Clonlea’s town center sat off the coast, the buildings trickling away as they approached the sea, making room for a water front park and beach where locals and tourists could savor sunsets like this. Near the boats, tiny weathered piers and docks reached out into the red water like ancient fingers, tiny fishing boats tied here and there and sleepy sea birds perched on their pilings.
Cobblestone roads meandered lazily up the hillside, bending and turning around huge ash trees with brilliant flowers springing up in the shady spots their bowed limbs offered. The little buildings looked to be hundreds of years old with bright-whitewashed walls, colorful trim and dark brown thatched roofs. Through the streets and along the shoreline silhouetted figures of men and women made their way home from a long day's work and children played games in the remaining rays of light.
Clonlea was nestled amongst three hillsides. The cobblestone roads turned to pavement or dirt as they wound away from town along the coast. It all looked too perfect to be real, like a Hollywood set director might step out from behind one of the towering trees to yell “CUT!” at any minute.
“Wow. That magazine wasn’t lying,” I said.
“What magazine?” Rose asked, rolling her window down and letting the warm, briny breeze drift through the truck. I inhaled a greedy breath.
“I read a travel magazine on the plane. It had an article about Clonlea. You’re bakery was mentioned, too.”
“Well! Did you know you were traveling with such celebrities?” Rose looked back at me and winked. The wind scattered her ginger hair in front of her face as Phin pulled back onto the road.
The pub was a little corner building with a covered porch wrapping around the two street sides. Tables were stacked one after another, running the length of the porch. Greetings were called out to Rose and Phin as we walked through. They answered each with a smile and a wave but kept walking.
Inside the white stone building a large bar stood near the entry, overflowing with beer taps and a long shelf that sagged under the weight of big glass bottles. To the left was a loud, noisy room overflowing with patrons.
“Rose! Phin! Over here!” A lady shouted out, standing from her table and waving frantically over the crowd to make herself seen.
Rose cut through the crowd expertly as I stumbled and fell all over the place, apologizing profusely as I went, feeling like every eye in the place was on me—the new girl. She stopped at the largest table in the room. There must have been 20 people gathered around the table with three seats saved just for us. The blonde haired woman who was waving frantically wrapped me up in an unexpected hug and began rocking side to side with me in her arms.
“We are so glad to have you here, Faye!” she said in perfect timing with her rocking.
“Geez, Mary. Introduce yourself before you go scaring her!” Rose scolded, slipping her purse from her shoulder and taking the seat Phin held out for her.
“You must be Mary?” I guessed when she finally released me and let me sit down in the middle chair Phin held for me.
“Your Aunt Rose has been telling the whole town about your visit. You’re certainly the talk of the town,” Mary gushed.
I automatically blushed a deep crimson and looked at my hands folded in my lap, picking at my cuticles as I waited for the burn to leave my cheeks. The center of attention was not where I wanted to be. But apparently that’s exactly where I was in the crowded, noisy room.
“That’s my Christine over there.” Mary pointed to the opposite side of the table, where a shy looking girl peeked at me through long lashes. I ventured a small wave and smile in her direction. She returned it in the exact same manner and my smile widened automatically.
“Our Faye is not used to such rowdiness, Mary. We have to remember she is American,” Rose made an excuse for my silence.
I was envious of the easy way Rose and Phin interacted with their group of friends. We laughed at ridiculous stories over dinner until my cheek muscles burned with weariness and twitched in exhaustion. I looked around me and saw how happy and carefree they all were. A pang of regret shot through my gut to think of all the wasted, friendless years I’d suffered through.
The pang of regret, quickly turned to an empty swell of homesickness, and my face felt heavy for the first time that night, thinking of how stupid I’d been, closing myself off from the world. Rose must have seen the look on my face. She pulled me to her in a sideways hug and smoothed my hair, smiling her sweet smile and humming softly.
