by Deb Stover
* * *
Riley's belly button was making love to his backbone by the time he wiped his muddy boots and opened the back door. A plethora of heavenly scents drifted to his nostrils as he stepped into the kitchen's warmth and found Jacob sitting alone at the table.
No one else was there, though someone had definitely started cooking. Judging from the wonderful aroma, Mum must've been up and about this morning. Saints knew Maggie couldn't have prepared anything like this.
"Mornin', Uncle Riley," the lad said, looking up from his activity.
"Good morning." Riley didn't want to encourage Jacob's penchant for addressing him improperly, nor could he bring himself to correct the lad. Sap. With a sigh, he washed his hands at the sink and glanced over at the stove. All the kettles and frying pans were covered. Something wonderful was baking in the oven as well—definitely not Maggie's soda bread.
Praise the saints and the Almighty. Real food! He discreetly crossed himself for good measure, and poured tea before joining Jacob at the table. He glanced down at the lad's doodling and bit back a curse.
"Like my picture?" Jacob asked, thrusting the paper under Riley's nose. "It's your castle."
My castle... Resentment churned inside Riley, but he swallowed it. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then forced himself to admire Jacob's drawing. "Caisleán Dubh," he said, keeping his tone light. The curse wasn't the lad's fault, nor was his mother's subterfuge. "You've a good eye for detail, Jacob." Right down to the sinister look of the place.
The lad's smile dominated his too small face, and his green eyes practically glowed beneath that pitiful scrap of praise. "Thank you, Uncle Riley." Jacob fidgeted, pride and eagerness practically flying out of him.
If only there were some way to stop Jacob from calling him "Uncle." Each time Riley heard that title, it set his teeth on edge. Alas, he couldn't think of any way to stop the lad without hurting him. Another thought shot through Riley and he froze.
Bridget must have lied to the lad as well. Otherwise, how could an innocent play his role so convincingly? The woman's deceit knew no bounds. Riley clenched his fists in his lap and drew a deep breath. What sort of woman would stoop to lying to her own child?
His stomach churned and grumbled, jerking him back to more immediate, if less important, matters—his belly. He glanced back at the stove and sighed. Someone had turned all the flames to the lowest setting. "Where is everyone?"
"Gettin' dressed," Jacob said, not looking up from his artwork. "They said to tell you we'll eat soon, and not to touch anything."
Well, it couldn't be soon enough for Riley. A working man needed to keep up his strength, after all. He looked longingly at the stove again. "Don't touch anything, eh?" Aye, and didn't Mum know he'd be doing just that any minute now?
"Ah, there you be," Mum said, hobbling into the room with her cane.
Concern edged through Riley. He hated seeing Mum in pain. He hurried to her side and kissed her cheek, pulling out one chair for her and another for her foot. Her toe still appeared angry and swollen.
"You shouldn't have been up and about cooking this morning," he scolded. "I could've done it myself."
She smiled up at him and patted his forearm. "Don't you be worryin' yourself about that now. Our Maggie and Bridget wouldn't let me lift a finger. Would they, Jacob?"
"Nope."
Maggie and Bridget hurried into the room before Riley had a chance to gripe about his sister's past culinary efforts. They went straight to the stove and cupboards. Bridget removed a pan from the oven, and placed food into serving bowls and plates while Maggie set the table. Within a few minutes, the table was filled with fragrant, steaming dishes. Riley stared, stunned to silence. His sister, the worst cook this side of Dublin, had done this? His mouth watered in anticipation. No, Maggie couldn't have prepared this food.
Mum bowed her head and gave the blessing. Jacob tried to cross himself, but did it backward. Bridget pinkened, but Mum simply showed the lad the correct way of doing things.
A moment later, Jacob dove for one of the scones. He split it open, then scooped up a ladle full of gravy, the likes of which Riley had never seen or smelled. In fact, everything looked unusual but tempting.
He shot Maggie a questioning look, but she merely grinned. He glanced at Bridget, who imitated her son's actions, as did Mum and Maggie. Riley took a scone, testing its weight in his hand. Light as a feather. Imitating Jacob, Riley covered it with thick gravy, then took a rasher and placed it on his plate as well. He looked around the table for black pudding, but there was none. Still, to be spared another of Maggie's attempts was worth the sacrifice.
