Was that a stone circle? Her eyes strained to make out what appeared to be a series of rocks set in a circle. The plant life was lush and there were various ribbons tied on bushes and flowers. A high brick wall segmented an area past the outcropping, and vines coated it. Keelin wondered what was past the wall.
So this is to be my home for a while? I can live with this. Keelin looked forward to an adventure for the summer, and where else could she get it but in this slice of heaven? Keelin put her backpack on and hefted her grocery sacks from the back of the truck. Turning, she looked at the mountains at her back. They rose behind her and sheltered the house, the land, and the cove. Keelin squinted. For a second she thought she saw a man and a dog high up on the ridge overlooking the house. Shaking her head, she looked again and the ridge was empty.
Keelin walked towards the hut. It was really quite a bit larger than a hut but Keelin liked the romantic thought of staying in a hut on the water's edge all summer. She would be sure to call it a hut to her friends back home. It was more of a wide square house that had two larger rooms jutting from the back. Built of round gray stones and dark wood beams, the house looked as if it was a part of the landscape. It was as if it was built for this land and this land alone.
Keelin wasn't sure if she should knock or not. It was just her here, right? She pulled the latch and went in. Light filtered through the single-paned windows, dust motes causing the light to shoot like beams across the worn farm table that stood in the middle of the room. The door opened directly into the main room, the hub of the house. One side was a small kitchen, with a wood-burning stove and a pantry. Two doors led off the back of the room and into what she presumed were bedrooms. The predominant focus of the room was the large table in the middle, which was riddled with jars, flowers, twine, and bowls. Keelin moved towards the table and noticed the walls were lined with shelves. Bottles upon bottles were stacked neatly on the shelves, and small labels were attached to them all. Keelin walked over to a shelf and saw powders of all sorts and colors. They looked like spices, but Keelin wouldn't be doing any taste tests anytime soon.
"So, you've finally arrived, then."
Keelin let out a screech and dropped her bags to the floor.
A chuckle came out of a dim corner to Keelin's right. She had missed this alcove when she had first walked in. A woman sat in a wooden rocker, the arms and back of the chair seemingly carved from a single piece of wood. Keelin wanted to sit in that chair. It hugged the woman in it and they rocked as if they were one. Keelin's own eyes peered at her from under an impressive head of long, curly gray hair. Her hair leaped and roped around her head, tied in areas with twine, with small flowers placed behind her ears.
Easily eighty years old, when Fiona smiled the years dropped from her face. She reminded Keelin of the hippies that often staged protests in the Boston Common. An earthiness clung to the old woman, yet a stillness and gentleness radiated from her. Her hands stuck out from a blue wool cape and were deftly tying twine around bunches of dried herbs. Paper labels were lined up neatly next to the bundles. The smell of lavender teased Keelin's nose and soothed her at the same time.
"Grandma?" It was a statement more than a question. There was no other person this woman could be.
"Well, yes, of course, Keelin. Who did you think it would be?" Fiona laughed up at Keelin and rose to embrace her. Another tiny woman, Keelin leaned over to embrace her awkwardly. She could feel her thin bones beneath the cape and instantly worried for her health.
"I'm just fine, Keelin. And call me Fiona," Fiona said with a smile. "Come, come. Let me feed you." Fiona bustled over to the small stove, where a pot was simmering. "I made extra for you today." She pulled brown bread from the ledge of the window, where it had been cooling in the open air, wrapped in a checkered kitchen towel.
"I'm sorry, but I thought you were, um, well, dead," Keelin stammered out.
"I know you did. Silly child, listening to your mother. Margaret certainly should have known that I was the only one who would send you that book. Ah, she always did like to make things difficult," Fiona said as she carefully measured a creamy chowder into brown stoneware bowls. Moving to the table, she placed the bowls on brightly colored mats, and brought the bread over with a dish of butter.
"Sit, sit. It's so nice to have company." Fiona happily chattered on and asked Keelin about her flight. "You're such a beauty, as I expected. You have the O'Brien coloring and stature – that strawberry-blonde hair, the brandy-colored eyes, and that body. You'll make a man very lucky someday."