Later in the evening, when a few families went home and the place cleared out a little, I noticed a fireplace against the far wall. It was a massive stone structure littered with the stuffed bodies of trophy sized fish and fowl. In front of the fireplace was a sturdy four-sided table surrounded by big burley men. They had dirt from the fields still on their shirts, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and money gripped tightly in their fists. Circled around the table, cheering with each other and yelling at opponents across the table.
Excusing myself to find the restroom, Rose pointed to the corner of the tavern nearest the rowdy table. I picked my way through the maze of tables, strangely drawn to the mob of men and whatever excitement was going on in their midst.
Reaching the wall, I clung to it as I slid around the edge of the room, not wanting to stumble over anyone else. Still, I couldn’t look away from the action in front of the fireplace, running my hands along the stone wall to guide my way.
What could possibly be exciting enough to make a group of grown men act like schoolboys? They squeezed close to one another, their large bodies packed tightly together trying to get a better look at what was going on. I had never seen such rowdiness, and my own heartbeat began to pound, anticipation stirred by the infectious energy of the group. Some men cheered and punched fists high in the air, swaying back and forth in their excitement. Their mugs of beer sloshed along with them, spilling the frothy liquid to the dirty tavern floor as they dipped and twirled.
I finally managed to get a look when a burly farmer, unbalanced by his beer drinking, slipped in the spilled ale at his feet and tumbled to the floor. A huge mountain of a man sat at one end of the table. His face was twisted in a horrible grimace, his left hand locked in a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table. His other hand grasped the hand of a man across from him who I could not see.
They were arm wrestling! I couldn’t imagine who would be dumb enough to challenge such a huge man. He was enormous. His muscles bulged and rippled in every direction. I immediately felt sorry for his opponent.
The red-faced man grunted and then began groaning with the concentrated effort he was forcing into his arm. The clasped hands still danced in the air, and amazingly, it began to look as if this man was actually losing! I heard nothing from the other side of the table. And I couldn’t imagine the giant that must be lurking behind the crowd.
At that moment, the farmer stood back up and my vantage point was gone. I looked around, trying to find an opening, suddenly as wrapped up in the match as the farmers.
An empty chair stood a few feet away against the stone wall of the fireplace. It was totally out of character for me, but something about the energy of the crowd drew me in. This was what I had missed— the fun, carefree, rowdy way these men were embracing life. I envied them and I wanted to be a part of their fun. Shoving through the crowd, I made my way to the little chair. Without thinking, I climbed up on it, feeling somewhat protected as I cowered beside the rocky outcrop of the fireplace. I was unbalanced and knocked back by a few elbows from the crowd around me. Angry faces turned to me, but scowls were replaced with grins and delighted tips of beer mugs when they saw a girl interested in their sport. The women of Clonlea must not care too much for their rowdy tavern past time.
Peeking around the men in front of me, I leaned out as far from the safety of my little alcove along the wall as I could. I was amazed to see the back of the mountainous man’s hand inches from the table, defeat almost certain at that angle. In one last effort, he kicked hi
s chair out from under him, and kneeled on his side of the table. His body shook with the force he threw into his arm. Still, it didn’t budge. The group grew even tighter as the cheering reached a fevered pitch.
With the ease of shooing away a fly, his opponent closed the remaining few inches between the clasped hands and the table and released his grip victoriously. The tightly packed group erupted like a volcano. Most of the men turned away from the table spewing disgusted curses under their breath. A lone man whistled and clapped in victory, earning nasty glares from his rivals.
The mountainous man fell to the floor, either in exhaustion or embarrassment. Probably a little bit of both.
I expected to see a giant ogre seated at the table across from him– a huge, bulky man, with weightlifter arms and shoulders broader than the table.
My breath caught high in my throat when a few of the farmers sulked away and I finally saw the winner.
He was no grotesque monster at all.
He was Mr. Darcy gorgeous and totally out of place in the meager surroundings of a dilapidated Irish pub. My head jerked with the shock of him and smacked into the stone at my back.
