Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  "Oh." She giggled. "Don't put the wine away yet."

  He moved to sit beside her, leaning against the wall behind them. Knowing Aidan's portrait hung nearby, just over the hearth, he swallowed hard. He had to make certain his feelings weren't part of any stupid spell. "Are you getting tipsy, Bridget Colleen?" he asked.

  "Mmm." She fell silent for a moment and held her glass out for him to refill. "I don't think so. I've only had champagne once in my life. No wine."

  "No other alcohol at all?" He watched her take the refilled glass to her lips for a generous sip.

  "None."

  "Best go easy, then." He took a sip himself. As a rule, Riley wasn't much of a wine drinker. He'd have preferred a Guinness.

  She giggled again. The sound circled him like music—like the whispering he didn't hear tonight normally would. Why was tonight different?

  Was it because he'd finally faced the worst of his own, personal demons and set them free? The thought gnawed at him as he sipped the wine and stared at Bridget.

  "Penny for your thoughts," she said, her voice taking on that sultry note again.

  "You think they're worth a penny?" he teased.

  "Riley, everything about you is worth much, much more."

  He held his breath as she scooted closer until her shoulder pressed against his. The candlelight flickered and a cool breeze sifted through the opening and beneath the double doors. The wind didn't normally carry such a chill in June.

  "I think it's going to storm," he said.

  "Is it?" She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Let it."

  "We should go back."

  "I like it here. Right here." She looked up at him and he smelled the sweet wine on her breath. "With you."

  Riley flinched. "Lass, you're torturing me again."

  She turned slightly, her breast pressing against his arm. "I'm still waiting for dangerous."

  He was in serious trouble here. "You're tempting fate," he whispered.

  "You haven't objected so far...."

  A tremor rippled through him and he put his arm around her, drawing her against him. The softness of her breast seared him. He wanted her naked in the candlelight—right here in Caisleán Dubh. Especially tonight, when the whispers were blessedly absent.

  She stroked his thigh through denim, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. With a trembling hand, he reached down and grabbed her wrist.

  "How much wine did you drink?" he asked, needing to assure himself that she was sober.

  "Half-a-glass at supper, and a whole one plus a little here."

  "You're not drunk then." He released her wrist.

  "Of course not." She resumed stroking his leg.

  "You're sure?"

  "Not drunk," she said on a sigh. "Did you notice the quiet?"

  "Aye."

  "What do you think it means?" Her fingers traced their way higher up his thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

  "I... I'm not sure." He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but he was so engorged and his jeans were so snug, there was no such thing as comfortable. "Maybe the castle is getting used to us."

  She giggled again and stopped tormenting his thigh. Instead, she turned sideways and lifted her delectable bottom onto his lap.

  "Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!" Riley's head hit the wall behind him with a thud that echoed through the chamber. "I was right all along—you are trying to kill me."

  At least she didn't giggle this time. Her wine-scented breath fanned his face and he breathed in her essence. Meeting her lips halfway, he tasted her, drank from her, hungered for her.

  With nimble fingers she released the buttons at the front of his shirt and pulled it from his waistband. If she didn't stop squirming on his lap, he would explode before they ever reached any point more intimate.

  And intimate was exactly what he had in mind.

  Now. Tonight.

  He dragged his lips from hers, needing to ask her one more time. "Do you know what you're doing, Bridget? Where this will lead?"

  "To a dream come true."

  Bridget moaned as he rose off the blanket and lowered her onto her back. The candlelight flowed around him, reminding her of her dream, when he'd stood before the hearth with the fire's glow outlining his magnificent body.

  His shirt gaped open and she satisfied her need to touch him. She pressed her palms flat against his chest, stroking the hair, loving the feel of his bare skin. Yes, skin.

  She'd never been as ready in her life as she was now. Culley had been a tender lover, but she'd been young and inexperienced. Now she knew what she wanted.

