Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  Realization punched him in the gut. His breath caught. He swallowed hard. Aye. In a way, Jacob had brought Culley home.

  At least in Riley's heart...

  * * *

  Restlessness clawed at Bridget as she paced her room, glancing in at Jacob every few minutes to assure herself he still slept soundly. She hadn't even bothered to change into her nightgown yet, because every time she stopped moving even for a moment, the memory of Riley coming to their rescue in town exploded in her mind. Along with the realization that she hadn't thanked the man...

  Granny had often said that guilt was life's best teacher. And—dang it all—the old woman had been right.

  "Well, then I reckon I'll have to thank the man first thing in the morning." Resigned, she paused before the window and gazed out at the night. Silver moonlight beamed down on the earth and stars sparkled against the velvet sky. At least it had cleared and would rain no more tonight, but tomorrow could be another matter.

  A huge yawn tugged at her mouth and she stretched. Now that she'd decided to thank Riley, she could get some sleep. She looked out the window again, mesmerized by the beauty of the dark landscape. It looked like something from a painting—too beautiful to be real.

  Her gaze traveled across the meadow, knowing what she'd find. Caisleán Dubh marred the perfection of the night and Bridget's breath froze. She leaned closer to the glass, resting her forehead against its cool, smooth surface.

  "That stupid castle can't hurt you," she whispered, her gaze riveted to the tower thrusting toward the night sky. Granny had always said the best way to get over a powerful fear was to face it head-on.

  Bridget gulped.

  Granny had been right about that, too. Dang it. Tomorrow, Bridget would march herself down to that castle and introduce herself. A smile curved her lips. All right, so introducing herself to a pile of rock was silly, but somehow it seemed right.

  A woman with two big projects to face needed her sleep. Bridget pushed away from the glass just as her gaze fell on the figure standing in the meadow. He'd been there last night, and he was there again tonight. Standing. Staring.

  Scaring the bejeezus out of her.

  Her heart did a somersault and she shook herself. Instinct told her the man's identity, but that didn't prevent goosebumps from popping out all over her. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms, dispelling the sudden chill.

  She drew a deep breath. Squared her shoulders. You wanted to thank the man. Now's your chance. He still stood there, but she realized now that his back was toward the house. Her gaze traveled beyond him to the castle, and a tremor slithered down her spine.

  Gritting her teeth, Bridget rubbed her hands together and girded herself. Granny had always said Bridget had inherited more than her share of Frye stubbornness.

  And now that Bridget had seen Riley Mulligan standing out there on a picture perfect night, nothing would do but for her to hightail herself out there to do what she should've done today. He'd come to her son's rescue right there in Gilhooley's. He could have turned away and left them there with only humiliation to show for themselves. Instead, he had treated Jacob the way an uncle should treat his brother's son.

  Courage spurred by gratitude prodded Bridget's feet to move toward the door. She peered in at Jacob first. The covers were tugged to his chin and his inky lashes rested against his fair skin. Nearly black hair curled across his forehead, making Bridget's heart ache for the man who had been hers for such a short while.

  Yes, she would thank Riley. She would do it for Culley—she smiled down at Jacob—and for their son. And to silence that nagging guilt the Frye women were so doggoned good at.

  She tiptoed down the back staircase, knowing Fiona and Maggie were already in bed. The back door opened silently, and soon Bridget was making her way across the moonlit meadow toward the man who still stood staring at Caisleán Dubh.

  The night was cool. She should've grabbed her sweater, but if she went back for it now, she might never find the guts to do what needed doing. It wouldn't take long. She lengthened her stride, moving through the night with silent determination.

  Moonlight poured over Riley from beyond him, casting his profile in sharp relief. Dark against silver. He didn't move as she drew closer. He continued to stare at the castle as if his life depended on it.

  Bridget paused just shy of her goal and looked at the castle again. Her breath caught and her heart launched into a lively reel. Something called to her. Beckoned her. She wanted to follow the powerful urge to obey the invisible force pulling at her.

