Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  "Oh, my God." Bridget's face blanched and she swayed, grabbing a post for support. A moment later, she swung around and bolted out of the stable as if the devil were on her tail.

  "Shite." Where the devil was she going now? Riley pulled on a pair of old Wellies he kept for mucking out the stall. "Bridget, wait."

  But she was far ahead of him by the time he started after her. Where was she going? And where was—

  "Jaysus." Caisleán Dubh. The lad had overheard them last night. "Not him, too. Not him, too."

  Riley ran as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. He passed Bridget and kept running. Please let me be in time. Please... Memories bombarded him, echoing the panic-driven thud of his heart. The vault at the back of his brain that he'd guarded so carefully edged open a bit more.

  Not now. He needed to save Jacob. Please, Mother Mary. Please.

  Someone else was running toward him from the direction of the road. Maggie. Her twisted features spoke of panic. "Jacob," she said, gasping for air. "Caisleán Dubh."

  Riley left her there and kept running. As he rounded the front corner of the castle, his floppy Wellies tripped him and he landed on his face in sand and grass. A moment later, he was back on his feet. He hazarded a glance back to find Bridget and Maggie racing toward him.

  Sweat trickled into his eyes, blinding him. He mopped it away and bridged the distance between him and the opening beside the massive doors. I should've torn it down. I should have. Why didn't I after Da...?

  His throat swelled, almost closed, but he cleared it and shouted through the crevice. "Jacob?" Then louder and louder.

  Only his echo answered.

  Chapter 11

  Panic pressed down on Riley as memories bombarded him. For a few terrifying moments, he again became the lad in search of his missing da. Cold sweat seeped from his pores, and his throat squeezed shut. How could he ever forget that day?

  That horror.

  "No." He drew a shaky breath and anchored himself in the present. Jacob was here and now. Da was long dead and nothing would change that. "Jacob, can you hear me? It's your Uncle Riley come to fetch you home."

  Silence.

  "Come along now like a good lad."

  Please, Jacob. Please.

  Riley heard a sneeze from the bowels of the black castle and angled himself into the opening. "I know you're in there, lad, and if I can hear you sneeze, you can hear me shouting like a bloody fishwife."

  Riley edged sideways through the opening, jagged edges of broken stones scraping his flesh through his clothing. Of course, the last time he'd entered Caisleán Dubh, he'd been much smaller. Remembered images invaded again—the darkness, the fear, the tragedy.

  Don't think about that. Don't. "I'm not leaving here without you, Jacob." Riley didn't want to go any farther. His feet were rooted in place, though his memory kept walking deeper into the castle. Jaysus.

  Again, he forced the vault door shut and mentally turned a key. Not now. Jacob is now. Jacob is now. Jacob is now....

  Culley's son.

  "I'm coming in after you," he said more firmly, listening for any sound. The only light in the main chamber came from broken windows high overhead. All the lower ones had been boarded over more than a century ago.

  Memory told Riley that the stairway curving toward the tower was to his right, and he prayed Jacob hadn't gone up there. The ground floor might be sound, but the tower was another matter. Besides, that was where the curse had commenced. To his left, another stone stairway led to the bowels of the castle.

  "Jacob, don't hide from me, lad," he said, forcing his tone to remain steady, without a trace of anger. "If you show yourself now, maybe your mum won't punish you." And maybe I won't.

  Another sneeze came from the direction of the massive stone steps. Riley remained frozen, inhaling dusty air and trying to ignore the flapping of wings far overhead. He had no time for bats.

  Or memories.

  He clenched his jaw so tightly, it was a miracle his teeth didn't shatter. Gradually, his eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness and he made out several shapes. He'd never been any farther into the castle than this main chamber, but that had been more than enough to last him a lifetime.

  "Jacob, lad...?" He walked slowly toward the stairs, discerning their shape through the darkness. "It's time to go. The women are worried."

  Riley heard a sniffle and wondered if the lad was crying. Well, he'd been older than Jacob that long ago day, and he'd wept, too. Of course, he'd had more reason.

