by Deb Stover
She dropped into Riley's desk chair, confused. Was that why he'd called her Bronagh more than once? He hadn't last night, though, and she was glad. Their lovemaking had involved only them—she was certain of that. Even the castle's whispers had been absent.
Why? What had been different about last night?
She was spying, but this was her business, too. With trembling hands, she lifted the diary on the top of Riley's stack, finding a verse of some kind. The following pages described it as a spell cast by Bronagh's elderly aunt—a witch. The rest of her family had disowned the old crone, according to the priest's accounting. However, Bronagh had been kind to her aunt. Apparently, the old witch had cast a spell on Caisleán Dubh after Bronagh had plunged to her death from the tower. The aunt had also revealed that Bronagh had been with child at the time of her death.
The word "suicide" didn't appear in the documents, but it was certainly suggested. Bridget kept reading, then returned to the verse—the spell.
The cause of the alleged Curse of Caisleán Dubh?
"It all makes a sick sort of sense." She held the diary open to the spell and looked at the record of Bronagh's death again. The date leaped off the stiff parchment, stealing Bridget's breath.
Yesterday had been the anniversary of Bronagh Erienne Frye's suicide. And Aidan's wedding day, if the stories Bridget had heard were true.
The evidence made tears spill from Bridget's eyes. She had to add up the facts and use her brain. That was what Granny would have done, though sometimes the old woman's "facts" hadn't quite added up.
Shoving memories aside, Bridget scrubbed her eyes and focused on the evidence staring her in the face. The burning questions inside her would have to be asked.
And they would have to be answered.
Had Riley known about all this before he'd made love to Bridget in Caisleán Dubh?
She looked at the witch's spell again, her heart thundering.
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!
Bridget was a Frye. Riley was a direct descendant of Aidan Mulligan. Riley had seemed so relieved and happier these last few days. Was the reason because he'd discovered a way to remove the curse on his family? On Caisleán Dubh?
And ende this spelle, forever, in that blessed hour!
Did that mean the spell could only be broken on that date? She covered her face with her hands. If he'd known the words of the spell and the significance of the date....
"That son of a bitch!"
Riley had used Bridget to break the spell.
Chapter 20
Riley stopped at Harrigan's to pick up the part, only to find an "Out to Lunch" sign in the bloody window. He shoved his fists into his pockets and decided to pay Brady a visit now. His old teacher had planned to phone the parish in Kilmurray this morning. Maybe he'd learned something more.
He walked the two blocks to the Reardens' cottage and knocked on the door. Katie answered.
I'm the one who's fecking cursed.
"Riley," she said, obviously surprised. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose swollen.
She'd been crying. "Is something wrong?" he asked gently. "Are your parents and granddad well?"
"Aye." She opened the door and stepped aside. "She's won."
"Who?"
"Bridget."
Riley winced. His Bridget. "I don't think we need to talk about—"
"I don't care what you think, Riley Mulligan." Katie flounced into the house, leaving Riley to show himself in.
He looked around, wondering where Brady was. Katie was in a snit, and Riley didn't want to deal with it alone. "I came by to speak with your granddad," he said, hoping to steer her away from whatever had upset her.
"Ha!"
"Is he here?" Riley drew a deep breath and counted to ten. He wanted to hurry his business and get back home to Bridget and her answer to his proposal. Jaysus, please let it be yes.
"Aye, he's here all right." Her lower lip trembled and she spun around to march back through the kitchen, leaving Riley no choice but to follow.
"Granddad, Riley is here," she said in a surly tone, shoving open the door to a cluttered room off the kitchen that Brady used as a study. "I'm sure you'll both enjoy ruining my reputation."
"I haven't the vaguest notion...." Riley shook his head, feeling helpless. He looked at Brady. The older man's face was flushed and his eyes snapped with anger.