  Riley kissed her again, releasing the clip holding her hair. He spread the tresses out around her face like a fan. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her most private place clenched the emptiness he would fill. "Hurry," she whispered, reaching for his belt buckle.

  "This isn't to be rushed," he said, his voice sounding strained. "No matter how eager we both are."

  "Eager is an understatement." She gave a throaty chuckle. "I feel as if we've been waiting centuries for this."

  He stilled over her, gazing down through the darkness, and making her wonder what she'd done wrong. "What is it, Riley?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

  "Not you," he said, kissing her again. "I just remembered something. That's all."

  He trailed kisses along the side of her throat while his fingers released the buttons down the front of her blouse. The cool air flowed over her as he rose high enough to ease her blouse from her shoulders, freeing her arms.

  She shivered until he covered her again. The wind howled outside and the surf crashed against the cliff below. "A storm," she whispered.

  "Aye." His voice rumbled through her and straight into her bone marrow. "A storm here, too."

  "Be dangerous, Riley," she invited, her voice falling to a husky whisper. "Very dangerous."

  Molten lava rushed through her as he cupped her breasts in his large hands. "Sweet." He drew on her nipple right through her bra. After a moment, he reached behind her and unhooked it, tossing it aside.

  Again, he took her breasts, but this time free of barriers. Bridget arched upward against him, weaving her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. She loved the way he made her feel, the burning deep in her loins and in her heart.

  She loved him.

  A whimper slipped from her lips at the thought, and he rose over her. The wind caressed her damp nipples and she shivered.

  "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

  "No."

  "You made a wee sound, and I thought..."

  "You could never hurt me, Riley," she said, believing it. "Unless you don't finish this before I die from the wanting."

  He chuckled and circled her nipples with his tongue, cradling her breasts in both hands. She wanted him naked. Both of them.

  She reached for his belt again, and this time he didn't stop her. She released his belt buckle, followed by the snap and zipper at his fly. Her hand trembled and he left her breasts to push himself higher above her. She felt each of the five buttons at the front of her jeans pop open, bringing her closer and closer to Riley.

  She pushed his zipper lower, hoping she wouldn't catch anything vital in its teeth, which made her giggle again.

  "I've never known a woman to giggle so much during lovemaking," Riley said.

  She stopped lowering his zipper, stricken. "Is that bad? I'm sorry. I'll try not—"

  "Don't you dare," he whispered, kissing her again before he resumed lowering her jeans. "Don't ever stop laughing. Don't ever stop being yourself, Bridget. 'Tis you I want. You I need. Only you."

  She ached to tell him she loved him, but instead she would show him. The telling could come later. She reached for his zipper again, lowering it a little at a time. His heat radiated through the fabric. He would be hot to the touch, and her hands itched to do just that. In last night's dream, she had taken him with her mouth. She wasn't quite ready for that, but perhaps later.... />
  "I want to see you. All of you," he whispered, his breathing labored. "Let's be rid of these bloody barriers once and for all." He rose onto his knees, easing his jeans down his slim hips. "You, too. I won't be naked alone."

  "No," she whispered, following his lead. "You won't be."

  She watched him roll onto his hips to shed his jeans. A moment later, they knelt before one another completely naked. Bridget could scarcely breathe. She leaned toward him, felt his erection brush against her belly. "Oh, God."

  He cupped her breasts in his hands, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. "You're so beautiful."

  She looked down between them and followed her urge to touch him. Groaning as her fingers encircled him, she hissed an indrawn breath in anticipation of having him inside her.

  "Aye, luv. I feel it, too. The hunger..."

  She stroked his length, amazed that something so hard could be covered with such soft skin. The more she touched him, the more she wanted him. "I... I can't wait, Riley."

  He pressed her down to the blanket again and kissed her breasts, drawing the sensitive peaks inward, driving her mad with the want of more. After torturing her to a trembling mass, he moved lower, tickling her navel with his tongue. He cradled her bottom in his hands, tilting her hips.

