The Irish Lover

by Lila Dubois

  For a moment Mary thought of the voices she’d heard coming from behind the door to the west wing, but she shook her head. “No, I don’t know.” Her lips twitched with a smile. “Maybe she was trying to warn me about you, Michael.”

  “Warn you not to let such a fine man get away.” Michael wiggled his eyebrows and Mary laughed. Then his face grew serious. “Welcome home, Mary Callahan. It seems Glenncailty has been waiting for you.”

  Mary absorbed that, taking a deep breath. She was part of this place, and it was part of her—she felt that, believed that, now more than ever. What that meant for her future she didn’t know.

  Had she really met him only two days ago? Those days had been full of emotional highs and lows, even before their encounter with the ghosts. She thought he’d been giving off signals as if he was interested in something more from her, with her, but she didn’t trust that she’d interpreted his actions correctly.

  They were silent for a moment before Mary asked the question she’d been dreading.

  “What are we doing, Michael?”

  Michael put down his cup of tea. His eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, and she could tell he was tired—same as she was. He took her hand, shifting on the couch to face her. In the early morning light his hair was a gold halo around him, his eyes a clear green. “I like you, Mary.”

  She braced herself for the brush off, prepared herself to smile and laugh and pretend it was okay.

  “I’ve never met a woman I wanted the way I want you. I’ve never been so drawn to someone as I am to you, and I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

  Warmth filled her and she exhaled, closing her eyes as relief and happiness spread through her.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admitted.

  “I didn’t want to scare you. It seems mad to tell a woman you’ve only just met that you’re falling in love with her.”

  “I feel the same about you.” Mary laced her fingers with his. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it work, but I want to be with you. You make me feel…beautiful and special.”

  “You are both those things, and more, to me.”

  Mary looked into his eyes, and it clicked. She was home. In this place, with this man, she was truly home.

  As the sun rose higher, flooding the room with light, Michael cupped her head, drawing her to him for a slow, soft kiss.

  They rested their foreheads together. “Are we really going to do this?” she asked, more scared now than she’d been when faced with the ghosts.

  “Yes. We’ll stay here tonight, and then we’ll go to Dublin. I want to show you the city, and when it’s time for you to go home I’ll take vacation and go with you. I’d like to meet your grandparents.”

  “And after that?”

  “As Yeats says, ‘Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.’”

  Her lips twitched in a smile. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that after that we’ll live, pretty Mary, we’ll live and be happy.”

  Dawn blanketed the gray stones of Glenncailty, pushing back the shadows, and the ghosts, with the clean light of day.

  ~~~~

  Epilogue

  Sorcha dropped into her desk chair. Her hands were shaking. Clenching them into fists she stared at the phone, wondering what she should do. This wasn’t the first time one of Glenncailty’s guests had seen a ghost, and after what had happened to her friend and roommate Caera, Sorcha was starting to worry that the castle wasn’t safe.

  Someone had warned her—tried to warn her—two years ago when the castle first opened, but she hadn’t listed. Now she was afraid she might have put people at risk by ignoring that warning. Elizabeth, the hotel manager, needed to know about this latest incident, as did Seamus, the owner. But before she explained her fears to them she needed to understand exactly how great the danger was. As far as she knew the ghosts had only harmed one person, but it seemed that last night Mary Callahan and Michael Baker had come close.

  There was a knock at the door. “Sorcha? We need you, I can’t find a reservation.”

  Rising from her chair, Sorcha put her best greet-the-guests smile on and followed Kristina to the front desk, making a mental note to come back to the problem of the ghosts.

  Before she did anything, she had to talk to Sean Donnovan.

  ~~~~

  More from Glenncailty Castle

  The Harp and the Fiddle, Glenncailty Castle Book One

  The Fire and the Earth, Glenncailty Castle Book Two (May, 2013)

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Harp and the Fiddle.

  ~~~~

  The Harp and the Fiddle

  by Lila Dubois

  Caera Cassidy has spent two years building the historic—and haunted—Glenncailty Castle into one of the most sought-after hotels and performance venues in Ireland. But she can’t say it’s her dream. She lost that years ago when what she thought was love led her to a dark place not even her music could reach.

  Once in a while, though, it’s safe to pretend. And that’s what she’s doing when she plays her harp on the empty stage in the castle’s theater.

  When American folk musician Tim Wilcox spots the mysterious woman at the front of the theater, he’s enraptured. Not only by her virtuoso skill and ethereal voice, but by her dark beauty—and the shadows in her blue eyes when she insists she’s no musician.

  Wary of repeating the mistakes of her past, Caera tells herself she can indulge in the pleasure of Tim’s company, his touch, without risking her heart. But she hadn’t counted on Tim’s determination to convince her she’s worthy of her gifts. Or on lingering souls who live in the castle, who are growing restless, ready to warn her that deadly mistakes are not meant to be repeated…

  ~~~~

  An excerpt from The Harp and the Fiddle

  Copyright Lila Dubois, 2012

  All rights reserved, Samhain Publishing

  Chapter One: The Fiddle Meets The Harp

  At the edge of the castle grounds, where the gardens gave way to mowed grass, but before the wild tangles of bramble that skirted the tree line, a large stone barn with a pitched roof and dovecote stood tall and proud in the afternoon sun. It was called Finn’s Stable, though no one knew or remembered why. It simply was. It had been half fallen down when Caera took on the job of special events manager at Glenncailty Castle. Two years ago, the castle had been a crumbling and dilapidated private residence. Now the castle was renovated and the outbuildings of the estate were coming to life, starting with her love, Finn’s Stable.

