She hated to admit it, but Moira certainly didn’t mind the kind of “arguments” in which she and Sean had engaged. Her stomach leaped at the memory of the sparkle in Sean’s eye when he had good-naturedly teased her about the fire in the schoolhouse. Then there was the ladder incident earlier today. Their eyes had locked, awakening feelings she didn’t know were possible from a simple look.
She clicked her tongue and shook the image from her mind. The man was as irritating as wet wool. She couldn’t let her need for companionship infuse affections where there were none.
A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She pressed a hand to her abdomen and took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. When she opened the door, Sean stood there next to an older gentleman. Not as old as she had pictured but certainly old enough to be her father.
“Miss Moira Doherty, I’d like to introduce you to my mentor, Colm Sweeny.”
Moira dipped a shallow curtsy and Colm extended his hand. Moira accepted it. His sun-darkened hand immediately swallowed her small, pale one.
Standing a good six inches shorter than Sean, Colm wasn’t a large man by any stretch. But his hands! Massive, solid, and strong. They were rough from years of hard labor but not overly coarse.
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” Colm tipped his hat and smiled. The light twinkled in his eyes, setting Moira at perfect ease. He reminded Moira of her father—God rest his soul. She loved him from the start.
“Thank you for coming.” She smiled. “I suppose you both will need to build your strength with a cuppa first?”
The men exchanged glances and Colm swiped his nose to the side.
“Sean, ya better not let this gairl get away. She’s got her priorities straight.” A breathy guffaw escaped Colm’s lips as he slapped his knee and strode inside to sit at the table.
Once again Moira’s cheeks warmed. She decided to ignore the heated glance Sean shot his mentor.
Grateful for the distraction, Moira turned to prepare the tea.
The trio drank in relative silence. Colm devoured so many cakes in such quick succession, Moira wondered if the man had eaten at all in a week. Just as the lads were finishing their final sips of tea, footsteps came scurrying up the path.
Moira looked out the window. “How lovely! Bríd’s just arrived.”
Bríd’s head poked in the open door. “Hallo? Anyone home?” A grin was plastered across her face.
The men uttered crumb-filled greetings, and Moira let her in, welcoming her friend with a warm embrace.
“I knew youse were comin’ to fix the roof and I wanted to make sure things were done properly, like.” She leveled a motherly glance at Sean first, then Moira.
Good grief, was the whole town going to involve themselves in this affair? Who knew a hole in the roof was so fascinating?
“How’s the schooling, peata?” Bríd asked, helping herself to a pinch of brown bread.
“Yes, does Muinteoir Sean need to make any house calls to unruly students?” Sean set a mock stern look on his face.
Moira poured a cup of tea for the newcomer. How much should she reveal about Áedach’s little rampage? Perhaps one of them would have some idea about what the lad could have meant with all the nonsense about secrets and whatnot. She decided to test the waters.
“It’s going fine, mostly.” She handed the tea to Bríd and leaned up against the windowsill. “Most of the children are lovely, and so eager to learn.”
Colm leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “I notice ya say moost of the children. Moost isn’t all, is it?”
A firm swat from Bríd displaced his elbows from the table.
Moira rolled her lips between her teeth, measuring how much to say.
“Well, Áedach—” A collective groan went up from her visitors at the mention of the lad’s name. “He’s been a bit of a scallywag from the beginning,” Moira continued. “Nothing I can’t handle, of course. But yesterday—”
Sean shot to his feet. “What? Yesterday what? Did that brute lay a finger on you? If he did, so help me . . .”
The group stared at Sean. Colm hid his mouth behind another slice of bread.
Sean’s face reddened and he cleared his throat before returning to his seat.
Moira tried not to find his ire, and chagrin, adorable.
Bríd rolled her eyes at the younger lad. “What happened yesterday, peata?”
“Well, he was waiting for me in the schoolhouse when I arrived. He cornered me. He said he knows ‘my secret’ and threatened to reveal it to the whole village.” She crossed her arms. “The peculiar thing is, I don’t have any idea what he’s talking about.”
