by Deb Stover
"You were listening," she said quietly, watching her son for any reaction. He lowered his gaze and nodded. "Then you know why your uncle is mad at me."
"I... I'm sorry for spyin'." Genuine regret filled his young eyes as he met her gaze again.
"I know you are." She scooted closer to him and put one arm around his shoulders. "But you did, so I reckon you know why he's mad at me."
"I heard what you asked him." Jacob pulled back to stare at her unblinkingly. "He got mad, but I don't know why."
"Well, Jacob, you remember the first day we were here, don't you?"
He nodded, but didn't speak, leaving Bridget no choice but to continue with her pitiful explanation.
"Then you know your uncle doesn't believe the castle is safe."
"'Cuz of that dumb old curse?"
Bridget squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching for strength. "The folks here believe there's a curse, but I think the castle being so old is another reason."
Jacob appeared thoughtful, and said, "But old buildings can be fixed."
"Some can." Her son made so much sense. Of course, he must have heard her say almost the same words. "Your uncle and mamó don't think the castle can be fixed." Or should be fixed.
"Well I think we oughta try." Jacob set his jaw in that stubborn Frye way.
"I know. So do I." She cupped her son's cheek and kissed him on the forehead. "I'm not going to give up yet, but they have the final say. Okay?"
She saw his young mind churning ideas around, but she had to let this subject drop. She didn't want to cause any friction between Jacob and the Mulligans. Lord knew she'd caused enough of that between herself and Culley's kin.
"Okay, Jacob?" she repeated.
"I reckon." He didn't look at her as he spoke.
"Do you remember how angry I was at you that time you followed General Lee onto the highway?"
"Y-yes." Jacob sniffled and his lower lip trembled. "I coulda got squashed like... like Granny."
She gave him a quick, fierce hug. "But you didn't, darlin'." She pulled back and stroked his cheek. "Maybe Uncle Riley got mad at me, because he doesn't want anybody getting hurt in the castle."
I'm not really lying, Lord.
"I reckon." Jacob sniffled and scrubbed his eyes.
"Now, stop worrying about me and get some sleep." She eked out a smile of sorts. "It's late."
"All right." Jacob stood and padded barefoot to his narrow bed beneath the eaves.
Bridget followed him, pulled the quilt around his shoulders, and kissed him good-night. "Sweet dreams, darlin'."
"'Night."
She turned off the small lamp beside his bed and returned to her room. Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. She rubbed her arms and turned off her bedside lamp.
Slowly, she walked to the window and stared out at the night. No rain or clouds marred her view now. Caisleán Dubh stood majestically by the sea, its tower lording over the Mulligan farm, the village, and everything within sight.
That strange tugging called to her again. Something about that castle spoke to her, and she knew it was far more than merely the whispers. What called to her was something unheard and unseen. It came from inside her.
Bathed in moonlight, Caisleán Dubh was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. "Mulligan Stew," she murmured.
She had to find a way to make her dream come true. She wanted this more than anything. The idea had only come to her a few hours earlier, but she felt as if she'd lived with it and worked toward it all her life.
Maybe longer.
That thought sounded so foolish, she shoved it aside, though something continued to niggle at her brain. It almost seemed as if she should remember something that she'd forgotten. Something important.
She gazed down at the meadow between the cottage and the castle. He was there, as she'd known he would be. Riley Mulligan stood staring up at the house as if willing her to defy him.
Bridget struggled against the urge to show grouchy old Riley her middle finger, as Granny had been known to do back in Reedville when properly provoked. No, Jacob's momma wouldn't resort to that, though she would sure as heck think about it. A lot.
A smile tugged at her lips. "So there," she whispered.
Enough of that nonsense. She needed sleep, because one way or another, she would find a way to get inside that castle. She had to do it, even if in secret.
Maybe once she saw the inside of Caisleán Dubh for herself, she would realize that it was a lost cause. Maybe then she could accept defeat. Maybe.