  His gut twisted and his heart pressed against it. "You're keeping me from my work," he said, forcing his tone to sound light. "I thought you were going to help me drive the tractor today."

  "You..." Jacob's young voice echoed off the stone walls. "You're mad at my momma."

  Riley squeezed his eyes shut and searched for words. "Aye, but that's no reason to—"

  "There isn't any stupid curse," Jacob said, his voice stronger now. "We're inside and nothin' bad has happened to either one of us."

  Yet. Riley clenched his fists. "And I'm glad of it, but it's still not safe, lad."

  "Don't be mad at my momma."

  "Jacob, I—"

  "Jacob," Bridget's voice came from directly behind Riley and he spun around to see her silhouetted against the light filtering in around the massive wooden doors.

  "Don't come any farther," he warned. "It isn't safe."

  "Is, too," Jacob argued.

  The little muzzy is pushing too far. Riley clenched his fists and buried his temper beneath a mountain of worry. "We don't know if it's safe or not, Jacob."

  "I don't care," Bridget said, her voice quivering. "All I care about is my son."

  "Will Uncle Riley let you use the castle?"

  Blackmail! And from a child, no less. Riley chewed his lower lip, wondering what the lad would do if he gave the wrong answer. Would he vanish deeper into this hideous place? Would he fall to his death?

  Would the curse take yet another Mulligan?

  Riley's breath froze in his throat and he struggled to fill his lungs for several seconds. "I can't... promise," he said finally, expecting to fall dead at any moment.

  "Jacob, come out now," Bridget said, her shuffling steps coming closer to Riley as she spoke. "I want you to forget about what you heard last night."

  "No."

  Riley could just see the lad's flashing green eyes, his chin thrust out defiantly, his little arms folded over his narrow chest. "Aren't you the stubbornest lad?" He exhaled in a loud whoosh, pondering his options. Any reputable inspector would find Caisleán Dubh unworthy of renovation. Wouldn't he?

  "I'm a Frye," Jacob said. "We're stubborn. Granny always said so."

  "And Mulligans aren't?" Maggie said from outside the opening.

  At least one of them had the sense to stay outside. "Well then, that means Jacob is doubly stubborn," Riley said, forming a plan as he spoke. He couldn't trust a six-year-old's judgment enough to be certain the lad wouldn't run deeper into the castle and into harm's way if Riley refused to succumb to the blackmail.

  "All right, Jacob," he said, the darkness closing in around him. "If you'll come out now, we'll have someone inspect the castle, but only if you agree to abide by his findings."

  Bridget gripped Riley's arm and he felt her tremble against him. Her breathing sounded ragged, and he suspected she felt much like he had that day he'd followed someone he loved into this hell hole.

  Today would have a different conclusion. Already, Riley sensed the difference. Later, he would ponder the why of it. "Are you ready now, lad?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

  "What's that 'abide by' thing mean?"

  Riley couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth. "It means that you," he looked at Bridget's shape standing at his side, "and your mum, accept the inspector's word as final."

  "Okay. You promise to really do it?" the small voice asked from the darkness. "Cross your heart and hope to die?"

  Riley bit his l
ower lip. "Now why would I be hoping such a thing?" He forced levity into his voice, though the mere mention of death in this place made him want to run screaming. "Of course, I promise."

  Jacob's footsteps approached them, then he took shape a few feet away. "All right."

  Bridget released her death grip on Riley and gathered her son into her arms. She wept and laughed intermittently, smothering the lad with kisses. A moment later, she pulled back to scold the child.

  "Jacob Samuel Mulligan, you scared ten years off my life. Don't you ever run off like that again." She drew a ragged breath and started sobbing again.

  Weren't women the most confounding creatures?

  "If you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here before Caisleán Dubh comes down around our ears." He wasn't teasing. This was the place of his most hideous nightmares. "And we'll find you an inspector."

  They stepped into the sunlight to find Maggie and Mum huddled together. He recognized fear in their eyes, and he knew his own mirrored theirs.

