by Deb Stover
Renewed rage threatened to whip through Riley, but he shoved it aside. Right now he needed reasoning—not anger. He was older, more experienced than Culley had been, and he must not fall victim to Bridget's wiles.
The memory of her soft curves melding against him last night flashed unbidden to his mind. He could smell her, feel her, hear her breath. Oh, and when he'd cradled her breast in his hand, all thoughts but having her beneath him right there in the meadow had fled.
Her passionate response to his touch had shocked and inflamed him. Even now he throbbed and hardened expectantly.
"Bloody hell." How was he supposed to stroll into church with that on display? He paused half a block away. A little more time was all he needed. A cold swim would've been more effective, but this would have to do until he could get to Shannon.
His face warmed with embarrassment as he neared the church. By the time he reached the front steps, he would have himself under control again. After mass, he would determine how to handle the likes of Bridget Mulligan.
"So the traitor has arrived."
Riley froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Slowly, he turned to face Katie Rearden's wrath. "Aye," he said, unable to deny her charge.
She walked slowly toward him, her arms folded before her, the lines of her dress in perfect harmony with her stride. Crisp, freshly pressed, pristine. Culley had always said his Katie was the most perfect lass he'd ever known. How could he have betrayed her?
More shame finally brought Riley's lust under control—at least for now. Hadn't he betrayed Katie almost as much as Culley supposedly had, and all because of the same woman? Jaysus. As much as Riley wanted to deny it, he couldn't.
"'Tis sorry I am, Katie," he said, stopping in front of her. "I..."
"You what?" She stared up at him, waiting. "You're sorry for shaming me in Gilhooley's?" Her eyes narrowed and she drew a deep breath. "Or for embracing your brother's doxie and bastard?"
Like a blow, Katie's words slammed into Riley. He gnashed his teeth, struggling for a response. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "None of this is the lad's doing."
"He's still a bast—"
"No." Riley held his hand up to silence her. "Don't, Katie. Don't lower yourself to blaming a child who wasn't even born then."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You believe her. The lies."
"I'm not sure what I believe right now." His voice sounded as confused as he felt, even to his own ears. "I know when I look upon the lad that he could be—probably is—my brother's son. I denied it for as long as I could, but you see it, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have called him a bastard...."
She looked quickly away, then pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. "But..."
"The woman is dangerous," Riley said, trying not to remember how dangerous Bridget had been for him last night. "I'm convinced she tricked poor Culley into her bed."
Katie's lower lip trembled but without sacrificing a shred of her dignity. The woman would never have allowed that. She was always in control, or at least gave that impression. "Do you..." Katie bit her willful lower lip, then added, "Do you think he really married her?"
Riley lifted a shoulder, unwilling to share all his thoughts right now. Bridget was too powerful and his lust for her too great. Some of that might show in his voice or his words. The last person he wanted to learn of his lust for Bridget was Katie. Hadn't she been hurt enough without him adding to her pain?
"We'll learn the truth in time," he said, offering her his arm. "Come along now, or we'll be late for mass."
Katie flashed a quick, perfect smile. "Careful, Riley," she whispered. "People will think we're doing a line."
Riley missed a step and cleared his throat. Mum had been insisting for years that Katie had her cap set for Riley once she'd accepted Culley's death. Stuff and nonsense. "Let them think what they will," he said with more bravado than he felt. In truth, the last thing he wanted was for his family to believe he was courting anyone. He'd never hear the end of it.
Not that Katie wasn't attractive. She just wasn't his type
—too cool, too sophisticated, he supposed. Besides, hadn't he known her all his life? She was more like a sister than anything.
Culley had been more interested in life beyond the farm after going to university, where he'd fallen in love with Katie. Riley had always been content to work the land and tend the stock. It was as much a part of who and what he was as the Mulligan blood flowing through his veins.
And wasn't Mulligan blood the problem? He squeezed his eyes shut for a fleeting instant, remembering the last conversation he'd had with Culley. They'd been at the airport when Riley had asked his brother why he'd chosen Katie from among so many others? Culley's answer had shocked even Riley, who had believed he knew his brother better than anyone.
Because marrying Katie will stop the curse, Culley had said.
Riley blinked, glancing down at the woman on his arm. His brother had winked as he'd run to catch his plane without explaining that cryptic answer. After Culley's accident, Riley had put it out of his mind. But now...
Bridget and her son had changed everything.
Why had Culley believed that marrying Katie would stop the Curse of Caisleán Dubh? And, more importantly, why had he married Bridget instead?
You've left me a mountain of questions, boyo.
If only Culley were here to speak for himself. Riley sighed, vowing to find the answers he needed to set things right once and for all. It was the least he could do for Culley.
And his nephew.
Jaysus.
To complicate matters even further, Bridget had heard the ominous whisperings from Caisleán Dubh. Why? Was it because she'd borne a Mulligan child? Aye, a Mulligan child. But that didn't make sense, since Mum had never heard it. Only Culley, then Riley, and now Bridget...
Yet Culley had believed that marrying Katie would stop the curse. Riley almost groaned aloud, but caught himself as he spied an elderly man waiting on the church steps, his face beaming when he spotted Katie.
