by Lila Dubois
Caera was his soul, a piece of him he didn’t know he’d been missing until he found her.
She was a wounded princess, a fallen angel. Every line from every love song he knew swirled through his head. When she stopped singing he stopped playing, his bow hand falling numbly to his side.
She took a hesitant step forward, her eyes seeming to swirl with the same intensity he felt.
He matched her, step for step, until they met, their bodies clinging desperately, their lips melded together.
They stood there at the crest of the land, a chill wind swirling around them, until Caera pulled away.
Tim’s heart clenched as she did, sure that she would lead them back to the car and the bitter reality that awaited them there. Instead, she went to her purse and drew out a tin whistle he hadn’t known she carried.
A smile sprang to his lips. Tim tipped his bow to her and bowed, indicating he’d follow her lead. She raised a brow—a beautiful woman offering a challenge.
Only a fool said no.
Caera played the first notes of “The Clare Jig”. Tim slid his fiddle into the case, threw the strap for the guitar over his head and tapped out the drumbeat on the belly until he felt her rhythm, her take on the well-known song, and could join her. With a flourish he joined in, the high, thin notes of the whistle melding perfectly with the robust vibrations of the guitar.
They played together in perfect harmony as the sun sank into the west.
They didn’t speak.
Caera turned the car off the main road, her gaze scanning the scenery as if she looked for something.
Tim clenched his knees, trying and failing to appear at ease.
He loved her.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
They’d played together for over an hour on the hilltop, until a group of people had ambled up the path. Together, they’d played a song for the newcomers, a family from Ulster who applauded uproariously when they finished.
By unspoken mutual consent, they’d gone back to the car after their song was done. No words were exchanged as they climbed in and drove out of the Vee. Now Caera had turned off onto a one-lane road riddled with potholes and Tim was too tense to even ask what they were doing.
He’d fallen in love with an Irish woman he’d known for less than a week. In another few days, they’d part ways. He’d do his show in Galway, then fly on to Europe for a few more shows before returning to Boston.
Tim turned in his seat to look at Caera.
She lived half a world away.
He barely knew her.
Her denial of her gift frustrated him.
And none of those things were big enough to stop him from loving her…and planning to be with her.
A warm ball of anticipation settled within him. He and Caera were meant to be. Glenncailty to Boston as a long-distance relationship wasn’t exactly star-crossed.
Now all he had to do was make her fall in love in with him and convince her to be with him while they figured out all those pesky details like the fact that they lived on two different continents.
Tim crossed his arms and smiled. Whether she knew it or not, Caera was the love of his life, and he was the love of hers.
She’d been to the abandoned abbey once as a child. On the way to Limerick for a holiday, they’d stopped at a pub for some dinner. The owner, seeing the pack of restless children, had told her parents about this spot. Caera and her brothers and sister had run off their energy trying to climb the crumbling walls, racing in circles through the cloister walk and doing cartwheels in the soft grass that grew where the monk’s garden had been.
Though she had only vague memories of its location, Caera had managed to find it, slowly making her way down roads that wavered before her with a sense of déjà vu.
Kilknock Abbey was too small and too derelict to make it onto any but the most obscure of maps. It was located off a narrow local road that seemed to cut into the earth like a stream, so the base of trees along its edges were nearly level with the top of the car.
There was no shoulder to speak of, but Caera found a spot where a tree had fallen, leaving a chunk missing from the high banks of the road. She pulled in, paused and then pulled out again.
“It’d be best if you got out before I park.”
Tim didn’t question her statement, simply jumped out of the car.
Caera pulled in, the passenger side inches from the dirt bank. Caera climbed out, nervous when she had no reason to be. This was her plan, she was in control. She knew Tim would appreciate what they were about to do.
There was no reason to be nervous.
But she loved him, and that made everything different.
“Come with me,” was all she could, would, say.
They scrambled up the bank. Tim put his hands on her arms to steady her, and Caera felt his touch along every nerve ending.
Once up, they could see the land beyond the sheltering trees. A stacked stone fence ran parallel with the road. On the field within, brown cows lazily wandered the fields, nibbling the grass. Hedges, stones and strung wires marked off other fields beyond the cow pasture. There was a stand of trees in the north, the roof of a structure barely visible between the treetops. The land sloped up, cresting in a small hillock. At that highest point, a crumbling stone abbey stood, a forgotten thing surrounded by agricultural land. Stone walls protected both the building and the graveyard within.
Caera scanned the stone fence that bordered the road. When she saw what she was looking for, she took Tim’s hand and led him along the fence.
A metal gate was set in the fence line, with a second gate just inside to keep the cows from getting out.
“Are we going to visit the cows?” Tim asked as they passed through the series of gates.
“Of course. These are very interesting cows, well traveled and cultured.” Caera’s lips twitched when Tim sighed heavily at her response.
“I’m going to assume you’re joking. We’re going to that castle?”
“Every old building made of stone is not a castle.”
