The Crow of Connemara

by Stephen Leigh

  “You know it? I was hoping to, but I’m afraid it’s a little rich for my blood,” he said. He glanced at Mr. Mullins, who was not looking at him but scowling at Maeve. “Thanks for letting me see this,” he told the man. “I appreciate the effort to find it and you’ve given me a fair price, I know, but I just can’t afford it.”

  “How much?” Maeve asked Mr. Mullins. She was still smiling, as if she hadn’t noticed the proprietor’s reaction to her. Colin started to answer, but Mr. Mullins jumped in before he could speak.

  “If the lady’s interested in the book, the price is €300.” He looked at Colin then, and his voice had gone distant. Behind his glasses, his magnified eyes were pale blue, the white laced with pale red lines. “Which would be the same price I’d be charging yeh, Mr. Doyle. I misspoke a moment ago. I forgot for a moment just how much m’friend was charging me.”

  “I’ll take it,” Maeve said. “Yeh’ll accept a cheque?”

  Mr. Mullins’ eyes had widened behind the spectacles. His fingers tapped the leather cover of the book on the counter. “A cheque? I don’t know that I . . .”

  “How much do yeh have on yeh in cash?” Maeve asked Colin before the man could finish, wheeling around to face him.

  Startled, Colin patted the wallet in his back pocket as if he could tell from the touch. “Umm, maybe €75, or a little less.”

  “That’ll do. Get it out.”

  “Maeve—” he started to protest.

  “Get it out,” she repeated, “before Mr. Mullins here tells us that he’s forgotten that he had to pay shipping and the price is actually €350.”

  The proprietor flushed red with that and started to open his mouth. Maeve raised a hand. “Don’t yeh dare say anything,” she said. “Yer selling us that book.” She reached into an inside pocket of her cloak, producing a small wallet from which she extracted a sheaf of bills. She took the money that Colin had pulled from his wallet, and counted out the currency. “€275,” she said as she laid a final note on the pile, holding it down with a forefinger. She stared at Mr. Mullins. “And yeh’ll take that, since ’tis more than the €250 yeh were asking from Colin just a minute ago. Yeh won’t mind, either. ’Tis a lovely bookstore yeh have here, but books be fragile things. Why, water or fire . . .” She shook her head. “I’d hate for yer precious stock to be damaged, Mr. Mullins, an’ there be so many ways that can happen.”

  Maeve lifted her finger. Colin glanced from her, smiling darkly, to Mr. Mullins, who stared back at Maeve, owl-eyed behind his glasses. Colin thought for a moment that the man might speak, but he only grabbed the money and scuttled away, disappearing into the back room of the store. “There,” Maeve said. “’Tis yer book now. Take it, and we’ll go.”

  “You threatened him, Maeve.”

  Maeve shook her head. “I di’nah,” she answered. “I only told him what a lovely establishment he has, ’tis all. If he heard a threat in that compliment, then ’tis on his own head.”

  Colin glanced back toward where Mr. Mullins had disappeared. He thought he could hear paper rustling. “Umm, thanks,” he said. “I’ll consider what you paid as a loan to me. I won’t be able to do it all at once or even that soon, but I’ll pay you back.”

  “Aye, yeh will,” she answered.

  Outside the shop, the sky was still dark and threatening, clouds as gray as slate stretching from horizon to horizon, and Colin tucked the book carefully into the pouch of his gig bag, looking at the sky. The gig bag was now heavy on his back. “I’d better get this to Mrs. Egan’s before it rains,” he said to Maeve. “Like you told Mr. Mullins, books are fragile things—and so are guitars.”

  Maeve laughed at that. They were walking along the main street of Ballemór, with Maeve’s arm linked in his. Colin thought he could feel the townsfolk occasionally staring at the two of them. Whispers trailed after them like wisps of fog. “It won’t rain for a few hours yet,” she told him. “Would yeh be interested in a short stroll out along the Head? I feel like walking.”

  “Ah, so now you can predict the weather?”

  “I can,” she told him. There seemed to be no irony in her voice at all.

