by Lila Dubois
He reached for her, but Mary slid to the side, avoiding his hand.
“Mary? Alright there?”
“I have to go.”
“What’s happened? Do you need something?”
“What’s happened?” Mary marched down the steps, avoiding looking at him. “Nothing. I just remembered that I’m not here to have a fling. I’m here to learn about my family.” She kept her gaze forward as she walked across the driveway, headed for her rental car.
“Well of course you are. Want me to take you to the library?”
“No. Thank you. I think it’s better if we don’t spend time together.”
She heard Michael’s steps stop and had to dig her fingers into her palms to keep herself from turning and begging him to ignore what she’d just said.
“If that’s how you feel.”
Her resolve failed, and Mary turned. Five feet separated them, but it felt like more. “I’m sorry for leading you on last night.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and squinted up at the sky. “You don’t seem like the type to lead a man on.”
“I’m not, which is why I think we shouldn’t spend any more time together.”
“You’re not interested.”
All she had to do was say yes—lie and say that she wasn’t interested in him. It was the best way to push him away.
“No,” she admitted, unwilling to lie. “You’re an amazing guy. But I’m not here to meet someone. I’m here to learn about my parents, my history.”
“And I’d say I’m a little piece of that.”
Mary thought about the photos Rose had shown her—of her and Michael when they were children. For a moment the ground seemed to shift under her feet, as if the world were realigning itself.
“I…I can’t do this right now.” Mary met his gaze and hoped he couldn’t see the tears that were gathering along her lower lashes. “My life is not where I thought it would be. I’m not working. I don’t have any serious commitments in Chicago, besides seeing my grandparents. And then I come here, and in less than forty-eight hours I meet you, and all these people who knew my parents.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I spent my life trying to avoid thinking about them and this place. Every time my grandparents mentioned Ireland I could see the sadness in them.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No. Let me finish.” Mary held up her hand. “It’s too easy to get wrapped up in all of this—the history and stories…and you. This isn’t real, this isn’t my life.”
Michael’s jaw clenched. He pulled his hands from his pockets and started walking toward her. Mary held her breath, half hoping, half fearing, that he’d touch her. He didn’t. Michael changed direction, giving her a wide berth only to stop just behind her.
Mary didn’t turn, but she had no problem hearing what he said.
“What I feel is real.”
He walked away. Mary listened to his footsteps. Only when the sound of an engine reached her did she move, running back to the castle, tears on her face.
Chapter 6
Her plans to get in her car and head out for a day of touring around this part of Ireland forgotten, Mary instead slipped through the castle and out one of the doors that led to the gardens.
That should have been a straightforward easy conversation. She’d done her share of dating and then breaking up with friends of friends, some of whom she still saw socially. It didn’t have to be awkward, and if she could hang out with someone who’d seen her naked, it should have been simple to shift to a platonic friendship with Michael.
Except she hadn’t been friendly—she’d pushed him away, hard. Deep down she knew that if she spent any more time in his company, not only would she end up kissing him again, she’d also fall in love with him. It would be far too easy to love him. He was handsome, kind, successful, sexy and a gentleman. Together those were a powerful combination, and one that would be hard to resist, even without this strange connection she felt to him.
And that was why she had to stay away. She’d never forgive herself if she spent time that was supposed to be focused on learning about who she was, and where she came from, on a romance. While finding Michael had surely been a blessing as far as jumpstarting her mission to learn about her parents, there were plenty of other people who knew them. She had a whole list of names and numbers in her phone. Once she calmed down, she’d go back to her room and start calling.
The garden behind the hotel was massive, banded by a wall on three sides and the castle on the fourth. She took a seat on a bench under a tree. It was cool out, but not as cold as she’d expected. While the walls of the glen seemed to glow, so vivid was the green of the flora, the castle itself was sunk in shadow. The pale gray stones seemed gloomy.
As she looked at the castle, a light went on in one of the third-floor windows. She could just see the outline of a woman’s figure, faintly backlit. The figure waved. On reflex, Mary raised her hand and returned the wave, before realizing how ridiculous that was. Whoever was there wasn’t waving at her.
“And who are you saying hello to?”
Mary jumped at the question. A huge, shaggy gray dog stood beside her bench.
The sight startled a scream out of her. Scrambling to her feet she took a step back, only to run into something. Whirling she gasped when she saw a man standing there.
His hair was touched with gray, the corners of his eyes marked by lines. He was handsome in a stern way, and his pale eyes seemed to cut though her, as if he could read her mind, or see into her soul. He wore a long coat, the hem fluttering in the breeze. For a minute she felt as if she were looking at someone out of time—a character from a period drama, having stepped out of a book and into a setting that now felt almost dangerous and foreign. Then he shifted, leaning on a cane he held with his right hand and Mary saw the watch on his left wrist.
She exhaled, laughing slightly.
“Perhaps I missed the joke?”
“I’m sorry, you just startled me. I had this crazy feeling for a second.”
“And what was the feeling?”
“That you were a time traveler…or a ghost.”
