Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four

by RAE STAPLETON

  “Where yous from?” The old man asked.

  Cullen spoke up. “Dublin. I’m here to restore Dunlace Castle.”

  “I heard something about that, and the lasses came along for the fresh coastal air, did they?”

  “That they did, but they’ll also be workin’.”

  “We’re librarians,” I clarified.

  “Mr. McQuillan’s hired them to look into the history of the place—who better than librarians to dig up the past, right?”

  “Ahh ... the past ye say?” The man rubbed his hands together, surveying the room. “Is it just old books ye like, or is it all things old that interest ye?”

  For a moment I wondered if he was hitting on me and I had to swallow the lump in my throat. Viagra had given one too many old men courage.

  He gestured to the next room. “It’s not a museum, but we’ve several old family pieces here at the Inn.”

  We left our mostly empty stew bowls on the counter and followed him into the sitting room where he pointed to a china cabinet full of knick-knacks.

  “The board game pieces date back to the early seventeenth century. The coins are from the days of Elizabeth I. The wee book isn't all that old, but it's a first edition, and the dirk in the back is the oldest piece we have.”

  I could see where Cullen’s interest lay. His hand shot out and touched the glass where the small knife sat. The hilt was intricately embossed in what looked like gold. The blade itself was fashioned out of some other metal and even in the case appeared very sharp.

  “Ye like it?” The old man asked.

  Cullen nodded, “Reminds me of my own dagger. Sophia had it fashioned as a wedding present. It’s a replica of my ancestor’s.”

  The old man smiled. “Beautiful yet lethal, just like a woman—fine choice for a wedding gift, Sophia.”

  “So, this dirk. Was it found at Dunlace Castle?”

  “Aye, it was. I think it was Conal Ó Catháin’s. No, wait, it was Sorely Boy MacDonell’s.” The old man wrapped on his skull with his knuckles. “This thing don’t work as well as it used to.”

  “It never worked,” Ida chimed in from the other room.

  “Shut up and let me spake, ye oul battleaxe.” The old man snickered like he’d bested her. “Anyway, the dirk belonged to Sorely Boy MacDonnell and it was used to kill his bride. Tis a sad story...”

  “Really? We’d love to hear it,” I said.

  “Don’t depress our new guests.” The petite woman entered the sitting room. Whatever anger she’d had before was gone. “He’ll bore ye to death with his tall tales.” She winked over her shoulder at Cullen as she turned back toward the kitchen.

  “Actually, I’d love to hear your story.” I piped up.

  “Come on back into the kitchen. I’ve wet the tea. He can drone on back there just as well as he can here.”

  We followed her in and resumed our seats.

  “So, yous are friends of himself? Only met him the once, but it broke my husband’s heart to hear about his Da.”

  I glanced at Cullen and then at Leslie, both looked as confused as me.

  “Oh, ye hadn’t heard.” The woman commented. “He passed away last month.”

  She turned her back to us and began washing our bowls as if she hadn’t said a thing.

  The old man paused for a moment and then nodded. “‘Tis true. That’s why Sam’s inherited the castle—sad and untimely death, his Da’s was.”

  A cup clanged loudly in the sink and I wasn’t entirely sure the woman hadn’t done it on purpose.

  Her husband ignored it and went on. “Poor Sam was up to visit him right before that, thank the heavens.”

  “Really, what happened?”

  “He fell outta the castle window.”

  Leslie looked at me and bit her lip. No doubt feeling guilty for the all too realistic joke she’d made earlier.

  “Jaysus only knows what he was doin’ out there—most likely tryin’ to fix somethin’ and the wee banshee pushed him out the window.”

  “Away on!” The old woman said,

  “’Tis true. The banshee hates the MacDonnell name, as well as her own. I personally steer clear of the tower and the cave. The two places she haunts.”

  “Ach, well, he’s faffin’ about, but he is right, the place is a deathtrap,” Ida agreed.

  “I guess that’s why Sam hired us,” Cullen responded.

  “You mentioned a story?” I chimed in.

  “Oh, the castle dirk, ye mean.”