"Katie, if we were both a lot younger, I wouldn't hesitate to put you over me knee." He rose from his chair, and though his height didn't quite equal Katie's, his expression and tone reminded Riley of his schooldays when a student had been caught breaking a serious rule. "You'll be about fetching me missing notes now."
So she did take them.
Katie stomped her foot and shouted something unintelligible, slamming the door behind her.
"Well, then..." Riley cleared his throat, relieved to be rid of the lass. "That was a bit ugly."
"Aye. Sit, lad. Sit."
Riley flopped into the chair across from Brady, and asked, "Have you learned anything more?"
"Aye and no." Brady scratched his head. "The parish secretary in Kilmurray insists there was a paper documentin' Bronagh's death tucked inside one of the diaries."
"Loose?" Riley looked around the chaos. "It could be lost."
"Aye, or still in the papers I left with you." Brady appeared hopeful. "I'll keep lookin' here, and you have a look when you get home."
"Aye." Riley stood. "Thanks for all your help, Brady."
"Think nothin' of it, but don't be runnin' off just yet, lad." Brady stood and winked. "I've spent a good part of my adult life researchin' Caisleán Dubh, and I distinctly remember recording Bronagh's full name. Wait for the notes Katie's fetchin'."
A soft knock sounded on Brady's study door, and since Riley was standing there, he answered it. Katie stood there with a pained look on her face. She had a small box clutched in her hands.
"Since you think more of your research than of your granddaughter, here are your precious notes." Katie tossed a small box onto the desk top. "I'll be packing now."
Brady stopped his grab for the box and stared at his granddaughter. "'Tis sorry I am you feel that way, lass."
"The only reason I stayed here was because..."
"Go on, lass," he said. "I'm listenin'."
She glanced nervously at Riley, though he tried not to notice.
"Because I thought Caisleán Dubh was... my destiny. A silly romantic notion." She sniffled and a tear trickled down her cheek. "Way back when you first started your research, I would sneak in here to read your notes. It all sounded so romantic, and I thought it would make you proud if I... I..."
"Ah, lass," Brady said, his voice gentle.
"Aren't I being punished enough to suit you both?" she asked, her eyes flashing angrily again. Resentment radiated from her.
Riley tried to sink lower in his chair. He didn't want any part of this.
"Punished?" Brady asked. "You mean for stealin' me notes?"
"Culley married that other woman and shamed me," she said, her voice rising with every syllable. "Then he had to go and die."
"Jaysus." Riley covered his face. The woman was mad.
"Now his widow is flauntin' herself around Ballybronagh with her son—Culley's son."
"She is his widow, and Jacob is Culley's son. 'Tis her right, lass." Brady sighed.
"Because of your research, I believed it should have been my right."
Riley faced her again now, curious. "What madness is this?" He'd never figured it out
, even after her earlier visit to the farm.
"Granddad's research mentions Aidan Mulligan's lover by name." Her voice grew quieter now. "When I saw it, I remembered that my great-mamó's maiden name was the same."
Brady appeared as confused as Riley felt. "Aye, but—"
"I know." She heaved a huge sigh. "All my romantic dreams are shattered now. Thanks to your stupid notes."
"Ah, lass..." Brady smiled at her, but she continued to glower. "All you had to do was ask, and the truth would've been yours."
"It's too late now." She drew a shaky breath and squared her shoulders. "I was wrong. Caisleán Dubh isn't for me. It never was. I've spent my life believing a romantic lie—a fairy-tale." She released a long sigh. "I'm going to Aunt Mary's in the States."
She turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Brady sighed and shook his head. "That was unfortunate. The lass read something into me notes that was never there." He rubbed his bald pate and cleared his throat.
"She told me her soul-mate theory," Riley said, certain now they would find Bronagh's last name in that box. "Obviously something happened to change her mind."
"Oh, aye." Brady untied the ribbon holding the box closed. "Her mum's mamó died years ago. No one ever tried to keep her past a secret, but Katie wasn't old enough to understand then. After the woman was gone from this earth, it never seemed necessary to mention."