Keelin stared at Fiona with her mouth open. She'd never been described in quite that way before. Her hair and eyes often received compliments. But her size-twelve frame and generous hips and bosom were not often complimented in the land of WASPs and stick-straight blondes that populated Boston.
"Um, thank you. Really. I'm sorry. Thank you and I'm not trying to be rude, but don't you think this was all a really dramatic way to get me to come here?" Keelin didn't like being surprised and was already on edge from a long day of travel. Having her grandmother for her summer roommate had not been in her plans.
Fiona sighed. "Well, you know the Irish are prone to a bit of drama, my dear. But, yes, I sincerely thought this was the best way to bring you here. It is time, after all."
"Okay, enough with this 'it is time' stuff. Time for what?" Keelin refused to sit. She felt like she was a part of some conspiracy and everyone was in on it but her.
"Well, time for you to claim your birthright, my dear. Now. Eat. There is plenty of time for talk. You need your sleep and your rest before we start your lessons first thing in the morning," Fiona said as she blew on her soup spoon.
"Lessons? I have a thesis to write, you know," Keelin said as she sat.
"Yes, dear. You'll have time for all that. Now, tell me about your mother." Fiona looked sweet, but she could certainly evade questions with the best of them. So this was where her mother had gotten it from, Keelin thought.
"Well, I'm glad you aren't dead," Keelin said, and sat down. The bowl of soup called to her and her stomach grumbled in response. Her first bite of the thick brown bread had her taste buds humming. They just didn’t make bread like this in the States.
Fiona laughed. "Yes, me as well. Now, tell me about Boston."
Keelin filled Fiona in on her life in Boston while she devoured two bowls of soup. She was famished. After dinner, Fiona started a small fire in the wood-burning stove and showed her to a small room at the back of the house.
"It isn't much, but should suit you just fine," Fiona said as she smoothed a brightly patched coverlet over pure white Irish linen sheets. The small bed was tucked beneath an alcove that offered a large window that overlooked the cove. A window across the room looked up to the mountain ridge above. A threadbare hooked rug covered the worn floorboards and a small table with a stoneware water pitcher stood in the corner. The simplicity of the room contrasted with the striking views and made it what it should be – a room solely about the world outside.
"This is beautiful, thank you." Keelin felt a rush of knowing. This was her room.
"Aye, yes, this is yours." Fiona looked at her. She knew. She moved towards the door. "Sleep, my dear. Sleep. There is much to learn."
Keelin put her bags on the floor and watched the last traces of light hug the water before the sun dipped off the edge. It felt like she had stepped into another lifetime. She quickly stripped, used the small attached bathroom, and put on a short tank and boy shorts to sleep in. The linen sheets were cool and smooth. They enveloped her, and the exhaustion of the day caught up with her. Keelin quickly drifted into a dreamless sleep.
She woke to dead quiet and confusion. Where was she? Disorientated, Keelin shot up and fumbled for her phone. She clicked it on and her eyes adjusted in the dim light. 3:00 a.m. Her time was all messed up. As her eyes adjusted to the room, she saw the bright moonlight shining through the window. Intrigued, she rose to her knees and leaned to look out over Grace's Cove. The
stark cliffs highlighted the perfect half-circle of the cove. The ocean glowed to the horizon, reflecting the soft white light of the moon. Keelin loved nights like this. She had always dreamed of sailing in the path of the moon to lands undiscovered. Her eyes traced the light of the moon that trailed across the water and she gasped as she realized that the light stopped once it hit the cove. She stretched up and leaned forward more. That couldn't be right. It had to be a trick of the light or the angle of the house. The waters of the cove were dark. No reflection. How could that be? Keelin quietly lifted the glass window and leaned as far out as she could, her long hair tangled over her shoulders. The cove remained dark. A movement caught her eye. A dark animal raced across the field away from the cove. Was that a wolf? Did Ireland even have wolves? Keelin tried to pull herself back in quickly and caught her hair on the windowsill.
