The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1

by Lila Dubois

As he approached the trees, he saw that they were in a circle, with a small pond and bench at the center.

  Sitting on the bench was a woman all in white, her hair black as ink.

  Tim stopped, his heartbeat racing. He knew it was Caera—who else could it be?—but she looked otherworldly. She was like a ghost, waiting there in the little clearing for something, someone.

  Making an effort to be quiet, Tim followed the path to the trees. Standing between two of them, he waited. He wouldn’t disturb the peace she’d found here, but he could wait for her, and watch over her while he did it.

  It wasn’t long before she turned her head to him. She didn’t seem surprised that he was there.

  He thought about apologizing, or asking if he could stay, but both those things seemed too mundane for this moonlit moment. Instead he went to her, dropping down not onto the bench but on the ground at her feet. She was wrapped in a thin white blanket, but he could see her bare toes peeking out. He lifted her feet into his lap and wrapped his palms over her icy toes.

  She let out a little sigh and snuggled deeper into her blanket. Tim leaned back against the edge of the bench. Her fingers curled into his hair, stroked the back of his ear.

  They were quiet for a long time in the moonlight and still air.

  “I thought you were a ghost,” he said, shifting his now-numb ass on the ground.

  “A ghost? No, not yet.”

  Tim squeezed her toes. “Not yet?”

  “Have you ever wondered what makes some souls stay, what makes them unable to move on and be happy?”

  Tim was both fascinated and uncomfortable that they were discussing this as if it were a known fact that ghosts were real. Even after what he’d experienced and Sorcha’s reaction to it, he felt silly entertaining the thought that ghosts were real and not the figment of stressed-out minds and reality TV producers.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always heard that it’s because they had more to do in this life.”

  “But doesn’t everyone?” Caera’s voice was low and soft, her accent as dense and rich as the shadows that circled them. “If it were only those who still had more to do, surely the world would be overrun with their ghosts.”

  Tim opened his mouth to point out that what she was talking about were zombies and that he’d seen that movie, but it wasn’t the time.

  “Why do you think some people turn into ghosts?” he asked instead.

  “I wonder if they were never really people, but were always more spirit than man, always destined to be ghosts, and so, maybe, they never really felt alive. Maybe they were just waiting to die.”

  Weary resignation marked her words.

  “Caera.” Still holding her feet so they wouldn’t touch the cold ground, Tim turned to face her, going up on one knee. “Is that how you feel? Like you’re not really alive?”

  “Sometimes.” He couldn’t read her expression through the shadows that masked her face.

  “You are more full of life than most of the people I know. You hide it, pretend it isn’t there, but when you play you light up with life.”

  Tim wasn’t sure he was really expressing what he felt, what he saw in her. Frustration that he couldn’t find the right words ate at him, but she nodded as if she understood.

  “That is when I feel alive.”

  “Then why are you torturing yourself by refusing to sing, even semi-professionally?”

  She shook her head. “I had my chance.”

  “You went down a path that didn’t work out. All that means is that you should try again, not punish yourself for the rest of your life, not make yourself feel like a ghost.”

  “I cannot undo what I did.”

  “You upset and stressed out your parents, I get that, but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you’re a teenager? You really need to watch more American TV if you think making bad decisions and upsetting your parents is something that’s worth this level of heartbreak.”

  She smiled, her teeth flashing in the shadows over her face.

  “You make me smile, Tim Wilcox.”

  “And you make me so very, very happy, Caera Cassidy.”

  “Then let us leave it there.” She leaned forward, emerging from the shadows, and kissed his forehead. “But so you don’t think I’m a coward, you should know that my folly, my mistakes when I left, went far beyond upsetting my parents. I broke things that cannot ever be mended.”

  Tim opened his mouth to demand that she tell him the whole story, but then left it, not wanting to start a fight or upset her. Instead, he pulled her in for a kiss. She tasted cold and fresh, like mountain water. Her chilly hair slid over his face, so he captured the strands in his hand, holding her in place for his kiss.

  When they broke apart for air, Tim sat back on his heels. They were both cold and it was the middle of the night. The smart thing to do would be to go to bed, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. This little grove had some kind of magic, because he felt more in tune with her here than he had ever before.

  He pushed to his feet, but rather than lead her back to the room, he sat on the bench beside her, drawing her to lie back against his chest.

  “Tell me a story,” he said against her hair.

  “A ghost story?”

  “Do you know any good ones?”

  “Ah, but of course. Shall I tell you the most famous one in Ireland, or one of Glenncailty’s own?”

  “Considering I felt something very creepy-ghost-encountery, I’ll go with a story of Glenncailty’s ghost.”

  “Well, then, where to start? There are many, and I hear new ones every year as more people from Cailtytown and throughout the glen come to visit. It seems the glen has always been a place of darkness, though whether that darkness is sad or evil depends on the teller and the story.

