Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

"Correct." No sign of remorse crossed the woman's face. "I will do whatever is necessary to protect her, though I failed her mother."

  "What do you mean?"

  She lifted her chin and her eyes blazed. "I have proof that my daughter-in-law did not commit suicide. She was helped. That knowledge was the catalyst that made me... move Erin."

  Nick released a low whistle. "You're talking about your own flesh and blood here."

  Her lower lip trembled a little, and she bit it. After a moment, she drew a deep breath. "My own son. My baby. Now a monster. A killer of innocents."

  Nick didn't have to tell her about the extent of Junior's crimes after all. Even more importantly, he believed her. A mother wouldn't turn on her own kid without damned good reasons. She had those in spades. "Where is your granddaughter now?"

  "We haven't reached an agreement yet, Mr. Desmond."

  "You're slick, lady."

  "Thank you."

  Nick grinned. "What's your plan?" he asked, wondering why the hell he was still here, yet knowing he would not—could not—leave now.

  "My granddaughter has spent these past years abroad, in a private boarding school." She lifted her chin a notch, her expression unwavering. "Now, at eleven, Erin wants to leave there. She wants to live with me—her only living relative. So she believes..."

  Nick released a low whistle. "But you can't bring her home."

  "So you see my dilemma." Mrs. F lifted a shoulder. "My granddaughter is far too high spirited for her own good sometimes."

  High spirited sounded like trouble to Nick. "Does she know who she is? More importantly, who her father is?"

  "She doesn't remember, thank the Blessed Virgin," the old woman explained, shaking her head. "I placed Erin in an abbey school with a generous monthly allowance for the Sisters. The only name they, or she, know is my maiden one. I've visited often over the years, and taken her to the Continent for holidays, so Erin knows me well. As I mentioned, she and the Sisters believe I am her only living relative."

  "Clever." Nick nodded his approval.

  "Necessary."

  "Now what?"

  Angelo Fazzini's widow set her jaw and her blue eyes flashed with determination. "I've promised to take her to my home, though not here, of course."

  "Keeping her hidden from your son's tentacles won't be easy."

  "Angelo believes his daughter is dead." The woman's expression was solemn. "Besides, they won't think to look where we're going."

  "And where is that?"

  She narrowed her eyes again. "You haven't accepted the position yet, Mr. Desmond," she repeated. "How can I trust you not to reveal our destination until you've made a commitment?"

  "Besides the money, give me one good reason to accept this crazy job."

  A victorious smile spread across the woman's face. "A reason no red-blooded Irishman can refuse, Mr. Desmond."

  "Try me, lady." He folded his arms across his abdomen and waited.

  "Revenge."

  Nick's heart skipped a beat and his breath lodged in his throat. "So that's why you chose me."

  "Precisely." The old woman's smile had vanished. "I have the evidence you need. All of it. I can prove who murdered your father, and also who framed you."

  He clenched his fists, his head pounding. "All right," he said. "I'll play. Give me the evidence."

  She arched both brows, her expression one of open disbelief. "Once I'm certain that Erin and I are safe, you'll have the key to a safe deposit box."

  He wanted the evidence now, but he could tell this woman wasn't about to give it to him yet. Nick forced himself to concentrate on her words, though his lust for vengeance raged through his veins like a fever. "When?"

  "A year at the most. Surely we'll be safe by then."

  "A year?" He gritted his teeth. It sounded like forever, but he'd waited this long, and he could wait a little longer. He would have his revenge. Finally. "Not one day more than a year. Where are we going?"

  "In a moment. You're a man of your word. Please remember that. A child's life—and mine—could be at stake."

  Junior's mother was toast if her son ever learned what she'd done. The old lady had guts. "You have my word, and that's that. Where?"

  "To the village your grandfather's family is from," she said. "Ballybronagh in the southernmost tip of County Clare."

  "Ireland?" It might as well be another planet. He resigned himself. He'd be counting the days. "Good hiding place."

