by Deb Stover
"One whole box of me notes are missing, and it's the one that deals with Caisleán Dubh," Brady said. "And isn't the curse the most interestin' part of Clare's history?"
Bridget leaned on her elbows, resting her chin in her hands.
"Interestin' is one way of puttin' it, I suppose." Fiona sipped her tea. "Too much pain and misery."
"Aye." Brady reached over and patted Fiona's hand. "We all remember what happened to your Patrick."
Fiona nodded but said nothing.
"Patrick was Culley's da?" Bridget asked.
"Aye. He was me husband, lass. All me children's da." Fiona stared through the window. "'Tis best not to speak of what happened. It will only upset Riley." She blinked rapidly as if to clear her vision. "And me."
Bridget's pulse thudded louder with every breath she took. Patrick Mulligan's death was important, and it was something she needed to know. If Fiona wouldn't speak of it—and she knew Riley wouldn't—then how was Bridget to learn the truth?
From Maggie. Yes, that was it. She would ask Maggie.
"'Tis bewildered, I am, to have only that one box of notes missin'." Brady sighed, obviously determined to change the subject away from anything that upset Fiona. "I'll have to reconstruct the lot of it."
"You know where to find what you need."
"Aye, that I do, but..." Brady patted Fiona's hand again. "I wanted your blessing, lass."
"Keep callin' me lass, you old charmer, and you can have anythin' you want."
Brady blushed to his ears and Bridget decided she still liked this man, even if he was related to Katie.
"I left for the States when Katie and Culley were first court—" Brady stopped abruptly and looked at Bridget. "'Tis sorry I am to mention the subject, dear Bridget. Forgive me."
"I've already heard that Culley was engaged to Katie," Bridget said carefully, studying Brady's expression as she spoke. "Is she your kin?"
"Aye, me granddaughter."
Bridget held his gaze, deciding to go ahead and ask the question burning in her heart. "Why don't you hate me?"
Brady didn't seem a bit taken aback by her blunt question, but Fiona's eyes grew wide.
"Riley and Katie both hate me," Bridget continued, keeping her voice calm and her gaze on Brady.
"Well, now, I can't be speakin' to someone else's feelins, but I've no cause to hate you or anyone, lass." Brady drew a deep breath and held her gaze. "I was already livin' in the States with me daughter's family when Katie and Culley became engaged." He lifted one shoulder and a sheepish grin brightened his wrinkled face. "I never believed them well matched anyway."
"Well, then I guess it won't shock you to learn I felt the same," Fiona said with an emphatic nod. "A more mis-matched pair never lived."
Bridget managed a weak smile and said, "Thank you for that. I didn't realize I've actually felt a little guilty about Katie until now."
Brady shot her another of his crooked grins and said, "And how could it have been wrong for you to marry a charmer like Culley Mulligan if you loved him?"
"Especially since you couldn't have known about Katie," Fiona added.
Bridget realized now why Fiona had accepted her so easily. "I wonder why Riley..." She bit her lower lip. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."
"'Tis in the past," the old teacher said. "We live in the present, except for old fools like me who'd rather be diggin' up history than livin' in the here and now."
"You were a good teacher," Fiona said. "And not just about history."
"'Tis a flatterer you are, Fiona Mulligan." The twinkle in his eyes gave him away as he said, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're after a husband."
Fiona blushed and stuttered, then said, "You old fool."
"I'm old, but not a fool." Brady squeezed her hand, his expression solemn. "I'll be askin' Father O'Malley for the parish records again then. With your blessing?"
"You have it," Fiona said. "But don't be botherin' Riley about it, please."
"I promise." He rose. "I'd best be about my business then. Thank you for the tea."
"You're always welcome." Fiona stood, turning toward the door to see him out, then she snapped her fingers. "Brady, would you know of someone who could inspect Caisleán Dubh for us?"
"Inspect it, you say?" Brady scratched his bald head, his eyes growing wide. "Well, now, 'tis an interestin' question, that."
"Bridget here wants to see if it's sound enough to restore."
"At least part of it," Bridget added, standing near them now, her heart pounding as she waited anxiously for Brady's answer.
