Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

The whispering stopped and only she and Caisleán Dubh remained.

  "It feels like... home." Her breath came on a sob and she bit her lower lip as her hands rubbed against the stones. She'd never experienced anything like this, but she knew in her heart that this was right.

  Desperately, she wanted to go inside, but even in her state of discovery, common sense reminded her that it might not be safe to enter the centuries old castle. But it could be made safe. The structure seemed sound from the outside. Was it possible to enter and even to live in the castle again?

  What about the curse?

  She forced open her eyes to the deepening twilight, anchoring herself in reality. Deeply, she breathed in the salty scent of the ocean below the cliff. "I don't believe in curses." Besides, the castle felt good to her—not evil. She was welcome here. It wouldn't harm her. It wanted her here. "Crazy."

  But undeniable.

  With great effort, she pulled herself away, staggering as she moved back far enough to gaze up at the tower again. The beauty of the waning sunlight shimmering against the stones brought tears to her eyes. Before, she'd only thought of it as a terrifying structure. But now...

  She couldn't define how she felt, but she knew she had to do something with Caisleán Dubh. Maybe she could open some kind of business in it. But what? Something. She would talk to the Mulligans about restoring and using it.

  Excitement made her walk in circles before the doors. She envisioned a parking lot on the level area over there. Near the entrance she would plant flowers and hang baskets of more flowers overhead. She would make it a welcoming place. A friendly place.

  "Food." She froze as butterflies fluttered through her veins. "A restaurant. A bed and breakfast?" Hadn't she read something about castles that had been converted to bed and breakfasts?

  "Oh, Lord, that's it." She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning the place. "Mulligan Stew." After all, her relationship with the Mulligans had been quite a stew. A smile spread across her face as she opened her eyes again to look at the castle. Her castle. No, not quite, but part Jacob's. Hadn't Mr. Larabee said as much?

  She would work hard and make the castle into something her son would be proud of... and he would be proud of her, too. His momma. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

  One thing at a time. She needed to broach the subject with Fiona and Riley—that wouldn't be easy—then get someone out here to inspect the place. A restaurant first, then, maybe, a bed and breakfast later. Assuming the Mulligans agreed to her proposal...

  "Mulligan Stew." She hugged herself as a cool breeze wafted in from the sea and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. "Won't folks be surprised to find Tennessee cooking right here in County Clare?" The idea felt so right.

  What could go wrong?

  * * *

  Riley lifted Jacob from Oíche's back and set the lad on the ground. "Well, now you've had your first horseback ride."

  "Let's do it again." Jacob's cheeks glowed and his smile was huge in the waning twilight.

  "Too dark, but now that you and Oíche have made friends, we'll be sure to do it again." Riley saw disappointment spread across his nephew's face. "Come full summer, the daylight will be much longer, lad."

  Jacob's grin returned. "Then we can ride longer?"

  "Aye, sometimes." Riley showed Jacob how to rub Oíche's sleek black coat with a rough cloth, then he turned the horse into his stall with an extra ration. "Buíochas, Oíche."

  "What's that mean?" Jacob asked.

  "It means thank you, Midnight."

  "Oh." Jacob reached into the stall and stroked the horse's muzzle. "He likes me."

  "Aye." Worry oozed through Riley. "But he's still a horse, and you must promise never to ride him without me—at least, until you're older."

  "Oh." Jacob's face fell.

  "Ah, so you were thinking of it." Riley drew a deep breath, trying to get his mind around these new, protective feelings he had for Culley's son. "Your da was my brother, Jacob. Wouldn't he want me to look after his son?"

  "Momma looks after me." The lad's eyes were filled with innocence. "She's the best momma in the whole world."

  Riley bit the inside of his cheek, vowing never to share his opinion of Bridget with her son. That would be wrong. Besides, he still hadn't completely defined his opinion of her. A more perplexing creature had never walked this earth.

  "Jacob, would there be anything wrong with having an uncle look after you, too?" He kept his tone and expression light, though his heart and mind were at odds. "If your da were still alive, he'd be looking out for you, so I'm the logical person to fill in for him."

  Jacob chewed his lower lip and squinted his eyes. "Yep, I reckon."