  Maggie might not remember the day that had changed all their lives forever, but Riley would never forget. His gaze went to his mum. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  They were part relief, and part mourning for the man they'd both lost to the Curse of Caisleán Dubh twenty-one years ago.

  Riley went to her while Maggie and Bridget fussed over the wee blackmailer. Riley purposely turned Mum away from the castle to face the sea, placing his arm across her shoulders. They stood there for what seemed like forever, remembering and trying to forget at the same time.

  Finally, Maggie appeared in front of them. "Thank you, Riley." She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You're a hero. Why, even Saint Patrick would be proud."

  "Women." He shook his head. "I'm a bloody extortion victim—not a hero and not a bit proud." Riley swallowed the lump in his throat and felt Mum shiver against his side. "I did what needed doing, and we'll all have to live with the consequences."

  "What did you do?" Mum pulled away and looked into his eyes.

  "I let a six-year-old blackmail me," he said on a sigh. "And I'll rue the day, for certain. Jacob definitely has his da's gift for tossing words about."

  He glanced over his shoulder at Bridget and Jacob, who were walking around discussing the castle as they pointed to various parts of it. A shudder rippled through him and his knees wobbled, though he managed to hide it.

  They were all alive. Why? They'd entered that wretched tomb-like place and all walked out alive. It didn't make a bit of sense.

  An image of his ten-year-old self dragging his da from inside Caisleán Dubh exploded in his mind. Nausea welled within him and for several moments, all he could do was concentrate on breathing. Mum patted his arm.

  They were having the same thought. Why hadn't it taken his life? Riley looked over his shoulder again at his nephew. Or Jacob's? They were both Mulligans by blood.

  What was different? Why had they been spared?

  "Maybe the curse expired," Maggie said as if reading their minds.

  "Expired, is it?" Mum asked, making a tsking sound with her tongue. "Expired, lass?"

  Riley tilted his head back to look up at the tower. Still staring, he drew a deep breath and said, "No, Maggie. Evil doesn't expire."

  "Well, you're all out now," she said. "Safely. Nothing happened."

  "Aye," he said, turning his gaze upon the sinister black stones of Caisleán Dubh again. "For now."

  * * *

  Still shaken from this morning's adventure, Bridget decided to bake bread. Not Irish soda bread, but real bread. She would have preferred sourdough, but the starter wasn't quite ready. A few more days, maybe a week, and it would be fermented enough to have a good bubble to it.

  Maggie went on to school tardy, and Fiona bustled around the cottage, catching up on her chores. She was so happy to be up and about again, she seemed to have put the castle incident out of her mind.

  Somehow, Bridget doubted that. Fiona was an amazing woman who'd learned to live with whatever life threw at her. In many ways, she reminded Bridget of Granny.

  Bridget had reluctantly allowed Jacob to accompany Riley on his chores today, but only after she'd reminded her son that if he ever disappeared like that again, she would break her own rule against spanking. She'd never raised her hand to him, but maybe Granny had been right about even good children needing an occasional swat on the rump.

  Thank you, Lord, for keeping him safe. She chewed her lower lip and shook her head. She should've been sterner with Jacob, but her relief that he'd been found unharmed had left her weak. Later, she would talk with him again and make absolutely certain he realized how serious his actions were.

  At least working on the farm with Riley wasn't like being taken out for ice cream. It wasn't a reward. Exactly. Besides, if they were staying in Ireland permanently, her son would need to work the farm alongside his uncle. The fresh air and sunshine would do the boy good, and Riley would keep him safe.

  Still, she kept glancing out the window to watch her son sitting in front of Riley on the tractor seat. At least Jacob hadn't run off to Caisleán Dubh again.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled the fear all over again. A metallic taste filled her mouth and she realized she'd bitten the side of her tongue. Foolishness. Jacob was fine. They all were.

  Curse or no curse.

  She'd vowed to enter the castle, but not this way. There'd been no powerful feelings of a personal connection today. Only fear and desperation. She hadn't even heard the whispering.

  And the roof hadn't caved in on their heads or anything. Maybe the castle really was safe. Maybe it could be restored.

