Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  "You... you didn't see the death certificate before...?"

  "No. I did not."

  "Well..."

  "Come, lass." He held his hand out to her and thunder shook the ground beneath them. "I came here to tell you what I learned today, because I don't want to begin our marriage with secrets. We're meant to be together, but we knew it before we saw the bloody name."

  "I want to believe you," she whispered as lightning flashed, illuminating the chamber.

  He took another step, slowly closing the gap that separated them—physically and emotionally. "I love you, Bridget. I wouldn't care if your name was Bridget Elizabeth Francesca Martini instead of Frye."

  She smiled.

  "Ah, there's me lass." He was at the bottom step now, reaching for her. "Come with me. Let's talk about our marriage. Our future together."

  "I..." She retreated another step. "I'm not sure."

  "Don't go up the stairs, Bridget," he said. "It's dark. You could fall."

  "Like Bronagh...?"

  "You aren't Bronagh."

  "I... I'm not so sure."

  "What?" Riley climbed up one step. "Even if the spell the witch cast is true, it doesn't matter. You've proven we can enter Caisleán Dubh without dropping dead."

  "Yes." Her voice sounded vague and distant. "But the dreams, Riley."

  Aye, the dreams. He exhaled very slowly, deciding to tell her everything. "I had dreams, too." She gasped and he added, "About Aidan and Bronagh."

  "Not yourself?"

  "I... I'm not sure."

  "And Bronagh? Not... me?"

  He swallowed hard, trying to find the words to explain it all. "I can't deny there's something special—even powerful—between us, Bridget." He shrugged. "Maybe we're soul-mates. Maybe, you were Bronagh and I was Aidan. Who knows? Does it really matter, since we love each other?"

  "I do love you," she said. "But..."

  "But what?" He took another step, but she retreated two more. She still had the flashlight, but all the circular artillery sat safely on a lower step.

  "The dreams. I need to understand them. I think they took place here in the castle."

  "Aye," he said. "I felt it, too."

  "When we were here with the inspector, I had... images flashing through my mind of myself with my dream lover." She gave him that sad smile again. "With you."

  Riley's throat went dry and he could barely swallow. "Aye. I know." He reached again. "Come down here so we can kiss and make up proper."

  "What about the date, Riley?" she asked. "Did you know that yesterday was the anniversary of Bronagh's death?"

  Taken aback, Riley narrowed his gaze. "The devil, you say?" He raked his fingers through his hair. "No. I didn't know. Are you very sure about this?"

  "Yes." Her voice was calmer now, but she made no effort to halt her slow but steady retreat up the stairs. "I want to believe you," she repeated. "I need to understand all this. I need to know the whole truth."

  The wind outside whipped through the opening. The doors behind him groaned and shuddered. He looked over his shoulder as thunder again reverberated through the castle. Lightning flashed overhead. Had it been inside the castle? No, of course not.

  He turned to Bridget again.

  But she was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Bridget's heart hammered as she raced up the steps, being careful not to touch the banister. She needed to see more of Caisleán Dubh. She had to know if she was Bronagh. It sounded crazy, yet in a way it all made sense.

  She was a Frye, like Bronagh. She'd fallen in love with not one, but two Mulligan men. She heard the castle's whispering, especially now as it seemed to urge her up the circular stairs.

  What was happening to her? Was she becoming Bronagh? No, that was ridiculous. She was Bridget and she wasn't about to fling herself to her death from the top of the tower.

  But she needed to see the room where her dreams had taken place. Aidan's bedchamber. It had to be. Somehow, she knew exactly where she would find it. She didn't pause to wonder why now, but she would later. How could she not?

  She ventured through an archway at the next floor, rather than continuing up the stairs. Mr. Kelley had said the master bedchamber was on this floor. Hadn't he?

  Riley called her name, and guilt niggled at her. "I'm here, Riley," she said. "I'm all right. I just have to see."

  "I'm coming, too."

  "Be careful." She couldn't bear for anything to happen to him because of her impulsiveness. After all, she had the flashlight.

  Another thunderclap shook the castle as Bridget shoved on a heavy planked door. It squealed in protest, and the shutters covering the windows inside burst open, admitting a fierce gust of wind that almost slammed the door in her face.

  Bridget screamed, taking several seconds to recover her ability to breathe. The gale stirred the dust in the room and she sneezed.

  Riley came in behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You scared me out of my wits."

  "I... I'm sorry. I had to see." Only a little twilight remained outside, as she aimed her flashlight at the huge object in the corner. A bed. "Aidan's?"

  "I... I think so," Riley whispered.

  A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by another, and another. "Yes," she said. "I've seen it before." A shudder rippled through her and she walked slowly toward it, knowing Riley was right behind her. "They made love here. They made a child here—a child who never took his first breath." A sob choked free from her throat and she bit down on her knuckles to silence herself.

  "Aye." Riley's voice sounded odd. Respectful.

  "You know it's true," Bridget said. "Their spirits live on inside us. Riley, it's true!" She turned in a slow circle, noticing the huge hearth across from the window. "They made love in front of the fire, too."

  "Aye." Riley exhaled very slowly, sliding his arms around her from behind.