"Aye, just call the Irish Trust in Dublin," he said. "They have engineers and architects on staff who'll come out and look it over for you."
"Thank you, old friend."
Fiona wrote down the number Brady gave her. As soon as he'd left, she went to the phone and dialed while Bridget stood by, still holding her breath. They really were going to inspect the castle.
And so was she.
Tonight.
Chapter 12
Riley took another bite of what Bridget called a "chicken-fried steak" and almost moaned aloud. As much as he hated to admit it—again—the woman's cooking could bring entire armies to their knees.
He'd planned to walk into Ballybronagh to eat at Gilhooley's, just to avoid this. And her. Aye, and hadn't that been a good plan, too? He took another bite. Then another. Aye, it had been an excellent plan.
Mulligan, you're weak. He'd been felled by a piece of beef and gravy rich enough to make a grown man weep with joy. Mum had made his favorite fried cabbage with rashers crumbled in it, and he really hoped there were no afters. If he ate like this every day, he'd be too heavy to ride Oíche.
"Maggie made the dessert," Bridget said, smiling.
"Oh?" I'm saved. Riley could easily resist sampling something his sister had prepared. "I don't think I'll have room for afters."
"Aye, you will." Mum's eyes twinkled mischievously, and she turned her attention back to Bridget. "Bridget, tell me again how you make this meat with your sourdough? I can't believe it could taste any better."
"The sourdough helps make the outside even crispier," Bridget explained. "I dip the meat in the sourdough starter, then dredge it in flour and spices like I did this time."
"Then you cook it the same way?"
"Yes. I'm glad y'all like it." She smiled and her entire face glowed.
Riley's throat threatened to close around a half-swallowed piece of meat. The woman's smile did things to him—different things than looking lower would do. Heat rose to his neck and he took a sip of cool water before his entire face turned crimson.
Something swelled within his chest as he watched her chat with Mum about cooking. She obviously loved to cook, so it wasn't hard to understand why she'd thought of opening a restaurant.
A restaurant in Caisleán Dubh. Had he ever heard a more ludicrous notion?
At least Jacob hadn't blathered on about the wretched castle all day. In fact, the lad had behaved himself in every way after his little disappearing act. Riley cast a sidelong glance at his nephew—master con-artist—who shoveled mashed spuds and gravy into his mouth faster than old Seamus Doone could down a pint after Lent.
"Riley, are you listening?" Maggie asked, spearing his attention.
"Aye. What?"
All three women snickered. Would this be another of those "Funning Riley" evenings? He drew a deep breath and vowed that he would not let them bother him this time.
"No," he said, smiling at his sister. "What did you say?"
"I asked if you're ready for the afters."
The expression on Maggie's face reminded Riley of the time she'd begged him to teach her how to ride his bike. Of course, it had been much too tall for her, but she'd finally managed to ride it to the road and back. Had he ever seen her look as proud as she had that day, with her missing tooth and her hair curling wildly around her freckled face?
Aye, he was really going soft. Eejit. Sap.
"You promise not to kill me?" he teased, though there had been a time or two when he'd feared just that from his sister's disastrous cooking.
She wrinkled her nose at him. "I just might, boyo." She pushed away from the table with Mum right behind, leaving Riley at the table alone with Bridget and Jacob.
"I saw Brady Rearden out on the road," he said, watching Bridget's expression.
She looked up at him suddenly, her gaze darting to Mum's empty chair, then back to Riley. "He came by to see Fiona," she said.
"Aye, old Brady is a charmer." Riley managed a smile, though suspicions continued to press to the front of his mind. "Did he tell you he's Katie's granddad?"
"Y-yes. Yes." She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, filling out the same green jumper she'd worn the day she'd first arrived far too well.
Riley drank more water, keeping his gaze on her breasts. And weren't they fine breasts, too? Lightning struck right between his legs. Served him right for staring, but they were right there. Tempting him.
Jaysus. He sucked in a sharp breath and shifted into a more comfortable position. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat and reminded himself about Brady.
"Is Brady the man from the airplane?" Jacob asked between bites.