  "Well, then." Riley draped an arm across his nephew's shoulders. "It's all settled then, and you won't be visiting Oíche alone."

  "All right," Jacob said on a sigh that was bigger than him.

  "We'd best get back to the house before the women come looking for us." Riley walked beside Jacob, still pondering the enormity of his responsibility to the lad.

  His brother's son. Culley's flesh and blood.

  He had to do right by the lad. His step faltered as another thought gnawed away at him. By accepting Jacob, would he have to accept Bridget as well? Couldn't he have his nephew any other way? Then again, if Bridget hadn't lured Culley to her bed, there would be no Jacob. In a way, Culley lived on through his son. The thought comforted Riley even as all the implications of it tormented him.

  He would have to find a way to do his duty without letting down his guard where Bridget was concerned. Sullying the lad's opinion of his mum was too drastic. Didn't Riley know how important his own mum was to him? No, he couldn't do that to Jacob, but he couldn't allow Bridget to reap any undeserved rewards either.

  He wiped his boots at the door and Jacob imitated his action. A smile curved his lips. It was heartwarming and disconcerting at the same time, as Riley had never been anyone's role model before. He hung up his jumper and cap. Jacob hung up his sweatshirt and cap. Riley washed his hands and Jacob did as well.

  "Well, then, shall we see if there are any milk and biscuits for a bedtime snack?"

  "Cookies," Jacob said with a grin.

  "Cookies, is it?" Chuckling, Riley pulled down the tin of biscuits and poured two glasses of milk. He and Jacob sat across from each other, eating in companionable silence. Men didn't need to chatter constantly as women did. This felt right.

  Riley's throat clogged with a flood of emotions and he saw his brother's face in the lad's. Aye, this was right.

  The door between the kitchen and parlor swung open and Bridget said, "There you are."

  "I told you he'd be fine," Maggie said, following her into the room.

  "Aye." Riley winked at Jacob. "Our peace and quiet is over now, lad."

  Jacob grinned. "Yep."

  "Finish your milk and cookies, then it's bedtime for you, young man." Bridget stood behind her son and rested her hand on his shoulder. Her gaze met and held Riley's. "Thank you for returning my son to me safely."

  Was it Riley's imagination, or had the woman emphasized "my son?" Curious, he simply nodded and drained his glass of milk. "I've a bit of reading to do, Jacob. I'll see you at breakfast."

  As he rose, Riley felt Bridget's gaze on him. He couldn't read the woman. One minute she seemed grateful, the next minute her eyes were filled with suspicion or accusation. "Good night," he said, determined to put some distance between them.

  "'Night, Uncle Riley." Jacob rose and ran around the table, throwing himself against Riley as he embraced his legs.

  Stunned by the lad's display of emotion, Riley hesitated a moment, then reached down and pulled Jacob closer, patting him on the back as he remembered his own da doing to him. "Sleep well, lad."

  When he met Bridget's gaze again, he shook his head. Aye, suspicion was what he read in her green eyes. But why? Perhaps she feared he had learned her secret. If only that were true. In truth, she conf
used him more with each passing day.

  "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, then went up the stairs with her son.

  "Bridget wants to talk to us all," Maggie explained. She reached out and touched Riley's forearm. "It's glad I am to see you and Jacob together."

  "Aye." Riley cleared his throat. "What would she be wanting to talk to us about?" Maybe she was going back to the States. Wasn't that what Riley had wanted? Aye, but the last thing he wanted now was to lose Jacob. He wanted time to know his brother's son.

  "She said she has to tell us all together." Maggie grabbed a biscuit from the tin and took a bite.

  "And you've no idea what it's about? I've work to do."

  "You can spare your sister-in-law a few minutes." Maggie lifted her chin in a challenging pose.

  "Just because I've accepted the lad as a Mulligan doesn't mean—"

  "Thanks for waiting," Bridget said as she emerged from the stairway. "Jacob fell asleep practically before his head hit the pillow."

  "Fresh air and exercise will do that to a lad." Riley suppressed a yawn. And to a man.

  "I need to talk to y'all together," Bridget continued, leading them into the parlor, where Mum sat in her rocker with her foot propped. She took a sip of cherry juice, and set her glass aside.