  Though the dreams had worried her, now that she knew the truth, a sense of peace washed over her. She leaned back against his broad chest, feeling his love and his strength. "Thank you."

  "For what?" he asked.

  "Loving me."

  He turned her slowly in his arms as another blast of wind made the shutters close and open again and again. "I do love you, no matter when or if our spirits ever lived or loved before." He kissed her and she returned the kiss with a passion that left him weak in the knees.

  She came up for air. "I love you, too."

  The wind died. The thunder and lightning ceased.

  He took Bridget's hand in his and led her to the window. A full moon broke through the clouds, bathing the farm and the sea below them in silver.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered.

  "Aye." He slid behind her again with his arms about her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. "I'm thinking that when we renovate the castle, we shouldn't stop with the ground floor."

  "No?" Her pulse quickened. "For the bed and breakfast?"

  "Not all."

  "I'd like that."

  "Would you...?" He kissed the side of her neck.

  Bridget melted into him, remembering the image she'd had of him holding her just this way. "Bronagh wanted to live here," she said. "And so do I."

  "Then you shall." He held her close. "We shall."

  "Yes." Bridget smiled to herself, feeling at peace for the first time in a very long time. "Bronagh loved Aidan with all her heart."

  Riley sighed. "I know she did. And he loved her."

  Bridget nodded. "It was awful for them both."

  He nodded against her. "It's over now."

  Bridget turned in his embrace and gazed into his handsome, moonlit face. "No, it's not over."

  He flashed her that crooked grin that made her dizzy with desire.

  She reached up to caress his cheek. "I will marry you, Riley Francis Mulligan," she said, and the whispering of Caisleán Dubh embraced them with joyous song.

  "Thank the Blessed Virgin and all the saints." Riley spun h
er in a circle, then set her back on her feet as the whispering ended. "We'll make this old castle a real home, Bridget. For us, for Jacob, for all the brothers and sisters we'll create for him...."

  "Oh, yes," she breathed, closing her eyes and seeing Aidan and Bronagh as they had been before the tragedy. In her heart, she bid them farewell, but it wasn't the end—not for any of them.

  "It's time to come home."

  Epilogue

  Riley stood in the main chamber of Caisleán Dubh, gazing up at the restored portrait of his ancestor, Aidan Mulligan. After the grime and damage from moisture, salt, and age had been repaired, it became clear that Riley definitely resembled Aidan.

  However, staring into Aidan's eyes was more like staring into the eyes of Patrick Mulligan twenty-one years ago. It comforted Riley to see the resemblance—and to know that the dreams he'd had of Aidan had truly been of himself. With Bridget—not Bronagh.

  He turned to survey the room, decorated with Irish lace and a profusion of vines and flowers. Chairs filled with guests sat theater fashion, and a white carpet stretched its entire length from the wall of windows and open French doors where the old double doors had been, to the bottom of the curving staircase. An altar of white roses and violets adorned the bottom step, where Father O'Malley waited.

  All the renovations respected the historical integrity of the castle. Bridget and the Irish Trust wouldn't have it any other way. Riley smiled to himself.

  Since the night Bridget accepted his proposal, the curse or spell seemed to have vanished. No whispers. No aphrodisiac banister—not that they needed one.

  "Uncle Riley?" Jacob asked from his side. "I'm glad you and Momma are getting married."

  "I'm glad, too." A smile curved Riley's lips as he gazed down at his nephew and best man. Culley's son. Nothing could be more perfect.

  Harp music came from an area beneath the stairs, the crisp notes echoing off the high ceiling. Mr. and Mrs. Larabee came over to pump Riley's hand again, declaring their joy about the marriage. Bridget and Jacob had been thrilled that they'd made the trip, though General Lee had, thankfully, remained in Tennessee.

  The tone of the music shifted, and the Larabees took their seats. Riley and Jacob walked quietly to the altar, where Father O'Malley beamed at them both. Riley turned his attention to the French doors, watching his old friend Sean Collins escort Mum up the aisle. Tears of joy streamed down her face and she blew Riley a kiss before taking her seat.

  Kevin Gilhooley and Maggie came next. Riley's baby sister looked dazzling in a gown of violet lace. Her smile for Riley reflected his own joy as she took her position as maid of honor.

  The music grew louder and Riley's breath stuttered. All eyes turned toward the wall of windows overlooking the sea. Brady appeared first, holding his elbow out for the bride. A vision in Irish lace, Bridget appeared beside Brady and took his arm. Her face was covered by a veil, and the train trailed several yards behind her as they made their way toward the altar.

  Riley swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked rapidly as his love for this woman billowed through him. By the time Brady placed her hand in his, he was dizzy with it.

  "You're beautiful," he whispered, gazing through the lace at her lovely face.

  "I could eat you with a spoon," she whispered, smiling.

  The ceremony was long and there wasn't a dry eye in the place. They all must have felt it, too—the powerful joining of two hearts, two lives.

  And two souls for eternity.

  "You may kiss the bride," Father O'Malley finally said.

  Riley tenderly lifted the lace covering Bridget's smile and embraced her. Their kiss was gentle and sweet, yet filled with promise.