  Today the gravel and stone path than led to the concert and event venue was clogged with trucks from RTE, Ireland’s national broadcaster, as film and sound crews hauled equipment in through the heavy wood doors. RTE was going to film a special event in Finn’s Stable tomorrow night. Free Birds Fly was a concert with some of the best young Irish musicians in the country. They’d be performing traditional songs as well as their own original music. There were even guest musicians coming from America and Australia, both countries that owed much of their musical inheritance to their Irish immigrants.

  Between now and the doors opening tomorrow night there were plenty of details for Caera and her team to oversee, not the least of which was the layout.

  “I could change it to a smaller stage in the middle and have the audience seated all around. They’d be the background.” Caera eyed the space as she mentally set up the theater in the round.

  “I don’t want to be forever editing the tape looking for someone with fingers in their nose.” The producer from RTE looked both bored and irritated. He’d made it clear that he thought it was a waste to bring the event out to Glenncailty, rather than hosting it in Dublin.

  “What if you took down the drapes and filmed during the day? The glen is beautiful.”

  When they repaired the crumbling walls and added a new wood roof, she’d opted to replace one of the short walls with glass, offering an unrestricted view of the woods behind the stable. She wante
d a way to let in the late summer sun and allow people see the wild beauty of the unmanicured wood. Normally the windows were a prized backdrop, providing either a view of the green glen or the black of night. Finn’s Stable had become the choice for ceilidhs and parties for those not only in the local village, but in the surrounding parishes. Currently, the stage was placed in front of the windows, opposite the stable doors. It had never been a problem, and Caera had been applauded for her choice, but according to the producer, windows were a difficult backdrop. The RTE team had put hideous matte black curtains over the windows on a frame of PVC pipe. Caera had to bite her tongue as they dulled her sparkling gem of a venue.

  “Neither of us wants the headache of changing the time of the concert.” The producer for RTE, the national broadcaster, crossed his arms. Caera pressed her lips together and took a few steps to the side, resting her hand against the stone wall of the stable-turned-event space. She was working very hard to be polite to the man who hadn’t had a good word to say since he got here.

  “Maybe we can use the windows.” The producer considered the pipe and drape. “We could light the trees outside and angle the interior lights to minimize the reflection.” The producer wandered away to talk to the lighting director he’d brought.

  Caera hesitated, wanting to go with him and give her input, but knowing that to the Dubliners—Dubs—she was just a country girl and what she said wouldn’t matter. It was hard to step back and let them decide what to do. Tomorrow would be Finn’s Stable’s first time on TV. She didn’t want them painting her baby in a bad light.

  “How’s it?” Rory Mac Gabhann, Caera’s assistant director, asked. He was carrying two chairs, and behind him his younger brother, Gerard, carried a few more.

  “They’re going to take down the pipe and drape over the window, I hope.” Caera pointed to where she wanted the chairs. It seemed they’d be using the regular stage, so it was time to get the chairs in place.

  “Just as well, those black curtains look hideous.” Rory smiled, his brown eyes sparkling.

  “You’ll be quiet,” Caera said, giving him a push towards the storage area, a strange cone-shaped addition off one side of the stable that had once been a dovecote.

  “It does look stupid, Miss Cassidy.” Gerard tossed his head, the floppy waves of hair that covered his face flipping back for a second, revealing eyes as melting as his older brother’s. At fifteen, he was gangly and awkward, with none of his brother’s finesse and smooth talking. Something for which all the teenage girls in Cailtytown should be grateful.

  “Well, don’t be saying that so loud,” she admonished, tapping Gerard on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “We wouldn’t want to offend them.”

  “Offend the Dubs? Impossible. They’re so thick nothing gets through to them.” Rory carried two more chairs in.

  “Rory Mac Gabhann.” Caera looked at the television crew, who were a safe twenty feet away. “What would your mammy think to hear you talk like that?”

  “Want me to tell on him, Miss Cassidy?” Gerard said, helpfully.

  “Watch yourself, boy-o.” Little brother darted out of the way of Rory’s swat, grinning.

  “You watch, or I’ll tell Ma.”

  “Both of you, stop.” Caera crossed her arms, wishing once again that she were taller and more commanding. At five-foot-four, she was shorter than everyone, even teenage Gerard, and Rory towered over her. “Can we pretend we’re running a real event venue, and not some country tra-la-la?”

  Gerard had the grace to look sheepish, while Rory just grinned. His gaze lingered on her a second too long, his smile a fraction too intense. Caera turned away from it, as she always had.

  “Caera?”

