Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  But not me.

  Bridget gave Maggie's hand another squeeze. "Thank you for telling me. I think I'll be able to understand Riley a mite better now."

  "I'm glad of it," Maggie said on a sigh. "It's time you two stopped bickering like a couple of roosters."

  Bridget almost smiled, for she knew beyond any doubt that Riley didn't think of her as a rooster. A hen, perhaps. Well, the thought was still unflattering.

  "I have one more question, if you don't mind." Bridget waited for Maggie to meet her gaze. "What does bronagh mean?" She'd deliberately asked the question as if she believed the word was not a name, though nothing could be further from the truth.

  "Oh, like the village?"

  "Well, yes. I guess the village was named Ballybronagh for a reason." Bridget held her breath, waiting.

  "Bronagh means sorrow," Maggie explained. "No one knows for certain, but the locals believe the village was named by Aidan Mulligan after the tragedy, since his life was filled with sorrow."

  "Tragedy? And who was Aidan Mulligan?"

  "Aidan lived long ago when Caisleán Dubh was brand new. His da built it. 'Twas Aidan's tragedy that brought the curse." Maggie patted Bridget's hand. "Mum is probably the one to tell the whole story when you're ready."

  "So... Bronagh isn't a woman's name?"

  "Oh, aye, it can be, but who would want to be named 'Sorrow?'"

  Who, indeed? Bridget still believed that Riley and her dream lover had used the word as a name. She shook herself and vowed to find the perfect moment to ask Fiona to tell her the whole story.

  Rising, she placed her hands on her hips and said, "Let's cook something guaranteed to make even the grouchiest man smile."

  Maggie put her arms around Bridget and laughed. "I'm so glad you and Jacob came home to us, Bridget."

  Bridget's throat tightened and a scalding hot tear crept from the corner of one eye as she focused on the view through the window. "Home," she whispered.

  To Caisleán Dubh.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday morning, Sean Collins rang up Riley to cancel their session in Shannon. A week ago Riley had looked forward to the opportunity to find some casual female companionship for an evening. As he hung up the phone in the kitchen, he realized that now he was relieved the opportunity wouldn't present itself.

  Oh, he still had the hunger, but what he wanted wouldn't be at all casual, because he craved his brother's wife. Of course, a week ago he hadn't known about Katie's bloody notion about soul-mates.

  Maggie burst through the back door with the mail she'd gone to Ballybronagh to fetch. "Where's Mum?" she asked, out of breath.

  "Fetching spuds." Riley narrowed his gaze as his sister went through the door to the cellar, calling for her. A few moments later, they returned together.

  "Where's Bridget?" Mum asked as she tore open an envelope. "She'll be wantin' to hear this."

  "I'll get her." Maggie bounded up the back staircase.

  Pity she was too short to knock her noggin on that low beam. Ah, but he didn't mean that, though it did seem unfair that he should be the only Mulligan tall enough to—

  Jacob skipped into the room. The lad was tall. Not that Riley would wish the child harm... but maybe there would be some justice, all the same. Family traditions and all...

  Riley smiled as he caught Jacob in a headlock while tickling him mercilessly. He'd grown fond of the lad in a short time, and he wanted him to stay and grow up here on the farm. Long enough to bump his head. Long enough to have his sons bump theirs. It was right to have them here.

  Both of them?

  Riley stopped tickling, but didn't release the lad. Jacob seized the opportunity to jab his uncle in the ribs. "Ow!"

  "Stop this nonsense and pay attention now," Mum said as Bridget hurried into the room behind Maggie. She held the letter up in front of them. "'Tis from the Irish Trust."

  Riley reached for the envelope, but Mum gently slapped his hand away. "'Tis addressed to me, boyo."

  Clenching his teeth, Riley folded his arms and waited while Mum opened the envelope.

  "Well, I'll be," she said, looking around the room. "The inspector says he'll have a team out here on Wednesday."

  So soon. Riley released the breath he'd been holding and dared a glance at Bridget. She looked nervous but happy. Maybe hopeful was the proper description.

  And beautiful.

  Her unpainted face glowed with health as she hugged her son, who looked up at her adoringly. Nagging doubts had plagued Riley for days, and now they grew ten-fold.