  "Did the lad enjoy his ride?" Mum asked, her eyes warm and her smile sweet.

  "Aye, that he did." Riley bent to kiss his mum's soft cheek, and asked, "How's your foot feeling?"

  "Much better, thank you." She wiggled her toes, wincing only slightly. "By tomorrow I'm hopin' to be up and about as usual."

  "I hope you're right." Riley pulled the chair from under his da's old writing desk and straddled it, facing the women. The feeling that Bridget was up to something wouldn't leave him be.

  "I'm not sure where to start." Bridget paced nervously, wringing her hands in front of her.

  Ah, was the woman about to confess her sins? Riley narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to reveal herself.

  They all sat quietly. Waiting.

  "I... went down to visit the castle earlier."

  "Aye, and almost fell, as I recall," Riley said, trying to remember how close he'd come to kissing her then.

  "Not that time." Bridget's cheeks turned fiery red and she looked away from him. "I... I went again this eve—"

  "You did what?" Riley shot out of his chair, clenching his fists at his sides.

  "Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph." Mum pressed her hands to her chest and looked upward. "Tell me you didn't go inside, lass."

  "N... no." Bridget looked anxiously at Mum and Maggie, but still avoided Riley's gaze. "But I wanted to."

  "Bridget, it's not safe," Maggie said, slumping back in her chair. "The curse."

  Bridget lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "I don't believe in curses."

  "We do." Riley kept his voice calm, though he felt more like roaring. "I told you and Jacob that Caisleán Dubh is forbidden."

  She met his gaze now, her eyes glittering like emerald shards. "You told us a lot of things."

  Was she about to remind him how boorish he'd been to Jacob at first? Didn't he regret that enough without her throwing it back at him?

  "Caisleán Dubh is dangerous," Mum said, her voice quivering slightly. "So much misery..."

  "Aye, Bridget, you haven't heard the half of it," Maggie said. "Deaths, tragedies—one after another."

  "Until the Mulligans moved from the castle and into this cottage."

  "I understand," Bridget said, "but I don't think we should let the curse keep us from using the castle."

  "Using?" Riley shook his head. "You're talking nonsense."

  "What would you use that dusty old castle for, lass?" Mum asked in her calm, patient way.

  Bridget hesitated, her gaze darting to each of them, then back. "Fiona, I need to work. To make money."

  "You're family," Mum argued.

  Riley's gut went topsy-turvy and he retrieved the roll of antacids from his pocket, popping two into his mouth. Bridget would fall from grace with his mum now, if she kept talking this nonsense.

  "I still need to make money," Bridget continued. "What I do best is cook."

  "What does cooking have to do with Caisleán Dubh?" Maggie asked, lifting a shoulder. "I'm lost."

  "And you wouldn't be alone there, Maggie," Riley muttered, rolling his eyes.

  "Like I said..." Bridget sighed and cleared her throat. "I went down there and introduced myself to the castle. Granny always told me to face what scared me and give it heck. So I did."

  Riley shook his head, barely resisting the urge to laugh at the woman's insanity. "You're off your nut."

  "Riley, there's no call for meanness." Mum smiled at Bridget. "Go on, lass. We're listenin'."

  Again, he'd been made the villain when Bridget was their enemy. Not him. Riley gritted his teeth and vowed himself to silence. Let the woman spout nonsense. She would soon regret her words, and perhaps she'd simplify things for him all the way around.

  The thought had merit.

  "Would y'all mind if we had somebody out to take a look inside the castle?" she asked, wringing her hands and pacing. "I mean, to see if it can be fixed up."

  "'Fixed up?'" Mum echoed.

  "Restored," Bridget corrected. "I thought we could start with a small section—something big enough for a kitchen and a dining room."

  Riley had to bite his tongue to keep himself quiet. Jaysus, but she was mad.

  "Why would you want a kitchen in that old castle, Bridget?" Mum asked. "Isn't the kitchen here big enough?"

  "For a restaurant." Bridget's eyes glowed with excitement and she perched on the footstool beside Mum's injured foot and reached for the older woman's hands with both her own. "We could put a parking lot right in front by the front, and plant flowers everywhere. Folks would come just to see the mysterious Caisleán Dubh, but also to eat genuine down-home cuisine. Comfort food. Mine."