But she doubted it.
She changed into her nightgown, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, but still didn't feel sleepy. "Enough of this," she whispered. She needed to rest so her brain would work right in the morning. After all, she had a mission.
She lowered herself onto the feather mattress, deciding this was the most comfortable bed in the world. Surely she would be able to sleep. She stared at the ceiling for some time, then rolled onto her side and pulled her legs in close.
Gradually, her body warmed and relaxed, allowing dreams to carry her away....
He was back—her dream lover. Who was he? She knew now that the language he spoke was Irish, but that didn't help her understand a word.
Standing across the room from her, he crooked a finger. Well, she understood that. He was bathed in shadow, making his face completely indistinguishable. The only light in the room came from the fire burning in the hearth, and it created a golden glow that flowed around the man from behind. Faceless, he stood there. Waiting.
She didn't need to be told that he waited for her. Somehow, she just knew. Maybe because of the other dream. This was the same man—of that she was certain, face or no face. As she walked slowly toward him, she savored the fact that his massive chest was bare. Muscles rippled across his chest and arms. He placed a fist on each hip, and continued to speak to her in his deep, rumbling voice. If only she could understand his words. Maybe then she would know who he was and why she kept dreaming of him. Heck, seeing his face might help, too.
However, his body was a fine sight. Was he naked again? Curiosity overcame her and she glanced down the length of him. Through the shadows, she saw his erection clearly. It thrust outward from his body like the tower of Caisleán Dubh...
"Oh, my." She tilted her head to one side to examine him more carefully. After all, this was a dream. She didn't have to be shy or even decent. Did she? Wasn't that why people had these kinds of dreams? So their secret fantasies and thoughts could find a release?
She fanned herself with her hand, noticing a cold draft. Glancing down, she stifled a small gasp. She was almost naked herself, with a thin excuse for an undergarment barely covering her breasts, and no panties at all. Scandalous.
She giggled at herself and decided to enjoy her dream. She swung her hips a bit more than necessary and felt the straps of her chemise, of all things, slip lower. The soft fabric brushed along her nipples, catching near the peaks, which were tight with longing.
She wanted him to touch her again. To kiss her. Oh, she wanted him to do a lot more than that. Why not admit it? It was her dream.
By the time she stood before him, a heated flush had crept over her entire body. Her blood sang through her veins, pulsing wickedly right between her thighs. Between the heaviness of her breasts and the gnawing hunger in her most private place, she knew exactly what she wanted.
Her gaze dropped to his erection again and she licked her lips. Exactly.
He reached out with one finger beneath her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. The infernal shadows still hid his features from view, but she looked in the direction of his eyes anyway.
Easing the tip of his finger down her throat, he whispered,"Bronagh."
Did he mean the village?
He looped his fingers through the straps of her chemise. A shiver coursed through her, but not from the room's temperature. He filled his large hands with her breasts and brushed his thumbs across her nipples. Her knees th
reatened to give, but desire kept her upright.
She wanted this. Needed this. A release, even if only in her dreams... My wildest dreams, she thought, and prayed that would prove true.
"Bronagh," he repeated, then dipped his head to draw her nipple through the thin fabric.
"Mercy." She gasped and wrapped her arms around his muscular neck for support. Rivers of warmth eddied through her, zeroing in on the part of her that wanted him most.
His tongue stroked her through the fabric, and he nipped her with his teeth. He drew her deeply into his mouth, sending rivulets of need spiraling through her.
She buried her fingers in his long hair, holding him against her breast, and praying her dream wouldn't end too soon this time. She wanted to finish this—not that she was in any hurry to have it end.
A low, primal growl rumbled from him and vibrated against her tender flesh. He straightened and the cool air circled her damp nipples, compounding her sense of loss at his abandonment.
"Bronagh?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" This was how she'd lost him last time—by not understanding his questions. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me again."
Since she couldn't make him understand her words, she decided to show him. With trembling fingers, she grasped his red-hot erection. He pulsed with power. Life. Promise.
