The woman looked to both of the men with understandable skepticism.

  “He’s not receiving visitors at the moment,” she replied cordially, though Tobias could hear a bit of her antipathy in the words.

  “We’re sorry to hear that, but you see, I think he will want to see us. We’re here in regard to his daughter.”

  As soon as he mentioned the late Cassandra Flanagan, the woman turned cold and Tobias feared they would be turned away for good.

  She opened her mouth, but before any words could come out, a tired voice came from inside, speaking in the old Gaelic. “What do they want?”

  Tobias glanced to Oliver, who looked far more eager than he should have. This was unfortunate that they had to take advantage to the misery of others, but his accomplice didn’t have to show it so plainly while these poor people were still in mourning.

  The woman looked to be startled at first, as if she didn’t expect the man to speak at all. “They say they’ve come because of Cassandra,” she replied, her face turned from the two guests.

  He heard the creaking of floorboards as a man came to the door. His haggard and weary appearance told them all they needed to know. This man was still grieving, but perhaps they could put some of his worries to rest before they left the house.

  Mr. Flanagan’s eyes looked them over for any sign of malice and then shooed the woman away so they could enter. There was a hesitance in the way he formed his words, as if he had to think carefully about what he was saying.

  Both Tobias and Oliver slipped the caps from their heads and took seats by the fireplace upon request. The woman, still indignant of their presence in the home, was ordered to the kitchen to make some tea. Mr. Flanagan, on the other hand, seemed open and willing to speak. It was too easy.

  “Do you know something about… about Cassandra that I should know?” Mr. Flanagan asked right out, bypassing any formalities of introductions, which startled Tobias and Oliver at first. Was this man so desperate to speak about the death of his daughter that he didn’t even care who they were?

  Tobias would not be so negligent of his manners. Pulling upon his boyhood lessons of the traditional Irish language, he said, “We’re not entirely sure, sir. But, let me start by introducing myself and my associate. I am Tobias Ruben, and this is Oliver Harrington. We heard about the unfortunate passing of your daughter and the details of her murder entreated us to come and see you directly.”

  The look of sadness, which seemed permanently fixed in the old man’s eyes, did not waiver by the mentioning of his daughter as it had with the woman who answered the door. Instead, he only nodded and turned his stare toward the hearth. “I’m surprised to hear the news may have gone beyond Glengarriff or Cork County.”

  Tobias only smiled. The man shouldn’t have flattered himself by thinking that news of a farmer’s daughter would have made it so far.

  “We were actually in Cork at the time when we heard of it,” Oliver clarified. “We wanted to come and ask you a few more questions, if you’ll indulge us.”

  The way he worded it might have suggested that Tobias and Oliver were in the business of strange and unnatural deaths, which was truthful in some parts. But they were more concerned with who was orchestrating these deaths than the victims themselves.

  It took a while for Mr. Flanagan to respond, but he finally nodded, giving them permission to interview as long as he was willing.

  “Did you see your daughter’s body before it was buried?” Tobias asked, hoping that his bluntness wouldn’t ruin their chances for an honest answer.

  Mr. Flanagan shook his head. “No,” he said. “I didn’t want to see her like that… I wanted my final memory of her to be a happy one. They were just married earlier that day, you know.”

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, that’s what we were told. Terrible thing to happen to a bride.”

  Tobias knocked his heel against Oliver’s ankle, a sign that he needed to avoid any kind of statement that would make the father burst into tears. It may have been nearly a week since Cassandra was laid to rest, but as they had seen in the past, these matters were still sensitive.

  “And I heard that the husband disappeared that same night,” Oliver recovered quickly. “Was his body ever found?”

  Mr. Flanagan shook his head. “No.”

  Tobias noted the slight flash of anger in the old man’s eyes. “Do you think he was killed by the beast as well?”

  Mr. Flanagan’s head snapped in their direction. “Beast?”

  Oliver nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s what they’re all saying it was. They say it was a beast that killed your daughter.”

  The woman came back into the main room with a tray carrying three rather pathetic teacups, small and chipped on the handle or around the rim. Once again, it wasn’t the type of finery they were used to, but Tobias graciously took his portion from the woman and sipped the weak tea. She hadn’t allowed it to steep long enough. He attributed that to her impatience to get them out of the house rather than her lack of skill in brewing tea. If they hadn’t been welcomed into the homes of wealthy, tolerant English folk, these two Irishmen from Ulster would have never known what good tea could taste like.

  “I don’t know who would have told you that,” Mr. Flanagan replied. “No one has circulated that rumor around Glengarriff. They all think it was a rabid dog that snuck into the house.”