Damn it. She was always doing klutzy stuff like this. As she reached to untangle her hair, her eyes tracked the animal approaching her. With some trepidation, she worked quickly at the knot in the hair. Gasping, she glanced up as the wolf drew near and she realized a man was walking behind it. She had seen that walk before. Flynn walked with the ease of a man confident in his body…in his right to be on this land. She could swear that she saw the blue of his eyes glinting. Keelin looked down and realized the picture she made: her breasts were all but falling out of her thin tank top and she had no bra on. She looked up and his eyes seemed to bore into hers. A small hum pooled deep in her stomach. Her nipples tightened.
Furious, she ripped her hair from the sill and sat back, slamming the window. She could have sworn she heard his laughter. What was Flynn doing out on their land at 3:00 a.m.? And why was the cove dark? Keelin's science mind couldn't come up with any explanation other than that the house was situated at an odd angle. Frustrated, and sexually aware, Keelin went back to sleep with thoughts of bright-eyed men and strange dogs drifting through her head.
Chapter Eight
The smell of bacon and the growling of her stomach teased Keelin awake. What better way to wake up? Squinting, she saw that the light was mellow and the morning was young. She pulled on an old sweatshirt and her cottage socks and padded into the kitchen.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you rest well?" Fiona asked from the stove.
"Yes, Keelin, how did you sleep?" A deep male voice startled Keelin into brushing her hair out of her face. Flynn sat comfortably at the kitchen table, finishing a full Irish and drinking a pot of tea. His blue eyes glinted at her. Uncomfortable, Keelin crossed her arms in front of her chest and wished she had put on pajama pants. Her boy shorts barely covered her. She tried to surreptitiously tug her sweatshirt down while keeping her arm crossed over her chest.
Flynn watched her in amusement. She curled her upper lip at him. What was it about this man that made her want to swat at him?
"Breakfast, my dear?" Fiona smiled at her, a quiet joy radiating from her. She had a full kitchen and was happy as could be.
"Just tea, please." Keelin wasn't sure if she could bring herself to sit down to breakfast with Flynn. As if reading her mind, he smiled and got up, taking his dishes to the sink.
"Lovely as always, Fiona. Thanks for breakfast. Let me know if you need any other leaks patched up." Flynn kissed her grandmother gently and nodded to Keelin before leaving.
"Ugh, that man," Keelin huffed out, and grabbed a piece of bacon.
"Gorgeous, isn't he?" Fiona smiled and hummed as she cleaned up.
"Well, yeah, but he's kind of a jerk too."
"The best ones always are, honey."
"What's his story, anyway?" Keelin asked, trying to act casual.
"Flynn? Ahh, he has quite the story, which I imagine he will tell you in his own time. He's a local fisherman, owns the land bordering ours, and acts as an overall handyman for things that I can't handle on my own. He certainly has been a blessing to me. Surly, though. A good woman could change that." Fiona dimpled up at Keelin.
"I don't think so. That man is trouble. Who walks the lands at 3:00 a.m.? I don't trust him."
"Well, this is as much his land as it is ours. It was a lovely night for a walk last night, what with that full moon," Fiona said.
"Still. It's weird," Keelin huffed into her mug of tea.
"Why don't you get changed? I have some plans for us this morning." Fiona said enigmatically.
Keelin took her tea with her to the shower. As she combed through her long hair she couldn't help flashing back to the dreams that racked her after she had seen Flynn the night before. Sweaty skin, arms entwined, and the flames of a fire. It had all been so pagan – so earthy. It was enough to make her blush as she showered and tried to remove the images from her head. She refused to give Flynn more headspace. More importantly, it was time to grill her grandmother about the book and the mysterious dark cove.
With a nod to the sunny day, Keelin put on cargo walking shorts, a simple tank, and brought out her Wellingtons. She wanted to get a better look at the land.
"Feeling better, dear?" Fiona had changed and had her own hiking boots on as well as a faded leather satchel that she wore across her body. Soft butter-yellow gloves were tucked in her pocket along with shears.
"Yes, thank you. I want to ask you about the book that you sent me. And I have questions about the cove too."
