by Dorien Kelly
“Da, what are you doing here?”
“I stayed late after work to drop your mother’s clothes at the dry cleaner’s.”
Vi gave an answer as tongue-in-cheek as her father’s explanation. “I’m fairly certain she was meaning to have them done in Kilkenny.”
He smiled. “See, now? That’s the trick with delegation. You have to let go of the details.”
“Won’t she be looking for you? It’s well after supper.” A meal was a strictly scheduled event in Maeve Kilbride’s life.
“Some time alone will do her good…and me better,” Vi’s da said, then smiled at her. “So, James says you’re staying with Liam.”
Una rattled the glassware she was stowing away, earning an “Easy, Mam” from Jamie.
“I’m staying in his guesthouse,” Vi replied. “And I want you to know I’m sorry for any trouble I might have caused you last night.”
Her da patted her shoulder. “You made no trouble at all. What troubles we had, we’ve been having.”
Vi hadn’t grown up with blinders in place. She knew that her parents’ marriage had never been idyllic. Still, there was a reason they’d been together over thirty-five years, and she could only hope it wasn’t inertia. The unhappiness in her da’s green eyes hurt, though. She glanced away to see Nora waving at her. The reel had reached its end.
“Get yourself back,” Nora called. “We’re wanting ‘Níl Sé Ina Lá’ from you, and Jamie, another raspberry vodka for me.”
“Time to sing,” Vi said to her da. Jamie slid another small glass across the counter. Vi took it, sniffed its contents, and wrinkled her nose at the sweet yet strong scent. “And a drinking song, at that.”
Da laughed, then his smile faded. “One thing, love,” he said, leaning closer. “Don’t let your mam and me put you off marriage.”
Vi automatically glanced over at Liam, who was in conversation with his brother Cullen at the other end of the bar, with Cullen smirking and Liam looking annoyed. “Don’t be worried. I’ve been off marriage much longer than just this.”
Da kissed her cheek. “My Vi, more often thorn than flower. Get back to your music.”
At that moment, she could think of no finer place to be.
Liam scowled at his brother Cullen. This was proving to be the sort of day to knock shite out of a man’s optimism.
“I’m not after the gold,” he repeated even though he knew it would do no good. Cullen had his teeth sunk into the idea and wasn’t about to let go.
“Then why would Brenda Teevey see you out to the Kilbride property today? She says you looked a right fool, walking the field with equipment sticking out from you like a—”
“Enough,” Liam said.
“Then you have an explanation? This ought to be brilliant.”
“Vi was thinking a new well might be in order before she sold the place,” he replied as smoothly as he could given the absurdity of his words.
His brother snorted. “Aye, and I’ll be playing for Kilkenny Hurling in the All-Ireland matches next year.”
Liam took a quick swallow of his whiskey and melted ice and tried not to look at the men gathering around Vi as she finished her third song of the night. Proverbial moths to the flame, they were. His damn flame.
“Don’t be an arse, Cullen,” he said.
“Come on. Admit it and be done with it.”
“And if I am searching?”
His brother shrugged. “Good luck to you. The treasure’s yours, after all.”
Liam opted for a tacit admission. “I don’t want word spreading.”
Cullen laughed. “You’d be better off asking for a housebroken sheep. Brenda knows you’re up to something, and the whole town will by closing time tonight.” He inclined his head toward a table where a group of women were all looking their way. “She’s started already.”
As if to confirm the truth, Brenda waggled her fingers at Liam, who managed a half civil nod in return.
“You’d best find the gold fast, if it’s to be found,” Cullen said, then pushed away from the bar. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go charm a redhead.”
Not if Liam got there first. When Cullen’s progress was slowed for a moment by sour old Paddy MacGuire making for the door to have a smoke, Liam seized the advantage.
“I should have run him down,” Cullen muttered, hard on Liam’s heels. “Ninety-some years spent being mean is more than enough.”