  She took a step toward it. The sinister darkness of it pulsed against the silver moonlight and the sea beyond. She took another step, battling the urge to run toward the massive stones surrounding the structure, but the sane part of her held her back, allowing her only small steps toward a strangely coveted goal.

  Why did she want to touch something that terrified her? She shook her head, then leaned her head to the side, listening. A soft soughing sound reached her ears. It reminded her of the mountains of Tennessee, when the wind came through the trees. But there were no trees here. It almost seemed as if—

  "You hear it, too." Riley's deep voice came through the darkness.

  He was close. So very close. Bridget dragged her gaze from the castle to study his profile. As if shaped from some precious metal, he stood there. He didn't flinch or even appear to breathe as she watched him.

  "What... what is it?" she asked, turning her gaze back to the castle. "Is it the sea?"

  "No, not the sea." Riley released a long sigh. "As a lad, I couldn't hear it, but Culley could."

  Bridget jerked her head around to Riley again. He was looking at her now. "Culley heard it? It almost sounds like... whispering."

  "Aye, that's what he said." Riley's face was shadowed, hiding his expression, but his voice sounded sad. Lonely. "Da never heard it. Neither have Mum or Maggie."

  "That's downright strange." Bridget's heart pounded louder and louder, seeming to beat in rhythm to the whispering sound. "But you couldn't hear it when you were little?"

  Riley shook his head. "I..." He cleared his throat. "The first time I heard it was the same night we learned about Culley's accident."

  Air rushed out of Bridget's lungs and she swayed. "Oh." A sudden wave of dizziness gripped her and she reached for the nearest means of support—Riley Mulligan's muscular forearm.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice quiet. Emotionless. "Or would this be part of your evil game?"

  Bridget struggled between anger and confusion. "I'm not playing a game, and I am not evil." She drew a steadying breath and released his arm, acutely aware of the break in contact. Some kind of silent energy hummed around Riley all the time. She'd been aware of it the first moment she'd seen him, but here in the silence of the night, that invisible force came alive. That knowledge cooled her temper even as it fueled the strange but exasperating attraction she felt for the man.

  The odd whispering grew louder, as did the inexplicable need to touch Riley again. Her hand trembled as she reached for his arm and rested the tips of her fingers against his sleeve. But that wasn't enough. She pressed harder, feeling his muscles flinch.

  An image of herself wrapped in his embrace exploded in her mind and she gasped, looking up to meet his gaze through the darkness. If only she could see his eyes...

  "You are a siren," he whispered, bringing the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "So beautiful. No wonder..."

  She tried to speak, but no sound came from her lips. All she heard was the rich, deep rumble of Riley's voice, the soft whispering of Caisleán Dubh, and the steady song of her own blood as it whirred through her veins.

  He gently stroked her cheek and took a step closer. Bridget's knees buckled and he reached out to steady her with his arm around her waist. The warmth of him stunned her, left her breathless and weak. What was happening to her?

  His breath fanned her face, hot and enticing. She licked her lips, too aware of his arm around her
waist and his face mere inches from hers to even breathe, let alone think.

  Besides, a few moments ago, she'd imagined herself in his arms, and here she was. And she'd heard the same odd sound from Caisleán Dubh that Culley and Riley had heard. Why?

  Thinking was dangerous sometimes. Stop thinking.

  She drew a steady breath and released it very slowly, feeling the beat of his heart against her shoulder. After a moment, she ventured a peek at him through her lashes. He'd turned his attention to the castle again, yet his grip about her waist tightened.

  The strange whispers grew louder, drawing Bridget's gaze back to the tower. Voices from the past? Ghosts?

  Hogwash.

  But a sound that only Culley, Riley, and Bridget could hear? What significance was there in that? Was it merely a coincidence? It had to be. Even so, Granny had always sworn that everything happened for a reason.

  Remember why you came out here, Bridget. She drew another deep breath and eased herself around to face him and froze. In fact, her heart had surely skipped a beat. Or three.

  Though her sexual experience was limited to her brief honeymoon, Bridget remembered enough to recognize the hard heat that pressed against her belly now. A very impressive hard heat.