He speared the gravy-covered scone with his fork and took a bite. Pausing, he savored the flavor for several moments, then added two fried eggs to his plate, and tucked into the unexpectedly pleasant task of satisfying his hunger.
Jacob took another scone, but this time he spread jam on it. With a shrug, Riley decided that wasn't a bad idea and split open another steaming scone. The outside of it was golden brown, but the inside was light and fluffy.
Mum held one in her hand. "They're so light. What do you call these?" Mum asked.
"Bridget calls them biscuits," Maggie said, a worried frown creasing her brow. "I showed her our tin of biscuits in the cupboard, but she said those are what they call cookies back in Tennessee."
Bridget said, "At home I would've used buttermilk and sourdough. I hope they're all right."
"They're delicious, but like nothin' I've tasted before." Mum took another bite and chewed, nodding. "I like the lightness. Quite tasty."
"Thank you." Bridget fidgeted with pleasure, much like her son had done earlier.
Riley swallowed with difficulty. He looked around the table, and down at Jacob, who ate with the abandonment only a lad his age could muster.
Despite Riley's dislike and mistrust of the woman, hadn't he seen evidence of her love for the child? Satisfied that the food was safe—not to mention tasty—Riley resumed eating what Bridget called a biscuit.
Riley examined the scone again, then covered it with jam and took a bite. Delicious, indeed. He took another bite, then decided he preferred these odd biscuits with the gravy, rather than the jam, and prepared himself another serving.
"Men always go for the gravy," Bridget said, smiling. "Grandpa ate biscuits and gravy every mornin', and he was healthy as could be. Until he got shot, that is."
"Shot?" Maggie paused, fork in mid-air. "Someone shot your granddad?"
Bridget shook her head and sighed. "No, I'm afraid he shot himself."
Mum gasped and crossed herself. Maggie stared, eyes wide. Even Riley couldn't believe what the crazy woman had just said, especially in front of the lad.
Bridget looked around the gathering, seeming to recognize her blunder. Then she did the strangest thing. She started laughing.
"I see nothing amusing about suicide," Riley said, his voice hushed as he reached for his tea. "And it's unseemly to mention it." He captured Bridget's gaze and directed his own toward Jacob. Surely the foolish woman would see the error of her ways.
"Great-Grandpa didn't shoot hisself on purpose, silly," the lad said, chuckling along with his crazy mum.
Mum and Maggie exchanged worried glances and Riley shook his head. The lad shouldn't even have known what the word suicide meant.
"He didn't?" Maggie asked, turning to Bridget.
"Lord, no." Bridget dried her eyes and sniffled. "Ned Lynn, one of Grandpa's oldest friends, had a penchant for corn liquor. In fact," she looked around the table and lowered her voice, "he even had his own still in the woods out behind his house."
"Corn liquor?" Maggie asked, looking at Riley. "Is that like whiskey?"
Riley lifted a shoulder and rolled his eyes. He glanced at Mum, who listened with rapt attention. Amazing. The Fiona Mulligan he'd known and adored all his life was listening to a tale of illegal liquor and guns.
"What happened?" Mum urged, leaning toward Bridget.
"They drank
too much while they were out coon-hunting." Bridget sighed dramatically. "Poor Grandpa fell and his gun went off."
"Shot him in the head," Jacob added, still eating.
Riley narrowed his eyes. "Is this what they call breakfast conversation back in Tennessee?"
"Oh... I'm sorry." Bridget looked around the table, her face flushed and her eyes wide. "I wasn't thinking."
Maggie cleared her throat and said, "Don't worry about it, Bridget."
"And isn't it so very Irish of her to speak of family, even after they're gone?" Mum asked.
Riley recognized the warning in Mum's voice. He was expected to grant their "guest" dispensation for ill manners, and—apparently—insanity.
Bridget's expression grew solemn. "Jacob was just a baby then. I wish he'd been able to know his great-grandpa."
"We had Granny." Jacob seemed completely unconcerned about the topic of discussion and spooned another glob of jam onto yet another biscuit. "She was cool. Nobody could out-cuss my great-granny."
