“You could tell her you’ve met someone,” Sheila suggested. “Isn’t that what she did to you?”
“Well, yeah, she did, but…”
“Haven’t you?”
Nora felt her cheeks burn. “What do you mean?”
One corner of Sheila’s mouth twitched. “What’s with you and Briana?”
“Nothing’s with me and Briana.” Nora hid her face behind her mug.
It was Sheila’s turn to snort. “Not that I’m an expert in lesbians and their mating rituals…”
Nora sputtered as her tea went down the wrong way.
“…but it sure seems to me, judging from the way you look and then don’t look at each other, that there’s something going on.”
Nora covered her mouth, coughing to clear her airway. “Briana…” she rasped when she could talk. “She… she drives me crazy!”
Sheila grinned. “So does Quinn. Maybe that’s the best kind. He’s down-to-earth, not one for romance. There’s no poetry or roses. He comes in with horse shite on his boots, smelling of hay and horses, most times not until after dark. He works his tail off at the stable and then hauls mulch for me. He fills my car with petrol and inflates the tires when they run low. I’ve learned to be content with those more practical signs of his love.”
She hesitated. “And he got me through the worst time I’ve ever known when Annie died.” She couldn’t continue for a moment. “Just when I think he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body, he’ll bring me a wildflower he spied on the side of the road that made him think of me. I can’t help but love that man. My guess is Bri would be much the same if you gave her that chance.”
Nora ducked her head, staring hard at the cookie crumbling in her fingers, wishing she could stop blushing.
“Are you telling me you don’t feel anything for her?” Sheila pressed.
“No. I’m not saying that.” Nora felt as if the words were being dragged out of her. “Sometimes, I think she likes me, and then other times…”
Sheila leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “But how do you feel?”
Nora cocked her head as she struggled to answer. “I’m only going to be here for a few months. I wasn’t looking for… anything.”
“Sometimes that’s when it comes,” Sheila offered sagely. “When we’re not looking.”
Nora gave a half-laugh. “I couldn’t manage a full-time relationship with Amy who was only an hour away. How can—”
“You knew better than to try a full-time relationship with her,” Sheila interrupted. “There’s a difference.”
Nora frowned as she slowly spun her tea mug around and around. “I don’t think I can love the way other people do. The way you and Quinn do. All in, holding nothing back.”
“Bollocks again,” said Sheila firmly. “Since the day you got here, you’ve been one of the most open, giving people I’ve ever met.”
“That’s different,” Nora protested. “You and Quinn are family. Romance is different.”
“You just have to meet the right person,” Sheila insisted.
“I don’t know,” Nora countered. “I’m not sure I’m built that way.”
Sheila helped herself to another biscuit. “When did you become such a cynic?”
“Am I?” Nora pursed her lips as she considered. “Maybe I am. I’ve read about love all my life, in thousands of books. I’ve wished for it. Thought I’d found it once, but it didn’t feel the way everyone says it should.”
She reached for another cookie, and Rusty quickly repositioned himself, resting his paw on her foot to remind her he was there. She broke a bite off and offered it to him.
“If this summer has given me anything,” she mused, “it has been time to think.” She slid one of Sheila’s candles near, tracing a fingertip over the vines on the label. “A bittersweet garden. That’s what I think the heart is. Everyone writes about love and joy and hope with flowery language, and all of it lasting for the rest of our lives. But how often does that happen? I think there’s more pain and loneliness and heartache when you wish and pine for something that isn’t there. We pray the lovely things will bloom, but so often the thorns take over, obscuring everything else.”
Sheila reached across the table and clasped Nora’s hand. “But does it follow that the thorns choke out the beauty? Even bushes with thorns bloom. And when the thorns are carefully cleared away, who knows what you might find?”
Nora felt a sudden tightness in her throat. She stared hard into Sheila’s eyes, demanding the truth. “Do you really believe that?”
Sheila smiled. “I do. Truly.”