  Bridget held her breath—afraid he would and afraid he wouldn't. Just like her dream... Her legs trembled and he held her bottom more firmly.

  His breath scorched the tender flesh between her legs as he said, "Open for me."

  And she did. Shockingly. Wantonly. Shamelessly.

  He teased her with his tongue, stroking and tasting at leisure. Bridget moaned as he covered the sensitive nub with his mouth and drew gently. She clawed at the blanket, filling her hands, fighting the urge to grab his head and hold him against her. She wasn't that far gone.

  He slid his fingers inside her as he drew against the deliciously tingling nucleus. That did it. She released the blanket and buried her fingers in his hair, gently urging him not to stop.

  She moaned, whimpered, climbed higher and higher as he tortured her. An explosion built within her, pushing her closer and closer to a steep precipice. She would fall. She wanted to fall.

  A scream tore from her throat as she plunged into a pit of ecstasy. Within seconds, he was over her again. As if in a daze, she reached between them and drew him closer.

  "Fill me," she whispered, bringing her knees up to angle herself better. "I want you inside me. Now."

  Riley growled and eased himself inside her. "Jaysus," he muttered. "You're so tight. So hot."

  "So are you." She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "More."

  Riley answered her plea, burying himself to the hilt. For a moment, he froze, waiting for the urge to burst to ease some before he dared move. Like millions of tiny fingers, her muscles gripped him, drawing him ever inward.

  He'd known it would be this way with Bridget. From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd known. "Ah, but you feel so good."

  She reached up to caress his nipples and he gasped. No woman had ever done that before, and he didn't realize it would feel so good.

  He withdrew his full length—all but the very tip—and returned again and again. She clung to him now, riding along with him toward journey's end, her nipples brushing against his chest hair. She linked her ankles behind his waist, drawing him even deeper into her tightness.

  She clenched him in a vise of pure pleasure; over and over as he drove into her, she demanded more. The wind howled louder, and lightning crashed nearby. He'd never known it to lightning this time of year, but he shoved the thought aside as he climbed higher.

  She was a merciless lover—the best kind. She took and gave and took some more. He'd never known such a wild ride. Bridget was a woman who would always give and take. Always want him. As he would always want her.

  The knowing made this even better. No more denials. He knew the truth now. He loved her. Only her.

  Always her.

  He loved her smile, her laughter, her beauty, her generous nature, and her cooking. Most of all, he loved her heart. Her tender, giving heart.

  The explosion came. He plowed his seed deep, gave his love freely, pledged himself to her through action, if not word.

  She shouted a single word that echoed from the high ceiling: "Bingo!"

  With the storm raging outside, he slumped against her and whispered, "A ghrá mo chroí."

  Their hearts thudded in unison as their breathing returned to normal. Riley slid to his side to avoid crushing her, pulling her snug to keep her from catching a chill. She sighed and curled against him.

  "That was nice."

  "Nice, is it?" He chuckled. "Only nice?"

  "It was... spectacular."

  "Better. My ego can handle spectacular."

  "Riley?" she asked in the semi-darkness. "What did that mean?"

  "What we did?" He pulled her closer, though he doubted he could ever be close enough to her.

  "No, what you said."

  "Bingo?"

  "No, silly. That was me." She gave a throaty chuckle. "What you said."

  He thought back, remembering. "A ghrá mo chroí?"

  "Yes, that." She rose up on her elbow to stare at him through the candlelight. "What does it mean?"

  He caressed her cheek. "Are you sure you want to know?"

  "Yes, and if you don't tell me, I'm letting Maggie do all the cooking after she gets back."

  He shuddered against her. "You don't fight fair, lass. All right, I'll tell you if you promise not to let Maggie poison us all."

  "I promise."

  "A ghrá mo chroí means... love of my life."

  * * *

  As the rain eased, they strolled from the castle to the cottage, where they spent the night in Bridget's bed. They made love again and again—each time more magnificent than the last.