"Yes, he is." Bridget smiled again, but this time it wasn't for Riley.
"Did he remember us?" Jacob finally set his fork aside.
"He sure did." Bridget relaxed visibly as she spoke to her son.
"I didn't realize you knew Brady." Riley tried to keep his gaze above where Bridget's pulse beat at the base of her throat. All points below that were unsafe for a man in his current state of sexual deprivation.
"He sat beside us on the airplane," Jacob explained. "He told us about the curse and the Cliffs of... of..."
"Moher," Bridget finished. "The Cliffs of Moher."
"Yeah, them."
"You're saying you already knew about the curse before you arrived?" Riley wasn't sure yet what this information meant, but he intended to give it considerable thought. "You can't quite see the Cliffs from Caisleán Dubh," he pointed out, wondering why he'd connected the two thoughts.
Because a castle with a view of the Cliffs is valuable. Well, Bridget would be disappointed, if that was her—
"Here we are." Mum and Maggie carried plates with something gooey and chocolate on each one.
"What is it?" he asked, narrowing his gaze. Maggie swept away his empty dinner plate and placed the concoction before him. The rich aroma of chocolate wafted to his nostrils and he inhaled appreciatively. "Smells edible."
Maggie punched him in the arm. "It's more than edible, you oaf," she said. "Bridget says it's decadent."
"Decadent, is it?" Riley grinned and lifted one shoulder. "Well, I'll be the judge of that, but what is it?"
"Mississippi Mud Pie," Jacob answered.
"Mud pie?" Riley chuckled at the lad and elbowed him. "And did you go out in the yard and collect the mud for the pie yourself, lad?"
"Nope. Chocolate mud." Jacob scooped a huge bite of the mud in question, along with nuts and other tasty-looking morsels, into his mouth.
"'Tis tasty then?" he asked, and the lad nodded and kept shoveling.
"You're using poor Jacob as a tester?" Maggie asked, placing a hand on each hip as she hovered over him. Waiting. "Well?"
"Well, what?" Riley looked from her to his plate, then around the table at the others.
Mum took her seat and started eating, too. She rolled her eyes and glanced heavenward. "Isn't this fit for the Virgin Herself? 'Tis divine, Maggie."
Maggie giggled and clapped her hands together. "See?" She turned her glower on Riley again. "Eat."
Riley squeezed his eyes closed, prayed, and crossed himself.
Maggie punched him again.
"Ow." He rubbed his arm and reached for his fork. "All right, then. I'll taste this Mississippi Mud Pie of yours, but if it's really mud, you'll be wearing it."
She folded her arms in front of her and waited.
He brought the fork to his mouth and hesitated, remembering the last "sweet" Maggie had made. A shudder rippled through him and she punched him again, sending the bite balanced on his fork back to his plate with a plop.
"How do you expect a body to taste it if you keep knocking it away?" He pointed at her chair. "Over there or I'll not take a single bite."
"Your loss," Bridget said, licking her fork.
The sight of Bridget's tongue stroking the silver tines sent another lightning bolt through Riley. He gulped and forced himself to look at his food and not at her. He heard Maggie walk around the table and pull out her chair beside Bridget.
Slowly, he put the fork between his lips and deposited gooey, creamy chocolate and nuts upon his tongue. He chewed once and stopped, narrowing his eyes and pinning Maggie. "You didn't make this," he accused.
Maggie sputtered in outrage and pushed her chair back, leaping to her feet. Bridget grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her chair.
"Granny always said that if somebody says something unkind and untrue, that knowing the truth is every bit as good as winning."
"Was that supposed to make sense?" Riley asked, yelping when the toe of a shoe made abrupt contact with his shin. "Mary Margaret, I told you—"
"It wasn't Maggie."
"Who...?"
She just kept smiling while Maggie and Mum snickered. Bridget's smile was way too confident. Why? Where had the nervous hillbilly gone? She folded her arms beneath her breasts, leveling them at a nice angle for his perusal. He took another huge bite of pie and swallowed it without taking his gaze away from the woman who'd turned his life arseways.
She tempts a man.