“That would be a small castle, so my next best guess is it was a church?”
“An abbey.”
They started across the field. The cows ambled over, sniffing at them.
Tim’s fingers tightened around hers, his eyes were round with alarm. “Holy crap, the cows are coming right for us. Should we run?”
“Cows can run fairly fast.”
“Seriously?”
“Ah yes, but if you don’t make eye contact, they won’t attack.”
“Woman, you had better be joking—aah!” Tim yelped as a cow sniffed his sleeve, and Caera couldn’t hold in her mirth any longer.
Dragging Tim through the cows with one hand, the other holding her belly as she laughed, Caera led them to the wall surrounding the abbey.
“I can’t believe this place has a moat of cows. I feel like I’m in a Monty Python skit.”
“The cows have nothing to do with the abbey.”
“They don’t?”
“No, that land is owned by the farmer who owns the cows.”
“Did we just trespass?”
“No, the farmer knows people need to walk across his land to get to the abbey. There’s no other way to get here.”
Another double set of gates in this wall kept the cows from passing from their farmer’s land onto the abbey grounds. The abbey was a series of buildings around a center courtyard and cloister walk. The roofs and walls of the second floor were mostly gone. Stairways led up to uneven stone platforms surrounded by half walls. The one building that still had its roof was barred and closed, so no one risked being in there when the old stone roof finally gave in and fell.
Piles of fallen stone littered the grounds, and grass grew tall and wild in the courtyard. Moss clung to the lower stones, while the upper stones were bleached white by sun and wind.
“What happened to this place?” Tim asked.
“It was closed, long ago. Beca
use of the graveyard, it is still owned by the church, though only the graveyard itself is considered holy ground anymore.”
“It’s beautiful, in a sad way.”
“It is,” Caera agreed.
Tim started to hum, his fingers twitching as if he were playing his fiddle. Caera stood back and watched as he explored. A light breeze made his hair rustle, and his jacked flapped back, showing his trim waist. He climbed over a pile of stones, his ass flexing beneath the denim of his jeans.
Caera took a deep breath, the coil of desire in her belly unwinding, filling her with a need to touch him, taste him.
Tim disappeared into a still-standing section of the building. Rather than follow him, Caera ducked into a hallway and took the small spiral staircase. The center of the stone steps were worn into valleys, and her steps echoed hollowly into the roofless staircase. The second floor of this building was in good shape, the floor intact, the stones smooth, while the half walls that still stood protected it from the wind.
From the opposite corner, Tim appeared from another staircase, his head swiveling side to side as he looked around.
He jumped as he caught sight of her. Tim smiled, opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He took a few steps, the excitement and curiosity that had colored his face melting away to reveal bone-deep longing.
When he looked at her, Caera had the thrilling, terrifying, feeling that he knew all her secrets.
Tim stopped and held out his arms.
Caera let out a little sigh, then ran into his embrace. Their lips met in frantic, desperate need.
She felt Tim’s surprise at her intensity, his realization that this is why she’d brought him here, to this secret place where no one but unshriven ghosts would see them.
They dropped to their knees, the cold leaching through their pants from the stones. Tim undressed her with slow, deliberate movements. Peeling off first her sweater, then shirt and finally bra, he exposed her to the sun, the sky and his wandering hands and lips.
“I’ve never doubted fate,” he said, gaze searching her face as his hands made warm trails over her back. “And fate brought me to you.”
Caera shivered, and it was from more than the chill of being half-naked.
Tim kissed her neck, her shoulder, working his way towards her breasts. Trusting her weight into his hands, Caera leaned back. Above, the sky was pale, soft blue.
Dry, warm kisses feathered over her breasts, before her right nipple was drawn into a warm, wet mouth. She buried her fingers in his hair as he licked and nibbled the budded tips of her breasts.
When that wasn’t enough, she pulled herself up, fingers trembling and she undressed him. Her cool, wet breasts pressed against the warm, hard planes of his chest when he too was naked from the waist up.
Their lips met in another sweet kiss, but this time Tim coaxed her mouth open. He tasted her, his tongue touching hers, dipping into the warm valley between her bottom lip and teeth, and the intimate touch that made her shiver.
Her hands went to his waistband. She loosened his jeans, shoving them down below his ass, dragging his underwear with them so his cock sprang free, the tip brushing her bare midriff. She took his cock in her hands, stroking the steely smooth length.
Her sex flooded with need, the lips of her pussy swelling in anticipation of his touch.
“I need you,” she begged.
“Not as much as I need you.”
They hastily made a mat of clothes. Tim lowered Caera to it. “Are you okay? Is it too cold?”
“I’m fine,” Caera said, even as she shivered. She was so filled with need she couldn’t have said for sure if the shiver was from cold or from desire.
Tim sat back and took her foot in his hand. He unfastened her boot, slowly drawing it off. He kissed the top of her sock-covered foot before turning to the other foot and removing that shoe.