  Bridget stared at the window as the first streaks of dawn fanned across the sky. Riley slept at her side, his arms about her waist and his cheek pressed to her back. She smiled, remembering.

  Love of my life.

  Her heart fluttered and she bit her lower lip, praying it was true, and hadn't been merely the heat of passion talking. She loved Riley Mulligan with all her heart. After Culley, she'd never believed she would love another.

  She loved Riley's strength, his passion, his tenderness. She loved his sense of honor, his gentleness, and the way he treated her son.

  He shifted, and the pattern of his breathing told her he was awake. She rolled onto her back and gazed into his eyes. "Good morning," she said.

  "The best." He kissed her and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. "Did I tell you I love you?"

  Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. "I love you, too." Relief and joy soared through her and she reached up to brush his hair away from his strong forehead. "So much."

  "Bridget..." He sighed and she watched the internal struggle play itself out in his eyes. "I want to marry you, to make you my wife, to raise our children with you, to spend my life at your side."

  She gasped and fought the urge to immediately agree. She had to use her brain—this was too important. "I... I want to say yes," she said.

  "Want to?" He smiled. "Then say it, lass."

  "Let me think about it today, and I'll give you my answer this evening." She caressed his morning stubble with the palm of her hand. "I want us both to have time to consider our future before we commit our lives to each other forever." Releasing a long, slow breath, she added, "Especially you, Riley. I want you to think this over very carefully before you decide."

  "I've already decided, Bridget." His voice was husky with emotion. "I can't imagine living my life without you in my arms. I want to start every day of my life just like this."

  She giggled, acutely aware of his erection pressing against her. "Hmm. Well, I rather like it myself, but just take this one day to make sure. Please?"

  "Aye." He kissed her again, pressing her back agains
t the feather bed. "I'm giving you something to carry with you the rest of the day, though."

  She sighed as his mouth found her breast. Entwining her fingers through his hair, she held him against her. "Yes. Oh, yes."

  Later—much later—they had a light breakfast before Riley left to fetch a cumbersome part he'd ordered for the tractor. Bridget waved from the front porch as he drove away in his truck. He blew her a kiss as he turned onto the road.

  She loved that man, and hugged herself as he rounded the curve beyond Caisleán Dubh, heading toward the village. Maybe she should have agreed immediately to his proposal, because she wanted to marry him more than anything. She just wanted to make sure he wanted it as much. If she gave him time to ponder it and he still wanted it, then she would have her answer.

  And she would become Mrs. Mulligan again. The thought brought a smile to her face as she watched the sun rise higher in the sky. After last night's storm, seeing the sunshine today made it even more perfect.

  She closed the front door and headed toward the kitchen to clean up the breakfast mess, but a piece of folded, yellowed paper on the floor caught her eye. She stooped down and retrieved it from beneath Riley's desk, intending to lay it on top of the stack of Brady's research material, but curiosity prompted her to stand there, staring at it.

  She unfolded it carefully, as it had grown brittle with age. She shouldn't, but it wasn't as if she were prying into Riley's personal papers. This was research material on the Mulligans and Caisleán Dubh, and she definitely had a vested interest in the castle's history.

  The paper was a record of death, signed at the bottom by a priest. A powerful premonition swept through Bridget and her hands trembled as she read the deceased's name.

  Bronagh Erienne.

  Was Erienne her last name? It sounded like a middle name to Bridget. She kept reading and came to the full name near the bottom of the page. A sob erupted from her very soul.

  "Oh, my God." She clawed at her throat with one hand, and a burning sensation washed through her. "Frye... like me." A lump formed in her throat and she struggled to breathe, rereading the entire document again. And again.

  Bridget had always known her Frye roots were Irish, but she had no knowledge of what part of Ireland. She knew nothing at all about her family tree beyond Granny and Grandpa. Could she be a descendant of the same family?