  Was Bridget really the deceitful seductress he'd accused her of being? His entire sense of logic and justice tilted and he felt off-balance.

  The time for the research he'd promised was now. He could wait no longer. Before the inspectors arrived, he would have the information he needed.

  He couldn't drag his gaze from Bridget for several moments. The way her silky hair waved about her shoulders made him ache to run his fingers through it. Her lips were moist and inviting. Her breasts filled out her jumper in a way that made his blood heat and thicken with need. Bridget bent down to feel the toes of Jacob's shoes, her jeans pulling tight against her nice bum.

  Lust whipped through him like bees buzzing around a hive. He arched an eyebrow as he stared at her appreciatively. Aye, bees were drawn to sweets....

  Remembering he wasn't alone, Riley forced himself to look away as Maggie joined Bridget in examining and discussing the fit of Jacob's shoes. At least his sister hadn't noticed Riley practically making love to Bridget with his eyes. He'd never have heard the end of that bit of funning.

  "Well, I'll be," Mum whispered under her breath.

  Riley met her knowing gaze and his stomach gave a lurch. Jaysus. Having Maggie see his secret would've been better than Mum. He sighed and she arched her eyebrows at him.

  One thing about Mum, though—she would keep his secret.

  Question was, could he? Obviously not, since he'd just allowed his mum to see his naked desire for Bridget.

  "I'm going into Ballybronagh," he announced, needing some air and definitely some privacy. Avoiding Mum's gaze, he grabbed his cap and waved to them all as he slipped out the door.

  Jacob's voice sounded as the door closed behind him. Riley walked at a brisk pace, riddled with guilt about his nephew. The lad would have loved to go into the village with him, but not today. Riley had to speak with Brady alone.

  The bloody inspector would be here on Wednesday. Riley strolled past Caisleán Dubh. The whispering and sighing of the thing swept over him, but he refused to offer the castle so much as a glance this day.

  Caisleán Dubh had caused enough trouble, and would cause more before this nightmare ended. If it ever did.

  The Reardens lived in a small stone cottage on the edge of town. Riley looked around the tidy yard and spied old Brady sitting in the shade, poring over a lapful of books. The gate squeaked as Riley pushed it open, alerting Brady of his presence.

  "Top o' the mornin' to you, Riley Mulligan," his old teacher said. "Pull yourself up a chair and have a visit with an old man."

  Riley looked around anxiously, relieved to notice that Katie's car wasn't here. "Are you alone today?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as eager as he felt.

  "Aye, they all ran off to some festival in Galway."

  Thank the blessed Virgin. Riley mentally crossed himself and relaxed. "And what are you so busy with this fine day?" he asked, determined to lead into his topic as casually as possible.

  "Sit, sit." Brady patted the book in his lap. "These are church records that Father O'Malley let me bring home. He trusts me, the old fool."

  Brady grinned as Riley pulled his chair closer and peered down at the faded scrawl on yellowed parchment. "How can you even see it, let alone understand it?"

  "'Tis hard, lad." Brady leaned back and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "Sometimes I have to use a magnifyin' lens."

  Riley nodded. "What is the subject you're studying so hard?" His
heart fluttered, then raced forward.

  "Caisleán Dubh." Brady's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "Didn't Fiona tell you me plans?"

  No, but Katie did. "About your book? You mentioned that at mass."

  "Aye, so I did." Brady pointed to a passage near the top of the page. "Here's a bit I missed the first time. 'Tis fascinatin'."

  Aye, fascinating. Riley swallowed hard. "What did you find?"

  "All these centuries, the villagers have assumed that Ballybronagh was named for the sorrow Aidan felt after his beloved's tragic death."

  "Aye." Riley studied his old teacher's expression very carefully. "Wasn't it?"

  "See, this is the fascinatin' part." Brady nodded, a grand look of satisfaction on his face. "Even the Mulligans didn't realize how the village was named."

  How long would it take to get Riley the information he needed? Of course, if Riley knew what he needed, it would be much simpler. "How was it named?" One wee step at a time.

  "'Twas her name, lad."

  Riley shook his head. "Whose name?"

  "Aidan's love. The peasant girl who threw herself to her death from the tower of Caisleán Dubh."