Mum gasped, her eyes widening even more. Riley knew from the movement of her lips that she was praying. Her well-worn rosary beads would be in her apron pocket, as always.
Maybe now they would all see Bridget for the conniving cailleach she really was. With a smug feeling, he took a sip of tea, watching the stunned expression on Maggie's face as Mum crossed herself.
Mum sighed and reached over to pat Jacob's hand. "There, now, Jacob," she said, "he doesn't do it often, but just wait until your Uncle Riley staggers back from Gilhooley's some Saturday night singin' one of his bawdy songs."
Riley choked on his tea as his sister—the traitor—burst into laughter. He made the mistake of looking across the table at Bridget, whose eyes twinkled mischievously. Knowingly.
She'd manipulated things in her favor again. Just when she should have fallen from grace with his mum and sister, she'd pulled forth another victory. She was a sly one.
Her green eyes darkened to a smoky shade as he continued to stare. Pity she was beautiful. It made her all the more powerful.
He looked around the table. Jaysus, and she could cook, too. His gaze settled on her again, noticing the pink flush that had crept into her cheeks, setting her eyes ablaze.
The woman was dangerous. Cailleach.
Chapter 5
Bridget noticed the longing in her son's eyes as Riley excused himself and returned to his chores. Her heart broke right there in Fiona Mulligan's kitchen. Fresh air and physical activity were just what a growing boy needed.
And an uncle to help make up for the daddy he'd lost?
The ache in her heart was almost more than she could bear. Riley's treatment of her hurt enough, but his rejection of his own nephew awakened every protective maternal instinct Bridget possessed. How dare he deny his own flesh and blood his rightful place in the family?
How dare he break a little boy's heart...?
"Maggie is goin' into Ballybronagh to buy some cherries for this misery of mine," Fiona said on a sigh.
Bridget blinked, forcing her attention away from the infuriating Riley and back to her mother-in-law. "I remember how much that nasty old gout pained Grandpa, but the cherries should help." She glanced over at Maggie, who had refused Bridget's offer of assistance with the dishes. "He ate a few cherries or drank cherry juice every day, once he learned they really made a difference."
"And did they keep the gout from comin' back?" Fiona's eyes widened with blatant hope.
Bridget lifted a shoulder. "He believed they did, and I reckon he didn't seem as bothered with the gout the last few years of his life."
Fiona nodded. "Then I'll believe it, too, if it will keep this misery from comin' back."
Maggie dried her hands, then stood behind her momma and rubbed the older woman's shoulders. "There's a bit of sun comin' in the front window, Mum," she said. "Would you like to catch it?"
"Aye, that I would." Fiona lowered her swollen foot to the floor, wincing as she pushed to her feet. "And won't I be finishin' all the mendin' in me basket by the time this toe stops painin' me?"
Maggie laughed and shook her head. "You know Riley will keep your mending basket full."
Fiona paused and glanced down at Jacob. "And what about you, lad?"
"What?" Jacob looked up at his new granny, finally distracted from pining after his uncle.
"Will you be keepin' Mamó's mendin' basket full, too?"
Jacob grinned, though he still seemed distracted. "Momma says I wear out socks faster than anybody."
"You sure do." Bridget ruffled her son's hair, determined to find a way to keep him busy. "Do you think your Aunt Maggie will mind if we tag along to town?"
"And wasn't I counting on just that?" Maggie said, smiling. She helped her momma into the front room and placed some pillows under the older woman's ailing foot.
Bridget and Jacob helped situate Fiona's mending close enough that she wouldn't have to move from her chair for a good long while. They refilled her tea cup as well.
"There," Bridget said. "If you're anything like Grandpa, that toe will start behaving itself again in a couple of days."
"Ah, I am lookin' forward to that." Fiona smiled and gave her grandson a squeeze that made him giggle and blush.
Bridget's heart swelled with love for her son and for the woman who'd brought them into her home and welcomed them into her family. "Thank you," she whispered.
Fiona looked up at her with a gentle smile and blue eyes filled with love and acceptance. Despite the blunder Bridget had made at breakfast telling the story of Grandpa's demise, Fiona still wanted them here. She had to ensure that didn't change, for Jacob's sake.