  "Oh." She wiggled, hoping to free herself, but his erection grew harder and hotter against her.

  "Is this how you seduced Culley?" Riley's voice sliced through the night. "By rubbing yourself against him? Flaunting your wares?"

  Rage licked through Bridget right alongside the robust longing that throbbed through her.

  She hated him.

  She wanted him.

  She wanted to hit him.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  She just wanted.

  He reached up to cup the weight of her breast in his hand, keeping his other arm about her waist like a leather harness. She couldn't escape. Heck, she could barely breathe.

  "Or did you flaunt these in his face?" he asked, leaning closer, gently massaging her breast.

  Her breasts felt heavy and swollen. As he brushed his thumb against her nipple, her knees gave out completely. He hauled her against him. Raw need ricocheted through her. Her insides were on fire, clenching and seeking fulfillment.

  He traced circles around her nipple with his thumb. Her blood heated and flowed to the center of her, demanding satisfaction. Bridget's head swam with images of a man and woman. They were faceless, just as Riley was now in the moonlight. Locked in a heated embrace, the imagined couple were joined in every possible way.

  Liquid fire shot through Bridget and she pressed herself against Riley's erection, wishing there were no clothes between them. Wishing she could wrap her legs around his waist and swallow him deeply within her body... It had been so long, and she wanted it. Wanted him.

  There was nothing sweet about this hunger. She wanted sex and she wanted it now. She wanted it hard, fast, furious. Her body contracted and pulsed, weeping for fulfillment.

  For Riley.

  She shook herself, clamoring for the strength to end this. What in tarnation was she doing? She couldn't do this. It was wrong. Remember Culley. Jacob...

  "No." She placed her hands squarely on Riley's chest and shoved as hard as she could. "I said no."

  He released her so suddenly she almost fell, but she'd be damned before she'd reach out to him again. He moved as if to catch her, but she pointed her finger at him.

  "Don't... touch... me." She could barely speak. Anger and an inconceivable craving pulsed through her, clouding her ability to think or move. Finally, she dragged in a shaky breath that sounded more like a sob, and straightened.

  Facing him, she clenched her fists at her sides, kept her chin high. She had her pride, and she wouldn't let this man take that from her. Jacob would be proud of his momma, and Bridget would make certain she was worthy.

  Trembling with rage, she said, "Don't touch me again or I'll scream loud enough to bring Fiona and Maggie both out here to see what the ruckus is about."

  He didn't speak, but his anger flowed through the night air to surround her.

  "You hate me, and I don't know why." She held her hand up to make certain he didn't interrupt her now. "I came out here to thank you for today. Not to be insulted and... and ravished."

  A choking sound came from Riley, but nothing intelligible. He fell silent again.

  "I didn't 'seduce' Culley," she said, remembering the way her husband had swept her off her feet, how an unexplainable and sudden passion had driven them to the Justice of the Peace. There'd been nothing dirty about it. "I loved Culley Mulligan, and I married him because he asked me. I caught his seed, and bore his son. Jacob. That boy is the joy of my life and you aren't going to hurt him. Or me."

  Still, the man didn't speak. Even the strange whispering sounds from Caisleán Dubh had ceased.

  "I appreciate what you did for me and Jacob in town today," she said, calmer now. "But that doesn't give you the right to take liberties now."

  "Liberties?"

  "You know dang well what I mean." Bridget stiffened, suddenly so tired she could barely stand. "Now you go on thinking what you will of me, but don't be forgetting that Jacob is Culley's son."

  "Maybe."

  "No maybe to it." Bridget rubbed her arms against the sudden breeze that swept in from the ocean. "Now. That's settled, so I'll skedaddle on back to the house and we'll be done with it."

  "You'd be lying to yourself then." Riley turned back to the castle.

  The whispering began again and Bridget shivered. She forced herself to walk away, to march to the house, open the back door, and quietly return to her room. Inside, she went immediately to the window.

  Riley still stood there, but instead of staring at the castle, he now faced the house.

  And her.

