Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  He heard nothing but the surf pounding the cliffs below. No sound came from inside, though he'd seen his da enter Caisleán Dubh with his own two eyes.

  After several minutes of waiting, Riley squeezed his eyes closed in prayer. He had to disobey his da's orders to never set foot inside the castle. He had no choice.

  "Da?" he tried once more, and heard no reply.

  Holding his breath, he slid through the wide gap easily and stood within the forbidden tomb-like structure. His heart battered his rib-cage as if seeking freedom, and his knees quaked. "Da?"

  The only light filtered in around the shuttered windows and through the opening at his back. The tower was sealed, allowing no light to filter down from there. All Riley could do was search this main room as best he could. If he didn't find Da, he'd have to go for help.

  Fear clawed at him as he remembered the countless stories of Mulligan tragedies he'd been told since birth. Centuries of Mulligans had died, been maimed, had watched their loved ones die. One after another after another. Only after the family moved into the cottage did the tragedies cease. Hadn't Riley's own family been blessed with joy?

  "Da?" He walked slowly across the blackness, scanning the floor for anything he might fall into or trip over. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he made out large shapes. A staircase in the corner wound its way up into the castle.

  He shuddered, praying his da hadn't gone up there. The maiden had flung herself from the top of the tower. That was the tragedy that had started the curse. At least, that's what they'd told him, and being a good lad, Riley believed everything his da said.

  Why had Da entered the cursed castle? Why?

  "Da, it's Riley," he said. "I've come to fetch you home now."

  Silence.

  Riley's eyes burned, but he scrubbed them furiously. He wouldn't cry. Ten-year-olds didn't cry. Culley could cry, being younger than Riley, and Maggie cried all the time. Of course, she was a baby who still wore nappies.

  As the eldest, it was Riley's duty to find his da. He squared his shoulders and made a circle about the entire room, then again. He slowly made his circle smaller, venturing toward the room's center, calling intermittently and praying almost constantly.

  When his foot bumped against something solid and warm, he screamed and ran a few steps toward the exit. However, a sense of dread settled in his stomach and his heart flipped over in his chest. "Da?" he asked, his voice quivering.

  He knew before he reached the object on the floor that he would find his da. What he didn't know—couldn't have known—was that his da was dead.

  Riley shook him, but there was no response. He grabbed his tall, strapping da beneath both arms and dragged him slowly toward the opening. The entire time, he spoke to him, begged him to wake up.

  In the end, after he had da outside in the sunlight, he wept, knowing there was no medicine powerful enough to bring Da back. He was dead. Riley cursed the castle, using words he knew he'd have to go to confession for using. It didn't help. Nothing did.

  Riley sat there beside his da's still form, listening to the crashing waves for a long time before he could fully grasp his loss. Like the waves, his acceptance came in harsh curses, followed by quiet understanding.

  Finally, exhausted and trembling, he knelt beside his da and prayed. "Dear Jaysus, help me do what needs doing. I'm small, but I'll grow. Help me make me... me Da proud, and to do for my family what he always did." He removed Da's rosary from his pocket and put it in his own. It was his now, and so were all the responsibilities that had been Da's.

  Including making sure no one ever entered the cursed castle again. No one...

  "I'll make it right, Da," he'd promised. "I'll take care of them all."

  Now Riley dragged in a breath and shook himself. He wiped the dampness from his cheeks. The memories he'd kept locked away in his heart and soul for so many years were free now. He was free to accept what had happened. Free to grieve.

  Free to live.

  Chapter 18

  Bridget was just passing by the door when the knock sounded. It was early for visitors, so she peeked out the window. Seeing Brady with a bulging pouch, she immediately opened the front door and showed him into the parlor.

  "Here, Brady, let me help you." She reached for the pouch, but Brady clutched it close, shaking his head.

  "No, but thank you kindly, lass." He looked around the room. "Would Riley be about, or is he off in the fields already this morn'?"

