Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  "About the curse, Riley."

  "What?" He mentally shook himself, trying to figure out where and when he'd lost the thread of their conversation. "You lost me, lass. What do you and my brother have to do with the curse?"

  She leaned closer, a conspiratorial look in her eyes. "We were soul-mates."

  A burst of laughter forced Riley to choke and feign a fit of coughing to disguise it. "Well, now, I didn't realize... that," he said, hoping he appeared more sincere than he felt.

  So much for never lying, Mulligan. Well, he hadn't exactly lied—simply didn't offer his complete thoughts on the subject at hand. He cleared his throat.

  "Aye, 'tis true." An odd twinkle appeared in her eyes. "I found the proof in Granddad's notes."

  Suspicion slithered through Riley. "Would that be in his missing notes?"

  Katie's face reddened and she took a step back, her eyes widening. "I didn't steal them, though I probably did misplace them." She lifted one shoulder and gave him a sad smile. "I was heartbroken after Culley...."

  You big oaf. Guilt, guilt, and more bloody guilt tormented him. "There, now. Culley wouldn't—Ooof."

  She threw herself into his arms, tears mingling with his sweat to thoroughly soak his sleeve. He had no choice but to put his arms loosely around her shoulders and pat her back. What else could a man do when a woman threw herself against him in a crying jag?

  After several minutes of Katie's weeping and carrying on, Riley pushed her away and gripped her shoulders. "We'll have enough of that, now," he said firmly, but without cruelty. "Culley's been gone nearly eight years. The time for tears is long past. Besides, I'm filthy."

  She sniffled and made a great show of bringing herself under control. "Aye, he wouldn't want me to cry."

  "So don't." Please.

  "I'll be strong."

  "Good."

  "As I was saying, the papers told about the reason for the curse."

  Riley's heart thudded against his chest. "And haven't the Mulligans all cut our teeth on that tragic tale?"

  "I'm sure, but the priest at the time claimed that a cailleach cast a spell on Caisleán Dubh after the tragedy."

  "The tragedy happened on Aidan Mulligan's wedding day." Riley knew the story by heart, as his da had told it to them dozens of times. "Aidan fell in love with a local lass—a peasant girl—but he was promised to another."

  "You do know the story." Katie appeared smug now. "The cailleach was the peasant girl's aunt or something."

  "I've not heard anything about a cailleach."

  "That's the important part that most don't know," she said quietly. "Granddad's notes said the curse will end when Aidan weds his true love."

  "That's rubbish and nonsense." Despite the voice of reason, Riley's throat constricted and his heart thudded louder. "Aidan Mulligan and his peasant girl died centuries ago."

  "Aye. That's how I knew Culley and I were soul-mates." Katie pouted again.

  "I'll not stand still for one more tear, Katie Rearden," Riley warned. "I'm tired, filthy, and hungry, and you're spouting folly."

  She gripped his arm and leaned closer. "Not nonsense, Riley," she said, her tone intense. "'Tis true that the theory Granddad wrote about in his notes sounds like a fairy-tale. A romantic fairy-tale at that. But ask yourself what could happen if Aidan's spirit has lived on in his descendants?"

  The Irish placed great importance on the power of blood—the traits handed down from generation to generation. Riley shook his head. "I'm not sure such a thing is possible."

  "I'm sure." Katie straightened. "And so was Culley."

  The memory of the last time Riley had seen his brother surged to the front of his mind. Jaysus. Was that what Culley had meant when he'd said that marrying Katie would end the bloody curse? Was there something in Brady's notes that said as much? Riley's empty stomach churned acid like liquid fire.

  More importantly... was it true?

  "My people have been in County Clare for centuries, just like yours," she continued. "However, the Reardens were peasants, and the church records aren't as detailed for us as they are for the Mulligans."

  "I still don't understand." Riley swallowed hard, trying not to dwell on his brother's words that long ago day. "What do you mean? The crux of this, Katie, if you will."

  "As near as we could tell from the notes—"

  "You mean Culley saw them, too?"

  "No." She blushed again and shook her head. "No, but I told him what I'd found."