  Tobias glanced to the woman who took her seat not far away from Mr. Flanagan. He wasn’t partial to speaking of such topics in the presence of a lady, but if the bereaved father didn’t order her out of the room, then he had no right to complain.

  “And do you believe it was a dog?” Oliver asked Mr. Flanagan. His accomplice, lacking in the social delicacies that Tobias kept in the forefront of his mind at all times, had no qualms with talking about death and gore in front of the woman.

  Mr. Flanagan folded his hands around his steaming cup of tea and Tobias could see the struggle in his face as the man debated whether to answer truthfully. Yes, he must have seen something. If not the body, then something around the house or perhaps in the lane after the murder.

/>   “I saw… I saw something leave the house that night,” he said rather shakily. “It might have been a dog, but I didn’t think it was at first. It looked much bigger than a dog. More the size of a bear, or bigger, but it didn’t move like a bear. It was faster and had black fur all over.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman’s brows arch. This must have been the first time Mr. Flanagan had ever confessed what he had witnessed.

  “I’ll never forget the way those gold eyes stared at me either,” he continued. “I knew he killed my daughter. I just knew it. The blood was on his teeth and everything. He might have killed me too, but he ran off before anyone else could see him.”

  This was exactly what they needed to hear. Tobias looked to Oliver and hoped that his partner would keep his composure for just a little longer. It was doubtful that this man could pay their usual rates for tracking down a werewolf, but they would ease into that conversation on another date. For now, they had to secure the job.

  “You keep saying it’s a ‘he’,” Tobias remarked. “How do you know it was a male?”

  Mr. Flanagan looked away, neglecting his tea and almost completely withdrawing from the conversation. Tobias waited patiently for any reply, but the woman made to interrupt.

  “I think that’s enough questioning for one day,” she said, hastily rising to her feet to show them out the door.

  Before either man could shift on the sofa, Mr. Flanagan saved them once again. “No, it is not,” he snapped at his companion. “I believe it was Dustin,” he finally confessed.

  The woman’s mouth hung open and she started in on a wild rant in Irish that the man returned with just as much conviction. Neither Tobias nor Oliver could follow the conversation, but it was clear that the woman didn’t take kindly to the accusation. It was then that they gathered her name was Katherine and Dustin was her brother.

  For a while, they sat awkwardly, listening to this family squabble that they hardly understood at all. Tobias and Oliver knew how to carry on a basic conversation, but these two went on as if they had been speaking the old language all their lives. After a few more harsh words were exchanged, Katherine stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind her. Tobias caught a glimpse of her briskly walking down the front walk and to the lane beyond the gate.

  Mr. Flanagan sighed and set down his teacup on one of the side tables before dropping his head into his hands. Perhaps this was why he had never spoken of what he saw that night. Perhaps he knew it would cause this sort of argument to erupt between him and his caregiver. Tobias hated to be the one to inspire more strife than what was necessary, but forgiveness would come with time.

  “I’m sorry about her,” Mr. Flanagan said before looking up from his hands. “You see, Dustin was adopted by the Keiths when he was just a baby. We’ve never known where he came from or who his parents were. Not all of Glengarriff agrees with me, but I thought he was a changeling at first. But after what I saw, and what I was told, I believe he’s a faoladh.”

  Oliver, who was not afraid to be rude, asked for the old man to explain himself. This spurred a long conversation that drug on for nearly half an hour. Mr. Flanagan explained all about the fairy folk of Irish lore and how the faoladh was simply their version of the English werewolf. No matter the name, Tobias knew its kind.

  They were men who shifted into the unnatural form of a beast. Though the fairytales weren’t quite as accurate to their real-life counterparts, they were still just as dangerous, as Mr. Flanagan was well aware. That was why Tobias and Oliver had come to see him. They were in the business of exterminating these unholy monsters to spare mankind from their violence and savagery.

  The nobility no longer needed their services, having abandoned most of their superstitious beliefs in favor of the growing field of science. But in Ireland and Scotland, where people like Mr. Flanagan still believed in the paranormal and fantastic existence of magical creatures, Tobias and Oliver could find work again.

  “So, you see, with Dustin missing and this beast on the loose,” Mr. Flanagan said, “I am inclined to think they are one in the same.”

  Tobias nodded. “I am persuaded that you are correct, sir. It does sound like this Dustin is a faoladh. And we wish to help bring him to justice.”

  Mr. Flanagan appeared startled by such a statement and squinted at the two men. “Justice? What do you mean? Dustin has been missing for days.”

  Oliver grinned. “We have ways of finding people like him. It should only take us a week or so.”

  Tobias wanted to kick him again for making such a promise. Yes, they were two of the most highly trained hunters in Ireland, but it might take more than a single week to track down Dustin. He didn’t want to give Mr. Flanagan any false hope.