  "He's just finishing breakfast." She motioned Brady toward the kitchen. "The kettle's warm. I'll fix you a cup of—"

  Brady shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, lass, I'll wait here." At least a day's growth of beard covered his face. "I have personal business with Riley."

  Bewildered, Bridget made sure Brady was comfortable and went to the kitchen, where Riley lingered over his third cup of tea. She hadn't seen him this relaxed since her arrival. He looked younger, somehow. The sight of his unruly black hair falling across his forehead made her burn to push it back and kiss the newly exposed skin.

  Mercy. She'd dreamed again last night. A flood of heat rushed through her and she drew a shaky breath. However, her dream lover was no longer anonymous, and knowing his identity made her want him all the more.

  But she wanted to be awake for that.

  Mustering her self-control, she cleared her throat. Riley looked up from his woolgathering and smiled. He actually smiled without any coaxing. The sight left her speechless for a few seconds.

  Finally, she said, "Riley, Brady is here to see you."

  His smile vanished immediately and an anxious expression replaced it. "Thank you." He rose immediately, leaving his tea and his smile behind.

  Guiltily, Bridget glanced around the room. She should be upstairs with Fiona and Jacob, packing for their visit to Kilarney.

  Bridget should accompany them, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Caisleán Dubh just now. Besides, it would do Jacob good to spend some time alone with his aunt and new granny, so they could all get to know each other better.

  Though all her rationalizations were true, Bridget couldn't deny her guilty secret. She wanted some time alone with Riley. Her feelings for him had escalated from lust to something terrifying.

  Dare she even think it again? The thought had crossed her mind already, but she'd buried it. Denied it.

  Do you love him?

  "I wish Granny was here." Bridget drew a shaky breath, summoning Culley's smiling face. Was he looking down from heaven with a blessing, or disapproval? She shook her head. Somehow, she couldn't believe he would disapprove. The Culley she'd loved believed in love and happiness. He would want her to be happy. And he would want their son to be raised right here.

  She would have a frank discussion with Riley, because they'd already admitted their mutual attraction.

  Now there's an understatement.

  At any rate, it was no longer her secret, though—thank heavens—he didn't know about her dreams. She fanned herself, remembering how close she'd come last night to fulfillment. Right on the brink, she'd awakened again, quivering with the powerful cravings spiraling through her body. Knowing Riley was her dream lover hadn't helped any, and she was ashamed to admit that the thought of creeping downstairs to his room had crossed her mind.

  More than once.

  Now that she and Jacob would definitely be staying in Ireland—Bridget had to hug herself at the thought—the need to come to some kind of understanding with Riley became more urgent. She couldn't continue with these sleepless nights, or the constant hunger pulsing through her. She wanted him something fierce, and she knew he shared her desire.

  Somehow, the constant wanting had to end.

  Or... they had to follow through to the logical conclusion.

  The mere thought of sleeping with Riley made her pulse quicken and her blood warm. She rubbed her arms and gazed out the window at the tower. The sun broke through the clouds, bathing the castle in light. The blackness of the
stones appeared almost golden now.

  Bridget touched the windowsill, her breath hitching. She watched the play of light and shadow as the clouds drifted between the sun and Caisleán Dubh. Soon, she would have her restaurant.

  She was here for a reason. How could she deny that after all she'd experienced? The castle's whispering, the dreams, the powerful response she'd had upon touching the banister... Her destiny was here in County Clare.

  Caisleán Dubh was part of it.

  And, heaven help her, she couldn't deny that the other part of her destiny might very well be a tall, dark-haired Irishman with eyes of Mulligan blue.

  Dragging herself away from the window and her musings, she cleared the table and did the breakfast dishes. Once or twice, she thought of offering Riley and Brady tea, but she'd sensed their need for privacy and would respect it.

  The dishes done, the table and counters wiped, Bridget climbed the back staircase to help Jacob finish packing. He was shoving items into his backpack she knew he wouldn't need on his short trip. With a smile, she helped him decide what he could and couldn't live without for three whole days, but drew the line when his toothbrush and toothpaste went into the leave behind pile.