  “If it rains and ruins the book, I’m not going to pay you back that money I owe you.”

  He could feel her shrug on his arm. “’Tis just paper,” she said. “It’s not paper that I want from yeh, Colin Doyle.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Does it now?” She pulled him closer, leaning into him as they walked. He could feel the warmth of her body along his side. “So are yeh as frightened of me as poor Mr. Mullins?”

  “I don’t think frightened is quite the right word.”

  “An’ what would that right word be?” she asked.

  It was his turn to shrug. “I guess I’m more curious. Or maybe ‘intrigued’ would be a better word.” One of the villagers—an older man that Colin remembered seeing in Regan’s several nights—had stopped on the sidewalk across the street from them in front of the grocer, his head turning as he watched them. Colin nodded toward him, and the man seemed to snort and walked into the grocer’s. “The way the people here seem to regard you Oileánach; the way you hold yourselves apart . . . I don’t understand it, and nobody seems to be able to explain it very well for me.”

  Maeve’s fingers stroked the stone on her necklace, and Colin found himself wanting to mention his grandfather’s journal, and how he had come across a strange young woman once who had captured his heart, but some caution held him back, and how there was a stone very like hers in his pocket now. But that tale hadn’t ended well. Instead, he put his hand in the pocket with grandfather Rory’s crystal, cupping it in his palm.

  “’Tis very simple,” Maeve told him. “People are always afraid of what they don’t understand, and we Oileánach are different. If anything bad happens, we’re the ones who are blamed for it, whether we’re actually responsible or not. ’Tis a common thing. From what I’ve heard of the States, you should’nah have any trouble understanding that.”

  They were walking along the Beach Road, with the steep, green slopes of the Head looming to their right and the sea inlet to the left. There were seals on the rocks ahead of them again; they slid quietly into the water as they approached. “Your boat’s moored here?” Colin asked.

  “Up ahead a bit.”

  “What were you in town for? It doesn’t look like you’ve been shop—” Colin stopped, suddenly guilty. “I hope that you paying for the book didn’t mean that you couldn’t get whatever you came to town for. If that’s the case, then let’s take the book back to Mr. Mullins . . .”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “No worries,” she told him. “Some of the others are doing the shopping for the island. Not me. I found what I came for.”

  “You did?”

  “Did.”

  He didn’t want to ask the question, but it seemed to slip from his mouth before he could stop it. “And what was that?”

  “A linen stole,” she said, and Colin had to fight to keep the disappointment from showing in his face. “It had such lovely embroidery and needlework. I saw it in a window the last time in and I decided I had to have it. I gave the stole to Keara to take back to the boat for me.” She paused; they continued to walk along, the hush of small waves lapping at the rocks the loudest sound. “I was hoping to see yeh also,” she said. “Does that help?”

  She was smiling at him, and he had no idea how to answer that. “You showed up at just the right time,” he told her.

  “It’s a gift I have,” she answered.

  “Like twisting someone’s ankle?”

  She grinned. “Think of what I could do to yer guitar playing if yeh get on me bad side.”

  He laughed at that. Out in the water, the seals answered. “I guess I’d better stay in your good graces, then.” He glanced up at the sky again. The clouds had gotten darker a
nd lower, and the wind was picking up. “Listen, how about we head back to Regan’s and I buy you that pint I owe? We can talk there without worrying about getting wet.”

  She released his arm as she shook her head. “Not right now,” she told him. “I’m going to head on to the boat, and yeh should get back to your place. Yeh have about twenty minutes before the rain, so yeh can just about make it.”

  “If you can be that precise, you really missed your calling.”

  She laughed again, and again he was struck by her amusement, which was so free and enchanting. It made him want to laugh with her, to pull her into an embrace, and . . .

  ...And he was in her embrace. She kissed him hard, her mouth opening under his. When she pulled away again, she kept her arms around him, speaking into his ear. “When do yeh play at Regan’s again?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  She kissed the side of his neck. “I’ll be there. Promise. And yeh can buy me that pint then.”

