Briarwood Cottage

by JoAnn Ross

  Cass would have had to have been blind and deaf not to see the remembered sorrow in his dark eyes. To hear the helplessness of a young boy in his voice.

  “Making things even worse was that we were going to have to leave Castlelough and the farm that had been in the family for centuries so my mother could take a job with a businessman in Galway.”

  “Moving when you’re young can be difficult.” And didn’t both she and Duncan know that firsthand? A lack of roots was another thing they had in common.

  “I first came out here to be alone,” he said. “Where I could cry without my aunt Celia catching me at it. Although she’s my mother’s sister, she’s only a year older than me and back then liked to sport her superiority.

  “One particularly bad day, I was sitting on the bank, crying my eyes out, when the Lady first appeared. At first I thought I might have dozed off in the warm sun and was dreaming. But she was as real as you or Mr. McCaragh.”

  “Duncan,” Duncan reminded the young man quietly, as if not wanting to interrupt the narrative.

  “Duncan,” Rory agreed. Then sighed. “The Lady became my best friend. I’d visit every day and share anything and everything with her. Things I couldn’t even share with my mother.”

  “Did she talk back?” Duncan, always the reporter, asked.

  “Not in the beginning. But I could sense that she was listening… Which has you thinking even more that I’m either making this up or was hallucinating as a child.”

  “He didn’t say that,” Cass said.

  “But he’s thinking it,” Rory said. “As I myself might, had I not experienced her presence. Then one day, she did speak. The words, meant to reassure me at a dark and sad time, weren’t spoken out loud, but I heard them quite clearly in my head.

  “Shortly after that, Quinn came to Castlelough, stayed at our house, and he and Mam fell in love. Of course, like all romances, they had their ups and downs, but they eventually got married in the circle of stones on our farm, and all our lives made a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn for the better.

  “Which is when the Lady stopped appearing to me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Aye. I later came to the conclusion that once I no longer needed her, she either went back to staying beneath the lake or began appearing to someone else who needed an open heart who would listen to their problems.

  “So. That is my tale you asked for. There are undoubtedly others in the village who’ve had a similar experience, though I’ve never had anyone tell me of it. Which makes sense because only my family knows. My grandda did claim to have seen her, but then again, he was a man fond of his drink and had also claimed to see leprechauns and faeries, so there are few who put much credence to his tales.”

  “Thank you,” Cass said. “That was lovely, and you were very generous to share it.”

  “I’m glad you found it worth your time.”

  “Well worth it,” Duncan said. “Although it’s a difficult concept to wrap my mind around, you’ve definitely shifted my thinking.”

  “It’s glad I am to hear that.”

  As he smiled, Cassandra couldn’t help thinking how the teenage girls at St. Bernadette Mary High School were going to react to the newest member of the faculty. Rory Joyce, she imagined, would have more than a few personal challenges his first year of teaching. But she had no doubt that he was up to handling anything thrown his way.

  20

  “So, what did you think?” Duncan asked Cass after they’d returned to the cottage and Rory had driven back to the Joyce farm. He’d told them that Quinn Gallagher had expanded the property to include guesthouses, one of which he was staying in while preparing for his new job.

  “You’re going to think I’ve been drinking the Castlelough Kool-Aid, but I believe him,” Cass said.

  “I’m still a skeptic. But there’s no way I’m going to write his story. Because while the Castlelough Celtic is far from a credible paper, if it picked up the story on some wire service, or worse yet, if it appeared on RTÉ, locals would be able to put two and two together and figure out who the story was about.”

  “Which Rory Joyce doesn’t need his first year of teaching.”

  “Definitely not.” So…Duncan thought about sharing his new plan with Cass. Then decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait for a few hours.

  They’d go to the pub. Have a pint and dinner, dance if there was music, then return home. To bed. And then, after they made love, he’d lay the idea on her.

  Failure was definitely not an option. But as they drove to Brennan’s, Duncan wished he’d thought to ask Rory if he still had that magical druid stone.

  *

  “I think you’ve killed me,” Duncan said as he lay on his back amidst hot, tangled sheets. This time Cass was sprawled over him.

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound it. What she sounded was more than a little pleased with herself.

  “That’s okay. You give good sex, sweetheart. It was worth dying for.” At least he’d died a happy man.

  She rolled off him and lay on her back beside him. “Thank you. I think. But I don’t believe dead men can talk,” she said.

  “Sure they can. You never saw that Willis flick?”

  “Of course I did. But The Sixth Sense was fiction.”

  “Ah, but we’re in Ireland. Where there’s a thin line not only between realms but seemingly between fact and fiction.”

  “I suppose that’s true enough.” She turned on her side, propped herself up on an elbow, and ran a hand down his chest, to his stomach, then lower, curling her fingers around him.

  “But you certainly don’t feel dead.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to that,” he said as his body responded to her stroking touch. “It’s stolen the blood from my brain again, and this time I’m taking back control because we need to talk.”