  "I'm going to miss you," she said, ruffling his hair.

  He rewarded her with a hug that melted her heart. "I'm a big boy now, Momma," he said. "And an Irishman takes care of his kin, so I gotta go meet my great-mamó."

  "My, but don't you sound grown up?" And more than a little like your Uncle Riley. Bridget studied her son for several seconds while he sorted through his collection of coloring books and eliminated all but one.

  "Do you miss Mr. and Mrs. Larabee?" she asked, remembering the frantic letter she'd mailed Mr. Larabee just a couple of weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime. So much had changed during that short time.

  "Yep." Jacob zipped his backpack closed and sat on his bed beside Bridget. "Maybe they'll come visit sometime."

  "I reckon." Bridget smiled to herself, remembering. "I miss them, too, but..."

  "What, Momma?"

  She gave him a thoughtful look. "I think this feels like home now."

  His smile glowed, and a second later he was in her arms. "Oh, boy," he said as he pulled away, the bud of his new tooth glowing against his gums right in front. "We're gonna stay forever."

  She laughed and pulled him into another hug. "Yes, I reckon we are."

  "Then General Lee can come live with us here?"

  Bridget gasped and coughed, then cleared her throat. "Er, I think Ireland has laws that would make him stay in quarantine," she said diplomatically. "Besides, he's awfully old, and I'll bet the Larabees are spoiling him rotten."

  Jacob nodded thoughtfully. "I'll bet he's sleeping on that red couch in their fancy living room."

  Bridget had to laugh again at that.

  "You about ready, boyo?" Maggie called from the base of the attic stairs.

  "Yep." Jacob slung his backpack over his shoulder and said, "Time to go."

  Bridget had herself one fine son. She hugged him again, then followed him down the steps, where Fiona and Maggie waited in the parlor. Riley and Brady had stopped talking.

  "Let me help with the bags, Mum," Riley said, rising.

  Brady pulled the books and papers they'd been reading into a neat pile right in front of him.

  You'd think they were plotting to overthrow the government or something.

  Though curious, Bridget wouldn't pry. Instead, she walked out to the car with her new family and made certain her son's seatbelt was properly fastened, and that she had one more hug before he left. Maggie sat behind the wheel, and Bridget knew she was a good driver, despite her youth.

  "Y'all have a good trip." Bridget walked around to Fiona's open window on the passenger side and gave her mother-in-law a peck on the cheek. "I'll go next time."

  Fiona gave her a bright smile and patted her hand. "Maybe."

  Bridget studied the older woman's expression, wondering again if she knew about the attraction between her son and daughter-in-law.

  "You promise me to have fun while we're gone, lass." She patted Bridget's hand. "And forget about everythin' except followin' your heart. Just listen to that, and all will be as it should."

  Bridget stood staring after the car as they drove down the narrow lane. Jacob waved until they were too far away for her to see. She glanced to her side, where Riley stood watching the car, too.

  "Well, then," he said, turning toward the cottage again. "I'd better get back to Brady."

  "Yes." She stared at him as he climbed the steps and disappeared into the front door.

  And forget about everythin' except followin' your heart. Just listen to that, and all will be as it should, Fiona had said.

  But what had she meant?

  And why hadn't her mother-in-law mentioned the impropriety of Bridget remaining here with Riley? Alone?

  A powerful tremor raced through Bridget. It didn't matter. She and Riley weren't teen-agers, though no adolescent's hormones could rival hers these days. Or theirs, now that she thought about it.

  Once Brady left, she and Riley would be alone.

  Completely alone. Her gaze drifted to the tower and the sea beyond.

  Except for Caisleán Dubh.

  * * *

  Riley only performed the minimal chores—milking and tending the stock—and spent most of his day poring over Brady's research. The man was definitely onto something. The alleged spell cast by the cailleach had been recorded by the priest after Bronagh had plunged to her death from the tower.