  I nodded. “You said it killed his bride?”

  “Aye, well, which one is the question?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m only teasing. The man, Sorely Boy, was married three times ye know.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “He was a sucker for tragedy, to be sure. His first bride, wouldn’t ye know it, wouldn’t have him. She technically wasn’t his bride since she wouldn’a stay put long enough to cement the deal.” The old man winked. “If ye know what I mean.”

  His wife snorted.

  “I do,” I said and laughed.

  “Anyhow, after the first one died—however that was—no one knows for sure—Sorely Boy found and saved a woman who’d been stabbed in the woods. She had the strangest name and I can’t remember it. I think it was Eastern European—Lassya I think—not sure what she was doing out there. Anyway, he nursed her back to health and they fell in love. Six months later she simply vanished—gone without a trace. Sorely Boy thought someone kidnapped and killed her, although they never found the body. It took him a good many years to work up the nerve to marry a third time but thank goodness he did or else I would never have existed. Our grandfather said he never got over her though. Plenty enough paintings commissioned of the likes of Lassya, and hung them around the castle, despite his new bride. I think yer man still has one of them.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Yer man.” The old man responded.

  I was always perplexed by the Irish use of yer man. It could really mean anyone.

  “He means the castle’s owner, Samual MacDonnell.” Cullen explained. “They haven’t met him yet.”

  “Aye, well, aren’t they the lucky ones. He’s set to arrive tonight,” the old woman said. I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. There was definitely something about her tone that seemed off.

  SIX

  Northern Ireland, November 1551

  Sorely MacDonnel paced before the Witch of Dunlace—downing yet another cup of whisky, watching as his spy returned to the room.

  “I’m afraid the witch isn’a lyin’, sir. Uilliam has arrived at Dungiven Castle to meet with Naill Ó Catháin again. They’ve gone behind yer back and agreed that Conal and Sive will go on with the wedding.”

  “How dare that old bastard!” roared Sorely, as he spun around to face Saundra. “What in the bloody hell happened?”

  Saundra swore that setting up the Ó Catháins for killing Uilliam’s nephew—the heir to Dunlace Castle—was a surefire way to end the arrangement, leaving Sive and the Castle up for grabs.

  “Ye dinna keep yer end of the agreement. Ye said I would be Lord of Dunlace.”

  Saundra stepped to his side and sweetly took his arm. “Calm down, Sorely. And so ye shall. We’ll figure this out.”

  It had bothered Sorely to betray his cousin, Conal, but it was for the greater good. The route was meant to be his. Sorely threw the metal goblet into the hearth and the flames roared up. “What kind of beast hands his daughter over to the clan that has just killed his heir?”

  Of course, the Ó Catháins had not been the ones to kill the McQuillan heir, but Uilliam wasn’t aware of that.

  “We mustn’t let this go, Sorely. With Rory dead, Sive is heir to the largest keep in all of Ireland, while yer territory is by far the second largest. ‘Tis an insult of the deepest accord that Uilliam passed ye over for yer lowly Ó Catháin relations. Ye are meant to rule the route. Ye must do somethin’ more to end this betrothal once and
for all. I foresee the way but it means the death of one of yer own kin—one of the Ó Catháins. Can ye do it?”

  She was right. She was the witch of Dunlace—all knowing. It wouldn’t take much to rile the feathers of one of the McQuillan lads. He’d talk them into retaliating. There was nothing like a revenge killing to sour relations.

  “Ready my horse. McQuillan may not have the balls to call off the betrothal but we will see how understanding the Ó Catháins are when one of their own is taken.”

  SEVEN

  Northern Ireland, Present Day

  “Aren’t ye a wee bit old for the boogeyman, Aeval?” Cullen said, retreating into the bathroom before I could retort.

  “He’s right, Sophia, what exactly are you looking for?” Leslie asked, “You look sort of crazy, rifling through empty drawers and checking in closets and under beds.”

  Grunting, I put one hand on the bed and pulled myself back up onto my feet. Leslie wore sweats and had her hair pulled up, she was casually holding a half-eaten Twinkie in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

  “I don’t know. Something feels off, Les. I just can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right about this place. Did you not find that old couple weird? The woman, Ida said she’d only met Sam once, but he told Cullen these people were his family?”