  But did you tell him the truth? For some reason, Riley sensed that Katie was lying—at least, in part. And wasn't it his job to determine which part?

  "How does what you found lead you to believe in this ridiculous notion of soul-mates?" He folded his arms and kept his expression as stoic as possible.

  "The lass Aidan loved." Her eyes glittered with excitement, as if she were imparting some great secret. "I think my mamó from mum's side was descended from the same family. Mamó has been dead since I was a wee lass, so finding her family records has been hard without help."

  Stunned, Riley took a step back, never shifting his gaze from Katie's face. He didn't trust her, yet he couldn't deny that his brother had seemed certain that marrying this woman would make things right again. "You're saying Brady's notes named the lass Aidan loved?"

  "Aye." Katie's expression was smug. "I'll not tell you, though, until I'm sure."

  "How can you be sure?" he asked. "When will you be sure?"

  "As soon as the letter arrives from Mamó's parish, confirming her birth name." She sighed. "I didn't pursue the information after... after Culley. But now..."

  Riley gnashed his teeth, wondering if Brady would have the answers he needed.

  "Culley heard sounds from the castle," she continued, looking toward the tower in the distance.

  Riley swallowed hard and gave a curt nod. "Do you?" Why had he asked such a question?

  Because Bridget hears it.

  Riley's heart swelled upward, pressing against his throat and he clenched his jaw until it ached. He watched Katie for any reaction, but she seemed unaffected by his question. "Do you?" he repeated.

  "Well, no," she said. "Of course not. After all, I'm not a Mulligan."

  Neither is Bridget by blood....

  "No, you aren't a Mulligan." Riley kept his tone bland, as he wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible. "I still don't understand what this has to do with the curse or anything else," he said. It wasn't a fib. How could anyone actually understand this soul-mate business?

  "Culley and I believed that once we married, the curse would end."

  "I see." But he didn't. Katie didn't hear the castle's whispers.

  Bridget did.

  "Do... do you hear the castle?" Katie asked, her expression somewhat sly.

  Every thread of Riley's common sense screamed that he should make a second exception about lying. Instead, he drew a deep breath and said, "Aye."

  Katie's eyes widened. "You do?"

  "Why are you so surprised?"

  "Culley told me—" She bit her lower lip.

  "He told you that I couldn't hear the castle," Riley finished, still wary.

  "Aye."

  "That was true. I couldn't hear it as a lad." Riley didn't tell her that he'd started hearing the castle right after Culley's death. Maybe he couldn't fib to the woman, but he wasn't a total gobshite. Some things were none of her bloody business.

  "I see." She eyed him in a way that made Riley feel like a leg o' lamb in the butcher's display case. "Why don't you wash up and come over for supper this evening?"

  Riley shook his head, trying to follow her sudden change of subject. "What?"

  "Food, Riley?" She laughed and leaned into him, gazing into his eyes.

  Warning bells rang in his brain and he stiffened. "Not this evening, but I thank you for the invitation."

  She pursed her lips in a pretty pout that made Riley even more suspicious. "Well, another time then," she said.

  "Maybe." H
e took another step back for good measure. "It's a busy time of year for a farmer."

  She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and said, "Even busy men have to play sometimes."

  Shite. Realization banged through his mind. The woman had never been interested in the older Mulligan brother, but suddenly she had the look of a female cat in heat. He didn't have to wonder why. If she believed her soul-mate story, then how could she transfer her feelings for Culley so easily?

  She'd wanted to marry Culley, because, though younger, he was the "chosen" son—the one who heard the whispering. Now she had her mind set on the remaining son. Why? The Mulligans weren't wealthy, though the farm was one of the largest and most prosperous in Clare.

  He shouldn't have told her he could hear the wretched castle. But she doesn't hear it, Mulligan.

  "I have to go," he said. "Mum's expecting me."

  "I'll ring you up," she said, turning toward Ballybronagh with a spring in her step he hadn't noticed before. "We'll get together another time. Soon." She waggled her fingers at him.

  The moment she turned her head, Riley made sure his back was to her in case she waved again. The woman had made her intentions clear, and he was having no part of it.