A small sob erupted from her and he growled again as he covered her mouth in a smoldering kiss. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, imitating the movements of her hand on his body.
Oh, but she wanted more. She stroked the petal-soft skin covering his engorged penis, knowing that nothing less than having him inside her would satisfy the fierce hunger he'd awakened. Her movements became more frantic as he kissed his way along her jaw and down her throat, leaning her back against his strong arm.
Her breasts spilled from the confines of the chemise, baring her flesh to his insatiable lips. "Yes," she whispered as he devoured her. He moaned against her as she slid her hand down his full length then back to his moist tip.
With his lips brushing her nipple as he spoke, he said, "Éirigh." His voice was hoarse and thick.
"What?" She continued to caress him until he grabbed her wrist with a grip of steel. "Oh." He'd wanted her to stop. They really could communicate.
"Aye." He swept her into his arms and carried her deeper into the room's shadows, then placed her on what felt like a silk sheet. The bed dipped when he joined her there, hovering over her.
He was so large, he blocked most of the light from the fire, but she didn't care—not as long as he finished the job this time.
All right, in a dream she was allowed to be tacky. Make that trashy. She rolled onto her side and found his erection with her hand again, pulling him toward her.
He chuckled low in his throat and pressed her onto her back, pinning her hands over her head. He leisurely feasted on her breasts while she writhed beneath him. She'd never wanted like this before. Her body clenched the emptiness, aching for him to fill her. She wanted him to claim her, to bury himself inside her, and even to ravish her.
Oh, yes. "Ravish me," she whispered.
He chuckled almost as if he'd understood, though she suspected that was impossible. He released her hands and kissed his way down her belly, tickling her navel with his tongue.
"Mercy." She stroked his hair, afraid he would stop. Afraid he wouldn't. He was doing things to her she'd never experienced before, but right now she wanted nothing but this. She wanted him to give her everything he had to give.
"Now?" she pleaded.
He cupped her bottom in his large hands and angled her pelvis toward him. Then, amazingly, he covered that most sensitive part of her with his molten lips....
"No!" Bridget whispered, bolting upright in the bed. She slapped at the mattress and noticed the blankets bunched between her legs as if she'd been—
"Oh." Her face flooded with the heat of embarrassment and she darted a glance toward the archway that led to Jacob's alcove. At least her son wasn't standing there watching his momma have a wet dream.
Embarrassment might make her behave while awake, but frustration was still her ruling emotion. She ached and throbbed with the hunger her dream lover had created.
What kind of torture was this? Her body quaked with an overpowering weakness as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and straightened her bedding.
"Positively indecent," she muttered. "Shameful." She drew several huge gulps of air and pushed to her feet. On wobbly legs, she staggered into the bathroom and closed the door before flipping on the light.
She stared at her mussed image in the mirror. Her hair was a wild, knotted mane. Her lips looked swollen, almost as if... they'd been kissed. Her breasts still ached for the feel of her dream lover's lips.
Instinctively, she brought her hand to her breast and gasped.
The worn flannel covering her nipple was damp.
* * *
The mysterious woman haunted Riley's dreams again. He hadn't experienced a good night's rest in nearly a week.
Rising slowly, he stretched the kinks out of his muscles. He splashed his face with cold water and felt almost awake, so he dressed for a day's work. Hard physical labor might make him tired enough to sleep without dreaming tonight. He stifled a yawn and pulled on his socks.
Tea, strong and hot, was what he needed. He made his way into the hall, pausing at the narrow door that led to the attic. To Bridget. No, to Jacob, he amended with a scowl.
He ducked under the low beam and went downstairs to put the kettle on, but Mum was already up and bustling about the kitchen. She wore shoes and walked without a limp.
"Mum?" He kissed her cheek. "Is the gout gone then?"
"Aye, pretty much." She patted his cheek and poured tea into his cup. "Nice and strong, the way you like it."