“OUCH!” I hissed and gripped the back of my head, closing my eyes briefly to wince at the sting. But, the pain was a minor annoyance, easily forgotten. I had better things to look at than the back of my eyelids.
He wore a crisply ironed white shirt rolled up around his elbows, miraculously unwrinkled, despite the fierce battle I had just witnessed. The top half of his shirt hung loosely open over his chest, revealing tiny curls of hair by the unused buttons. He was impeccably groomed. A trait that was glaringly obvious given the hygiene of the men around him who wore clothes stained with sweat and the stench of a hard day’s work.
A flop of mahogany hair parted straight down the middle of his gorgeous head, falling forward in a silky curtain to skim the tops of strong cheekbones and the outermost wisp of wild black eyebrows. It curled in loose waves to the collar of his shirt. Normally, I thought guys with long hair were trying too hard to be cool. But on him? It completed the whole Greek-god thing he had going on.
He certainly didn’t look like the kind of guy who could win an arm wrestling contest with a man who out weighted him by at least 200 pounds. Not that he was wimpy. But he had the lean runner’s body and fine bones of a thoroughbred where his opponent had the bulky muscles of a plow horse. It just didn’t make sense that he had won.
I was more than intrigued, watching as he rubbed the muscles in his forearm, his head turned down to hide a satisfied smile from the crowd who was equally surprised by his victory. They filed past him, one by one, begrudgingly patting him on the back and congratulating him.
“Good job, Dayne,” one man said as if he were being forced at gunpoint to say it.
“Way to go, Dayne,” another said in a deadpan tone.
“Never doubted you, Dayne!” Said the only man who had cheered when he won. He was actually sincere. He was also holding a huge wad of cash.
It was obvious these men weren’t sincere at all as they spoke to him. But what I couldn’t figure out was why they bothered to pretend. This man didn’t belong to the people of Clonlea. Just by the way he stood straight and erect while the crowd scooted like stray dogs around him, you could tell he wasn’t one of them. They knew it, and he knew it, but for some reason they felt obligated to praise him, however obvious their charade was.
He wasn’t bothered by their insincerity, acknowledging each one with a nod of his head, playing along with their game perfectly.
When he reached for his beer his hand brushed against a large set of rusty keys hanging from his belt. The dangling metal created a gentle chime of music that was all but lost in the noisy tavern. But to my ears, it sounded like a symphony. He frowned when he discovered his beer mug was empty. As if by magic, a waitress, about my age, appeared at this side with a full pint.
“Here you go, Dayne. Congratulations. You were amazing.” She was even more enamored with him than I was.
“Oh...ah...thanks. Um, Lisa?” He grimaced a little bit, obviously knowing he was wrong about her name.
“Tara,” she nodded without missing a beat. She stood there folding and unfolding her hands nervously in front of her chest as if she were waiting for a command from him. I was embarrassed for her.
“Right. Thanks, Tara.” He bowed apologetically as he said her name and flashed a brilliant smile that must have made her knees as weak as it did mine. Her eyes went wide, an adoringly dumbstruck look washing over her pretty features. As if she had lost all control, her head wobbled weakly on her shoulders, and she grasped frantically for the support of a nearby chair’s back. Lucky for me, the stone wall was at my back to catch me. His smile was that devastating.
His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly as he glanced down at her death grip on the chair, certainly suspecting he was the reason for this sudden change in her. An awkwardly silent moment passed between them before he took a big swing from the brimming mug and looked away. Clearly not encouraging the conversation to go further.
The girl slinked away, her eyes never leaving him, as she joined a group of girls that were just standing, staring at this man, watching his every move out of the corner of their eyes while they pretended to laugh and talk with each other.
I chuckled to myself. Kinda pathetic.
“Well, they should know better than to bet against Dayne. He never loses!” My head snapped around as soon as I heard the conversation to my left. They were maybe five feet away from me, but standing in the shadow of the fireplace like I was, I was sure they hadn’t noticed me.