“A ghost? No. I’m not one of Glenncailty’s ghosts.”
The shaggy gray dog plodded over and sat at the man’s side. A second matching beast joined the first, flanking the man.
“Those are very large dogs.” Mary eyed their long snouts.
“Are you afraid of dogs?”
“Not normally. Though I was a bit alarmed when I thought the dog had asked a question.”
The man smiled at that. “A talking dog would be cause for concern.”
“Or psychiatric help.”
The smile turned into a grin, and suddenly the man seemed much younger than the gray hair and wrinkles would have her believe. “You’re clearly American. Chicago?”
“Yes, you’re good.”
“I enjoy traveling, and once you’ve been around the U.S., it’s easy enough to hear the differences.”
“My grandparents can pick out where Irish, English and Welsh people are from, based on their accents. Sometimes they can figure out what village they’re from.”
“A good skill, but if that’s the case, I’d say your grandparents are from this part of the world.”
“Yes, they’re from Cailtytown.”
“Ah, then you’re Mary Callahan.”
Mary took a step back, putting distance between herself and the man.
He raised one hand. “I’d heard about your grand entrance to the pub the other night. Nothing more sinister than gossip.”
“This really is a small town, isn’t it?”
“Yes. A small place with many secrets.”
That was…creepy. Mary was about to ask the weird stranger who he was when she realized she didn’t need to. The hounds, the air of mystery. There was only one person he could be.
“You’re the owner. The owner of the castle.”
“I am. I’m Seamus.”
“Nice to
meet you. The hotel is lovely.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay. I hope I didn’t interrupt you meeting someone.”
Mary swallowed. How could he know about her and Michael?
When she didn’t say anything Seamus raised a brow. “You were waving to someone?”
“Oh, that. No, I saw someone in one of the rooms waving and I waved back. Stupid, since they couldn’t have been waving to me. Reflex.”
Seamus peered at the castle. “Which room?”
Mary shivered, though she wasn’t sure why. “One near the middle, on the third floor.”
Seamus nodded once. “I’ll leave you to your peace. It was good to meet you, Mary.”
“It was very nice to meet you, too.”
Seamus walked away, the hounds at his sides. Just before the path curved he turned. “Mary?”
The wind caught at his voice, and Mary took a step toward him. “Yes?” She raised her voice, not sure if he could hear her.
“No one is allowed on the third floor. It’s not completed yet. You couldn’t have seen someone at the window.”
Even from a distance, his eyes seemed to pierce her. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end.
With a nod Seamus resumed walking, and in a few steps he was out of sight.
Mary cautiously looked up at the window where she’d seen someone waving. The window was dark.
“Well, isn’t that creepy.” Muttering to herself, Mary headed for her room. If she walked faster than normal, she was able to convince herself it was because she was cold, not because she was scared.
* * * *
She had lunch in the pub with William Callahan. Will, as he insisted she call him, was at least eighty, and was her grandfather’s father’s second cousin. However distant the connection, when Will arrived he embraced her like she was family, which technically she was. It was odd to hear her grandfather referred to as “Little Brenden”, but to this kind, wrinkled old bachelor farmer, Brenden Callahan was and seemingly always would be a young man.
By the time they were done with lunch—a lunch Mary insisted on paying for, because from what he’d said, it seemed Will lived on a small store of money made when he sold off most of his land a few years ago—Mary was more than a little heartbroken.
“It’s good to see you here, Mary. This place was once rich with Callahans. Callahans and Donnovans. Sean Donnovan is here, still farming the land. It’s a pity I had to sell the Callahan land. But there’s no blame, no blame at all. Work is hard to find in these parts. Work and worry, those are what bring people to leave.” Will leaned on Mary’s arm as they made their way out of the pub. “Over the years Glenncailty lost its Callahans—emigrated or died in wars. And then your parents died in the Troubles. A black day it was, the day of their death.”
As she helped him to the car—a neighbor’s car since he didn’t have one of his own—she realized that when her grandparents moved, they’d left behind people like Will. Family who wanted, and maybe even needed, support and connection.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” Mary squeezed his shoulder. She wanted to give him a hug, but felt awkward.
“We’ll have a pint, before you go. I’d have you round, but my place isn’t made for entertaining pretty ladies.” He winked, the wrinkles on his face even more pronounced.
Mary smiled. “I look forward to it.”
She stepped back as the battered truck rumbled to life.
It broke her heart to think of Will living the rest of his life alone in a little house because he had no family left in Ireland. It broke her heart and yet she felt helpless. Related though they may be, he wasn’t family—her family was in Chicago.
Heartsick, she wandered back through the castle. It wasn’t until she reached a locked door that she realized she hadn’t take the steps up to the second floor of the east wing. She’d gone up the stairway in the main castle.
Pulling her hand back from the knob, she looked at the sign tacked to the wood. “No Admittance. Area Under Construction. Go raibh maith agat.”
She was on the third floor. The unused third floor where she’d seen someone waving at her.