A loud crack of thunder shook the eaves, startling Nora awake. She lay for long minutes, listening to the lashing of the rain and the rumbling echoes of the thunder even as new forks of lightning strobed through the night. She got out of bed to close the windows. Though they’d been lowered, a bit of rain was blowing in. When she turned around, the lilac-like scent of bird cherry filled the room.
“Móirín?” she said softly. “Móirín Ní Ceallaigh, are you here?”
In response, the fragrance grew stronger, enveloped her.
Nora sat cross-legged on her bed. “What do you need? How can I help you?”
Faintly, so faint under the continued rumbling of thunder that Nora wasn’t certain at first she’d heard it, came a whisper.
“Rowan.”
Nora gasped. “Who was Rowan? Móirín, what do you want from me?”
The air suddenly reverberated with the sound of weeping, and a gust of wind swept the curtains. Nora held her breath, but everything became still inside the room. Only the rain and the receding thunder could be heard.
She lay back down, listening through the fading sounds of the storm. The rolling rumbles of thunder in the distance lulled her back to sleep. And in her dreams, a child laughed.
Briana paced back and forth, all of ten strides from her tiny kitchen out to her sofa and back again. Shannon, tired of watching her human act so strangely, lay with her head resting on her paws. Only her eyes moved, following Briana’s trek to and fro.
“It’s just a kindness,” she said to Shannon. “Like our trip to Dublin, right?”
Shannon’s tail thumped in response.
“I’m just offering to take her to see a bit of Ireland while she’s here.”
Only it didn’t feel like just a kindness. It felt like a date. A date with a potential for overnights together somewhere. Not that Briana knew what that actually felt like. She’d never spent a night with a lover. There were precious few female jockeys, but plenty of women who were grooms and exercise riders. Back when she was racing, it was easy enough to scratch that itch. Furtive glances, lingering smiles—a kind of secret communication that led to quick grapples in an empty stall or a caravan, but she’d always left immediately after.
Maybe the invitation to accompany her to Dublin had been a casual suggestion to allow Nora to sightsee, but the conversation on the way home, the things they’d shared with each other…
Briana stopped and squeezed her eyes shut.
It’s different now, and you know it is, said an annoying voice in her head. And what happens if you ask her and she says no?
That stopped her in her tracks.
“Ah, Briana, you’re a fecking idjit.”
A sudden ruckus from outside jolted her from her thoughts. She sprinted through the door, Shannon on her heels, to find utter chaos. The first thing that registered was that Lizzy was going berserk. The gray mare was bucking and racing around her paddock, neighing wildly. Not even the presence of Stubbs was calming her. She had a split second thought that the mare might accidentally kick him as he tried to follow her.
She barely had time to notice that Nora McNeill was there, standing beside her bicycle near the barn where an unfamiliar pickup had just driven up. The man who got out of it—a balding, unshaven man with a cigarette hanging from his lips—made for the paddock gate, weaving as he walked. He was soft, gone to seed, but underneath th
at, he was thick and heavily muscled.
Lizzy flattened her ears and rushed the fence with her teeth bared. The man fell back, cursing.
“You worthless sack of shite,” he growled.
Briana ran to the enclosure. “Get away from my horse, Rafferty.”
Rafferty turned on her, swaying. The long ash from his cigarette dropped onto his stained shirt, but he seemed not to notice. “Your horse?” He peered at her with his bloodshot eyes. “I remember you, you little runt.”
Briana’s nostrils flared at the combined stench of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes. She positioned herself between him and the fence, Shannon at her side. “I was big enough to give a black eye the last time we met.”
“You cost me my job!” he roared.
Liam appeared at her other side. “Clear off.”
“Where’s Quinn Donnelly?” Rafferty demanded. “I want my goddamned horse back!”
“We bought her,” Briana said. “She’s not yours. Never was.”
