by Rusty Wicks
She pulled the lap robe up on her aunt's thin legs more securely as she passed her chair. It was good that her aunt was recovering, but it seemed silly to take a chance on her catching a chill.
Love it that she's looking better every day. Got to keep the old dear going in the right direction. Maybe it's the tea that's helping her to feel better. God knows she drinks enough of the stuff.
Maureen poured the tea and placed two scones on a plate. She put everything on a tray and lifted it to carry out to the front room. As she walked toward the door she made the discovery.
"Shit!” The voice that floated out of the kitchen was angry.
"What is it, Maureen? Are you all right?” Aunt Tess grabbed the quilt that covered her and tensed to stand. “Do you need my help?"
"No ... no. Don't get up,” Maureen said as she came back into the room. She set the tray down on top of a side table and concentrated on resisting the urge to scream and stamp her feet childishly.
"What is it, dear? You look angry. What's wrong?"
I've got to tell her the truth. There's no way to hide it. Shit.
"My pearl earrings. They're gone from the spot on the window ledge. I put them there last night while I washed the dinner dishes. And now they're gone."
She held up her hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. There would be no finding them in the small cottage. No, in Ireland things were gone when they turned up missing—at least at Aunt Tess’ house.
The old woman reached for her teacup as she eyed the plump scones with unconcealed delight.
"That's too bad, dear heart. Must be that lack of attention again, don't you think?"
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Maureen had the entire landscape on paper before her. The turrets, the leaning walls, the archways and bawn of Plantation Castle were all drawn in dramatic detail. They were nestled against the rolling contours of the land, hemmed in by lush, ground-sweeping willows and ringed by large chunks of ancient limestone.
"That's beautiful,” said a voice. It came from above and behind her. “Really, it's a gorgeous likeness. So true and intricate. I love it."
Maureen scrambled to her feet. She dropped the sketchpad in the grass as she rose, and the handsome stranger bent to retrieve it for her. When he stood and handed it to her she was too stunned to take it.
His chiseled features were familiar. Hauntingly familiar. Dreamily familiar.
The face that looked down into hers was rugged. He looked like he could have been a lord or clan leader in a previous lifetime. His dark chestnut-colored hair fell in thick waves across his wide forehead. Eyes as deep as endless pools of molten chocolate stared deeply into hers. A strong, straight nose led down to a mouth just begging to be kissed.
Full, firm lips parted in a smile that made her heart flip, flop and reflip in her chest. She smiled at him, feeling as she did the achingly familiar tingling begin between her legs. Her nipples pushed against the fabric of her shirt and she was thankful for the sweater she was wearing.
"You're drawing."
You're the man from my dreams. I know your voice. I know everything about you. You've been making love to me every night for the past three weeks. I know what your cock looks like, what it feels like, how it touches me when you—
Damn. What am I doing? Another second and I'm going to grab him and pull him to the grass.
"Thanks.” Maureen's voice dripped with desire as she fought the urge to look down at the large bulge she knew had to be in his jeans. How could it not be there? She had felt it often enough to know it as well as she knew her own body.
"So ... your sketch. It's great. I'm wondering, though—and I'm not trying to be rude—but is there a reason you've made the old castle that shade of pink?"
"Magenta,” she said, then laughed. “And yes, there is a reason."
Their laughter mingled and rose to dance among the sounds of the forest. It filled the air and carried on the breeze until it was in every room, every roofless stable and every bit of the bawn at the castle. Their laughter settled into all the cracks at the old place as if it was mortar meant to fill the deep grooves between the huge building stones.
Chapter 5
"That's right, Nell. She's living with Sean Tully, over at the old Tully manse,” said Aunt Tess. She clutched the time-polished handset of the rotary phone to her ear and nodded. “Yes, it is a bit fast, I agree. But Maureen is a bright woman and so is our boy Sean. If they say they're in love, then they're in love."