Mary freaked out and ran. A small logical part of her mind knew that there was nothing up here to be scared of, but Seamus’s words were still fresh in her mind, and by herself, in a dim, dusty stairwell, the power of suggestion was too great to overcome. Seamus had probably spoken with the express intent of making her think she’d seen a ghost, giving the American tourist a little taste of the “haunted castle” experience.
As reasonable as the explanation was, her fight or flight response was engaged, and with adrenaline pumping through her, she bolted down the steps. She hit the landing and turned. The movement was too sharp and her momentum threw her off balance. She knew she was going to fall, and had a moment to react and keep herself from tumbling head-first down the rest of the stairs. Reaching out, she grabbed the railing, hanging on with all her might.
Her fall was pulled up short, her shoulder joints pinging with pain. Mary fell heavily on her knees, her head smacking into the wall. She hissed in pain and rolled onto her ass. Unclenching her fingers from the banister, she cupped her throbbing head. She’d kept herself from falling down the stairs, which could have been very dangerous, but her throbbing head, knees and shoulders were a vivid reminder of how stupid she’d been to take off running in the first place.
Positioning her back against the wall, she stretched out her legs and waited for the throbbing to stop. No longer afraid, she was annoyed—with herself for being so gullible and imaginative, with Seamus for messing with her, and finally, with Michael.
How this was his fault she didn’t know, but right now she didn’t care. She was mad at him.
If only he’d made his feelings known, she wouldn’t be here. She knew, she’d always known, that he was a quiet man. And maybe it was her fault. Her fault for not waiting, for being so bold as to take a position at the castle.
Mary’s eyes popped open. What the hell? Was she hallucinating, dreaming?
For a minute her vision blurred, and instead of carpet and wood paneling she was looking at stone steps and walls.
God forgive me. I loved him and I didn’t give him a chance to love me back. My pride, my foolish pride. I cannot have him now. I’m broken. Broken.
She whimpered as a sense of loss and heartbreak washed over her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand the pain of his absence. The void where their love should be yawned wide and deep, the blackness ready to pull her in and drown her.
Mary blinked, rubbing her eyes swiping at her wet cheeks, until her vision focused. What was going on, why was she so sad? She pinched her thigh. It hurt. She was awake—and she needed to get out of here.
Her heart was thumping in her chest, but this time she was smart. Standing carefully, she held onto the rail and took it slowly. Only when she was back on the black and white floor of the foyer did she exhale and let herself think.
But thinking led to some very wild, and very impossible conclusions.
“I have a concussion.” She said it out loud, half wanting it to be true. That would explain the strange waking dream she’d just had.
The tapping of heels on stone seemed unnaturally loud. “Ms. Callahan?” Sorcha touched her arm. “Mary? Are you alright?”
The red-haired woman looked annoyingly pretty, which just made Mary feel more stupid and bedraggled. “I…I accidentally went up the wrong stairs and I fell on my way down.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I think I banged my head.”
“Come into the rose room. I’ll fetch you some ice, and we can call a doctor.”
“Just some ice, thanks.”
Sorcha’s brow was beetled with worry. “Ice and some tea?”
“Ice and tea and aspirin?”
Sorcha nodded.
Mary let herself be led to a couch in the drawing room. Ice and painki
llers for her head, and a warm cup of tea for her rattled nerves, made her feel much better. Her hands stopped shaking, and her skull stopped pounding, but she couldn’t shake the feelings of heartache and loss. It was as if she’d had a bad dream, a dream in which she’d lost the man she loved and knew she could never get him back. But the feelings that had come with the dream didn’t fade, no matter how many times she reminded herself that she hadn’t lost the man she loved—she didn’t have a love to lose.
Chapter 7
Michael opened one eye and peered around the room. The walls were the same pale blue they’d been when he was growing up. Gone were the posters and papers he’d tacked up, but a collection of trophies were still displayed on a shelf, along with his diploma and graduation photo from Trinity College. Luckily, the single bed he’d slept in growing up had been replaced by a double, which seemed large in the small bedroom.
The noise that had woken him came again. Rolling onto his side, he looked at the window.
Clink.
Something hit the glass. Sliding out of bed, he peered out at the night sky, which was clear and filled with stars. It wasn’t raining, and the tree branches he could see were still, so it wasn’t wind or rain pinging against the glass.
He’d fallen asleep with the small bedside lamp still on, but he rose and turned on the ceiling light, rubbing his neck. He should have gone home to Dublin after the confrontation with Mary, but he’d stayed, working off his frustration and confusion by doing chores around the house. Luckily his mother had sensed that something was wrong and hadn’t asked any questions, or mentioned Mary.
Clink.
One knee on the bench under the window, he undid the latch and swung open the glass.
Mary was standing in the small back garden. Her hair was inky black in the darkness, her face a pale oval.
“Mary?” Michael would have thought this was a dream if it weren’t for the night air on his bare chest making him shiver.
“Um, hi.” She spoke softly, the wind carrying her words up to his second-floor window. “I was going to make a Romeo and Juliet or Rapunzel joke, but we’re backwards.” She motioned to her position on the ground, and his leaning out the second-floor window.