  "I think so. My people were from County Cork, so no one there should recognize my maiden name." She pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze never wavering. "You're a man in search of his roots, and your connection to Ballybronagh will help establish us there. Once that's accomplished, you will have your evidence and may do with it as you please."

  He held up one finger, struggling against the urge to get soft. The lady had grit. "Not one frigging day more than a year."

  "Agreed, Mr. Desmond." She narrowed her eyes. "And though I abhor violence, let me assure you of this."

  "Yeah?"

  "If you betray our location to anyone, even after that year... I will kill you myself."

  * * *

  Maggie Mulligan trudged along the familiar road between Ballybronagh and Caisleán Dubh. With a sigh, she tilted her head back to gaze up at the dark tower, thrusting toward the sky. Gulls circled it, calling a cheerful greeting to the world below.

  Once upon a time, Caisleán Dubh had been the most frightening of places. Well, now, that had certainly changed since Bridget's arrival in their lives. Riley and Bridget's marriage had broken the curse at last.

  So why did Maggie feel so odd—as if she were being watched? Now isn't that a bit of nonsense?

  After going back to university following her last visit home, her roommate, Ailish, had asked what had frightened her. Maggie had been unable to deny it, nor could she name any specific event. All she knew was that the uneasiness had started upon awakening on her birthday. She'd gone home to celebrate the day with her family, and had struggled with panic attacks every time she crossed the threshold of Caisleán Dubh. And the strange bouts of terror continued even now that she was home to stay.

  Ailish, a Wiccan, had given Maggie a book about cleansing and protection rituals. Reluctant at first, Maggie hadn't yet opened the book. However, since coming home and encountering even more queer feelings, she'd decided it was worth a try. This was her home and she wanted to stay.

  Unafraid.

  Shaking herself, she considered how different her family was now. Riley was married to Bridget, young Jacob—dear departed Culley's son—was now eleven, and Mum had moved from her precious cottage and into the once-cursed castle. Everyone's lives had changed.

  Except Maggie's.

  After graduation, she'd returned to Ballybronagh, hoping to teach here. Instead, she'd been told the school was closing due to lack of funds, and there were no openings for teachers in nearby Kilmurray.

  She looked at the castle again. There would always be a job there for her, but it wasn't the same as making her own way. Her brother and sister-in-law had turned the old castle into a first-rate restaurant called Mulligan Stew. The renovations for the bed and breakfast were nearly complete. By autumn, Caisleán Dubh would be open to overnight guests.

  She paused, gazing out at the sea. She'd missed her family. Now she was home and she wanted to stay, yet she needed to work, too. She was incomplete.

  "Well, if it isn't the graduate, herself."

  Maggie jerked, surprised to see her brother scrambling over the stone wall behind Caisleán Dubh. She gave Riley an impatient glower, though inwardly she smiled. Since marrying Bridget almost four years ago, he seemed younger and happier than he'd ever been.

  "'Tis trying to scare me half to death, you are, Riley Mulligan." She shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun.

  "Not since you stopped trying to kill me with your vile cooking." He gave an exaggerated shudder.

  "I'll not let you rattle me today, boyo."<
br />
  "Ah, not even a bit of sibling rivalry for old times?" He jumped down from the wall and stood in front of her, tall and handsome as always. Angling his head slightly to one side, he narrowed his eyes. "Something troubles you."

  She flashed him a halfhearted smile. "And couldn't you always read me?"

  "That's well and good, so don't you be forgetting it."

  She rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You'll always be my hero."

  "What is it, Maggie?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What troubles you, lass?"

  "I want to teach. I need to teach." She fisted her hands. "'Tis my dream, Riley."

  "Ah." He pulled her into a hug, then set her away to stare into her eyes. "And teach you shall."

  "There are no positions in Kilmurray or at the National School in Doolin." Her shoulders fell and she willed herself not to cry. She had her reputation to consider. "Jacob and the younger children will have so far to go to school."

  "If we send him there."

