I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1)

by J. A. Ironside

  A pretty little beck chattered over smooth stones. The air was heather-sweet and warm. As we sat on the bank talking, I was tempted to take my shoes off and dangle my feet in the water. It would be freezing though, however tempting it looked. And it had taken me nearly ten minutes to lace my shoes with my arm in a sling. I let my eyes close. The sun painted warm fingers over my eyelids. Ciarán took hold of my good hand again. I smiled. If only moments like this lasted.

  "Emlynn, I want to ask you a question but I don't want to offend you."

  I shrugged. "Ah-ask away. D-don't promise to answer th-though." I opened one eye and peered at him. He chuckled.

  "It's about yer mam. You said she drove off the edge of a drop. You also said she sped up…"

  "Yuh yes." I knew where this was going. But it was okay.

  "Did she drive off the edge deliberate like? I mean was she…" He sounded uncomfortable.

  "Tr-trying to k-kill herself?" I looked into his gold-flecked eyes. "Yes. Sh-she was." I said it and the world didn't end. It was going to be alright.

  "With you and little Amy in the car?"

  "Sh-she intended f-for all of us to d-die, I think." My voice was carefully neutral. There was an underlying prickle of annoyance though. I'd had a chance to ask Mum why, and I'd forgotten. It hadn't seemed as important as the other things she’d shown me.

  I was ready to defend my mum or attack her depending on what Ciarán said next. I felt a tightening knot of contrariness in my chest. Whatever Ciarán did was going to be wrong. Proving that I was right. No one was on your side.

  "Was she sick?" His words undid the knot completely.

  "I d-don't think so." Then I realized what he meant by sick. "Y-you mean w-was she muh mental? No! Of course n-not!" I was too upset by the idea to be angry with him.

  "No, not mental. Depressed like. Or something… I dunno… affecting her brain. I can't see why she'd try to take you girls with her unless something wasn't working right, can you?" Ciarán was braced against my reaction though he hadn't let go of my hand.

  It had never occurred to me that Mum might be ill in some way. The scent of rosemary and violets came back to me, laced with the coppery tang of blood. The nightmare I'd had about the accident in hospital flitted into my mind. What if Mum had been trying to tell me why? Maybe she could only get through to me when I slept. She'd said I'd shut her out. And there'd been other dreams after all, good and bad.

  "Sh-she said something." I blurted. "When I was a-asleep in huh hospital."

  "What did she say?" At least Ciarán didn't question my sanity.

  "That's just it. It d-didn't make suh sense. I couldn’t really h-hear her. Just suh-see the shapes her lips made." Haltingly I told him about the dream and the moment Mum turned her head on its broken neck. "And she suh said something like ‘aahhh… oorrrr… ffff... errrr.' That’s what it looked like. Maybe it was just a dr-dream." I concluded glumly.

  Ciarán gently squeezed my hand. "But you don't believe that?"

  I shook my head. No I didn't. I felt that Mum was trying to talk to me. Maybe I just wanted there to be one member of the Dead who wasn't scheming to make me to join them.

  "Aahhh… oorrrr ffff… errrr." Ciarán tried out the sounds. "Not very informative is it? Ahhh… ask? Orrrr…no idea on that one. Ffff… Errr? Feather? No, that’s daft. Wait. Unless… Assk...yourrr…Fuhahh…errr. Ask your father!" He grinned, pleased with himself. "That sounds like the sort of thing a mam would say."

  "Ask your f-father? Ask Dad what? Dad b-b-barely talks to us at all. I th-think he's spoken to me three t-t-times in the last week." A thread of bitterness wove through my tone.

  "Ask him why. Why she would do what she did. You need to make him talk to you, Emlynn." Ciarán's voice was still kind but it was clear that he thought I should have been trying harder. I hunched my shoulders defensively.

  "Dad d-doesn't nuh know it w-wasn't an accident." My voice was barely audible.

  "Aw now, Em, that's not right. He should know how his wife died. Why didn't you tell him?" He frowned.

  "Because h-he was so ruh wrapped up in ch-church stuff. If he nuh knew it w-was a suh suh…" I ducked my head in defeat.