She rubbed a finger across an imagined fleck of dust on the surface of her newly framed stitchery as she listened to Nell on the other end of the phone. Plantation Castle, in all of its early, pre-battle glory, was worked in delicate stitches on Belfast linen. Across the bottom of the piece there were two names and a date. It was a wedding gift that she knew would be cherished.
"That's right. Tomorrow at noon, at St. Brigid's Church. Surely there'll be dulse and yellowman at the reception—I had the caterer be sure to order the dulse weeks ago. Yes, it is hard to find the purple seaweed at this time of year. And to be sure, we're having scones and potato soup and farl and mutton—everything a good wedding reception should have. It's not every day that my favorite niece from America gets married. Move? No, of course they're not moving. Maureen told me just this morning that she's never felt so at home anywhere as she has since she's come here. No, they'll be staying in Tully, all right. You can count on that."
* * * *
Their lovemaking was deliberate and unhurried. They explored each other by the glow of warm candlelight, taking time to touch and taste every inch of skin that was caressed by the flickering flame.
Sean's fingers slipped over her body as if they were familiar with every sensual curve and crest. He teased her nipples until they were stiff peaks rising from petal-soft skin. His tongue lapped at her warm, wet center, turning tantalizing circles around her tender folds. She felt herself shudder against his mouth once ... twice ... three times before he covered her body with his own.
"Oh, Sean ... it feels like a dream,” Maureen whispered. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and urged him closer to her. She wanted him deep within her satisfied wetness, wanted to hold him tightly and pull him toward the ecstasy she'd already found.
"No, it's no dream."
His throbbing cock filled the emptiness inside her as nothing else ever had. He was hot and hard and began to thrust instantly. She knew it wouldn't be long before he climaxed, so she wrapped her legs around his back and arched her hips against him.
Sean's first spasms of release flooded her at the same moment her own sweet, shuddering orgasm was upon her.
As they came, Sean sighed into her ear. Within the sigh there were words—words that she had heard only in her dreams.
"Don't ... let ... go..."
* * * *
The light from the bonfire broke the darkness. The festivities had begun and the sound of dozens of fleet feet slapping against the hard-packed moss in time to the steady dance tempo was like a rhythm coming from the earth itself.
"Ah, Clarrick, ye done good. Mighty good!"
"I'm obliged to ye for saying so. It wasn't near as hard as we thought it'd be, eh? I mean, they were pushed fairly easily, don't you think?"
The fellow beside him nodded as he took a long pull on his willow-root pipe. Tendrils of spicy smoke wafted around them.
"Aye. Not as hard as some, but still ... a foreigner. They're not always an easy lot to push."
"Aye,” said Clarrick. “I'll give ye that. But all's well in the end, no? The old one, she's back to being herself. And the young ones, they've finally found each other. And us? Well, me wife's a fine sight in that lacy red brassiere, I'll say that much for her. Last night she came to me wearing only that brassiere and those dangly pearl earrings and ... well, let's just say that we both woke up with smiles on our faces. Understand what I'm saying to ye, man?"
"That I do. I know it's not the same, but me wife's been rattling on and on about that t
eeth-cleaning string your wife's shared with her. Now she doesn't want to be using the plain stuff we've always taken from the humans. No, now she says that teeth string tastes like dry wheat grass. Now she's wanting some of that dang flavored string ... and where on earth am I going to be finding the likes of that, I ask ye?"
Clarrick shook his head. “It's always something, isn't it? Wait for the next foreigner to visit Tully—they're sure to have it."
"I suppose. Leastways, I do like that picture you took on the last night—that one of the old castle. Right pretty drawing, it is. Foreigner knows how to sketch, got to give her that."
Clarrick nodded. It was a beautiful drawing of Plantation Castle. He only had one objection to the drawing, an unsolvable objection.
"Too bad the whole thing's done in pink!"
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rusty Wicks lives in a little cottage near the beach in Maine. When she's not busy writing, she reads, walks the beach searching for seashells and driftwood and takes Chinese language lessons. She spends the rest of her time with a special man who makes her heart thud, even after more years than she's willing to admit. Rusty believes in love ... and she wants you to believe in it, too.
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