"Do you like mud, Uncle Riley?" Jacob asked, swinging his feet back and forth beneath the table.
"Aye, 'tis the best mud I've ever tasted." He darted a look from Maggie to Bridget, then back. "No matter who made it."
"I did, you bloody—"
"Ah, Maggie," Mum said, shaking her infamous index finger. "You know better than to swear at me table."
And wasn't it a good thing Mum couldn't read her son's mind? The thoughts Riley'd had about Bridget right here in Mum's kitchen were scandalous. Aye, he wanted to do every scandalous thing he could think of to Bridget's body, and he could think of plenty.
Correction: had thought of them.
Awake, all he could do was think of her in anger or lust—either way, with passion. Asleep, he was plagued with dreams of a faceless woman who'd haunted him for years.
You're a pitiful excuse for a man, Mulligan.
He finished his "mud" and pushed away from the table. "Well, now. From what you've told me, I'm to thank three cooks this time?"
"Aye," two women said, while Bridget said, "Yes."
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He looked at Maggie but not Bridget, and planted a kiss on Mum's cheek. "A fine meal. Even the afters."
He left the kitchen before Maggie could do him any further bodily harm, and went into the parlor. If he was going to Shannon Saturday, he'd best be practicing. He pulled the fiddle case from the shelf where the instrument had been stored since long before Riley's birth.
He opened it and the sight of the old fiddle made him smile. His fingers itched to play, so he rosined the bow and tuned the strings, then played a bit to limber his fingers.
Jacob sat on the ottoman nearby, staring at Riley with open curiosity.
"My da taught me to play on this very fiddle," Riley explained, remembering.
"My grandpa?"
"Aye, lad." Riley cleared his throat. "Culley—your da—always played sweeter than me with his long, skinny fingers." He held his own work-roughened paw out to show Jacob. "I have a farmer's hands, but I can still play a bit."
"Ah, don't let Uncle Riley be joshin' you, Jacob," Mum said as she sat in her rocker and picked up her knitting basket. "He's the finest fiddler in Clare."
"Really?" Jacob's eyes grew round.
"If that's true," Riley sai
d quietly, "'tis only because your da isn't here."
Jacob nodded, seeming satisfied with that explanation. He held his hands out toward Riley, palms down. "Do I have long, skinny fingers?"
Riley made a great show of turning the lads small hands for a thorough examination. "Aye, you do. I'll wager you'll be a fine fiddle player."
"Really?"
"Aye."
Bridget and Maggie clattered pans and dishes as they cleaned the kitchen. Somehow, it felt right after a fine meal to sit here with Mum, Culley's son, and knowing his sister and—
And if that isn't dangerous thinking....
He mentally shook himself and turned his attention back to making music.
"Play a song," Jacob said. "Please?"
"I think I can manage that." Riley played "Londonderry Aire," because it was one of Mum's favorites. Her foot tapped, her knitting needles quieted, and her chair rocked to the music.
"Wow, you're good," Jacob said when Riley lowered the instrument. "Will you teach me?"
Riley's throat clogged and his vision blurred. He blinked away the sensation and cleared his throat. "I'd be proud to teach you, Jacob."
Mum made a sniffling sound and Riley looked across the room to find Maggie and Bridget seated near her. He hadn't even seen them enter the room while he played.
He met Bridget's gaze and his breath froze at the softness in her expression. "With your permission, Bridget?" he amended.
"Please, Momma?" Jacob asked, stroking the side of the fiddle Riley held.
"Yes," she said, still staring at Riley with an unfathomable and disturbing look in her eyes. "I'd like that. Very much."
"Well, then." Riley showed Jacob how to hold the bow, then he positioned the fiddle the way his own da had shown him so long ago. "Go ahead, Jacob. Make music like your da did."
An unholy screech and scratch filled the house, but the grin on Jacob's face made it bearable. The vault door on Riley's memories eased open a wee bit farther.
But this time he couldn't quite close it.
* * *
Bridget waited until the house was quiet and Jacob was sound asleep. From her dark bedroom, she looked out at the moonless night and found no sign of Riley. Jacob must've worn his uncle out today.