  Maybe Mulligan Stew would really happen.

  She almost smiled, but caught herself in time. Don't count those chickens before they're hatched.

  She would go back to the castle, though. Alone. And she would take a doggone flashlight this time.

  Smiling to herself, she checked the dough again to see if it was ready. Both loaves had at least doubled in size. She placed them in the oven just as someone knocked on the front door.

  "Well, if it isn't Brady Rearden himself come home where he belongs," Fiona said as she opened the door and admitted their visitor.

  Rearden? Bridget peeked into the parlor to confirm the man's identity. Was he related to Katie? Would he remember Bridget and Jacob? Had Brady heard terrible things about her from Katie?

  The elderly man stepped into the cottage and doffed his hat, before sweeping Fiona into his arms for a hug and a big sloppy kiss. "And isn't Fiona Mulligan still the prettiest lass in three counties?"

  "Oh, go on with you, Brady. And don't you be forgettin' that you're old enough to be me own da." Fiona blushed and giggled like a young girl. "You always were full of the blarney."

  "Aye, and I never intend to stop, no matter how old."

  He caught sight of Bridget in the doorway and smiled again. "Ah, the lass from the plane has found her Mulligans."

  "Yes, thank you. It's a pleasure to see you again, sir." Bridget smiled and wiped her floured hands on her apron.

  "Sir? What is it with all the young folks callin' me sir, Fiona?"

  Laughing, she shook her head. "Good manners, you suppose?"

  "Well, 'tis better than bad ones."

  "Jacob mentioned meetin' you on the plane after he saw you at mass." Fiona turned toward the kitchen. "Kettle's on. I'll just wet the leaves and we'll have us a nice chat with Bridget here."

  Bridget puttered around the kitchen while Brady and Fiona shared stories about Culley and Riley's childhood antics. A band tightened around her heart each time she heard her late husband's name.

  He shouldn't have died. Yet, somehow, she felt his presence here with his family. She wasn't pining away for him or anything like that. The loss of a young life was such a waste. That was what touched her most now—not the loss of her husband or the love of her life.

  Culley would've been so proud of Jacob. Smiling, she opened the oven door and removed tw
o perfect, golden brown loaves of bread and set them on a rack to cool.

  "If that isn't a scent from the angels, I don't know what is," Brady said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  "Our Bridget cooks like an angel," Fiona said, beaming with pride. "The lass hasn't prepared anything but food fit for saints since she got here."

  Bridget blushed and thanked her mother-in-law. Cooking was the only thing she really knew she did well. "I'll get plates," she said, managing to loosen the bread from the sides of the pan enough that it came out cleanly. She placed it on a board with a small dish of butter, and took it all to the table with the long-bladed bread knife and three butter knives.

  Even she couldn't resist fresh-baked bread. With a glass of soda, she sat at the table and munched the yeasty bread while listening to Brady's stories.

  "So what brings you home?" Fiona asked between bites of warm bread. "Really?"

  "Me life's dream." Brady shook his head and his brow furrowed. "I'm sure you remember how much research I did over the years on local history."

  "Aye." Fiona nodded and sipped her tea. "Didn't you come 'round here askin' questions often enough?"

  Brady blushed to his ears. "Well, why do you think I'm here now?"

  Fiona laughed and Brady's eyes twinkled. Bridget couldn't prevent herself from smiling at the pair. They'd obviously been friends for many years.

  "When I went to the States, I left all me notes here with me son Colin. They were in his Katie's closet, safe as can be." He sighed, shaking his head.

  Bridget's appetite fled and she washed a lump of bread down with tepid soda. She didn't make a sound, because she didn't want to miss anything Brady said now. He was a historian who knew about the castle....

  And the curse? Could he help her understand why the Mulligans insisted there was a curse? After this morning, she was more convinced than ever that Caisleán Dubh was just a very old, very lonely castle. It needed her.

  She needed it. Warmth oozed through her and she glanced out the window at the tower. Why had she been so frightened of it at first? Well, no more of that nonsense.