"There you be, lass," he said. "I was beginnin' to worry."
"Granddad, you remember Riley Mulligan?"
"As I live and breathe, Mr. Rearden?"
"You still have bugs and rocks stashed in your pockets, lad?" Riley's former teacher grinned while embracing him and pounding him on the back.
"When did you come home?" Riley asked, remembering all the years as Mr. Rearden's pupil in the village school. "And isn't it grand to see you, sir?"
"Enough of that sir and mister business, lad," the older man said. "'Tis just Brady. Aren't you a man full grown yourself now?"
"Aye, but old habits are hard to break."
"That must mean you really do have bugs and rocks stuffed in your pockets."
"I do believe Granddad has kissed the Blarney stone this morn'," Katie said, rolling her eyes.
"Aye, and I intend to do that on a regular basis, lass." Brady's eyes sobered as he faced Riley again. "'Tis sorry I am about Culley. Such a waste."
Riley nodded, unable to form words just now. He remembered the countless hours he and Culley had spent walking between home and school. He drew a breath and released it very slowly, determined to change the subject. "What brings you home now?"
"'Tis time to fulfill a lifelong dream, and this be the only place to do it."
Riley waited for his old teacher to explain, but Brady turned toward the church entrance.
"He says he wants to write our local history," Katie said, shaking her head. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to read about our boring little village."
Riley chuckled, holding the door open for Katie and her granddad. As he turned to follow them inside, something dark against the horizon fell into his line of vision. A fist tightened around his heart.
Caisleán Dubh.
With cold clarity, he knew exactly what bit of local history Brady Rearden intended to tell.
* * *
Bridget couldn't breathe. After seei
ng Riley walk into the church with Katie Rearden, all she wanted was out of there. Heated memories of being in his arms last night warred within her against shame and jealousy.
Jealousy? She had no right or reason to feel jealous. Riley Mulligan could walk into church with anyone he pleased. In fact, the more time he spent away from her, the better. To make matters worse, she'd recognized the older gentleman who'd entered with Katie and Riley as the man she and Jacob had met on the airplane.
She was relieved the man passed by without spotting them, as she wasn't in the mood to be polite just now. However, she was even more relieved when she saw Katie sit on the other side of the aisle, leaving Riley to sit with his family. Foolish, foolish Bridget.
She barely heard the service, and didn't understand most of what she did hear. She'd never felt comfortable with the Southern Baptist Church Granny had attended. Though she believed in God, Jesus, and the Scripture, she didn't now enough to feel comfortable with any religion.
She wanted that for Jacob. After all, she had decided to convert to Catholicism for Culley after their argument that morning, and since she'd never found her own spiritual home, this choice logical.
Her throat clogged and her eyes burned. Culley had died without learning of her decision. She would make up for that by raising his son in his daddy's faith.
The moment mass ended and they stepped out into the sunshine, she knew what she had to do. She had fulfilled one mission last night by thanking Riley. Her face flooded with heat at the memory, but she quickly banished the thought and drew a shaky breath. Riley had remained inside to chat with friends—and Katie, no doubt—but Bridget was relieved he wasn't close enough to overhear her plans.
"I'd like to walk back, if you don't mind," she said with a smile.
"Would you now?" Fiona smiled her approval. "'Tis a lovely morn'. If not for this gout, I'd join you, lass."
Maggie studied Bridget a few moments, seeming to understand that she needed some time to herself. "Jacob, I could use some help gathering eggs."
Jacob's eyes grew round and a huge grin split his young face. He turned to his momma. "Can I go help Aunt Maggie?"
"I reckon." Bridget stroked her son's hair and gave her sister-in-law a grateful smile. "I'll be along shortly. You be careful, though."
"He'll be fine," Maggie said. "I promise."
"That he will." Fiona hobbled down the steps, leaning heavily on her cane. "I do believe the cherries are startin' to help some. At least I didn't have to go barefoot to mass."
"And you would have, too." Maggie laughed as she opened the car door.
"Do you think the blessed Virgin would mind an old woman's bare foot, lass?" Fiona asked as she lowered herself into the front passenger seat.
Smiling at their banter, Bridget waited until they were in the car and driving away, then she started down the road toward Caisleán Dubh. She forced herself to look at the castle, and to remain focused on it as she drew nearer. Her heart thundered louder with each step she took, and a cold sweat coated her skin.
A gentle breeze from the sea washed over her damp skin, sending a shiver coursing through her. She felt much as she had that summer between her sophomore and junior years in high school, when she'd taken a job picking cotton. All day, she'd bend and pick and sort, then in the late afternoon, the breeze would swoop down from the mountains and dry the sweat from her skin.
A gull's cry pierced the air and she stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. "It's just a bird, silly." She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and continued her march toward Caisleán Dubh.
The closer she came, the more she had to crane her neck to see the tower. The main part of the castle was large and square, but the round tower soared into the sky. She shaded her eyes and paused, noting the presence of narrow windows near the top.