"Yes, yes, of course. Your time for lessons must start. Come along." Fiona handed Keelin a matching bag, outfitted with gloves and sheers as well. Keelin opened the bag to find a stack of cotton bags and twine. A small notepad and pencil were tucked in a pocket. She briefly debated bringing her phone and camera but realized that they wouldn't be needed.
"Have you heard tales of healers? Wise women?" Fiona interrupted her thoughts as they left the cottage.
"Yes, I looked it up a bit after I spoke with my mother about the book. I can't decide if it is witchcraft or something different. It all seems to blend in and out and weave around."
"Perfect! That is a wonderful description. It is all woven in and out together. The universal power. There is magick, you know." Fiona peered over at Keelin.
"Yeah, I mean, I guess." Keelin was going to reserve judgment on that one.
"Well, you'll hear rumors of witchcraft, and people in town love to gossip. But they speak of things that they know nothing of. I'd love to be a witch. It sounds like it would be a lot of fun. Alas, I am not. I don’t cast spells. That doesn't mean that I am without power, my dear. Nor are you. If you are willing to truly claim your birthright, then I may teach you."
Keelin stared at Fiona as they approached a rock formation. Piles of mismatched rocks stood in a circle around a patch of dirt. The green hills rolled below them and the waters of the cove were gentle.
"I guess that I don't really know what you mean," Keelin said hesitantly.
"Don't you?" Fiona looked at her. Her small frame seemed to grow in stature as she stared into Keelin's eyes.
"I, uh, well. I've had some moments. Just things that happen. I don't really have an explanation for them. So, I just ignore it. Is that what you are talking about?" Keelin was nervous. Her skin was tingling. She could feel sweat pooling on her lower back under her tank top. She never talked about this. Keelin had built her protective walls at a young age and now she felt like she was being stripped bare.
Fiona held out her arm. She reached into her bag and grabbed her shears, quickly slashing a shallow cut across the top of her arm. Keelin gasped. "Grandma! Don't do that. Why?" Without thinking, Keelin covered the wound with her hand and applied pressure. She felt a quick sting on her own arm and knew it was fine. She removed her hand as Fiona smiled at her and looked down at her arm, now unmarked. A faint bruise had appeared on Keelin's arm in the same spot that Fiona had sliced her own.
Keelin's head was hammering. It always happened this way. She moved too fast. She didn't think. What would her grandmother think of her? People always freaked when this happened. This was one of the reasons she rarely had long relationships. Most men co
uldn't handle or understand what she was. She didn't even know what she was.
Fiona smiled at her and gently laid her hand on Keelin's bruise. The pain lessened and her headache disappeared. Keelin looked down to see that the bruise had faded away.
"You're a healer, my dear. A natural. And it's time you learned how to harness and manage your power or you will cause yourself great damage."
"A healer? For real? I thought that was all an old wives' tale." Keelin felt foolish as she said it. How could it be old wives' tales when she had just seen it with her own eyes? How long could she refuse to acknowledge what she was?
Fiona ushered her into the circle. "As you know, with any power comes responsibility. There are rules to be learned. Lessons to begin. Medicines and natural earthly remedies can enhance your healing. The universe has a great and resourceful power which you must harness. The Celtic history of healing is a rich and powerful one. We respect nature, animals, and the universal energy. Celtic healers have long believed in the power of natural remedies combined with harnessing the universal energy available to all of us. Some of us are more inclined to this gift than others." Fiona nodded at her and pulled out several small bags of herbs.
"There are, however, dark energies that can harm you. This is why you must learn simple ways to protect yourself. When learning, I ask that you work within a circle of protection. We issue our prayers here and we set our intention to use our powers for the highest purpose of helping others. We are healers. We have a responsibility to others, and to ourselves. Sometimes, with this gift comes the ability to see certain things. There will be times where you get flashes of what will come. Or you can catch a thought of someone else's. These are natural intuitive abilities that we all have – yet they are slightly tweaked for us. This is a legacy to us from Grace O'Malley."
Wild Irish Heart (The Mystic Cove Series Book 1) Page 4