  Now Riley did laugh. The chuckle was so determined to escape, no amount of self-chastisement could contain it.

  "You don't like my cooking?" Bridget rose, hands on hips, cheeks flushed. She met his gaze now. "Did you eat three helpings at supper because you didn't like my pot roast?"

  Riley's face heated and that pot roast turned on him. His gut churned. "You're a good cook, Bridget," he said in a low voice. "But the whole idea is ludicrous. The castle is dangerous. The curse..."

  "So you're content to let that stupid old curse win?" She turned her attention back to Fiona. "We need to face that curse and give it heck like my granny said."

  "Your granny was a wise woman." Mum pursed her lips, and finally sighed. "But Riley's right. This is dangerous."

  Well, finally. Riley folded his arms and pinned Bridget with his gaze. She didn't appear defeated, though. In fact, she seemed more determined than ever.

  This was what she'd been after all along. She wanted Caisleán Dubh. Of course.

  "Fiona, can't we please try?" Her lower lip trembled. "I want to earn my own way, and my boy's."

  "Jacob is family," Riley said. "He'll always have a place in his da's house."

  "Yes, but you've pointed out more than once that I'm not." Bridget rose and faced him again. "I want the chance to earn my own way, and I think I can do that with Caisleán Dubh, if you'll give me a chance."

  "No."

  "First," Mum said quickly, "Bridget is family. She was our dear Culley's wife, and you'll show her the respect she's due." She paused to draw a breath, her face flushed and her eyes sparking with a good temper. "The lass has a right to speak her piece."

  Riley fell silent for a few minutes, struggling between a sense of betrayal and trying to understand his mum's position. "I believe she already spoke her piece."

  "You two are at it again." Maggie came to stand between Bridget and Riley. "Arguing like children."

  "Are you saying I'm not right?" Riley asked, never shifting his gaze from Bridget's eyes. "And that she is?"

  "No, I'm not saying anyt
hing of the kind, but—"

  "Then there's nothing more to be said on the matter." Riley rarely used his position in the family, but this seemed like the ideal moment to wield any power he could. He pinned Bridget with the fiercest gaze he could summon. "I forbid it. Caisleán Dubh was closed for a reason, and I respect the wishes of my ancestors."

  With that, he spun around and marched into the kitchen just in time to see Jacob scurrying up the back staircase. "Shite." He started to follow the lad, but Bridget gripped his arm, digging her nails into his flesh.

  "I'll see to my son." She pushed past him, pausing with one foot on the bottom step. "You've done enough." Then she disappeared up the stairs.

  Riley shoved his fingers through his hair, hoping he hadn't destroyed the relationship he'd just begun with his nephew. The lad loved his mother, and—right or wrong—he wouldn't be likely to forgive anyone who upset her. Riley didn't want to lose what he'd gained today with Jacob. Nor that link to Culley.

  Another traitorous voice deep inside him wondered if Bridget would ever look at him again with desire in her eyes.

  Chapter 10

  Bridget fought the tears until she reached the safety of her room. She leaned against the closed door, gulping lungs full of air and trying to hold the tears at bay, but the liquid Benedict Arnolds betrayed her. Hot and fierce, they ran down her cheeks and neck. She had to bite her tongue to suppress a sob.

  "Momma?"

  Gasping, she swiped the damp trails off her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She reached down to brush her son's hair away from his face. "Jacob, you should be asleep."

  "I heard Uncle Riley yelling." Her son looked up at her with trust shining in his eyes. "Is he mad at you?"

  Bridget had vowed never to lie to her son, and this was one of those times when she wished she could withdraw that promise. But she couldn't. Promises were important, and if she expected her son to grow up to be a man of honor, she'd best show him what honor was.

  "Y-yes." She sniffled and tried to smile, but knew she failed miserably. "I'm afraid he's very mad at me."

  "Why?" Jacob tugged on her sleeve. "Why, Momma?"

  She drew a shaky breath and led her son to her bed, where they sat facing each other. Jacob crossed his legs beneath him, waiting with amazing patience.