She turned her gaze to the ocean, imagining how far someone would be able to see from up there. Her mouth went dry and she pressed onward.
At the castle's base, she stopped to examine the lay of the land. On one side, the road separated the castle from the farm. "Fine, then let's go see what's on the other side of you."
She scrambled over huge boulders until she found a level area that she guessed had once been a path. Grass and wild flowers had nearly obliterated it, but at least it was smooth and it led around the castle toward the sea.
What would she find on the opposite side? Did the land drop away to the sea? Or would she find a drawbridge and something that at least resembled an entrance? From here, the old fortress didn't appear to have a single door, and the windows were high and covered with old, rotting boards. However, the castle itself looked solid and sound.
An odd sensation tingled through her. She wanted—no, needed—to touch the castle. The urge to go inside gnawed at her, and the closer she came to what she believed was the front, the louder her heart thundered. Her fingertips tingled as she paused and reached toward the sturdy stones, but she stopped short of actually making contact.
Fear coiled through her, but the longing to see and feel the castle refused to die. Still, she would wait. The knowledge that she would touch this castle settled in her heart with a certainty that made her stop. She pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone, drawing strength from the solid beat of her heart.
Did she believe in fate? Why couldn't she shake the notion that she belonged here? Was it Culley's memory? No, though that would've been a simpler explanation. This was more. Much more.
Excitement and fear joined forces within her, prodding her into motion again. She rounded the corner nearest the sea and lifted her face to the steady breeze flowing in off the water. Whitecaps glistened in the Sunday sunshine, and gulls darted and sailed overhead. Even from this vantage point, she could see forever. The men who had built Caisleán Dubh must have needed to see even farther. She looked upward again, but standing this close, she couldn't begin to see the top of the tower.
Squaring her shoulders, she drew a deep breath, knowing that once she turned the corner, she could never go back. Something called to her here—something powerful.
She closed her eyes and prayed, "Well, Lord, I reckon death is a powerful thing, too, but I don't have any urge to meet mine just yet. Amen."
She kept her eyes closed as she stepped around the corner to face both her greatest fear and her greatest desire. Well, last night in Riley's arms, she'd desired something a whole lot more earthly than whatever drew her to this castle.
She just stood there, her mouth turning dry. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but failed. "Just do it, Bridget, like they say on those sneaker commercials." She drew a deep breath and blew it out, opening her eyes at the same moment.
Caisleán Dubh stood before her in all its glory. "Wow." Curiosity and excitement overruled the niggling fear in the back of her mind as she circled along the grassy area for a better view. A small section of stones near the massive closed doors had crumbled away, but she saw no other visible damage beyond blatant neglect and simple age.
"You are really something," she whispered, shaking her head. An invisible band tightened around her chest and she walked slowly toward the crumbled stones next to the doors.
The gap between the wood and the stones was wide enough for someone to slip through. She licked her parched lips as she drew nearer, reaching toward the castle wall with her trembling hand.
The whispering she'd heard last night beckoned to her again now. Her breath came in short bursts, and only one thought filled her mind: Go inside. Go inside. Go inside.
She stumbled over a rock near the entrance, pitching forward toward the jagged stones that formed a border along the overgrown pathway. A shriek erupted from her just as a pair of strong arms gripped her about the waist and hauled her to safety.
All the air rushed out of her lungs as those same arms snapped her firmly against a solid wall of chest, then wrapped themselves around her waist from behind. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" Riley asked, his breath
scorching the side of her neck.
Bridget tried to pull away, suddenly desperate to break free and to run headlong into the castle. She'd been so close. "Why did you stop me?" she asked, squirming and trying to jab him in the ribs with both elbows.
"Are you after getting yourself killed?" His voice sounded calmer now, though his breathing grew even more ragged. Hotter. "Are you so eager to leave your son an orphan then?"
"Jacob." A wave of weakness descended upon her like a cloak made of lead. "What am I doing here?" Then she remembered and closed her eyes. "I know. I remember."
"If I let you go, will you promise not to do anything foolish?"
"I promise I'll try not to." Bridget smiled to herself as he made a snorting sound, then gradually released his hold. She turned to face him, so close the warmth of him seeped through her clothing and into her bones. "Thank you for rescuing me again."
His eyes were hooded, his lips set in a stern line of disapproval. "What is your game?" he asked, gripping her upper arms in his strong hands. "One minute you're trying to seduce me, then the next you're trying to get yourself killed."
"Sed—" She sputtered for several seconds, his image blurring through the veil of rage that exploded from within her. "Seduce?" She tried to pull free, but he held her fast. "Fine, be a big old bully. Your momma will ask me about the bruises you're leaving on my arms."
His grip eased immediately and his expression softened. "I'm sorry." He sighed and shook his head. "I've never harmed a woman, and I don't intend to start now." He gave her a look that was more curious than anything. "Why do you go out of your way to irritate me?"
"I'd wager you were born irritated." Bridget put one fist on her hip, concentrating on this flesh and blood man before her, rather than on the persistent and perplexing lure of the castle behind.
A powerful sadness filled Riley's eyes and Bridget's heart. "What is it?" She took a step toward him.