Relieved, Bridget placed a kiss on the woman's cheek, then led her son back through the kitchen with Maggie. "Are my jeans all right?" she asked.
Maggie glanced down at her own jeans, holding her hands out to her sides in a questioning gesture. Laughing, Bridget nodded in understanding, though she wished hers didn't have a patch on one knee, and that they didn't droop from her hips. Shopping at rummage sales and thrift stores didn't provide much of a selection. She was lucky to have clothes at all, the way things had been these last few years.
But that was past. She drew a deep breath and squeezed Jacob's hand. "Will we need jackets?" she asked, as unfamiliar with Irish weather as she was with Irish people. All she knew was that it rained a lot, which, of course, accounted for the beautiful green she'd noticed yesterday.
"Oh, just a jumper will do," Maggie said, grabbing herself one from a peg near the back door. "'Tis a bright day."
"Jumper?" Bridget looked at Jacob, who appeared just as confused as she. "A little girl's dress?"
Maggie laughed. "Sorry. A jumper is a sweater."
"Oh." Bridget left Jacob with his aunt and rushed up to their attic room, pausing at the window to gaze out at the fluffy clouds sailing across the blue sky. She could see the ocean now, glistening in the sunlight just beyond—
Her breath caught at the sight of Caisleán Dubh's majestic tower. Amazingly, it still looked dark and foreboding even in full daylight. Yesterday, she'd thought her reaction to the castle was mere surprise at its size. After all, she'd never seen a castle before, though she had seen Graceland and thought it every bit as grand. Until now.
Today, the sight of the castle chilled her. A shiver chased itself through her and she forced herself to look away, tugging her cardigan over her shoulders. She grabbed Jacob's "Elvis" sweatshirt and hurried back down the stairs, determined not to think about that ugly old castle.
But it wasn't ugly. Not really. In fact, it was breathtakingly beautiful, though in a mysterious way. She wondered if the stone had always been dark, or if age and weather had changed it. "Listen to yourself think, silly," she said, smiling. At least Jacob had come by his curiosity about the castle honestly.
The back door stood ajar and she heard Maggie and Jacob talking outside. Bridget stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind her. She didn't want her mother-in-law to c
atch a chill if the wind picked up while they were gone.
"Here you go." She tossed the sweatshirt to Jacob, who pulled it on over his head, his face popping out through the hood like a turtle's. He grinned at her, displaying the gap where he'd lost a tooth last week. "You're growing up too doggone fast."
"Mum says the Blessed Virgin probably said the same thing about her Son." Maggie took one of Jacob's hands while Bridget took the other. "I'll graduate this year, but Mum claims it was only yesterday I was still in nappies."
"Nappies?" Jacob echoed.
"Diapers." Maggie grinned at her nephew. "Are you ready to escort two ladies to market, sir?"
Jacob giggled and the sound crawled into a special cranny of Bridget's soul—one reserved just for her little boy. She gave his hand a squeeze and they followed Maggie's lead toward the narrow lane that led to the main road.
She didn't even pause as they passed the car, still parked where Riley had left it yesterday. "The village is close then?" Bridget asked. She didn't mind the walk, but she was curious.
"Aye, on the far side of Caisleán Dubh."
Bridget froze mid-step and Jacob tugged on her hand, then stopped to stare at her. "What's wrong, Momma?" He stepped closer, his large green eyes filled with concern.
"Nothing," she said, forcing a smile. She struggled for a deep breath then looked at Maggie, who had also paused to stare at Bridget. "We'll be walking right by the castle, then?" She had to... prepare herself.
If only she knew why.
"Aye," Maggie said, taking a step toward Bridget. "The road curves 'round the spit of land where the castle sits, then back inland a bit to the village."
Bridget very slowly released the breath she'd been holding. "Okay," she said. "Let's go."
"Caisleán Dubh has a strange effect on some." Maggie's brow creased. "I try to ignore it mostly."
Bridget had to laugh at that. "It's kind of big to ignore."
Jacob laughed, too, then they all continued down the lane. Bridget's heart thudded louder and her breath grew shallower as the road curved toward the castle. The closer they came, the larger it loomed. Some of the boulders along its foundation were even larger than the red sports car Mr. Larabee had given Mrs. Larabee on her last birthday.