“I’ll bet you Dayne doesn’t leave here tonight without a fight on his hands. Some of those men bet their weeks wages on Burly Hugh to win. Wives will be none too happy about that!” Another member of the group said.
From the safety of my perch along the fireplace I looked back at the man everyone was calling Dayne. It was obvious he didn’t have any friends, just a fan club of women in the tavern tonight. The farmers glared at him over their mugs of beer, angry with him for winning. A few men were beginning to revive Burly Hugh, who was now propped against the table where he had lost, a fresh pint of beer held up to his nose for encouragement.
Why did they dislike him so much? I couldn’t find anything wrong with him. He seemed practically perfect to me. I wanted to tell him to leave, to get out of there before something bad happened to him. I could feel the tension mounting in the room.
He must have felt it too. In one motion he leapt up on his chair, held his pint of beer high in the air above his head, put his fingers to his lips and let out a whistle so loud the entire place screeched to a halt around him. Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, he began.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for all the honest, hardworking people of our beautiful Clonlea, I’d like to propose a toast!” He held his glass high and flashed a brilliant smile at the faces around him.
“If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough! Drinks are on me for my fine Irish brothers and sisters tonight! Slainté!” He finished and drained his pint as the place erupted around him.
Shouts and cheers and well wishes rose up from the swell of people that poured toward the bar. They actually sounded sincere this time.
A satisfied smile played on Dayne’s lips as he descended from atop the chair. We were the only ones above the crowd of people— he in the center of the room like a king and me, frozen in the shadows like a lifeless statue.
His eyes scanned the crowd approvingly, and then came to rest on me with a weight that took my breath away.
Hypnotizing green eyes that shimmered like emeralds. Immediately, color faded from the world and we were in a black and white tunnel. Just us.
I’ve seen those eyes before, I thought to myself. And just like in my vision weeks before, my body was drawn to him in a way that defied logic...and gravity.
The noisy bar blurred around me. It took every ounce of strength I had to stay on my
feet, like the gravitation pull of the earth had been reversed and everything about me was drawn to him instead of terra firma.
My heartbeat sped up in my chest, hammering blood through my veins until I felt they would explode. I could hear nothing but the sound of blood rushing in my ears. The crowd a noiseless riot. My hand reached for the solid stone fireplace at my back. Digging my nails into the rough surface, searching for something to hold on to, fearing I might fall if I broke contact with his gaze.
An easy smile played over his lips and I prayed it was just for me.
Like a Greek God descending from Mount Olympus, he made his way down from the chair, not looking where he was going, only at me. It was no more than a single eternal second, when life danced so dangerously close to perfection all the failings of my past ceased to exist.
In an instant he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, lost in the crush of bodies pouring forward to claim their prize. My knees buckled, as if his eyes had been the only strength holding me up.
I stood frozen for a second, unable to move the dead weight my body had become. Searching the crowd where he had disappeared, I found no trace of him. Only the waitress who had brought him the beer stood there, glaring at me with an icy stare. I realized what I fool I must have looked like, hiding in the shadows of the fireplace like I was. My cheeks caught fire and I quickly climbed down to the sticky tavern floor.
“There you are. We need to get out of here. It’s about to get rowdy,” Rose said as she grabbed my elbow and began dragging me through the crowd, snapping me out of the inexplicable force that held me. “That Dayne!” She complained. “Phin’s gonna be here all night.” I was shocked to hear Rose say his name as I followed her to the door.
She was right. I caught one last glimpse of Dayne as he made his way to the bar in front of the room. He slapped an appreciative Phin on the back as they toasted their big mugs together.
Chapter 3
Before The World Was Made
I was thankful for Rose’s careful driving as we arrived at their cottage. It was dark, but I could see the shadows of immaculately kept flowerbeds in front of the cottage, filled with blooming flowers and tiny bushes. Their fragrance greeted me as soon as I stepped from the truck. When we reached the front gate a fat cat meowed from the bushes, stretching as he crawled out into the porch light like we’d woken him.
Heir of Earth (Forgotten Gods) Page 4