Only then did she see the thick riding crop in the brute’s hand. Behind her, Lizzy’s terrified neigh went through her like a knife. His knuckles tightened on the crop’s handle. Before he could raise his arm, she launched herself at him, throwing all of her weight into a punch that landed in his soft gut. When he doubled over, gasping for air and grabbing his belly, she yanked the crop out of his hand and planted her other fist in his face. The stub of his cigarette went flying and blood poured from his nose. He lurched forward, bellowing like an angry bull, throwing a ham-fisted punch.
Briana ducked but not fast enough. His fist caught her cheek, knocking her sideways.
Liam seized her from behind, plucking her up as easily as a sack of potatoes. Rafferty put his hand to his nose, his lip curling as he looked at the blood.
“You bitch!”
Shannon leapt in between them, a fierce growl vibrating from deep within her chest. Dilly raced from the barn to stand between her front legs, his hackles up, barking furiously. Rafferty staggered back a step.
“I suggest you clear off,” Liam said again. “Before we loose the dogs on you.”
By this time, Nora had joined them, though she hadn’t said a word. Rafferty glared at them, but retreated to his truck, wiping at his bloody nose and keeping a baleful eye on Shannon, who continued to growl menacingly.
“Put me down,” Briana said as the pickup lurched down the drive.
Liam set her on her feet. He tried to take a look at her face, but she wrenched free and went to the horses. She easily wriggled between the fence slats and stood, her arms open. Stubbs trotted to her immediately, but Lizzy stood back, trembling. Briana crooned meaningless words to Stubbs, patting him. He followed her as she slowly approached the mare.
“You’re all right now,” she murmured. “He’s gone. He won’t hurt you. We’ll never let him hurt you again.”
Lizzy took one step and then another, until she could press her pretty face into Briana’s chest. Slowly, under Briana’s soft strokes, her trembling ceased.
Briana turned at the sudden sound of truck tires on the gravel, afraid the bastard had come back, but it was Quinn.
He jumped out. “I saw Rafferty just now. What the hell happened?”
Briana gave the horses a final pat and climbed back through the fence.
Quinn gaped at her. “And what the hell happened to you?”
He took her chin and tipped her face to inspect the cheek that Briana only now realized was throbbing like a toothache.
“She was brilliant,” Nora said, her eyes shining.
Briana forgot her bruised cheek as Liam and Nora both babbled about the encounter. Quinn turned to her with a grin.
“You gave him a bloody nose?”
Briana lifted one shoulder. “You got to last time. Bastard didn’t learn the lesson.”
Quinn burst out laughing. “I’m guessing he won’t try for a third.” He pointed to her face. “We’d better get some ice on that.”
“I’ll do it,” Nora offered.
Briana thought she heard a muffled snigger from Liam as Nora took her by the hand and led her back to her cottage.
“Sit down,” Nora said when they entered the kitchen.
Briana reluctantly let go of Nora’s hand and sat.
“This place is cute,” Nora said as she went to the refrigerator and got a few ice cubes from the freezer. Wrapping them in a towel, she joined Briana at the table, gently placing the cold compress on her cheek. Briana winced.
“I’m sorry,” Nora said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” Briana responded, putting her own hand over Nora’s when she started to pull away.
Nora was so close, Briana could see herself in those brown eyes. For a long moment they sat like that, Nora cradling the ice to Briana’s cheek with Bri’s hand over top of Nora’s.
Nora’s eyes shifted as she reluctantly tugged her hand free. “Your knuckles, too.”
She got another towel and some more ice to apply to Briana’s swollen knuckles. Briana lost track of time as Nora held her hand, leaning dangerously close, close enough to—Shannon pawed at the door with a loud bark.
Nora jumped and got up to go let Shannon in.
“I’m okay,” Briana said as Shannon laid her head in her lap with a soft whine. “You were brilliant.”
“You both were,” Nora said. “You were fantastic.”
“Not so fantastic. I should have ducked faster.”
Nora laughed. “But that jerk got the worst of it.”