"Mention what?"
"Katie's mamó was an orphan, lad." Brady shook his head. "The name Katie found was the family's who took her in."
Riley groaned. "All this time, she believed—"
"That she could break the spell by marryin' a Mulligan."
"Poor lass." Riley shook his head. "I think the States will do her good—help her put all this behind her."
"Aye. I hope you're right, lad." Brady sounded tired. He scrubbed his face with both hands, and turned his attention back to the box. "I didn't have any original documents here, but I had notes. My notes."
"Let's have a look."
Both men took their seats and Brady opened the box. They both sifted through his words. Riley soon discovered that reading someone else's notes was like trying to read their mind. He found a page with Bronagh's name scribbled across the top. There were dates and place names beneath that. "What's this?" He held it out to Brady, who took it and adjusted his glasses.
"Woo-hoo! This is it." Brady pointed to the page. "This is what I should've remembered when I met her."
"What?" Riley shook his head. "Met who?"
Brady's eyes twinkled. "When I met Bridget and young Jacob on the plane."
Riley's breath caught in his throat and he leaned forward, scanning the words again. "For a teacher, you have lousy handwriting."
Brady grinned and took a pencil from behind his ear to use as a pointer. "See here? This be her name. Bronagh's full name."
"I recognize Bronagh, but not the rest." Riley squinted, trying to make sense of it all.
"Bronagh Erienne Frye, lad. Frye, it is."
"Jaysus!" Riley bolted to his feet, his mouth dry, and a fine film of perspiration coating his skin. He took the page from Brady again. "Aye, I see it now. Frye."
"Like your Bridget." Brady narrowed his gaze. "But wouldn't marryin' Culley have fulfilled the requirements to break the spell?"
"But he died." Riley sobered, his palms growing sweaty. "Did anyone ever tell you about the whispering?"
"No. What whispering?"
Riley cleared his throat and released a long sigh. "Culley heard it all his life. It's a faint whispering or sighing that comes from Caisleán Dubh. I never heard it until..."
"Until after Culley died." Brady pulled his rosary beads from his pocket and clutched them in his fist. "I'm feelin' blasphemous again, lad."
Riley had to smile. "We weren't the evil person who put a spell on the castle."
"True." Brady relaxed somewhat. "So you now hear the sounds from Caisleán Dubh?"
"Aye, but only since Culley's death."
"And..." Brady shrugged and gave Riley a sheepish grin. "I have to ask, lad."
"About Bridget?"
"And you."
Riley couldn't prevent himself from telling his old teacher and friend that he'd found the love of his heart. "She hears the castle, too," he said very carefully, not wanting Brady or anyone to believe the curse had made him fall in love with Bridget. "I asked her to marry me this morning, but not because of the whispers or curse or Caisleán Dubh. I asked her, because I love her."
Brady sighed and stood, reaching for Riley's hand. "Well, now, and doesn't it speak well of you to know you asked before you learned Bronagh's last name?"
"I hope so," Riley said, holding the page in his hand. "May I keep this? I want to show it to Bridget."
"Aye, of course." Brady waved Riley away. "You're dismissed, lad," his old teacher said with a grin. "I've research to do."
"Thank you, Brady." Riley stood staring at the document for a few seconds, hoping Bridget would understand.
He made his way back to Harrigan's with Brady's note in his pocket. He'd learned so much so fast. Riley would have to tell Bridget everything. He didn't want any secrets between them as they began their life together.
Most of all, he didn't want her to think he'd known about this before last night. That would cheapen what they'd shared, and Riley couldn't bear that. Bridget was too precious to hurt.
By the time Harrigan finished with another customer and helped Riley load the cumbersome part into the back of his lorry, the day was more than half spent. Riley was so eager to get back to Bridget he could barely stand it. His day had started late—but with good reason—and now he was hours behind schedule.