  A faint, magical whirlwind encircled the bride and groom. Riley sensed that the whispers had returned to say good-bye.

  Bridget smiled up at him with tears of joy glittering in her eyes. Applause and cheers echoed through the castle from behind them, but he distinctly heard his bride's fervent whisper.

  "Bingo, Granny. Bingo."

  The End

  Dear Readers:

  This opportunity to know Ireland through the Mulligans has been one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of my career. I hope to write many more novels set in Ireland, as I am now even more in love with that lovely Emerald Isle. I hope you enjoy sharing Bridget and Riley's adventures as much as I did creating them.

  I love to hear from readers. Write to me at PO Box 539 Palmer Lake, CO 80133-0539. I'm even easier to find online at www.debstover.com or email deb@destover.com

  Love

  Deb

  Page forward and read how the legend continues in Mulligan Magic...

  Excerpt from

  Mulligan Magic

  Book Two

  by

  Deb Stover

  "The Irish Blessing"

  Author Unknown

  May the road rise up to meet you.

  May the wind be always at your back.

  May the sun shine warm upon your face;

  the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

  may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

  ~

  Go n'éirí an bothar leat

  Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl

  Go lonraí an ghrian go te ar d'aghaidh

  Go dtite an bháisteach go mín ar do pháirceanna

  Agus go mbuailimid le chéile arís,

  Go gcoinní Dia i mbos A láimhe thú

  Prologue

  County Clare, Ireland—1783

  Sinéad climbed the massive boulders surrounding the castle, where her sweet Bronagh had died. Feet planted firmly on the highest rock, Sinéad's old body shuddered with rage and sorrow.

  She tilted her head back to gaze upward at the tower of Caisleán Dubh. "'Tis a place of evil," she whispered.

  Bronagh had taken her own life after Aidan Mulligan rejected her love. Sinéad glowered at the proud, stalwart tower. She knew a thing or two herself about lost love. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her fist against her own broken heart, remembering.

  She'd once been young and in love. Oh, he'd been a handsome lad, and for one summer, she'd believed he would ask for her hand. She believed it so completely, she had lain with him—her virginity but a memory. But he never asked. Instead he had married himself to his church—his love of piety and traditions stronger than the love he'd professed for her.

  And now—now—he dared to deny sweet Bronagh the comfort of being buried on hallowed ground. Sinéad straightened to scrub away her tears, allowing rage to flood through her mind to drive away the grief. The sun dipped lower, casting a long shadow from the tower toward the village. The shadow pointed like an arrow toward the church.

  Toward Fergus—the man Sinéad had once loved.

  She shook her tightly clenched fists in the air, and an angry gale whipped her long, black skirt about her legs. In her many decades upon this earth, she had never used her powers for evil—never done deliberate harm.

  Until tonight.

  She rested her hands on the rough stone of the castle wall. Power pulsed through her frail frame. This morning, she'd written and memorized the words, needing them to be perfect. And potent. Summoning all the will of her ancestors and the universe, Sinéad cursed Caisleán Dubh.

  "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!"

  Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Sinéad lifted her open hands to the heavens and rain exploded from the sky in a furious torrent, washing Bronagh's blood from the rocks that had stolen her sweet, young life mere days ago. "So mote it be," Sinéad shouted into the storm.

  "Stop this madness!" Strong arms encircled Sinéad's waist
and dragged her away from the castle wall.

  Fergus. It didn't matter now. Her spell was cast. She didn't struggle against his physical strength. The storm drowned out most of his words, but she knew the feel of him. The scent of his wet skin, and even the texture of his wool cape.

  She'd once loved him.

  Fergus dragged her across the rutted road to his church, pushing open the heavy door without releasing her. Out of the tempest, he released her and they stood staring at each other, their breathing ragged and echoing off the high, stone walls—a ghostly reminder of the love they'd once shared.

  "What have ye done?" he asked. His voice trembled. "Sinéad, what have ye—"

  She met his gaze. "Bronagh will live and love again."

  Fergus crossed himself, eyes haunted. "Sinéad, that's blaspheme."

  "Nay. Denying that child a proper burial is blaspheme."

  He looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing. "She took her own life. The laws of the church—"

  "Are wrong."

  "No." He drew a shaky breath and released it very slowly. "Yer ways are wrong."

  "But they be me own, and from an older tradition than yours." Sinéad turned toward the door.

  "Ye risk yer immortal soul," he whispered wretchedly.

  Though she practiced what he considered a Pagan craft, she was also Catholic. His words stung, and Sinéad slowly turned to face him. "I do not care how many lives I suffer for this, if indeed I do."

  "Yer eternal life is what ye risk."

  "No." She shook her head, remembering the day he had told her his decision to become a priest. "Ye destroyed that long ago."

  "This is not about..." He reached toward her, but stopped partway, closing his fist around air. "It was not meant to be, just as Bronagh and—"

  "Stop!" Sinéad pointed her finger again. "Stop," she repeated softly. "You took me virginity when 'twas offered, then left me for your church. Now at least leave me dignity in the end. 'Tis done. Let it be."