  "Riley Francis Mulligan, what nonsense is this?" Maggie jabbed him in the upper arm with her index finger. "Jacob is a bright boy—our own brother's son—and he needs—"

  "Settle down, now." Riley rubbed her shoulders, his Mulligan blue eyes dancing. "He'll have his education, but we're thinking his Aunt Maggie should be his teacher."

  She shook her head. "They don't have any openings in Kilmurray."

  "I know, but..." He bit his lower lip and linked his arm through hers. "Walk with me, lass."

  They headed beyond the castle wall and down the steep trail that led to the beach. As they passed the largest boulders near the tower, an icy chill filled her. She shivered and almost stumbled, but forced herself to keep up with Riley. Something was on her brother's mind. As they drew away from the tower, the chill passed, and she pushed her unfounded fear to the back of her mind.

  "We kept this from you for a few months, since Bridget had that miscarriage two years ago." He drew a deep breath. "But now the doctor says 'tis safe to tell the whole world that she's expectin'."

  "That's wonderful." She hugged him, but pulled back when she noted the tightness of his shoulders. "What is it, Riley? Is she all right?"

  "The doctor says she's fine, but..."

  "But what?" She held her breath, waiting. Bridget's miscarriage had been hard on the whole family, and worse for Riley. "If the doctor says she's fine, then—"

  "She works so bloody hard." He released a long, slow breath. "From dawn 'til dark, she's in the kitchen of her precious Mulligan Stew, planning the day's menus, starting the sauces and such. Don't get me wrong. I love the work as much as she does, but... I worry." He lifted a shoulder.

  "What does Mum say about it?"

  A lopsided grin spread across his handsome face. "That I'm bein' a typical male."

  Maggie had to laugh. "Well, then," she said. "There you have it."

  "You know 'tis true." His voice softened. "Bridget works too hard. I want her to slow down, but she's driven."

  "Driven by love." Maggie rubbed her brother's arm, savoring the sound of the ocean behind them. She'd missed Ballybronagh and her family so much. "I'll help, and so will Mum. We all will."

  He grinned and his eyes twinkled. "Can you believe I'm to become a da?"

  "Aye, Riley, I can believe it." She hugged her brother. "Haven't I watched the way you've been more than an uncle to Jacob?"

  "You always know the right thing to say." Riley pulled her into a hug. "'Tis glad I am to have you home, little sister."

  And home is where I'll stay. She gazed past Riley at the endless sea, determination filling her. Somehow, she would make it work.

  They chatted as they climbed back up the cliffs to Caisleán Dubh. Mum stepped through the side entrance of the castle as they passed. She shook a rug until it surrendered its dust in desperation.

  "Mum, you should save that for me," Riley said, taking the rug from her. "How's Bridget?"

  Mum chuckled. "The same as she was an hour ago." Her gaze fell on Maggie. "Ah, 'tis good to see both me children together again."

  Maggie's eyes burned again as she released Riley's hand and hugged her mother. "'Tis good to be home, too."

  "Did you talk to her, Riley?" Mum asked, her hand still resting on Maggie's forearm.

  "About what?"

  "I started to, but we got to talking about something else."

  "The babe, no doubt." Mum's eyes twinkled.

  "And Bridget," Maggie amended. She rolled her eyes and winked. "You'd think the lad was smitten."

  "Isn't he, now?"

  "All right, enough of that." Riley grinned, ruining his attempt at sounding gruff.

  The door behind Mum opened and Bridget stepped out, her hand pressed to her still slim abdomen, her dark hair pulled back from her pale face. Riley moved to her side quickly. "Are you all right, love?"

  Bridget drew a shaky breath. "Still have a little morning sickness, but it's better than last month."

  "'Tis afternoon," Riley argued.

  Bridget grimaced. "Tell that to my—" She covered her hand with her mouth and darted back inside.

  "Riley, it can happen anytime of day or night," Fiona Mulligan said, patting her son's arm. "She's almost beyond that stage now. Don't worry so. Bridget's a healthy lass, and she'll bear a healthy babe. Mark me words."