  After stowing his tools, he tended Oíche and headed toward the cottage. The sun had sunk low beyond Caisleán Dubh, and the tower cast a long shadow across the meadow. A rainbow arced over the cottage, giving it a fairy-tale appearance.

  Aye, a fairy-tale.

  He hadn't given voice to the thoughts raging through his mind since piecing together the bits of Katie's theory he'd heard. Before he entered Mum's kitchen and faced them all, he'd best get it sorted out in his mind as best he could.

  He believed in the curse—always had. Aye, and hadn't he always had good cause for believing? Though he'd never heard of a cailleach having anything to do with it, didn't it make sense for a curse to have a cause?

  Still, the notion that the souls of Aidan and his lover could return, seeking the union fate had denied them...

  Could it be true? And if it were, then... then...

  He stopped several feet from the back door and turned toward the castle. Drawing a deep breath, he welcomed the expected whispering that surrounded him.

  Culley had heard it, but he'd died. Now Riley heard it. Aidan Mulligan had been a younger son, as had Culley. It seemed odd for an older sibling to "inherit" something from a younger, but Riley found himself certain that this was precisely what had happened to him.

  He lifted his face toward the sun and the top of the tower, trying to deny the obvious. Culley had heard the whispers. Truth. Now Riley did. Also true. Katie did not and never would.

  But Bridget did. Another truth.

  She claimed to have loved Culley, and the saints knew how Riley burned for her. The memory of last night made him shudder with the same powerful craving and his pulse quickened. He would go to his grave wanting her, as Culley had.

  Was it true? If Katie's crazy theory about soul-mates proved true...

  "Jaysus, Mulligan. Listen to yourself." Aye, he would listen, because he had to, no matter how mad it all sounded, or how desperately he wanted to deny it.

  Riley had some serious research of his own to conduct. He would pay Brady a visit and they could discuss his missing notes. And why were they missing? Another mystery.

  If Katie was right about this soul-mate nonsense... Shite. Riley forced himself to speak the rest of his dreaded thought aloud, since his mind continued to fight it.

  "Bridget..."

  * * *

  Bridget needed answers. She'd lain awake for three nights, afraid to go to sleep. If the erotic dreams returned, would she finally learn her lover's true identity? She knew in her heart, and absolute confirmation it would do her no good. Then again, neither had denial.

  Riley had driven his momma to the doctor in Shannon for a check-up, and Jacob went along for the ride. Alone with Maggie after school, Bridget did what she should have done days ago.

  In the kitchen garden, bathed in sunshine after three days of rain, she straightened and asked, "Maggie?"

  The girl straightened and met Bridget's gaze. "What is it, Bridget? Is something wrong?"

  "No, I just need to talk." Bridget glanced down at the basket of greens slung over her forearm. "I think we have more than enough for supper. Let's go inside for a cold drink and a chat."

  "All right." Maggie gathered the scallions she'd pulled and followed Bridget inside. "You're not planning to leave us, are you?"

  "No," Bridget said slowly. "Not yet anyway."

  "Mum and I both want you and Jacob to think of this as home." Maggie set her onions in the sink and washed her hands.

  Bridget followed her sister-in-law's example. They retrieved two glasses and two cans of soda pop, then sat at the table.

  "Jacob and I like it here," Bridget said after a few bubbly sips of pop. "I want to talk about Riley."

  "Oh." Maggie shook her head and sighed. "He can be such an old grumble puss sometimes."

  "Yes." Bridget certainly couldn't deny that. "Why is that, Maggie? How can a boy who grew up with the same momma as you and Culley be so... different?"

  Maggie's expression grew solemn and she fell silent for a few minutes. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "It was a long time ago."

  So something had happened to change Riley. Bridget had sensed it. "Tell me, please. I... I need to know." She sighed and worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I think it might help me understand him better."

  Maggie nodded. "He'll be furious with me for the telling, but I think you're right." She took a sip of pop, then set it aside and clasped her hands before her on the table.

  "Riley was ten and I was still in nappies when it happened, so I don't remember it firsthand." Her expression grew distant, her tone very serious. "Mum told me what happened that terrible day. Why Riley changed from a happy lad to a sad old man so suddenly."