  “Oh?” She removed her hand, hitched up in bed, and looked at him. “If it’s about what I came here to discuss—”

  “No.” He quickly cut her off before she could say the dreaded D word. “But it is about us.”

  Because he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted, Duncan crawled out of bed, relieved to discover that his legs were still working. Dead Man Walking.

  “I love you,” he said after he’d pulled on the pair of boxer briefs he’d retrieved from where they’d landed atop the chest of drawers after Cass had ripped them off him.

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  “But?” He didn’t like the unwelcome hesitation he’d heard in her soft tone.

  “I don’t know. We loved each other once. And it wasn’t enough.”

  “That was my fault.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve finally accepted it wasn’t even mine. It just was what it was at the time.”

  “We didn’t expect to be hammered like that,” Duncan pointed out. “Your parents had a good marriage. From what you’ve told me, they were best friends who managed to be in love after all their years together.”

  “They were soul mates,” she said. “Although having them die was the second worst time in my life, I’ve realized that them dying together in that earthquake was for the best. Because I’m not sure either one of them could have survived that long without the other.”

  “I never witnessed anything like that at home.” Duncan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I never thought it was possible to have a connection like that. Until I met you.

  “Which is why I want time to show you how good we can be together, in every way, not just sex, before you pull out those papers you brought with you.”

  “I had a plan, too,” she admitted. “To have you sign on the dotted line as soon as I got here.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. And not just because you asked me to wait. Because once you opened the door, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.”

  “Because you remembered what we’d had.”

  “And lost,” she p
ointed out, making him wonder why he’d ever thought this might be easy.

  “We’ll make a pledge that if we start going off the rails, we’ll get help,” Duncan suggested. “A marriage tune-up.”

  Cass shook her head. “It still wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m no longer the woman I was. The same way I can’t return to serious journalism, I can’t be married to a man I only see for a few days at a time. A man who could get himself killed in some godforsaken place. It wasn’t easy putting myself back together, Duncan. I’m not sure I’d have the strength to do it again if I lost you.”

  “You’re way stronger than you think. But that’s a moot point because I’m quitting.”

  “What?”

  “I sent the e-mail to Winston this evening. Before we went to the pub, because, when I asked you to try again, I wanted you to realize that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things work.”

  “You love your work.”

  “I did. Now I don’t. And even when I did love it, I always loved you more.”

  “What would you do?”

  “How would you like to be married to a newspaper man?”

  “Papers are closing every day. The ones that don’t are going online. It’s not exactly a growth industry.”

  “As it happens, I just happen to know a paper that’s for sale. Which I could buy for a song, and with a little help from my wife, when she’s not writing the great American novel, turn the thing around.”

  He saw the comprehension dawn in her remarkable eyes. “You’re talking about the Castlelough Celtic.”

  “I am. While you were getting dressed earlier, I called the owner. It’s true what Brennan said about him wanting to move to Greece. We could have it for a song.”

  “And live here in Castlelough?”

  “And live here in Briarwood Cottage.”

  “Don’t tell me. You also talked with Michael Joyce.”

  Duncan shrugged. “I’m a Marine. I plan missions. And you, Cassandra Carpenter, are the most important mission I’ve ever undertaken.”

  Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip. Something else was bothering her. Something Duncan couldn’t quite get a handle on. Deciding he’d thrown enough at her for one night, he returned to the bed.

  “Just think about it, okay?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. Teasing, coaxing, taking things slowly when what he wanted to do was drag her into the mists until her brain was so muddled she’d have no choice but to agree.

  “I promise.” She turned in his arms and framed his face between her palms. “But for the moment, I wouldn’t be complaining if you were to be making love to me again,” she said on a lilting brogue, sounding as if she’d grown up in this very cottage.

  Unable to resist her anything, as he said good-bye to his brain yet again, Duncan willing complied.

  He’d been dozing when he felt the sheets shift. Heard her pad on bare feet out of his room down the hall. Then, to his surprise, instead of her returning from the bathroom, he heard the front door open. And close with a finality that chilled Duncan’s blood in the exact same way as when he’d received that call from Egypt.

  21

  Although Cassandra had retrieved the flashlight from the emergency kit that had come with her rental car, she didn’t need it as a full moon lighted her way along the path past the high Celtic crosses, the mounded cairn, the wildflowers, which had closed their petals for the night, wisely sleeping as she should be doing, to the secret passageway to the lake.

  When she reached it, she sat on the bank, looking out over the smooth, moonlit water, thinking of that Irish saying Rory Joyce had told them: ciúnas gan uaigneas. Quiet without loneliness.

  Well, it was certainly quiet, without so much as a breeze sighing through the reeds. But despite Duncan sleeping only a few minutes away, she was so, so lonely.