  Leslie plopped down into a floral printed wingback chair. “Not all families are close—just look at mine.”

  “True, but there were black candles on the mantle and the woman wore a pentagram around her neck.”

  “So.”

  “She tucked it into her neckline pretty fast when she met us. It drew my attention.”

  Cullen opened the bathroom door and returned to our conversation as if he’d never left. “Are ye a witch hunter now, Aeval? What’s the big deal if the old gal practices magic? Most folks out here are a wee bit superstitious.”

  “Besides, don’t you feel hypocritical?” Leslie asked.

  “Stop ganging up on me.” I walked across the room and grabbed the corkscrew off the table, working away at the wine bottle while I spoke. “I don’t care whether or not she practices magic but why did she hide it?” The cork popped out of the bottle, and I paused to take it off of the corkscrew before pouring us each a hearty glass. “Rochus practiced magic and obviously I do in a way because of the time travel and the spell book. That’s not what’s bothering me. I just can’t ignore this feeling, I’m not sure if it was the castle or the Inn but something has me on high alert.”

  Leslie took a big swig, “This wine tastes funny.”

  “That’s probably because you’re pregnant and your spawn is interested in self-preservation right now even if we don’t agree with it and anyway, that was Cullen’s glass.”

  “Stop calling it spawn.”

  Cullen’s brother, Liam, had manipulated Leslie and gotten her pregnant. He’d also stalked me and we’d battled it out resulting in his death.

  “Everyone’s got to do their own growing, no matter how tall their father was.”

  “What does that even mean, Cullen?”

  “It means ye can’t blame this baby for Liam’s sins.”

  I rolled my eyes. Ireland still hadn’t come round to the idea of abortion, and apparently neither had Cullen. Not that I was a huge fan, but in cases like this it made sense.

  “I think it’s my right to call the fetus spawn considering Liam almost killed us two weeks ago. I’m a Scorpio; forgiveness is not exactly my forte.” I turned to Leslie. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

  “Quit asking me that. I’m pregnant, not injured.”

  “Debatable. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

  “I’m still getting an abortion.”

  I let out a sigh. “Good. I was worried you’d changed your mind.”

  She had to be roughly seven or eight weeks pregnant now.

  “Why didn’t you go through with the abortion when you flew home to Toronto? Are you waiting for the baby to pop out and nod its approval? Because it might be a little late at that point.”

  She shrugged her shoulders at me, annoyed. “I’ll deal with it after we get back from India. So, back to your crazy behavior, how is searching our rooms going to help?”

  “I don’t know.” I set my glass down so I could swing my arms about in aggravation. “I’ve seen too many scary movies, I guess. Mostly thanks to you. I just want to make sure there are no hidden cameras or poisoned weeds hidden in the room.”

  “Or trapdoors. The masked old couple could sneak in and kill us in the middle of the night.”

  I shook my head, frustrated that she found all this funny.

  Leslie only laughed harder at my disapproval and pulled a movie from her bag. ”I guess you don’t want to watch this with me then, huh? It’s one of your beloved cheesy eighties movies. I figured it was appropriate since we’re going in search of a temple and it’s about a mystical boy being kidnapped from a temple.”

  “The Golden Child—my favourite. You brought your laptop?”

  “Of course. You can borrow it in India. I’m sure they’ll be lots of time to watch old movies when we’re sitting on trains and buses. I’ve heard transportation is slow.”

  She pulled a brownie from her bag and took a bite.

  “Do you really need more sugar before bed?”

  She looked down at the brownie in her hand. “Yes, I do, Mom and I’m eating for two, remember.”

  “Oh, please, lass, ye’re always eatin’ for two.”

  “More like two hundred,” I added.

  “Oh Jaysus, let’s hope it’s not a two-hundred-pound man ye’re birthin’.” Cullen laughed like a lunatic at the thought.

  “That would be painful,” Leslie added.