  The old man looked from one hunter to the other, perplexed and speechless.

  “We’ve helped bring closure for many families in the past,” Tobias joined. “We can find Dustin for you and make sure that he pays for what he did to your daughter, as well as make sure he can never do that to anyone else ever again.”

  Mr. Flanagan blinked and still appeared confused. When Tobias was ready to repeat it a little more slowly for him, the man broke his silence. “I want him alive,” he declared. “If you can find him, I want you to bring him to me.”

  Tobias was tempted to ask why the old farmer would want such a thing. Why would he want to come face-to-face with his daughter’s murderer? No doubt it was so Mr. Flanagan could kill Dustin himself, which would severely put a damper upon negotiating their rates, but if that’s what the man wanted, they would oblige. As long as Oliver could keep his trigger finger under control.

  Landes Forest, France

  Dustin gripped the edge of the covers as he heard the plates being set out on the table in the dining room. The hushed voices of the family that took him in buzzed in his ears, but he wanted nothing more than the silence that unconsciousness brought with it. They would be expecting him to join. Would Darren come to fetch him, or would Eleanor? What would he say? Lying was impossible, especially when his stomach could proclaim his need for food so clearly to the other… monster in the house.

  Darren’s words continued to torment Dustin, as if he didn’t have enough matters to plague his battered soul. If Darren truly was just like him, then there might have been hope for redemption. This wild, nameless beating within his chest begged for the man’s company for some reason, but Dustin couldn’t give in to it. He had done that enough already.

  What if Darren knew exactly what Dustin was capable of? What if he held the secrets to living a normal life after this tragedy? Was there a future for someone with such a curse? Each time he asked himself these questions, Dustin pushed them out. He retold himself that he didn’t want a future, didn’t want any relief or comfort in his sin. Cassandra’s memory played over and over in his mind, reminding him every time he felt the dread loosen its hold over his spirit, that he was not a man who deserved rest.

  This silent battle continued to wage for hours as Dustin’s heart flipped back and forth between reaching for this lifeline or forsaking it completely again.

  “Souvenez-tu, parlez anglais,” he heard Darren say from the other room.

  Soon, the patter of tiny feet came running toward Dustin’s door as a rather vehement, but hushed argument took place in the dining room. Light poured into the darkened bedroom and whom he assumed was the little girl, tiptoed in. With his back still facing the door, Dustin didn’t see her approach, but he had secretly wondered what the child looked like. After hearing her soft, sweet voice for the last few days during his intermittent moments of lucidity, his curiosity was certainly piqued.

  Still, he didn’t turn to greet her. Part of him wished that she would think he was asleep and she would leave him alone. Darren’s arrival into the room after concluding the argument with his wife told Dustin enough. Eleanor didn’t trust Dustin alone with their daughter. He couldn’t blame her for such protectiveness. He hardly trusted himself.
/>   A finger poked at his shoulder blade. “Dustin,” she said. “It’s time for dinner.”

  Dustin was rather surprised to hear her speak English so fluently. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He would give no encouragement to the little girl.

  But when she pushed him a little harder, her hand fully pressed into his back, Dustin knew she wasn’t going to leave without him. At the door, he heard Darren take a slow step forward as if he expected his guest to retaliate.

  If he could help it, that was the last thing in the world he would ever do to a child.

  “Are you awake?” she asked a little impatiently.

  Dustin let out a tired sigh and shifted enough so he could peek at the little girl over his shoulder. He was met with a pair of big, dark brown eyes just inches away from his face. She certainly didn’t have any reservations with being so close to a cold-blooded killer. Perhaps being raised by one had a lot to do with that. The tiny freckles on her cheeks gave away her youthful age. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven.

  Once she eased away to let him breathe, Dustin noticed her dark hair that fell down in wavy locks over her chest. Her facial features were a perfect blend of her parents. When she grew up, she’d be a very pretty woman like her mother. Darren would have to scare the men away in droves when she came of marrying age.

  “Let’s eat,” she insisted, shoving his shoulder one more time.

  Dustin looked to her father who stood in the doorway with his arms folded over his barrel chest. By the smug look on the man’s face, Dustin supposed he’d get nowhere by quarreling with the child.

  Before he realized it, Dustin was on his feet and the little girl had a tight grip on his hand, pulling him toward the door to leave the room that had been his hideaway. Darren let them pass, just as powerless as Dustin was to stop her.

  The home was of comparable size to his former home in Glengarriff, with the exception of a formal dining area for the family and an extra bedroom that must have been reserved for guests. However, everything else proclaimed the family’s sophisticated tastes in décor and style.