Bríd and Colm shared a passing look.
Odd.
“What did he mean?” Sean questioned, looking from one person to the other. “What secret?”
Moira shrugged. “That’s just the thing. I haven’t the foggiest notion! I’ve only just arrived. What scandalous affair could I have drummed up in such a short time?”
Another glance flashed between Bríd and Colm. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at a shake of Bríd’s head, he promptly clamped it shut again. At least, Moira thought Bríd shook her head. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her.
The older woman sidled up next to Moira and laid a motherly arm across her shoulders. “Don’t ya be worryin’ about the likes of Áedach. I’m sorry if he scared ya. The lad doesn’t know what he’s sayin’.”
Moira searched Bríd’s face. Something akin to guilt or sorrow clouded the woman’s eyes. Moira didn’t know what to think. She looked at Colm, who was staring hard at a spot on the floor. Her eyes looked to Sean’s, hoping to find some sort of answer there.
Sean’s brow was furrowed, and a hand worked the back of his neck so hard she worried he would break the skin. Then he stopped and his gaze shot up to meet hers.
“You said this morn’ that someone had been skulking about the place. Leaving you . . . treats?” From the pinched arch of his brow Moira gathered he was angry or confused. Or both.
“I didn’t ask about it before,” he said, “because I was too, eh, distracted. By the damage to the roof.” His face flushed.
“Well, yes,” Moira offered. “I’ve found eggshells scattered around the entrance to the chalet a few times. Sinead says someone is trying to send the faeries to hurt me.” She shrugged and turned to stoke the fire.
“Perhaps it’s that dolt Áedach,” Bríd said a bit too quickly. “Maybe he’s just tryin’ to intimidate you with false claims of some saicrit and fake afflictions?”
Colm picked at a splinter in the table, keeping his eyes firmly planted below the gaze of the others.
“I don’t know.” Moira sighed.
Memories of her dreams floated to the forefront of her mind—visions of her mother entreating her to come to Ireland and save her. Could this be related to that? Moira resolved in her heart to find out.
Chapter 20
Seething anger spurred Sean as he worked on Moira’s roof. The storm from the night before may have cleared, but the gale in his heart and mind had only begun. In his mind’s eye Áedach MacSuibhne’s smarmy, freckled face taunted him. The lad had always been one for shenanigans, but this time he’d gone too far.
How dare he threaten Moira! Oh, that boyo had better pray he didn’t cross Sean’s path anytime soon or he was likely to discover a swift fist to the jaw.
As his fingers deftly wove the straw, making the roof as sound as he was able, Sean rolled the day’s events over in his mind again. His little tryst—nae, it was more innocent than that—his encounter with Moira that morning shook him. It had stirred something in him he hadn’t known before now. He tried hard to ignore the school of mackerel that seemed to be swimming in his stomach at the thought of her smile, those dimples. A grin broke across his own face at the memory.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, his smile dimmed as he recalled Moira’s expression as she told the harrowing tale of Áedach’s af
front. And her account of someone trying to bring her harm. The poor thing must’ve been terrified.
Sean had always assumed Áedach was capable of no real harm. In truth, the lad’s troubles had been innocuous enough in the past.
I suppose someone like him is capable of just about anything if he believes he holds great power over a weaker person.
The sun sank toward the water. February was tricky. She lulled you into a false sense of spring but still held on to the bite and quickly falling nights of winter.
Sean finished the current section of thatch before gathering his gear. As he stood to descend from the roof, he stopped to watch the orange glow on the watery horizon. He vowed in that moment to watch out for Moira Doherty. And to protect her honor and reputation at all costs.
The week flew by at breakneck speed, and before Moira could catch up, it was Friday again. Mist hung in the air, neither rising nor falling, coating the world in a fine dusting of diamonds. The excitement of the week before had settled into a peaceful determination to solve the mystery shrouding her.