"Thanks." He took the cup and seated himself at the table. "Don't overdo, though, with this being your first day of feeling better."
"I promise." She flashed him a smile that took twenty years off her face. "I'm so happy to be back on me feet I could sing."
"You wouldn't."
Laughing, she flung the tea towel at him. "I just might if you keep blatherin' on about me miserable voice."
"Fortunately, I got my musical genes from Da."
"Aye, so you did." Mum's expression grew thoughtful. "Tell me, Riley," she said, stirring something at the stove. "What do you think your da would have to say about Bridget's idea?"
Riley released a long, slow breath and took a sip of tea to brace himself. He should've known the subject of Caisleán Dubh wouldn't die peacefully. "I don't know," he finally said, shaking his head.
"I was rememberin'...." Mum bit her lower lip and lifted one shoulder. "'Tis like it was only yesterday."
"Aye." Riley didn't want to remember. Mum seemed to take comfort in remembering, but he wanted to bury the memories so deep they'd never return. "It never goes away."
"Does a body and a heart good to remember, lad," she said, seeming to understand exactly what he was thinking. She often did.
"I'd rather not." He drank his tea in silence for several blessed minutes while Mum prepared their breakfast. "Did everyone else sleep late?" he finally asked.
"Riley Mulligan was the layabout this morn'." She smiled again. "I heard you tossin' and turnin' half the night, so I figured you hadn't slept well when you didn't come down earlier. Bridget and Jacob haven't come down either, though."
He didn't want to hear about Bridget. The less he heard about her, the better. "Maggie gone to school, then?"
"Aye. A few minutes ago." Mum sighed. "I believe Jacob will be old enough to go next year. Bridget said he went to kindergarten in Tennessee."
"If he's still here." Riley regretted the words the moment they left his lips.
Mum turned down the fire beneath the pot and walked over to the table, her blue eyes snapping. She shook her index finger at him. "Riley Francis Mulligan, if you were a normal-sized man instead of the giant you are,
I'd turn you over me knee and—"
"Good morning," Bridget said as she entered the kitchen.
Riley didn't look at her. Instead, he returned his attention to his tea. Tea was safe. Women—including mothers—were not.
"Have you seen Jacob this morning?"
Riley had to look at Bridget now, and was both relieved and disappointed to find her properly dressed. "He wasn't in his bed this morning?" he asked, worry slithering through him.
She shook her head, concern puckering her brow. "I... I didn't sleep well, so I didn't wake as early as usual."
"You weren't the only one," Mum said. "Riley, have a look 'round the house for young Jacob, and if the lad doesn't turn up, we'll look outside. 'Tis a sunny morn'. Chances are he went out to frolic with the faeries."
Riley was out of his chair before Mum completed her whimsical statement. He took the steps two at a time, bumping his head on that wretched low beam. His ancestors must've been pint-sized.
Rubbing his skull, he searched all the rooms, including the attic. No sign of Jacob. Icy fingers of fear spiked through him. The horse. "Oíche." He almost hit his head again dodging down the stairs.
"Where are you—"
"The stable," Riley called, foregoing his boots. He raced along the well-worn path, unmindful of the small rocks that bruised his stockinged feet.
The lad had promised not to go near Oíche alone. He'd promised. But Jacob was just a lad. Riley should've known. He should've been wiser, a better uncle. A better protector of his brother's son.
"Jaysus, let him be safe." He flung open the stable door, startling Oíche. There was no sign of Jacob anywhere. Just to be sure, Riley entered the stall and moved straw around, terrified he might find the lad beneath it. Trampled.
"Nothing." He leaned against a post, recovering his breath. Where could the lad be?
"Did you find him?" Bridget burst into the stable without stopping.
Riley grabbed Oíche's bridle. "Easy, lad." He pinned Bridget with a glare. "You scared my horse."
"I'm more concerned about my son than your stupid—"
"As am I." Riley released Oíche and left the stall. "Do you have any idea where—"