  “The castle as it is now was built by the English, for the lord who held the land for the English king. There are no records left about the original lord, and even in England it shows very few records of Glenncailty, but that does not stop the stories about the first master of the castle. It’s said he was a soft man and built the house larger than needed to compensate. When the people of the glen rebelled against him, he hid on the highest floor and ordered their barns burned so they would starve.

  “A man from the far end of the glen came to Glenncailty one day and gave the lord a gift, a wolfhound pup, already trained and though only three months old, larger than any dog anyone had ever seen. With his new companion by his side, the lord grew bolder, and it turned out he was a crueler man than any could have imagined. They say he beat and tortured his serving girls for his own amusement, and when they grew too weary and broken to scream, he sent them away and found newer, younger girls.

  “Some have claimed to see a young woman wearing chains around her wrists and neck, carrying a broom through the upper floors. Her chains rattle and clank, though her footsteps are silent.”

  “I hope she’s a ghost because she wanted to haunt that asshole after she died.”

  “A worthy reason to remain, but I don’t know.”

  “So what did happen to the guy?”

  “Well, anyone who tried to stop the lord or hide from him was hunted down by his wolfhound. The people screamed at the man who had given the lord such a terrible gift, but the man said nothing, only bided his time.

  “One night, this man stood outside the lord’s room. The hound came to the window and growled, but the man whistled a tune he’d taught it as a pup. The hound stopped growling and turned away from the window. A moment later, there were awful screams as the hound turned on his master. The wolfhound killed and ate the Englishman, then ran out of the castle to the side of his true master.”

  “Gruesome and fitting end.”

  “A wolfhound is the companion of the true master of Glenncailty, even to this day.”

  “So, the guy with the unspellable name?”

  “Seamus O’Muircheartaigh is the owner of Glenncailty, the master of the castle, and is guarded
by two wolfhounds. We are only lucky that we didn’t run across them that night we were in the mews. They roam the grounds at night.”

  Tim whistled. “I hadn’t realized how close I’d come to having the crap scared out of me.”

  “Ah, well, then maybe I shouldn’t tell you what happened that night while you were sleeping.”

  “Uh, no, you should definitely tell me.”

  “I’d gone to the west wing to get towels for us, and as I was running back I saw two lights. When I reached the mews, they were waiting over the pool, and then one of them zoomed at you but stopped before it touched you.”

  Tim thought back on that moment, of waking up disoriented and blinded by a gold light.

  “I thought I was seeing things.”

  “Then we both were.”

  “So what were those? Ghosts of those tortured girls?”

  “I’ve no idea. There are plenty more stories about Glenncailty. Maybe they were just misplaced souls. It’s said that the chapel at the back of the gardens once had a graveyard, but there’s no graveyard there now. Some say the gravestones were removed to hide the graves from the English, because the people had hidden their valuables in the coffins of their loved ones. Some say it’s because a witch was buried there by mistake, a mistake that wasn’t discovered until after her death and two people emerged from the woods, claiming to have been held captive by the witch for twenty years. To hide their mistake, and to bury the evil, the church killed the witnesses and placed their bodies on top of hers before removing the blessing from the ground and razing the stones.”

  “Glenncailty is a really fucked-up place.”

  Caera giggled. “Ah, it’s not so bad, just a little…lost. But what we’re doing there is a good thing—the town, the glen needs it.”

  “Well, I can tell you what my favorite part of Glenncailty was.” Tim tipped her head back so he could kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss, stoking the fire of desire they’d banked by having marathon sex upon their return from Miltown Malbay.

  “Mm,” she hummed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh yeah, the food was great.”

  Tim was waiting with a grin when her eyes popped open. She socked him in the arm, and he laughed.

  “I couldn’t resist.”

  Gathering Caera in his arms, Tim lifted her.

  “Put me down, you horrible man.”

  “Nope, I found you, I captured you fair and square.”

  “I’m not some…fairytale princess you can make off with,” she huffed.

  “You’re not? Good, then I can do dirty, X-rated things to you when we get back to the room.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Galway was a pretty town with brightly painted buildings and sunny cobblestone streets. Young people from the university covered every inch of grass in the parks that topped the seawall. Below the seawall, a sand beach and paved path allowed everyone to take in the glorious view of Galway Bay. While the rest of Ireland was a deep green, Galway was spring green and gold, brighter than anywhere else in the country.

  She’d forgotten how much she missed it.

  Caera took a deep breath, smiling as the sea air filled her lungs, then laughing as Tim emerged from a shop, a wool pageboy cap on his head.

  “It’s warm out—what do you need that cap for?” Caera asked, standing on her toes to adjust it. It was blue wool and made his eyes sparkle.

  “Because I look cool in it.”

  “That cap’s worn by old men.”

  “No one on Boston will know that. They’ll just think I’m cool.”

  Caera laughed even as her heart lurched. This was it, their time together was done, and soon he’d return home to Boston.

  “Wanna take a walk?” he asked.

  Caera nodded. It was just after three, and they’d had a wonderful day. She’d taken him through the burren to the Cliffs of Moher before heading on to Galway. They’d had lunch in a little place just outside of town then checked Tim into his pre-booked hotel for the night.