Moira’s prayers of late had transitioned from cries of desperation and incredulity to pleas for His will to be done in and through her. Last night, the thought had landed on her heart that perhaps God hadn’t made a mistake in calling her here after all. Perhaps He had brought her here for this very reason, for this very time. That thought, coupled with the curiosity of how her mother might fit in to everything, opened the door for a sense of purpose and peace to settle over Moira. She had enjoyed her first uninterrupted night of sleep in over a week.
Today, with eyes clear and heart alight, she closed out the week at school and stepped into the weekend with hope. Sinead had invited Moira to join her family on a trip to Letterkenny, the town just over the mountains, the next day.
Excitement nipped at Moira’s heels as she made the short walk from the schoolhouse to the chalet. The mist kissed her cheeks, frosting them like a tea cake.
Sinead’s invitation had come none too soon. Not only was Moira in need of a good dose of friendly companionship, but she also needed some new fabric to make another dress. The two frocks she had brought with her served her well, but in this damp Irish weather, they could take up to three full days to dry after being washed. And that was if the sun shone unabated. If the weather consisted of the soft, soggy days so common to Donegal, it could take even longer.
Once home and with the fire properly restored, she turned her attention to the small mirror hanging over the chest of drawers in her bedchamber. Smoothing a hand over the unruly tendrils curled up by the moist Irish air, she examined her features. Eyes green and bright stared back at her. Her cheeks held a becoming shade of pink and just a hint of sparkle from the mist remained.
How lovely it would be to find material in a nice shade of dark blue or a persimmon accent to highlight her eyes. The red in her cheeks deepened, but she couldn’t deny it was important to her to find something becoming.
Thoughts of whether or not Sean would approve or appreciate such a garment floated across her mind. How irksome!
What value was it to spend time and energy pondering such things? True, it was important for a teacher to present a clean and tidy appearance. But Moira had more pressing matters to tend to—the mystery of her supposed secret and Moira’s stealthy “treat” bearer being paramount.
She committed to focusing solely on solving the puzzle, her work at the school, and her relationship with God. She wouldn’t allow distracting thoughts of Sean McFadden to cloud her mind any longer. While she hoped to fall in love and marry one day, it wasn’t her reason for coming to Ballymann. With all that lay before her, letting her heart and mind get swept away by a fanciful crush seemed irresponsible.
A determined nod settled the self-dispute, and a sense of freedom rose in her chest—freedom and anticipation for her outing to see more of her beloved new home on the morrow.
Chapter 21
Tiny, frigid droplets held the atmosphere captive. A cap of dense clouds pinned the frosty, saturated air to the earth. Moira hugged herself against the cold as she made her way to the market to meet Sinead’s family. What a dreadful day for a wagon ride.
An intense shiver shook Moira from her head to her feet. Despite the dismal weather, she was determined to enjoy the day. Quickening her steps, she wished she could somehow coax the sun from its hiding place.
“Ye look as though yer cat’s had kittens wit’ dat smile across yer face.” Sinead’s stout laughter burst through the mist like a lighthouse.
Moira’s grin widened and she bounded down the hill to her friend. The two embraced and squeezed so tight Moira couldn’t breathe. Their friendship was young but solid. Moira was infinitely grateful for the instant connection.
“Well, you know,” she answered, “I thought I’d try my hand at controlling the weather with a happy heart.”
“If dat works, soon we’ll all be walkin’ ’round beamin’ like eejits.”
Sinead hoisted a large sack and dropped it into the back of the wagon with a thud. “Ye’ll be riding up on the seat there. Ma said we can’t be havin’ ye crumpled in the back like a sack of spuds.” Sinead shrugged and pointed Moira to the top of two benches at the front of the rig.
“Will you sit with me?”
“Me? No, I sit in the back an’ make sure nuttin’ falls off. Plus, the lads get the preferred seatin’ anyway. You know how it is, men’re more important, so they are.” Sinead’s eyes rolled so far back in her head, Moira feared they might not return to their proper places.
“What lads?”
At that moment, a figure rose from behind the wagon, wiping his hands on a rag. He turned and froze.
“Moira! I—it’s . . . er . . . hello.” A funny little smile played on Sean’s lips as he raked a hand through his auburn hair.