  With that, she released him, squeezing his hands with her own before striding off down the Beach Road. She waved to him without looking back, her hair lifting in the breeze. “Tomorrow, then!” he called after her, and she waved again. He watched her until she vanished around a curve in the road. The seals out in the water had disappeared with her.

  Colin hefted the gig bag on his shoulders, and started back the other way toward Ballemór and Mrs. Egan’s.

  The first drops of rain began to fall just as he opened the door to her house.

  17

  At Regan’s

  HE WONDERED WHETHER MAEVE had forgotten her promise. When Lucas led the band onto the stage to start the first set, Maeve hadn’t yet arrived at Regan’s.

  Colin went through the first few songs feeling significantly disappointed and out of sorts. He played and sang desultorily, doing what he had to do but forcing the smile he gave Lucas and his fellow bandmates and mostly keeping his head down. The crowds had been growing steadily during his stint with Lucas’ group, and it was obvious his performance was off—their applause was thin, and people seemed more interested in drinking than in listening. The rest of the band noticed, too; the group was loose and the rapport they’d established over the last few weeks was missing.

  During the third song, he saw Maeve, Niall, Keara, and Aiden enter the pub and slide into one of the booths near the door. Maeve waved to Colin; she was wearing a long, loose skirt over a pair of high boots, a peasant-type white blouse, and her blood-red cloak around her shoulders, though she was taking that off as he watched. He nodded back to her, smiling. Lucas had seen the wave as well; his glance at Colin seemed tinged with either irritation or disappointment, or perhaps both, but Colin could feel the energy return to him, and when he ended the next song, a ballad that showcased his range and ended on a long high note, the audience broke into loud applause and whistling approval.

  When Lucas finally announced their break, Colin put the Gibson on its stand as Lucas laid his fiddle in its case and the pub’s jukebox kicked on in mid-song, drowning out the conversations around the tables and booths. Bridget and John were already stepping down from the stage and heading to friends’ tables. “I t’ought that you knew to be careful with the Oileánach,” Lucas said, grabbing at Colin’s arm as he passed, hard enough to turn him.

  “C’mon, Lucas,” Colin said. He blinked at Lucas through his glasses. “They’re no worse than anyone else. And that Maeve, you have to admit she’s attractive . . .”

  Lucas was shaking his head. “I swear to yeh, Colin, the woman’s a literal witch—a damned fine-looking one who looks like she’d be lovely to shag, I’ll admit, but still a witch. She’s hexed yeh, boyo.”

  Colin had to suppress a surge of irritation at Lucas’ assessment. He glanced down at Lucas’ hand on his arm, but the man didn’t let go. “You can’t believe that.”

  “Oh, I can,” Lucas answered. “And so can lots of others around here. I tell yeh, the lot of ’em are no good and dangerous besides.” Colin was still shaking his head, and Lucas released his arm with a gesture of disgust. “I like yeh, Colin. Yer a good person, a damn fine musician and singer, and I know yer the reason most of the seats out there are filled. Yer the best addition to the group we coulda made, and that’s why I’m saying this to yeh now. Be careful with those yeh hang about, and keep yer head alert. Both heads, if yeh take me drift. Yer not the first person that one’s hexed.”

  “Oh?” Colin felt his eyes widen slightly with that. “Who else? Was it you?”

  But Lucas only shook his head. “Yeh’d best be very careful, ’tis all,” he repeated. With that, he waved at someone out in the crowd and left the stage. Colin stepped down himself and gestured toward Maeve, but went first to the bar and ordered two Guinnesses. When the bartender slid the pints over to him, he made his way toward Maeve’s booth. She was sitting next to Niall, with Keara and Aiden on the other side. Colin noticed that Keara’s and Aiden’s hands were intertwined on the table between their pints—they were a couple, then. Niall also had a pint cradled in his hands. Significantly, Maeve did not; Colin set down one of the pints in his hand in front of her. She grinned.

  “Yeh remembered. That’s sweet.” She slid over in the booth to make room for him. His leg, jean-clad, pressed against hers as he sat, though he knew that he was also moving Maeve closer to Niall.

  “I always pay my debts,” he told her.