  The wide double doors opened and Elizabeth Jefferies, manager of Glenncailty and Caera’s boss, slipped in. Cold winter wind whirled in the door along with Elizabeth, catching a few pieces of her blonde hair and making them dance.

  Caera checked the TV crew, then made her way to Elizabeth. As always, her boss carried what looked like an old, hard-backed book but was really a case hiding her tablet computer.

  “Is everything in order?” Elizabeth’s words were clipped, her English accent pronounced.

  “We’re getting on well enough.” Caera checked her watch. “We have twenty-four hours before the doors open.”

  “And ticket sales?”

  “Sold out this morning.” With ten brilliant musicians participating, selling the three hundred tickets Finn’s Stable could seat shouldn’t have been a problem—if Glenncailty was in a major city. They were in the countryside, two hours from Dublin despite the new motorway, with only small villages nearby. Cailtytown was the local village, and had a population of only five hundred. Finding three hundred people out of those five hundred who would pay the nearly €100 ticket price would be impossible. Caera had thrown a lot into local advertising and marketing, and it had paid off, with not a moment to spare.

  “I’m pleased to hear it.” Elizabeth zipped open her book-like case and started tapping on the flat screen of her tablet. “Are there any other details I can assist you with?” With her head bent over the tablet, Elizabeth seemed older than the thirty-five she was rumored to be. Caera didn’t know much about the Englishwoman, who never shared anything about herself or her life. Whatever her personal story, she was a brilliant hotel manager and had, in two short years, overseen the renovation and grand opening of Glenncailty. She was also, as far as Caera knew, the only person to ever have an actual conversation with Mr. O’Muircheartaigh, the owner.

  “Everything’s ready. Parking, signage, photography for our website and promotional materials, and accommodations for the musicians. The TV crew is handling the tech work.”

  “I spoke with Sorcha—it seems most of the musicians have arrived and are checked in.”

  Caera nodded. “Paddy Fish and the American, who Paddy is picking up, are the last two. They should be here—” Caera looked at her watch, running through the mental timetable she’d been working out for months, “—in the next hour.”

  “Brilliant job. I’m going to check with the kitchens. I want everyone to have a choice of eating in the dining room or the pub. If you see any of the performers, please apprise them of our amenities. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  Caera watched her boss heave the one-hundred-year-old wood door open, letting in another swirl of February wind. It would rain tonight. She could smell it. She turned back, tipping her head to the exposed rafters two stories above. A combination of nerves and sadness filled her—nerves that the event would go smoothly, that Finn’s Stable would show well on television. Sadness because she could almost hear the music that would fill it—the rill of fiddle, strum of guitar and the passion of voices singing of times both good and bad, lost and hoped for. Singing of the free birds that fly beyond prison walls.

  ****

  “I want to do a pre-sound check test, to make sure everything’s working. Go get one of the artists from the hotel.” The producer, who was clearly talking to his sound tech, was speaking just loud enough for Caera to hear. She was in her office, a large square room off the dovecote-turned-storage, which she shared with Rory and an odd assortment of supplies.

  Jumping from her desk, she hurried into the main building. “I have a few instruments here. I can test the sound for you.”

  Please, just for one moment, let me pretend.

  The producer and technician both looked over. “Good enough, then we don’t need to bother anyone until sound check tomorrow morning.”

  Caera hustled back into her office, grabbing an acoustic guitar. The wood was smooth and cool in her hands, the tiny ribbing of the strings familiar but almost unfelt under her heavily calloused fingertips. Pushing back the sleeves of her sweater, she followed the technician’s instructions, moving between the seats they’d set up on the stage, angling her body towards the guitar-height mics so they picked up the simple tun
es she strummed out.

  The mics were barely necessary. For a rectangular building, Finn’s Stable had excellent acoustics—she’d even had acoustic tiles strategically placed on the backsides of the rafters to stop the sound from echoing. Since they were recording the event for a TV special, they had to have the mics, but Caera always liked it best when the music was natural, filling the old stone walls with pure sound, unfiltered by electronics.

  “Everything’s working. Thanks, Caera.”

  “Happy to help.”

  “You play well. Going to audition to play backup for some of our stars?” The producer grinned at her. Caera tried to return the smile, but it felt more like she was gritting her teeth.

  “No, I play for myself.”

  “Ah, well.”

  The TV crew headed towards the door and Caera took her guitar back to her office. When she heard the door close, she carefully lifted her harp from the space of honor and carried it into the stable.

  ****

  Tim looked up from where he knelt behind the last row of chairs, his fiddle case open on the floor in front of him. A dark-haired woman emerged from a side entrance, carrying a harp. He rose, prepared to offer his help, but she carried it easily, curled arms cupping the sides as she walked sideways. She set it on the stage and took a seat. Now it was slightly taller than her, but not nearly as tall as the massive orchestral harps. Interested, he moved up the aisle that bisected the audience chairs, focused on the shape of the harp and the intricate roses carved into the base.

  The first note hummed, vibrating with a purity of sound only the harp could produce. Then she sighed, a soft thing of pleasure.

  For the first time, Tim focused on the woman who played.