Moira’s ears and cheeks burned as if she’d spent too much time in the sun. “Good morning, Mr. McFadden.” She bobbed her head before turning her attention to a stubborn string on the sleeve of her coat. What was he doing here? Surely he wouldn’t be joining them?
“Ma and Da said Sean could come along. Old Man Sweeny needs some supplies,” Sinead offered as if reading Moira’s thoughts. “No sense in two wagons making the journey when one will do.”
“Sinead, are those sacks on the wagon yet?” A red-faced woman bounded out of the shop, hands in a tizzy twisting her apron. She was the spitting image of Sinead, only at least a score her senior. She caught a glimpse of Moira and stopped short. Her hands met in front of her mouth with a clap and a wide smile broke onto her face.
In an instant the woman was at Moira’s side. A heavy arm landed on Moira’s shoulder.
“Céad mile fáilte, a leanbh!”
Moira cocked a crooked smile and chuckled.
“A hundred, thousand welcomes, my dear! My Sinead tells me ye’re the new teacher. I am so glad youse are here, now! Come, let’s get ye up into the seat and we can head off, so.”
The woman offered Moira a hand, but Sean pressed in front of her.
“Ya don’t have to do that, Mrs. McGonigle. Ye go see what’s keepin’ that man o’ yourn.” He smiled at Moira and extended a hand. “Allow me.”
Moira blinked, internally rebuking herself for feeling every bit a giddy schoolgirl. She placed her hand in his and each nerve in her arm awoke. With the help of Sean’s strong support, she made the climb to the seat without any trouble. She took her place on the far edge.
“Sinead, are you sure you won’t join me?” Her eyes implored her friend to read her mind and sense her unease. “I’d quite like the enjoyment of your company on the journey.”
“Nah, I won’t,” she replied, seemingly oblivious to Moira’s agony. “I’ve got me own job back here. Ye just enjoy the scenery.” Was that a wink? Sinead hopped up onto the back of the wagon with surprising ease and settled in between two large sacks of potatoes. The elder McGonigles took their places on the lower front bench. Sean, much to Moira’s dismay, claimed the
seat next to her.
A snap of the reins and the wagon jolted forward. Moira’s knuckles turned white and ached as she gripped the front edge of the seat. Was it possible to crack a wagon seat with one’s bare hands?
The rig rolled through the village, past the guesthouse, and followed the bend in the road, taking the passengers east. The peak of Mount Errigal loomed on the horizon.
Moira was keenly aware of Sean’s presence. Heat radiated from his side and the subtle aroma of heather and musk sent her insides aflutter. She stared straight ahead, neither seeing nor hearing anything, trying desperately to think of something other than the man next to her.
Suddenly the wagon jerked and a violent bump vaulted Moira off her seat and over the side of the rig. Her arms flailed. All seemed lost when a steady hand gripped her wrist and a firm arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to safety.
She heaved a sigh and brushed a shock of hair from her forehead with her free hand. She turned and met Sean’s eyes, only a handbreadth away from her own. One arm was secure around her waist, the other held fast to her left hand. Never before had she felt so protected. She could have stayed like that for hours. Though she tried, she could not bring herself to let go.
“Are ya okay?” Sean’s eyes searched hers. It felt like his question addressed more than the situation at hand.
She bobbed her head and cleared her throat. “Yes, I am. Thank you.”
He paused as though making sure she wasn’t going to topple over again. Once he seemed convinced she was steady, he released her and reclaimed his seat a respectable distance away. But his gaze remained steadfast on hers.
The warmth from his embrace dissipated. She missed it instantly—and scolded herself for the notion.
“Sorry about that, love.” Mr. McGonigle turned his gaze to meet hers briefly. “These roads are a mite disheveled. Ye must keep a good hold as we go.”
Moira nodded in obedience as the rig turned a corner. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened to take in the spectacular scene before her. On their right lay a mirror of the sky. Dunlewey Lake, as still as glass. A valley stretched before them with towering rocky hills forming a bowl around a smaller hill standing center stage. A white marble church stood atop it, glistening even in the cloud-darkened mist.
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