  Chapter 8

  Riley always walked to mass on Sunday morning, but not alone. However, this Sunday Mum couldn't walk that far with her gout—so much for the cherries—so Maggie would drive the car with Bridget and Jacob in the back seat. There wasn't room for all of them, which suited Riley just fine. He'd skipped breakfast to avoid Bridget, and riding in the car with her would've been the death of him.

  That woman—that cailleach—had made him lose control last night. Riley tightened his hands into fists as he walked, growing angry with himself all over again. The feel of her against him, the weight of her breast in his hand, and the traitorous fire infiltrating his blood had all conspired against him.

  "Shite." He reached up to massage the back of his neck. His head throbbed and his eyes burned like smoldering peat from lack of sleep. "You're a bloody mess, Mulligan."

  To make matters worse, Bridget had heard the infernal castle whispering that had plagued him since Culley's passing. Wasn't that a puzzle?

  He watched Mum's car pass with Maggie at the wheel. Jacob waved and Riley managed to return the gesture, noting that Bridget faced straight ahead.

  Well, fine. Didn't he need the peace of being alone? Aye, but not as much as he needed a woman. Sean Collins had asked him to play a session with him in Shannon next week. That was where Riley would find a woman to fulfill the lust threatening to seize his sanity. There were always anonymous, willing females hanging about the musicians in Shannon, unlike the smaller villages where decency prevailed.

  "And aren't you the indecent one now, Mulligan?" If that wasn't an understatement, he didn't know what one was.

  He swallowed hard, rounding the bend that would take him inland toward Ballybronagh. Aye, but he wasn't headed toward the solitude he craved almost as much as sex just now. No, Riley Mulligan, the lustful and sinful—at least he wanted to sin—was headed to mass. To church. To confession?

  No, he would confess after his trip to Shannon.

  A smile tugged at one side of his mouth and the tension in the back of his neck eased a bit at the thought. If it wasn't Sunday, he would go back for the lorry and head toward Shannon now. Ah, but there was no mercy for the lustful on Sunday. More's the
pity.

  He glanced toward the back of Mum's car and caught sight of Bridget through the rear window. Sunlight gilded her hair, displaying strands of red and even a bit of gold amid the rich brown mane. His breath caught and an odd tightening gripped him.

  There was something about this woman that triggered a terrible madness within him. When she'd touched him last night, he'd gone off his nut.

  After that, nothing would do but for him to touch her. And more. He'd been unable to prevent himself from pulling her against him and showing her just what she'd done to him. Aye, and wasn't that his shame to bear? Now the woman knew his weakness. Would she use it against him as she had against Culley?

  Riley turned to cut across his own field, avoiding the castle, as he often did. Ah, poor Culley. Riley heaved a sigh, knowing now what his young and inexperienced brother had come up against so many years ago in Tennessee. Hadn't Bridget cast her siren's spell on Riley, too? Even he had been helpless to resist her charms.

  If it had been Riley instead of Culley visiting the States seven years ago, would he have married Bridget in order to have her in his bed?

  The question caught Riley by surprise. He chewed his lower lip, considering. Now that he'd experienced a taste of Bridget's power firsthand, how could he deny the possibility that Culley might very well have stooped to anything in order to have her? For that matter, hadn't Riley been near that point himself last night?

  If Culley really had married the woman, then Bridget's legal claim to her late husband's share of the farm was genuine. Riley swallowed the lump in his throat and his empty stomach churned acid in lieu of the breakfast he should've eaten. Perhaps he'd been approaching this all wrong.

  Perhaps? A snort of disgust broke free and he shook his head at his own foolishness. Hadn't Bridget won every round? She'd ingratiated herself into his family. She'd even been welcomed in the village. Only Riley and Katie had rejected Bridget and her son.

  Culley's son.

  Aye, the lad was a Mulligan. Resignation eased through Riley. That much, he could no longer deny. Maybe he couldn't deny the marriage either, but he knew one thing to be true. When it came to Culley and Bridget, she had been the more powerful, the more seductive, the more experienced. And she had, no doubt, wielded that power ruthlessly.