  "You think if he knew she killed herself that would change things? How he felt about her?" Ciarán's hazel eyes were level and more serious than I'd ever seen them.

  I nodded.

  "I won't say that I know your Da better than you, but I want you to chew over this. You said they were talking about divorce? That sort of thing doesn't go over well with those priest colleges, does it? I don't know what made your Da go down that road but he must be feeling powerful guilty now." Ciarán's hand was warm and steady on mine. There was no judgment in his eyes.

  "Guh guilty?" What was he talking about?

  "Think about it. He wants something and she wanted out. But that would have interfered with him getting what he wanted. Then all of a sudden, she dies. Like he ill-wished her or something. Doesn't sound like they ever stopped loving each other. More that they couldn't find each other anymore." His eyes were far away now. Looking at a past I couldn't see.

  Was Ciarán right? We'd never been a religious family before Dad came back from Iraq. It had been a huge culture shock when he'd announced his intention to become a priest. We were all resentful at being expected to fall in line. I'd never once, over the last few months, considered what Dad must feel after losing his wife. That maybe shutting himself away and devoting himself to work in the community didn't come from dislike of us. Dislike of me. But was a sort of penance.

  Maybe Dad felt it was his fault, like I'd felt it was mine. In a flash I knew. Ask your father. Maybe Mum had been sick. Maybe she had told Dad or it had come out later after the post-mortem. And he had kept it from us, just as Amy and I had kept what had happened from him. There were too many secrets here. One thing I knew from spending time in Helen’s head, was that secrets went bad and rotted until they poisoned everything. I'd talk to Amy first, but it was time to come clean.

  Feeling better that I had a least one mystery, if not solved, at least on the right track I turned eagerly to Ciarán. His hand had gone limp in mine. He was staring far away across the moor. Thinking of Grace?

  "Kuh Ciarán?" I squeezed his hand lightly.

  "Hmm? Sorry miles away." He smiled sadly.

  "Do you muh miss home?"

  "Where's home? Ireland you mean? Aye sometimes. I'm not sure I'd really call Galway home though. Too many bad memories. I could get used to Yorkshire. It draws the prettiest lasses up this way." His was back to teasing and flirting then.

  I wasn't having it. He was supposed to be Grace's dinner guest tomorrow. Or Kate's. Oh, this was so confusing.

  "So why did you say you wuh wanted to meet Dad?" I felt one eyebrow arching sceptically.

  "Well, he seems like the sorta gent who'd appreciate that sorta thing if a lad wanted to get to know one of his daughters."

  "Oh." I felt winded. I'd expected him to deny it. "Suh so you d-do like Grace then?" My voice was too high and tight to sound casual.

  "I do. She's a nice enough lass." Ciarán gave me a look that was amused and exasperated at the same time. "Of course she's not the vicar's daughter I was hoping to get to know." He said this slowly and clearly to ensure I get the point.

  Heat flooded my face. "But why did you say yuh yes to Grace's d-dinner invite then?"

  "Were you planning to invite me yourself?" He was laughing properly now. "You're a devilish hard woman to get hold of, Em. I thought I'd be better off sneaking in through the back door, like."

  "Oh." I didn't know where to look. My cheeks were on fire. His fingers were gentle under my chin as he raised my face to meet my gaze. The gold flecks in his eyes collected light and threw it back. There was a question in them. Whatever he saw in my face must have been enough of an answer.

  He leaned in and pressed his warm lips against mine.

  His large hands cradled my face with a gentleness that belied their strength. H
is thumbs traced along my cheekbones drawing heat after them. I was flushing wildly and I didn’t care. I leaned into the kiss—no—I fell into the kiss. My good hand trailed up Ciarán’s strong, hard body until I felt his heartbeat thrumming under my palm. He gave a muffled groan and I gasped, my mouth opening under his.

  My lips moved in new ways, forming unknown shapes in a dance with his. His tongue darted along my lower lip and then his hands fell to my hips and he pulled me into him. After all the shadows and cold, I was filled with liquid light. I was flying and falling but it was impossible to be scared because Ciarán was holding me. And the only thing in the world that mattered was his mouth against mine.