  The worry remained in his eyes. "I wish I could do it for her."

  That made Mum and Maggie both burst into laughter. Riley blushed again. "Back to business," he said.

  "You were supposed to ask me something." Maggie folded her arms across her waist, waiting.

  "Help us keep the school from closing," he said. "I think we can raise enough, for at least this year."

  "Teach?" Maggie's breath caught. "Here?"

  "Aye." He looked toward the doorway again. "I'm going to check on Bridget. You give it some thought. We can raise enough money to keep our school, though your wages might not be much the first year."

  Maggie blinked as her brother disappeared through the dark doorway in search of his wife. "Teach in Ballybronagh?"

  Mum gave her hand a squeeze. "Brady Rearden thinks 'tis a grand idea, and so do I."

  "Oh, aye, if we can make it work." She shook her head, still confused. "I'm not in any position to say no. I need to teach. 'Tis my dream."

  "And the children need a teacher," Mum said in her practical way.

  Excitement bubbled through Maggie. "All my life, I've wanted to teach right here in Ballybronagh. I thought all hope of that was gone."

  "I know, lass." Mum brushed a stray curl away from Maggie's face. "And maybe one of these days you'll find a nice young man and get married."

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Hadn't she heard this one before? "I'm not ready."

  "So you say." Mum patted Maggie's shoulder. "All right, lass. I'll not speak of it again now."

  But she would later. Fiona Mulligan wasn't one to give up easily. Didn't Maggie know that better than anyone? "Thank you."

  "Well, let's start plannin' the fundraisin'."

  Maggie watched Mum's broad smile spread across her round face before the older woman went back inside the castle.

  Maggie needed a moment to pull this new hope around her like a warm shawl. When she'd first heard of the school's closing, she feared she might have to leave Clare to find work. Now she had hope. Joyous hope.

  She gazed toward the village, where the parish school sat next to the church. The children's playground butted up against the cemetery. The lot of it sat on a high knoll overlooking the sea. Wasn't it a grand spot?

  Her gaze fell to the church, where she'd attended mass since birth. The stone building had stood for over a century. Beyond it, at the far end of the cemetery behind the school, sat the original church, now in ruins.

  An odd sensation—almost like an extra pulse—reverberated through her. She lifted her hand toward the old church, took a step...

  The side door opened again, and young Jacob bounded out, jarring Maggie from the powerful urge
to visit the ruins and explore the school grounds right this minute.

  "Jacob, you get taller every time I see you." The lad stood nearly as tall as Mum already. "Look at you. I've been home two months and you've grown every day."

  "Are you really gonna be my teacher?" he asked, hugging her.

  She laughed and ruffled his dark curls. "If we can raise enough money to keep the school open."

  "We will." Jacob's enthusiasm warmed her. "Mamó says we'll have a céilí right here to raise money."

  "That's a perfect idea."

  "And Uncle Riley said he'll have enough Guinness and Harp to loosen even the tightest purses." Jacob grinned. "Whatever that means."

  Maggie laughed. "Let's go wash up for supper now."

  "And talk about the céilí."

  "I'll be right along." As Jacob disappeared through the doorway, she glanced back again to the village and the ruins. Twilight cloaked the village in shadows now, but the church and school remained bathed in watery sunlight. Even now, they seemed to be waiting for her.

  Something glittered from the ruins. She blinked. When she looked again, the glitter was gone. She'd seen it before, but somehow it seemed brighter now.

  "Enough silliness, Mary Margaret." She glanced back at the ruins again before entering the castle.

  Aye, tomorrow she would explore her future.

  Once upon a time, Deb Stover wanted to be Lois Lane—until she discovered Clark Kent is a fraud and there is no Superman. Since publication of Shades of Rose in 1995, Stover has received dozens of awards for her cross-genre fiction. For more information, please visit www.debstover.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Rave Reviews

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Bridget's Bodacious Mulligan Stew

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9