  Suppressing a shudder, Riley glanced out the window toward the tower now. The thought of the young woman climbing there to throw herself to the rocky shore below made his belly lurch.

  Again, he returned to last night's disturbing dream. Now he knew for certain that his dreams were of Aidan Mulligan and his beautiful Bronagh. Insane though that sounded, there was no sense denying it. Bronagh was the woman who'd haunted Riley's dreams for years, and who'd come to life for him in these recent weeks.

  Through Bridget.

  He didn't have the proof yet, but his instincts insisted it was true. Hadn't his dreams returned with a vengeance after the first moment he'd seen Bridget?

  She was a beautiful and appealing woman. Perhaps that was the only reason she'd triggered the dreams. However, Riley didn't believe it was that simple. Not at all.

  Brady was looking for one more missing bit of information—the part with the girl's full name. After that, Riley might be able to piece together more of this conundrum. The records of Bronagh's death would help. Unfortunately, she had been buried in an unmarked grave, as peasants often were back then. Furthermore, suicide was a cardinal sin even now, so Bronagh wouldn't have been buried on hallowed ground. Still, there would be something somewhere.

  And wasn't Brady just the man to find it?

  He had to smile at that. His old teacher's enthusiasm was contagious. The man thrived on the research. If Brady could uncover the missing pieces, Riley would be forever in the old man's debt.

  He picked up the page with the spell written upon it again. The words were faded but legible.

  A darksome curse on them that walke these halls

  May they finde only death and miserie.

  No joying be withstood within these walls—

  Much daunted by sore sad despaire they be!

  Until that cruell, disdayned destinie

  Beguile them torne asunder with her power,

  Rejoin the accurst for all eternity

  with her so fierce bewronged within this tower

  And ende this spelle, forever, in that blessed hour!

  How was Riley to right a wrong committed centuries ago? Yet, he had to try. No, he had to succeed. Brady had admitted there were volumes he hadn't read yet in Riley's stack. Perhaps Riley would find the missing bits later. Just now, he needed a break.

  His head ached from reading the faded scrawls for hours without a break. He stored the notes Brady ha
d left with him on his desk in the corner of the parlor. No one in the family ever disturbed his desk, for he was the only one who knew how to order supplies and feed for the farm. The notes and diaries would be safe here.

  His stomach growled and he remembered he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Riley glanced at the clock on the wall, shocked to discover the afternoon had passed to early evening without his notice. He'd missed lunch entirely.

  Sniffing the air, he smiled. Bridget was cooking. Ah, and what man could resist anything that woman could cook?

  What man could resist her?

  Oh, and wasn't he tired of resisting? He rubbed the back of his aching neck and walked into the kitchen. The aromas wafting toward him were more than a bit of heaven.

  The woman stirring something at the stove looked even better than the food smelled. Riley's appetite forgotten, he watched her for some time. Her hair was pulled up with a large clip in the back, probably to keep it away from the food. He liked her hair down, but seeing her long, slender neck exposed ignited his blood.

  He ached to kiss the back of her neck, the slope of her shoulder. He wanted to slip up behind her and wrap his hands about her waist. He wanted to pull her back against him, to feel her softness against his hardness.

  His breath stuttered in his throat and he had to blink several times to bring himself under control. Even that didn't help, though at least he could see straight now. Still, his blood sang with a primal hunger to make her his.

  Aye, his.

  Not Culley's widow. Not Jacob's mum.

  Of course, she would always be all of those things, and Jacob couldn't want for a better mum. And to think Riley had once thought her devious. Shame slithered through him, dampening his desire only slightly.

  "Something smells better than a pint after Lent," he said quietly.

  She gasped and whirled around to stare at him. She stammered for a few seconds, then said, "I hope you like it."

  Just you. Not y'all.

  He rather liked it that way. Alone here with Bridget. "Have you fixed anything yet that I haven't liked?" he asked with a smile.