  There was a rustling sound, then the ripple of water as a magnificent creature—lough beastie, she reminded herself—rose from the glassy cobalt depths.

  There’s no need for you to be lonely, Cassandra Carpenter, the Lady said. As Rory had explained, she didn’t say the words out loud, but Cassandra definitely heard them in her head. You’re truly and deeply loved by your man back at Briarwood Cottage.

  “I know.” For some reason, Cassandra didn’t feel at all foolish talking to this mythical queen who’d traded in her royal robes for scales that shone like polished emeralds in the moon dust. “But I’m afraid.”

  This time the Lady didn’t respond. Cassandra knew that was because she was waiting for her to share the secret she’d kept hidden in her heart.

  “I’d always been so brave. I felt invincible. As if I had super powers, you know?” She’d no sooner said the words than she realized who she was talking to. “Of course you do… But then I lost my baby, and everything changed. I became afraid of losing everything else in my life.”

  Including your husband. Duncan McCaragh.

  “Yes.”

  Which is why you sent him away. It gave you a sense of the control you’d lost in Egypt.

  Having accepted the idea of a telepathic lough beastie in the first place, Cassandra wasn’t going to quibble about how the Lady might have known about that.

  “Now you sound like my cousin. And Doctor. Fletcher.”

  You’ve received good counsel. But the answer has always been inside your own heart, Cassandra Carpenter. Look there and you’ll find your answer.

  Apparently having said her piece, she gave a flick of her enormous tail and disappeared beneath the water.

  “Wow.” Cassandra breathed as she thought about what she’d just experienced. And knew that there was also no way she’d ever write about it.

  “Wow is an understatement,” a deep, wonderfully familiar voice said behind her.

  She turned and watched Duncan approach.

  “I’m honestly not stalking you,” he said, that uncharacteristic wariness in his voice again. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “I was. Am.” She glanced back at the now-smooth glassy water. “I take it you saw her?”

  “In all her emerald glory. Yeah. Either that or we’re sharing a dream. Or a hallucination.”

  “Did you hear her?”

  “No.” He sat down beside her on the bank, bent his knees, and looped his arms over them. “I take it you did?”

  “I did. And while it sounds even crazier, I think she knew that I’d be coming here tonight. And made that big showy appearance earlier to cause all those Lady seekers to leave so that she could talk to me alone.”

  “At this point I’m not about to call anything or anyone crazy… Are you going to share what she said?”

  “Only to you… She told me that I didn’t have to be lonely. That my husband, who was back at the cottage, loved me.”

  “A wise beastie is our Lady,” Duncan said.

  “She also told me that I didn’t have to be afraid of losing you.”

  “Not going to happen,” he agreed.

  “And that I should look for the answer inside my heart.”

  “I’m not going to argue that.” He lowered his legs and pulled her onto his lap. “And what is your heart telling you?”

  “That I love you more than I’ll ever love anyone else. That you’re my other half. And that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, loving and laughing and hopefully making babies in our little thatched-roof Irish cottage.”

  “I’m definitely up for making babies with you.” He nuzzled her neck. “Want to start now?”

  She laughed. “How did I not realize I’d married a man who turns life into a series of missions?”

  “I’m a Marine,” Duncan told her. “It’s what we do…when we’re not doing this.”

  As they shared a slow, deep kiss, the stars spun, and the full, floating moon bathed them in silvery dust while gossamer-winged faeries danced beneath the magical light.

  Meanwhile, unbeknown
st to Duncan and Cass, satisfied that all was finally well, the Lady bestowed a benevolent smile on these two formerly wounded hearts before diving deeper, returning to her enchanted palace beneath the smooth, moon-spangled lake.

  The End

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  Keep reading for a sneak preview excerpt of A Sea Change, the next book in the Castlelough series, coming in early 2015.

  Castlelough, Ireland

  Although the microbrewery might be a new addition, Brennan’s Microbrewery and Pub had been serving rebels and raiders, smugglers and sailors, poets and patriots since 1650.

  And, Sedona Sullivan considered as she watched a young couple share a kiss inside one of the two snugs by the front door, lovers. The leaded glass window kept people’s behavior reasonably sedate while the stained glass door allowed conversations to remain private.

  Whiskey bottles gleamed like pirates’ booty in the glow of brass-hooded lamps, a turf fire burned in a large open hearth at one end of the pub, warming against the chill of rain pelting on the slate roof, and heavy wooden tables were crowded onto the stone floor. Booths lined walls covered in football flags, vintage signs, old photographs, and in the library extension, books and magazines filled shelves and wall racks.

  The man murmured something in the woman’s ear, causing her to laugh and toss hair as bright as the peat fire. As the woman lifted her smiling lips to his for a longer, more drawn-out kiss, Sedona felt a stir of something that felt uncomfortably like envy.

  How long had it been since a man had made her laugh with sexy abandon? How long since anyone had kissed her like the man was kissing that pretty Irish redhead?