He drew off her pants, her knickers. Holding a knee in each hand, he spread her legs, opening her to his gaze, to the cold air and the blue sky above.
“You’re ready?”
She couldn’t answer as his fingers stroked the curls at the top of her sex before dipping between the lips of her pussy and testing her readiness himself. Two fingers pushed into her pussy, thrusting in and out in a pale imitation of what she really wanted.
Caera reached for him, her nails digging into the firm swell of muscle on his arms as she drew him to her. His body came down over hers. His cheeks met hers, his stubble abrading the soft skin on the side of her face. She could feel the delicate whorls of his ear against her temple.
His cock nudged her inner thigh, the cleft of her ass, before finding her sex. He worked the tip of his cock through her body’s moisture, rubbing her clit in the process. Caera’s nails dug into his back.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Yes, anything, beautiful Caera.”
His cock poised on the entrance to her body, then slid home in one smooth, hard thrust.
That was all it took to bring Caera to a lightning-bright orgasm. She gasped, back arching, pressing her breasts hard into Tim’s chest.
In that perfect moment, the very air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of what Caera felt, with the intensity of her love.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” she whispered in Irish.
Tim rocked into her, his pace quickening as he neared his own orgasm, more quickly than she would have wanted. This perfect moment would not last. Tomorrow would come. Galway and her past were on the horizon, and she could not stop them from ending what she had now any more than she could stop the sun from rising.
Tim shuddered, his sweaty head dropping into the hollow between her shoulder and throat.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” Caera repeated.
I love you.
Chapter Eleven
The West
“Come with me.”
Caera sucked in a breath and glanced over at Tim. She quickly turned her attention back to the road. They were almost at Miltown Malbay, and she didn’t want to miss the turnoff.
“Caera, come with me.”
“Tim, what are you on about?” The words came out harsher than she wanted because her heart was slamming against her ribs.
“Come with me to Galway.”
Caera let out a breath. “No.”
“Why?”
“It’s too close to my family.”
“You said that, and I get that you don’t get along with them, but I don’t—”
“My family is not something I want to discuss.”
Caera jerked the wheel hard as their exit approached. She took the turn too fast, and the tires squealed. She bit her lip, forcing herself to calm down. They needed a guesthouse for the night. She’d planned to find a place outside of town where they could have some time together before going into the town to find a session.
“Caera.”
“Tim, you cannot ask that of me.”
“I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Goodbye will come—tomorrow or the next day makes no difference.”
“It does. And you know it.”
She turned when she saw one of the standard guesthouse marker signs, following its arrow without caring where they were or how close to Miltown Malbay they might be.
“Caera, come with me to Galway.”
She couldn’t fight him, not when what she was meant to fight was something she wanted too.
“I’ll take you to Galway, but I will not stay.”
“You could play with me, at my gig.”
“No, and it’s cruel of you to even say.”
“Don’t get angry. I’m saying that because you’re incredible, because I love playing with you.”
“I play for none but myself, especially in the west.”
They pulled into the driveway of an old manor house, no larger than the mews at Glenncailty. There was a small sign outside the B&B that read Teach Tuaite na Cinniúint, which translated to “C
ountry-house of Fate”.
“I really don’t understand how someone as talented as you, and who loves music as much as you clearly do, can be like this.”
“You don’t have to understand my choice, but you must respect it.”
As a teenager, she’d played in almost every pub in Galway. Her father would take her into the city on the weekends so she could join in on sessions. She hadn’t been into a Galway pub since she left, not even into the little village pub where she’d worked, where she’d met her downfall.
Caera parked and turned off the car.
“I’m sorry, Caera. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Tim cupped her cheek.
“Thank you. I’m not upset, but I won’t change my mind.” She kissed his wrist.
Together, they got out of the car and walked into the house.
Tim translated the cost of the pints from euros to dollars and whistled between his teeth. The drinks were good, but they cost.
They were in a great little pub called The Fiddler’s Way near the center of the town. Though it was early, it was packed, which meant it would probably only get worse. He and Caera had managed to snag a table in a little side room that held a stage. Tables and chairs had been packed into every inch of floor space.
Up here by the bar the music being made by two fiddles, a guitar and a bodhrán was much clearer than from their seats. The musicians were set up in a snug at one end of the bar. Tim stopped for a minute, a drink in each hand, to listen to the music and watch the fiddlers’ bows fly.
He was tapping his foot, enjoying the music, when someone clapped him on the shoulder.
Tim turned to see an older gentleman standing behind him. The man wore slacks and a blue sweater, his face mapped by lines, yet his round cheeks and ready smile put him at no more than sixty.
“Yer that American, I saw you at Free Birds Fly, I did.”
Tim set one of the drinks on the bar and took the man’s hand, giving it a hearty shake. “Tim Wilcox, yes, I played at Free Birds Fly, thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”
“John, Johnny to my friends. You had a voice on you, Tim Wilcox, a good voice, and you fiddle almost as well as an Irishman.”