Liam arrived behind Vi just when she was taking her bows for her song. He settled a hand on her waist and said close to her ear, “I need to talk to you.”
“After the next song?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.
“Now would be better.”
She turned on her stool so she was facing him. “All right, then…”
“Outside, I’m thinking,” he said while subtly planting an elbow in Cullen, who seemed to be exploring what it might have been like to be a Siamese twin.
Vi frowned, and Liam prepared to apply stronger persuasion. She relented, though.
Once outside, they edged past Paddy MacGuire, who spat at Liam’s feet, whether out of habit or in retribution for Liam’s past sins, he’d never know.
“Down here,” Liam said, taking Vi’s hand and drawing her in front of the optician’s shop next door.
“Why the secrecy?”
Why, indeed, except out of some futile hope that gossip could be stopped? “Just needing some fresh air, is all.”
“You might have noted that we’re now nationally smoke-free in pubs.”
“Right. Of course.” He took a second to assemble his thoughts. “Here’s the thing, Vi. Word is out that I’m after the gold, which means I’ll not be taking a step without someone behind me.”
“Aren’t you overstating matters? Duncarraig’s a large town and with plenty else for entertainment.”
“Something better than the promise of wealth? Not possible.”
She shook her head. “That’s a sad thing to be saying. I can think of dozens of things better than money.”
He couldn’t begin to see how his comment was sad and he needed to be pushing on in any case. “Stay with me, here,” he said. “Among my plans for tonight was to meet the O’Gormans and find my way into the castle, and your denials to the contrary, I expect you had much the same in mind.”
“And if I did?”
“Time’s not in our favor now that others will be watching us. We need to be working together now, Vi…not just in the same place.” He hesitated as a couple walked by, the woman far taller than the man.
“Good evening,” Vi offered.
“Good evening” came the reply in an American accent.
“The O’Gormans,” Vi murmured, then moved to step in behind the couple as they neared the pub. Liam stayed her. He needed her word, and he would work out the consequences of getting it, later. “Together, Vi?”
She looked at the door that had just closed behind the couple, then back to Liam. “All right. Together, I suppose.”
Her concession had been grudging at best. Liam took her hand and kissed it, then kept her fingers meshed with his. They walked toward the pub.
“It’s for the best,” he said. “Now let me handle getting us into Castle Duneen.”
Vi halted. “You? And there’s some reason you think you’ll do a better job?”
“Desperation. Walking the edge of it makes a man sharp, and that’s all I have left.”
“Don’t be forgetting massive ego. You’ve still plenty of that,” she said, then swept inside before him.
“You should have known better than to have crossed her, boy,” Paddy MacGuire opined and then threw a smoldering cigarette butt at Liam’s feet.
Aye, optimism had died tonight, and Liam would drink another whiskey to mourn it.
Arrogant man, thinking he could charm his way into a castle better than she. She had charm…perhaps of an opinionated sort, but it was charm nonetheless.
Vi looked about the bar an
d spotted the O’Gormans, drinks in hand, settling in at a corner table. Finding them was no difficult task as Astrid was even taller than Vi, and everything one would anticipate of a young and well-married former lingerie model.
Hank O’Gorman, on the other hand, looked much like what Vi expected Roger might, were a spell cast and he to shed his canine skin and take human form. She smiled at the thought of a wee male dog-selkie. It was an unkindness to the Irish legend, but accurate to be sure.
Closer to the fire, the musicians were just ending a harried version of “Malloy’s Jig.” Vi and Nora made eye contact, and Nora motioned toward the O’Gormans as she set her fiddle to rest.
As Vi walked toward the American couple, out of the corner of her eye she spied Liam and Cullen heading from the bar with equal intent. She picked up her pace, and she and Nora arrived at the O’Gormans’ table simultaneously, with Liam and Cullen trapped behind them like the next couple in a wedding receiving line.