  She’d hoped to have one more day with him, but really all she’d gained by agreeing to come to Galway was a few hours. He’d have to go to sound check soon, and she’d be on her way. Still, if she’d dropped him in Limerick this morning, she wouldn’t have had the chance to watch him leaping across the stones of the burren while quoting—badly—Wuthering Heights, or to try and pose with him at the Cliffs of Moher so they could get a picture of both of them with the cliffs in the background.

  It had been worth it, though it would make leaving all the harder.

  They walked along the beach in the sunshine. It was too early in the year for anyone to be in the cold Atlantic water, but there were plenty of people in skirts and thin tops. Caera had left her sweater in the car, and Tim his jacket in his hotel, but she still felt like a raincloud in her dark slacks and top amid the bright people.

  “Caera, there’s something I want to ask you. Well, tell you, really.” Tim squeezed her fingers.

  “All right.”

  “Caera, would you like to be in a relationship with me?”

  Caera stopped, faced Tim and said, “What?”

  “Wow, this sounds stupider when I say it out loud than it does in my head. Caera, what we have is really special, and I don’t want to lose it, to lose you.”

  Caera’s heart raced. She wanted, oh yes, she wanted to believe him and to be with him, but couldn’t he see it was impossible?

  “Tim, we live three thousand miles apart.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, ‘so?’ How can we be together if we live so far apart?”

  “It’s just a really long distance long-distance relationship. People do it all the time.”

  “They do?”

  “Yes. Listen, Caera, if you don’t want to be with me, then I’ll understand. Actually, I won’t, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t want this to be goodbye. I want this to be ‘I’ll see you later.’”

  Of all the things Caera imagined when she thought about saying goodbye to Tim, not saying goodbye had never crossed her mind.

  “I, I…don’t know what to say.”

  “Let’s make it simple, then.” Tim cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. “I think we have something special, and I’m not going to give it up just because we live in different places.”

  “But, but how…”

  “Skype, FaceTime, emails—we’ll do it all. The world has pretty much solved the issue of long-distance communication.”

  “I, I—”

  “If you don’t want to try this, then all you have to do is say so.”

  His hair was brilliant gold in the sun, his eyes glittering and intense.

  I love you, she thought, but said, “I never imagined you’d say this, you’d want this.”

  “Then I must not have done a very good job of showing you exactly how much I like you.” He bumped her hip with his.

  He was grinning at his own silliness, and his face was so handsome, so familiar, so dear to her. The idea that she might have a real relationship and a future with him was new and thrilling, terrifying.

  “I’ve never had a relationship.”

  The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. He’d removed the most obvious barrier between them, but there was a second, much more real problem their potential relationship faced. She had no idea how to be in a real, healthy relationship.

  “I thought you… That’s okay. Obviously this isn’t going to be like a normal relationship where I see you every night and make you watch me play Call of Duty. I guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go along.”

  Caera was giggling by the time he was done. The hope that they could do this, that this wasn’t goodbye, made her almost painfully happy.

  “So, will you be my girlfriend?” Tim asked with a grin.

  “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

  “We should probably make it official.”

  Caera l
eaned forward, ready for a kiss, but Tim started dragging her back they way they’d come.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To have boyfriend-girlfriend sex.”

  “Is that different than other sex?”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  “Shoes, you need shoes!” Caera dropped to her knees and reached under the bed, hoping Tim’s shoes were there. He’d been ready to walk out the door wearing nothing more than (ugh, Americans!) white socks.

  He raced back, dropped onto the bed and pulled on his shoes as she handed them to him.

  He jumped up and held out his arms. “Will this work?”

  She looked him up and down. He was wearing his normal jeans and a T-shirt, with his leather jacket on top. The clothes were clean and not too wrinkled, but his hair was another story.

  “Wash your face, you’ve some of my lipstick,” she said, then turned back to rooting through the disaster their energetic sex session had made of the hotel room. She grabbed the silly hat he’d bought and ran into the bathroom. He dried his face with a towel while she finger-combed his hair and put the hat on his head. “That’s better.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” Tim took her hand.

  “No, Tim, I can’t go with you. I have to leave.”

  He turned around, gaze searching her face. “Caera…”

  “Our relationship has nothing to do with me not wanting to be in Galway. Plus, I have to drive all the way back to Glenncailty tonight.”

  “Could you stay until after the show?”

  “No, I need to go. There’s something I have to do before I leave.”

  Tim kissed her hard and quick. “I hate this, but okay. Be safe. If you get tired pull over and find a place to stay. Here’s a tip—don’t stay at a bridewell.”

  “I won’t.” She kissed him softly, one last time. “Come back to me.”

  “I will. Hopefully soon. I’ll know more once I meet up with my agent’s guy in Amsterdam. Until then, check your email.”

  “Okay.”

  “Walk me down?”

  “Um.” Caera gestured to herself—still completely naked—and then to her clothes scattered around the room.

  “Right, okay, no time. Well, then…” Tim kissed her long and deep. “I’ll see you soon, all right?”