  "That describes him." Bridget concentrated on Maggie, wanting—no, needing—to understand Riley. She couldn't really explain the need, any more than she could explain why touching the banister in Caisleán Dubh had sent her into sexual hyper- drive. The memory made her cheeks burn.

  "Did you take too much sun, Bridget?" Maggie started to push away from the table. "Mum has some salve—"

  "No." Bridget gripped her sister-in-law's arm. "Please, just tell me the rest."

  "All right." Maggie settled herself in the chair again. "The potato crop was poor that year, and some kind of disease took half the sheep. We were poorer than we'd ever been, and Da was worried.

  "He told Mum he was going fishing one day, but instead he went to Caisleán Dubh. Mum thinks he was looking for antiques to sell, as he'd mentioned before that there were things inside worth a fortune."

  "That makes sense." Bridget nodded encouragement, remembering the huge framed portraits and such.

  "Aye, but there was the curse." She held her hand up to silence any protest Bridget might have made. "I know you don't believe in it, Bridget, but we do. In fact, the curse took Da's life."

  "Oh, God." Bridget rubbed her temples and forced herself to concentrate on Maggie's tragic tale. "How awful."

  "Aye." She fell silent for a few moments. "I would've liked to know me da, but it wasn't meant to be."

  Bridget reached across the table and took her sister-in-law's hand. "I'm sorry for that. I lost my parents when I was young, too."

  "But I had Mum, Culley, and Riley, and you had your granny and grandpa."

  "Yes." Bridget smiled in remembrance. "What happened that day—to your daddy? And to Riley?"

  Maggie cleared her throat. "A terrible thing. Riley saw Da go into the castle, and being raised a Mulligan, hadn't he heard of the dreaded curse from the womb?" Maggie shoved a wiry red curl behind her ear.

  "Riley followed Da inside." Maggie's lower lip trembled. "He was only ten."

  Bridget's stomach heaved and she drew a deep breath to quell the rising nausea. Another si
p of pop steadied her. "I'm listening."

  "Poor little lad." Maggie sniffled and blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He... he found Da in the center of the main chamber. Dead."

  Bridget squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds and drew a shaky breath. "What happened then?"

  "Riley pulled our big, strong da's body out of the castle, which had been empty for a hundred years by then."

  A chill swept through Bridget. No wonder Riley believed the curse was real. "How did your daddy die, Maggie?"

  She shook her head, a mournful expression in her blue eyes. "No one knows. The doctor said he was fit as could be, and there was no reason for such a healthy man to just drop dead. The curse was the only explanation."

  Bridget had heard stories of allegedly healthy individuals dying suddenly from heart attacks or strokes. "So Riley pulled his da out of the castle alone?"

  "Aye, all by himself."

  "Then what happened?"

  "From what Mum has said, Riley took it upon himself to become the man of the family. He vowed to run the farm for Da." She sniffled and dabbed her eyes. "The next crop was a bountiful one. With Riley working like two grown men, and the help of good friends and neighbors, all was well by the next harvest."

  "But Riley will never forget," Bridget whispered, understanding why he hated the castle so desperately. "I still don't believe there's anything evil about Caisleán Dubh, Maggie. But..."

  "But what?"

  Bridget looked out the window at the tower, dominating the horizon. "There is something powerful there."

  "You felt it?"

  "Yes." Her cheeks warmed again. "The castle seems to..." Dare she tell Maggie that the castle spoke to her? It sounded so crazy. Mad.

  "What is it, Bridget?" Maggie scooted closer. "Something is wrong. I can tell."

  "Do you ever hear any... sounds from the castle, Maggie?" she asked.

  "No, but Culley said it whispered to him every time he went near it."

  And sometimes from clear across the dang meadow.

  "I wonder why," Bridget said, deciding to keep her secrets to herself for now. "Was it calling to him for some reason?"

  And me?

  "Aye, he said it did." Maggie appeared thoughtful. "He never talked about it much, except to say it wasn't scary." A visible shudder rippled through Maggie. "Well, it terrifies me enough sometimes to wet me knickers."