Hank and Astrid stood. Nora offered up introductions, playing hard on the note that Vi was an artist. Astrid perked up in a most gratifying way and offered Vi and Nora the two remaining seats at the table. Vi gave her a “go raibh maith agat” before sitting, figuring that a thank you in Irish was sure to earn her points with a couple enough in love with the land to sink unimaginable sums into renovating a castle. Liam’s low scoff let her know that her ploy had not gone unnoticed.
She gave a glance toward the bar, where it seemed that James and her da had taken over tending duties. “Liam, would you mind too much bringing me a glass of water?” she asked him. “So long as you’re standing, that is.”
“My pleasure,” Liam replied so sweetly that Vi knew he’d be sending some vinegar her way later.
“So, Vi, tell us about your work,” Hank O’Gorman said.
“I paint, mostly, though I’ve been known to wander off in other directions.”
“I’ve a painting Vi did of Castle Duneen above my fireplace,” Nora said. “It’s brilliant.”
Slender and quite too beautiful, Astrid spoke. “You’ve painted Duneen? Wonderful! Is your studio in the area?”
“I’m afraid not. I live in County Kerry.”
“Too bad. I’d love to see your work.”
“There’s always Vi’s website,” Cullen offered from his spot watching over the table.
Vi looked up at him. “You’ve seen my website?”
“And beautiful you are in your green dress.” To the O’Gormans he said, “Would you like to pop into the office and see Vi’s work?”
They agreed, and the whole lot of them were trooping to the computer just as Liam was heading back in their direction.
“Have a rest, man,” Vi said, hitching her thumb toward the empty table. “I’ve handled the castle for you.”
“Not likely,” he said, handing her the requested glass of water.
Once the younger generation of Raffertys were evicted from the office computer, Cullen settled in. Vi’s website appeared on the screen nearly immediately. Hank and Astrid watched with rapt attention as Cullen brought up images of Vi’s larger paintings on silk.
When he was done, Astrid took Vi aside. “Do you ever take on commissions? We’re looking for an artist to do something like tapestries for the walls.”
It was a question most artists hungered to hear, but not Vi, and for two reasons. Aye, she’d had some meager creative stirrings, but she’d hardly reclaimed the zeal that once had driven her to paint hours on end. And beyond that, even when the fires burned strong, she did best when answering to no one’s expectations. Still she knew an opportunity when one was waved in her face.
If she answered yes to Astrid, she would be trading on the one tenuous gift she held above all others. But if she answered no, she might well be spoiling her chance to get inside the castle, and she was beginning to suspect that Liam might have found a drawing much like she’d seen in her great-grandmother’s journal.
Liam was nudging her in the small of her back, and Vi was readying to speak when Hank O’Gorman stepped into the breach.
“At least come to the castle and have a look around,” he said. “Then you can decide whether you’d like the job.”
“Come to the castle? I suppose I could have a peek, right?” she asked, as though consulting with Liam.
“I have the perfect night coming up,” Astrid said. “I’ve decided I want to try running a spa during the busy months, and we have an evening planned Wednesday for tour operators and magazine writers. It’s an overnight stay with a full meal and spa treatments.”
“Overnight?” Vi echoed. Liam nudged her harder, and Vi fought back a wee yelp.
Astrid nodded, her sleek blond hair shimmering in a way that Vi had only seen in television commercials. “Yes, if you’re free.”
“I’d love to,” Vi said. “And if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, might I bring a friend?”
“Then you, too, Nora,” Astrid invited, sending her a smile.
Cullen cleared his throat in a way that nearly covered his laughter. Nora began stammering something, and Vi looked to the carpet in order to hide her smile.
She’d have to be doing good acts for the next decade in order to balance out the glee she now felt at Liam’s roiling temper. She knew, though, that she could not leave him behind, not when he’d done it to her so often in life.
“If you don’t mind, Astrid, I was meaning Liam,” Vi said.
Astrid looked him up and down as though deciding whether the man might clash with her décor.
“You’re a Rafferty, too, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am.”