“He did that.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Why are you here?” Briana asked at last.
“I was coming by to see if you wanted to take Lizzy and Stubbs for another ride, but I guess today isn’t such a good day for that.”
“Probably not.” Briana’s heart sank.
“I work with Sheila tomorrow. How about Thursday?”
“Thursday would be perfect.”
“Okay.” Nora stood. Her gaze flicked to the printouts from the computer, still lying on the table. “Taking a trip?”
“No,” said Briana. “I mean, yes. Maybe.”
Nora frowned in bewilderment.
Briana took a deep breath. “I was doing some research on places, just in case…” Her words came all in a rush. “Do you want to see some other parts of Ireland while you’re here?”
A slow smile spread across Nora’s face. “I’d like that. Very much.”
“Okay.” Briana remembered to breathe. “Okay.”
Despite the chill February day, Callum’s face glistens with sweat as he pumps the forge bellows for his da. With each heave, the air blasts the coals, shooting sparks up and making the flames surge. Donall withdraws the white-hot metal out of the fire and lays it on the anvil, striking it with his hammer, over and over until the iron begins to cool too much to beat. He shoves it back into the flames.
“Take a rest, boy.”
He dips into a nearby bucket of water, handing the cup to his son, who drinks deeply. Then he drinks.
“How much longer?” Callum asks, dropping to a bench to rest.
“Till the work is done,” Donall says. “We’re lucky to have the castle sending work our way. The plowshares we’re repairing here, plus the hay rakes and pitchforks. We’ve enough to keep us busy into the summer. Hopefully, the family will be back in the fall for another hunting party, and we’ll be needed again. Never turn down work, Callum.”
The boy scowls. “Rowan’s not working.”
“Your ma is just starting to make new liveries for the butler and the footmen. She needs help, and Rowan is working with her.”
“She’s not. I saw her out there.” He points toward a nearby field.
Donall shields his eyes and searches the tall grass for any sign of movement. “Rowan? Rowan!” He shakes his head when he receives no answer. “That girl. Sometimes I swear the sióg switched our babe for an impostor.”
He tousles his son’s ha
ir. “Come. That iron should be ready to strike again.”
Out in the field, Rowan giggles when she hears her da calling to her. Ducking down so she’s out of sight, she picks flowers. Flowers for Mam, so she won’t be sad. She sees her mother cry when she thinks no one notices, and she hears her weeping at night, hears her da comfort her. There’s so much sadness everywhere lately.
But flowers make Mam smile. She’s gathered so many, she can’t hold them all. She uses her skirt as a basket, plucking still more.
She roams far across the fields, so far that she can no longer hear the strike of the hammer in the forge. Beyond the fields of waving grass and wildflowers, there are the woods, with flowers of their own. Snowdrops and blackthorn. And more. There are the little lights that beckon, that call to her.
She carefully sets her flowers down and wanders into the forest shadows.
Chapter 9
Nora sat at the table that had become her makeshift desk, her pen flying over the paper before her. Lamplight spilled across scattered pages, all dated and numbered. What she had intended to become her breakthrough novel—she rolled her eyes even to think it now—all of her plot points and notes and outline, that had been set aside. Somewhere along the way, the details from her journal had turned into a new story. Prompted by her dreams and the bits and pieces she knew thus far, her imagination was running wild. She had no idea how it would end or what twists and turns it might still take as she learned more, but she’d churned out dozens of pages.
Outside, an owl hooted. She’d borrowed a book on Ireland’s birds from Sheila and Quinn. She was pretty sure this was a barn owl. She’d caught a glimpse of one, with its heart-shaped face, but she hadn’t heard its hoot, so she couldn’t be certain it was the same bird she was listening to.
At the moment, she was recounting her latest dream. They had been shifting a bit over the last few nights, ever since the storm, when she had tried to speak with Móirín. The child’s laughter was becoming clearer, and sometimes she thought she heard two voices. But always, always there was the searching, the bottomless grief.
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