  Niall snickered at that, as if the comment fulfilled some private joke for him. Colin glanced over to him. “That’s funny?” he asked.

  “’Tis when yeh don’t know what yeh are being asked to pay,” Niall retorted.

  “Shut it, Niall,” Maeve snapped suddenly. “Next time, yeh can stay back on Inishcorr. I can take care of meself.” Colin watched the two glare at each other, then Niall looked away with a huff and took a long swallow of his stout. Aiden and Keara glanced at each and began talking as if nothing had happened, discussing a broken line on their boat that they felt needed to be replaced.

  “’Tis a little crowded here.” Maeve leaned against Colin. Her voice was very soft against the roar of the jukebox. “Why don’t we step away for a few minutes for a little privacy?”

  “Sounds good,” Colin told her. He picked up his pint and slid from the booth; Maeve did the same. As he paused, she walked away from the booth toward the bar area, the skirt billowing out from the fury of her walk. He followed her. He could feel Niall’s gaze on his back, as well as that of some of the other patrons. They found a corner of the bar that wasn’t too crowded, and Maeve leaned against the wall with her pint. Colin could see her glaring over his shoulder toward the booth where the Oileánach were sitting. “You’re not responsible for him,” he said.

  “Ah, but I am,” she half-muttered, then she seemed to shake herself and managed a wan smile at him. “So—is that book yeh bought everything yeh hoped it would be?”

  “And more,” he told her. “I mean, I have one of the reproductions of the book, and so I knew what was in it, but having this old edition and seeing how some of the pages are creased down, like the person who had it before me was marking their favorite songs, well, it makes me see the whole thing in a different light, and I’m finding myself going back over the tunes in there and somehow playing them differently. Better. It’s almost like hearing them again the first time. I suppose the age of the thing is what makes it more attractive to me.”

  “’Tis a good thing, that,” she said. “’Tis one of the problems in the world—no one giving proper attention to the old things. They want to discard them, like they mean nothing, like they were never there before all the rest. Like they’re either dead or aren’t important anymore, an’ neither of those is true.”

  There was more heat in her voice than Colin expected. He found his eyes widening. “Okay, then,” he said. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  She reached out with her free hand for his, her
fingers curling into his palm, warm and soft. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . .” She shook her head, her long, dark hair swaying. “I’m happy to see yeh again. So I’m not going to let anything else bother me. How late yeh playing?”

  “Till eleven. Then there may be an open session after closing if other musicians show up.” He watched her nod slowly at that. “I wouldn’t necessarily have to stay for that,” he finished.

  “But yeh’d want to.” She pressed the hand she was holding. “’Tis fine. I understand. Kayla, Aiden, and Niall will be going back to Inishcorr before then. I thought maybe I might take one of the rooms above Regan’s here for the night instead.” She tilted her head, staring at him. Her emerald eyes held him captive. “Sound good?” she asked. “If the session doesn’t go too late and yer not too fluthered after.” Her smile seemed to harden. “An’ if yer not taking all the warnings about the terrible Oileánach too literally. I saw that Lucas talking’ to yeh and looking our way.”

  A small coal seemed to burn low inside him. He pushed his glasses back. He could feel his stomach tightening with a strange pressure—the same feeling he sometimes had when he was auditioning in front of someone, a volatile combination of eagerness and uncertainty. “Are you telling me you don’t eat your dead and steal children away in the middle of the night for horrible purposes?”

  “Och, we do, but only if absolutely necessary,” she answered. She tugged him closer, rising up on her toes to kiss him, a fleeting but promising touch of lips. She stayed pressed against him, their entwined hands placed on the rise of her hip. Then her hands left his, she leaned back against the wall again, and took a sip of the Guinness. She nodded toward the stage. “Looks like Lucas is about ready to start up again.”

  Lucas had opened his fiddle case, tucked the instrument under his chin, and was beginning to tune up. “Guess so,” Colin said. “Let’s talk some more after the set.”

  “Good,” she said. She lifted her glass and tapped the rim against his. “I’ll have another pint waiting for yeh.”