“There’s an awful lot of you guys around here.” After giving him one last considering look she added, “It’s no big deal, but I don’t suppose you sing or something?”
Vi shook her head. “He doesn’t, but I do.”
Cullen laughed full-out at that, and Liam made a low sound that Vi could only interpret as a growl.
“Wednesday, then?” Vi said.
“Four o’clock,” Astrid agreed, offering her hand for a shake.
As Vi left the office with Liam all she could think was that some days it was a fine, fine thing to be queen.
Chapter Twelve
Don’t ever be in court or castle without a woman to make your excuse.
—IRISH PROVERB
Castles were interesting things, but on this Wednesday afternoon, Castle Duneen was sorely wasted on Liam. Actually, most anything have would been.
Tuesday had been a day of relentless digging in the rain, with spectators dropping by fence-side at Nan’s field. Wet to the bone and in a foul mood, he’d listened to them trading wry wagers on what he might find and how long it would take to do so. He’d found nothing other than a few rusted horseshoes and spent the whole bloody day doing it. Vi had visited from time to time, offering him hot coffee and amused commentary, one of which was appreciated, the other…not. Still he supposed he might have received worse from her, considering her attitude toward him on Monday night.
Since Liam’s role for the balance of this day was clearly bag-handler for Vi, he was doing just that as Astrid O’Gorman led them down a posh hallway to their quarters. He stayed a step or two behind the women, half listening to their chat about the dozen other guests and Astrid’s spa plans. More though, he mentally focused on the map that last night he’d had his brother-in-law Tadgh draw of the renovated castle. Tadgh had said that the New Tower—which they were now in—was fairly shot through with hidden passageways.
As a youth, Liam hadn’t gotten much beyond one exterior room in this area of the castle. The New Tower was taller than the older parts of the structure, and less safe, also. Too many floors had been burned out, and even for a boy fond of risk, it had seemed potentially suicidal to climb high just to plunge through water-rotted wood. The one time he’d considered a look, ten-year-old Vi had been tagging along, and had threatened to run home and tell his mam. Liam patted the map in his jacket pocket, conten
t that at least tonight’s explorations would be rain and threat free.
At that, Vi briefly turned to shoot an arch “really now?” look his way. Startled, Liam slowed. He’d forgotten that eerie knack of hers to occasionally catch his stray bad thoughts.
Astrid interrupted the odd moment, asking Vi, “I can understand why you might think a mud bath is a little much before dinner, but won’t you at least try a hot stone treatment?”
“A what?” Vi asked.
“It’s a form of massage,” Astrid explained. “The masseuse places heated stones on your acupressure points. It’s very relaxing.”
Vi’s shudder was subtle and likely discerned only by Liam. “I’ve never been very fond of stones or burning,” she said.
Liam grinned. Her type had never been.
They climbed another flight of stairs and soon stopped at a richly varnished door labeled “Sarah’s Suite.”
He didn’t suppose that Astrid O’Gorman knew the full tale of Lady Sarah and how she’d met her end at the bottom of a stairway. Legend had it that her husband had become displeased when she’d refused to occupy his bed once she’d been given over to the earl of Ormond. One slight stumble and it had been nothing but darkness for Sarah.
“Brave woman,” Astrid said to Vi, tapping once on the door’s sign. “But not too practical about her position in life.”
Then again, perhaps Astrid was quite sharp indeed, for those had been nasty times.
“I think you’ll find this suite to your liking,” their hostess said as she swung open the door.
“No doubt,” Liam murmured, for the place looked to be as luxe as the expensive hotels he’d always treated himself to while on the road.
A small fire burned in the sitting-room fireplace, and on a low table in front of an antique sofa, a bottle of white wine sat chilling in an ice bucket with two glasses nearby.
“Cocktails are at six-thirty and dinner’s at seven,” Astrid said. “And I’ve scheduled you both for facials at five. I hope that you’ll at least try those.”