He stopped at the barn and dropped off the part. Most of the afternoon had waned by the time Riley parked his lorry in front of the cottage.
He climbed out of the cab and stretched, deciding a shower was definitely in order. He paused, wondering if he could convince Bridget to wash his back. No, he wouldn't coax her into any more intimacy until he'd told her everything. Anything less would be dishonest. He couldn't spring this news on her smelling like this, though.
"To the shower with you, Mulligan," he muttered, trudging around to the back door. He stepped inside and stopped, listening to the eerie silence. Where was Bridget? He glanced at the stove, surprised to find nothing simmering or baking.
Maybe she was taking a nap. They both had every reason to be exhausted after last night, though Riley was particularly enthusiastic about seeing her again. Holding her. Kissing her.
And getting an answer to his proposal.
He patted the pocket with Brady's notes, then headed up the stairs and his room. After gathering clean clothes, he showered and shaved, transferring the paper into the pocket of his clean shirt. Eager to see Bridget, he bounded down the stairs—missing the low beam—only to find the kitchen still silent. Still empty.
He ventured into the parlor, down to the cellar, then up to Bridget's attic room. Everything looked fine, except that there was no sign of Bridget.
He returned to the kitchen, thinking she might have left a note, but he found nothing. At the window, he gazed out at the gathering darkness and worried.
Caisleán Dubh had a glow about it this evening. Riley blinked, and looked again. No, Caisleán Dubh had a glow coming from inside it. "Bridget." She was waiting for him there—waiting to give him her answer. Of course. It made perfect sense that she'd want to meet him there.
He ran across the meadow, slowing his pace once he reached the castle's foundation. Eager to see Bridget, he didn't even hesitate to slip through the opening as he had in the past.
The whispering was back, circling and beckoning him. Riley swallowed hard. Aye, he was Aidan's descendant, and it had fallen to him—both the responsibility and the love. He hadn't asked for it, but there it was. Now he would simply have to deal with it. But first, he wanted to see Bridget's smiling face.
"Bridget?" he calle
d, scanning the main chamber. She'd placed the candles beside Aidan's portrait again. He looked around, but didn't see her. "Where are you, lass?"
"Behind you."
Riley spun around at the sound of her voice, spying her standing at the base of the steps. "There you are," he said, approaching her. "I was worried. You could've left a note, Bridget."
Something white came flying toward him. He ducked and the plate shattered on the marble floor. "Jaysus." He continued toward her, dodging flying saucers of the earthly kind all the way. "Stop, Bridget!"
"Don't you mean Bronagh?" she asked, her voice icy.
He stopped a few feet away, gazing up into her face. She'd been crying, and she held a flashlight in one hand and a plate in the other. "No," he said quietly. "I said Bridget and that's what I meant."
"Why didn't you tell me?" She stood there on the steps, a plate clutched in her hand.
He shook his head. "You'll have to be more specific, lass. Tell you about what?"
"About Bronagh Erienne Frye."
"How did you—" Riley stopped and drew a deep breath. "Who told you? I just found out my—"
"I found her death certificate, or whatever they called it back then." She dropped her arms to her sides, still holding the plate.
A basket of plates sat on the step at her feet. She'd come well-armed.
"I saw the date, Riley. The date." She flung the plate, barely missing his head.
Now he was really confused. "What date, lass?" He shrugged. "I just saw Brady this afternoon, and he showed me his notes." He withdrew the paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. "Aye, it says Frye."
"You expect me to believe you didn't know?" Her voice trembled and she bit her lower lip. "That you didn't sleep with me just to stop your silly old curse?"
He took a step toward her, but she retreated a step, steadying herself with her hand on the wall—not the banister. "Bridget, it wasn't like that." He reached toward her. "Come down here and let's talk about it, luv."
"Don't call me that."
"All right." Riley couldn't lose her now, and he didn't deserve to lose her. "Bridget, it's the truth. I didn't know her last name until today. Brady will vouch for me."