  I placed both hands over my face and exhaled as calmly as I could, “And impossible because she’s not having this baby.”

  “Well, Ms. Serious-pants, why don’t you go back to your paranoid babble and if you need me I’ll be next door in my own bed enjoying a slice of pizza with my movie.”

  “Pizza?” Cullen sounded intrigued.

  I glanced over at Leslie who was wearing a huge smirk on her face. “Yep. Pizza. I packed myself a small cooler bag of munchies. I also have cheese and crackers.”

  Cullen stood and faced me after she’d closed the door behind her. “Do ye think I could take the wee lass, Aeval? I could really use some cheese, especially if I’m gonna choke down that wine.”

  I emptied my wine and grinned. “Nothing’s impossible, but short of slipping a sleeping pill under the cheese of her pizza, I doubt it.”

  His arms shot out, encircling my waist and pulling me into his lap. I gave a funny little giggle that made me regret how fast I’d drunk the wine. “I guess I’ll just have to satisfy my appetite some other way.” He brushed my lips with his and then tugged softly at my lower lip. I was about to push myself off of him, when I inhaled his familiar spicy scent and my body rebelled. He took my silence as approval and ran his hands down my back, massaging, pressing. My heart slammed in my chest. This was getting carried away.

  “Oh no you don’t. I’m getting started on the research tonight. I’ve been waiting all afternoon to dive in.” I pushed against his chest but he held me tight.

  “I too have been waiting all afternoon to dive in, Aeval. We’ve not touched properly since the funeral and I need some distraction, so your wee papers shall have to wait.”

  He forced me down. His expression was tight and hard, his eyes fiery as he lowered himself. When he raised his head, staring at me from between my splayed thighs. A curious warmth spread through my body, an aching, tingling feeling. I opened my mouth to protest but the words died as I felt his fingers dip in, then retreat, spreading lubrication, preparing me for what was to come. I relaxed, a whimper escaping from deep in my throat. I should find that hidden room. The thought ran through my mind even as I pushed it away, reaching instead to wrap my fingers in his hair.

  EIGHT

 
Northern Ireland, November 1551

  T he day was brisk, but the sun was out, which wasn’t always a guarantee in Antrim so Sive McQuillan took advantage and delighted in the freedom soaring through the misty glens of Antrim.

  Her Da—Lord of Dunlace Castle—was visiting the Parish of Drumachose, which meant there was no one to keep her from riding alone. She missed the days of her youth when she’d been allowed to roam with her cousins. The free and easy exchanges with Conal Ó Catháin had given her life meaning. She hoped her Da and Conal’s kin would reach an agreement soon. It was unfortunate that her cousin had been killed, but Conal had told her of the accident and it was no reason to go to war. Surely Da would understand. Of course, she couldn’t share any of this since Conal had told her in secret. No one knew of their secret meeting place—the abandoned cottage in the Bog.

  After a while she came to a waterfall, and stopped, allowing her horse to drink thirstily.

  “There ye are, Sive!” The hail almost made her tumble off her horse's back. Startled, she straightened and turned her head to find her childhood friend riding toward her.

  “Sorely Boy. I haven’t seen ye in forever.” He looked older, with lines of suffering in his face that had not been there in those days at Dunlace. Here and there a silver thread glittered against the night-black waves of his hair. He was altogether taller, bigger, more formidable-looking than she remembered.

  “How’re ye?” Sive was polite even as she groped for her horse's reins. Of course they had somehow managed to unwrap themselves from the pommel only to slide down the animal's neck.

  “Aye, it has been years since I saw ye last. I’ve been with family in Scotland.”

  Sive nodded and leaned forward as far as she could, but she couldn't quite reach the reigns.

  “Ye’re in need of some help, I see.” Sorely Boy dismounted and trudged through the shallow stream, leaving his horse behind with its reins trailing, to retrieve hers.

  “Ye’ve grown since I last set eyes on ye, Sive. Who knew ye’d turn out to be so bonny?” Sorely Boy made no move to hand the reins up to her. Instead he stood rubbing them against his palm as he gazed at her, seemingly heedless of the stream at his feet.