  Riley suppressed a shudder at hearing the tragedy spoken so plainly. "What was her name?" No wonder Katie was so hard to follow in a conversation. She'd inherited the trait from her granddad.

  "Bronagh, Riley. Bronagh." He pointed to the faint, spidery scrawl. "'Tis right there, where it names the poor lass."

  Riley leaned closer. "Bronagh," he whispered, remembering the night at the castle with Bridget. She'd accused him of calling her Bronagh. "Jaysus."

  Cold sweat coated his skin and his pulse skittered like a spider's web along his veins. "What was her last name?" He held his breath.

  "Look here, lad. Me old eyes can't read that part." Brady tilted the old book toward Riley. "Can you see it? What was Bronagh's surname?"

  Riley looked at the word from every angle, and even borrowed Brady's magnifying glass, but he still couldn't read it. Wasn't learning her first name proof enough?

  Proof of what, Mulligan?

  If only he knew. "I'm sorry, but in this case, my eyes aren't any better than yours, Brady," he said.

  "A pity, but thanks for tryin', lad." Brady pointed to another book sitting on the table beside him. "In his diary, the priest who was here in Aidan's time writes about Bronagh's aunt—a cailleach, by all accounts."

  Riley blocked the memory of Katie's words from clouding his judgment. He only wanted to hear this from Brady. He trusted Brady. For some reason, every shred of common sense he possessed told him not to trust Katie. Not anymore. Maybe he never could.

  Maybe Culley shouldn't have....

  Don't be going there now, Mulligan. Culley was dead and the past was history now. Yet... the very history Brady was researching might very well affect the future.

  "A witch, you say?" Riley tried to sound flippant. "Da never spoke of her."

  "Aye, that's because much of this information comes from Bronagh's clan—not the Mulligans." A satisfied gleam danced in Brady's eyes. "The other side of the story, if you will. The untold one."

  "But you will tell it."

  "Aye, though it may take a miracle to read some of this. Time has been unkind."

  "Aye." Riley craned his neck to look at the spine of the diary, which had obviously been damaged by moisture and was illegible. "And nowhere else in all those notes, does it mention Bronagh's surname?"

  "I've not finished reading them all just yet," Brady said. "But I can see that you recognize how important this could be."

  "Aye, well..." Riley couldn't deny the hum of excitement whirring through him, almost as insistent as the whisperings of Caisleán Dubh. Almost. "Have you figured out what role the cailleach played in all this?"

  "The priest believed she placed an evil spell on Caisleán Dubh to avenge her niece's tragic death."

  Riley fell silent for a moment, remembering how his da had described the events. "Aye, the lass was treated unfairly."

  Brady nodded. "She loved Aidan, and he loved her." He pointed to another book. "The priest speaks of Aidan's mourning here. 'Tis quite a sad life he led after that, though he did rear strong sons. Alas, not with the woman he loved."

  "Da said the lass came to the castle the day of Aidan's wedding, but was forbidden entrance. She even told Aidan's da, that she was with child."

  "Aye. That's all in here, lad." Brady's head bobbed again. "Just as your da told it."

  "Except for the cailleach, and the lass's name."

  "Aye." Brady frowned. "When I did this research before, years ago, I had notes about the priest's interview with the cailleach. Some of it was ugly, lad, as the old wan was grieving and angry."

  "That's understandable," Riley said, pointing at the priest's diary. "Does he reveal the nature of her so-called 'spell' in there?"

  "No, and 'tis angry I am that me earlier notes were lost." He heaved a weary sigh and scratched his bald head. "Katie moved them and swears she doesn't know what became of them."

  "Was there... something in there about the spell?" Riley's mouth went dry.

  "Aye. In fact, the priest quoted it. I copied the words into me notes, and now they're lost. I think I copied the lass's surname there as well, but I can't remember it now."

  Stolen. The more Riley heard about this, the more he believed that Katie hadn't wanted Culley to know what her granddad's notes really said. She'd made up a pretty story in her head and used it to manipulate Culley into marriage.

  But it hadn't worked. The curse had won.

  Listen to yourself, Mulligan. He didn't want to, but he couldn't deny the facts. More and more, he believed a spell had caused the curse. The more Brady spoke of the old cailleach, the more sense it made. Of course the woman had wanted to avenge her niece's tragic death. Who could have blamed her for that?

  "I do remember bits of the spell, though."

  Jarred back to the present, Riley whipped his gaze around to Brady. "You do?"

  "Aye." Brady looked up at the sky as he spoke as if thinking very hard. "The crux of it was that those who were denied their love must wed before all would be well again."

  "Whew." Riley rubbed the back of his neck, the tense, rigid cords there. "And how is that supposed to happen after they're all dead and gone?"

  Brady's expression grew very solemn. "I have a theory."

  "Theory" had been the word Katie used. "I'm listening."

  Brady removed his glasses and narrowed his gaze at Riley. "It takes a powerful leap of faith to believe, lad."

  Riley smiled, though he felt more like screaming. "I'm Irish, Brady."

  "So you are, lad, but some of what I'm about to tell you will be considered blaspheme by Father O'Malley. And, I'm ashamed to say, by your dear mum."

  "I suspected that," Riley admitted, deciding he had to trust this old man a bit. "I need to learn as much as I can."

  Brady met and held his gaze for several seconds, then nodded. "We'd best go to confession after I'm finished...."

  * * *

  "Lass, you look tired," Fiona said as she entered the kitchen Wednesday morning.

  Bridget nodded and yawned, bringing the glass of caffeine-laden soda pop to her lips. "I'm sorry."

  Fiona puttered around the kitchen while Bridget sat and stared out the window at Caisleán Dubh. Today, the inspector and his crew would come. Once they had his approval, she wouldn't allow Riley to stop her. She'd find a way to convince them all.

  "Riley's been lookin' a bit tired, too," Fiona said, joining Bridget at the table with her tea. "Can't imagine what would keep two young, healthy folks awake nights."

  Bridget shot her mother-in-law a suspicious glance, but the woman was sipping her tea in complete innocence. "I think I'm just nervous about the inspection."

  "Ah." Fiona nodded. "I've been ponderin' this restaurant idea of yours, and I like it. I really do." She released a long sigh.

  "But...?"

  Fiona offered a crooked
smile and patted Bridget's hand. "Even if it can be restored enough for your restaurant, I'm not convinced it will be safe, Bridget. The curse."

  "I have to try, Fiona." She squeezed her eyes closed for several moments. Then she met the older woman's gaze again and said, "The only way to prove to y'all that there is no curse is to use the castle."

  Fiona chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "What if there is a curse, lass?" Her expression and tone were solemn. "What if... harm came to someone? What about Jacob?"

  "I wouldn't do this if I thought for a moment he was in danger. Besides, just last week Jacob and Riley entered and left the castle without harm." Bridget gripped the cold glass tightly. "It's hard to explain, but I feel sort of a... a kinship to the castle."

  Fiona chuckled and shook her head. "Are you into this mystical stuff Maggie sometimes talks about?"

  Bridget blinked. "Fiona, isn't a curse mystical?"

  The older woman gasped. "Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, but I've never thought of it that way." She looked around guiltily and crossed herself. "I guess you're right about that, lass, though I'm ashamed to admit it."

  "I think God will forgive us both." Bridget squeezed her mother-in-law's hand. "I'll fix breakfast."

  "No, you won't." Fiona rose and patted Bridget on the shoulder as she passed. "You look asleep on your feet, lass. I'll do it."

  Sleepless nights combined with busy days to make Bridget a walking zombie. On those occasions when exhaustion had overtaken her and dragged her to sleep under protest, her dream lover—still faceless—had touched, caressed, kissed, but never satisfied her hunger. She always awakened craving more of his touch. More and more and more.

  She couldn't go on like this night after night. At some point, something had to break the cycle. Maybe today's inspection would end it once and for all. Maybe...

  "I've been meanin' to tell you about my trip," Fiona said over her shoulder.

  "Trip?" Bridget turned in her chair to face Fiona.

  "Aye. Me mum lives in a retirement home near Kilarney." Fiona dried her hands and leaned against the counter, facing Bridget. "I go every couple months, and Maggie always goes along. 'Tis hard for Riley to get away, with the farm and all."