Authors: Kathy Morgan
Chapter Eleven
A
s she and Mr. Kavanagh had agreed, Arianna dropped the car off the following afternoon to have the brakes serviced. While the work was being done, she decided to pop over to the pub across the street for a bite of lunch. Pushing against one of the heavy weather-beaten doors, she entered a dimly lit, wood-paneled room. Smoking had been banned in public establishments in County Clare in recent years. Still, the smell of stale tobacco mingled with the yeasty scent of hops, the odor of deep-fried food, and the mustiness of time.
Arianna approached the woman behind the bar. About Arianna’s age, she was cute in a pierced-black-and-pink-highlighted-Goth kind of way. “I...uh... Are you serving lunch?”
“Bar food only ‘til six.”
“That’s fine. Um, could I get a table?”
“Here or the snug?”
“Snug?”
The woman smiled. “A private lounge like. Ladies often prefer it to the open bar.”
They passed through the arched entry into the small, adjoining room where a cleverly carved pair of leprechauns guarded the entrance. Brass plates affixed to their legendary pots of gold bore a Gaelic inscription. No doubt, some enchanting conundrum, Arianna reasoned, secretly charmed by the thought.
Sitting at a table along the far wall, she glanced at the menu. She ordered a Coke—listed under the heading,
Minerals
—and Fish and Chips, in honor of her first trip to an authentic Irish public house.
Arianna settled back in her chair, soaking up the atmosphere. From her unobstructed view of the bar, she could see that, even at this early hour on a Friday afternoon, cream-topped glasses of dark brew flowed without restraint. In no time at all, the waitress was back, bearing a platter piled high with food. There was a plank of cod, fried to golden perfection, and nearly buried beneath a glistening mound of thickly sliced fries. A plastic cup sitting haphazardly on the side of the plate contained a miserly scoop of coleslaw.
“Would you be needing anything else? Vinegar?”
“Just tartar sauce,” Arianna replied. Unable to resist the temptation, she broke off a steaming bite of crusty fish and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, delicious.”
Reaching into her apron, the server pulled out a packet of tartar sauce, and set it on the table. “You’re an American so,” the woman said, in that way the Irish have of telling you something you already know. “I’ve a break coming up, if you’d not mind me joining you for a bit of a chin wag.” Without waiting for an invitation, the woman plopped into the chair across the table. “Deirdre McMahon is my name.”
Arianna dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Arianna Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”
Deirdre cocked her head to one side. “Are you visiting family here? With most of the heritage sites closed, tourists are usually a bit thin on the ground this time of year.”
Arianna squeezed catsup from a packet in a stand on the table and dipped a fry. “Actually I’m staying at a property I inherited here in Ennistymon. My old childhood home.”
“You’ve lost someone dear to you then.” Compassion took Deirdre’s raucous tone down a notch.
“My da. It was...unexpected.” Arianna devoted much more attention than was necessary to the piece of fish she was cutting.
“Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. Haven’t been back here since I left as a child, so I really would have liked to take in some of the sights. But, like you said, most of the tourist spots are closed.”
“I’ve an acquaintance whose mate runs a tour company, if you’re interested.” She gave a very unladylike holler in the direction of the bar, then slumped back against the rounded oak slats of her chair. With a tired sigh, she lifted one scuffed black shoe off the floor and rotated her ankle. “Only four o’clock and already I’m knackered,” she complained under her breath. “It’s been bloody desperate in here today.”
Face set in a frown, the attractive man making his way to their table looked strangely familiar. Tall and solidly built, Arianna guessed him to be in his forties, although the flecks of steel in his light brown hair was the solitary hint of his age. “For feck’s sake, Deirdre. Must you be shrieking for me like a bleedin’ fishwife?”
“Fishwife, is it? And all this time I thought you fancied me screaming for you.” Pouting up at him, she fluttered her lashes suggestively. “Anyways, Arianna here’s from the States and I told her about yer man who runs the ferry service to the Islands.”
“Not during the off-season,” he replied shortly.
Although the man’s stone gray eyes moved over Arianna with studied indifference, she didn’t miss the spark of interest in the clandestine perusal. And, if the quelling look Deirdre shot him was any indication, she hadn’t missed it either.
In response to the woman’s silent set down, he seemed to erect an invisible wall. “Conor O’Clery,” he said, reaching out his hand. “You were with Mam when she took ill.”
“Oh, you’re Mrs. O’Clery’s son. That’s where I’ve seen you before—at the hospital.”
At the comment, Conor sent a smug look in the other woman’s direction. Apparently, Arianna had just been a witness for the defense. Her
testimony
had confirmed that he hadn’t known the woman who had left a message at the pub for him the previous day.
“How is she, Conor?” Arianna asked. “I called the hospital today, but all they’ll say is that she’s stable.”
“She’s much better, thanks. Look, I’ve to get back to the bar now, but let Deirdre know when you’ve a mind to go to the Aran Islands and I’ll get it sorted for you.”
“Thanks.”
His hand raised in a salute as he disappeared into the adjoining room.
“I’ve a word of caution for you so,” Deirdre said. “It’s soft weather we’ve been having here on the mainland. But at Dun Aengus, sure the wind’s been known to blow a body right over the cliffs. So mind yourself if you go to Inishmore.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” Arianna scrunched up her napkin and dropped it on her plate. “Speaking of storms, that one last night was really strange.”
“Strange? How so?”
Arianna explained about the lightning and thunder coming from a clear blue sky, but made no mention of Caleb’s involvement.
Did they still have insane asylums here in Ireland?
As it was, her comments had the woman’s brows disappearing beneath a fringe of pink-tipped black bangs. “Can’t say as I’ve ever heard of such a thing before. We’ve loads of wind and rain, but thunder’s really quite rare. Lightning, rarer still.”
“Hmm.” So
not
what Arianna had wanted to hear. “Oh, yeah, about the heritage sites. I was taking a run along the coast yesterday, not far from the rock quarry on the way to Hags Head and I spotted a castle on top of the cliffs. I looked in the Clare tourist guide, but I can’t seem to find the place listed.”
“That’s because the castle you’re speaking of is privately owned.” The woman got up and began stacking the dirty dishes. “Not open to the public a’tall.”
“Owned by a private family you mean.”
“By Caleb MacNamara. And himself not one to fancy folks trampling all over what’s his, I hear. Don’t fancy folks a’tall, if you ask me. Right bit of a strange yoke he is.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Rumor has it, he had that moat of his stocked with man-eating crocodiles.
Crocodiles
. When there’s not been even a snake in Ireland since St. Pat—”
Arianna had heard nothing after his name. “Caleb MacNamara
lives
there?”
“He does, yes. The MacNamara.” There was a soft intake of breath between pursed lips. “A right dirty ride is that one,” Deirdre said with a sly wink. “Not that any of us
commoners
has ever got a taste of that, mind.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Probably fancies himself too good for the likes of us locals. But if you’d care for a wee gander at the gorgeous man, you’ll be finding Himself over at a table in the bar right now.”
Here? Now?
Butterflies were suddenly using Arianna’s stomach lining as a trampoline.
Deirdre dug into her apron pocket. “Just pay the bill over to the bar till on your way out. No hurry, now.”
He’s here.
Nervous as a rabbit in a cave of slathering wolves, Arianna searched her purse for a hairbrush. Not finding one, she combed her fingers through her windblown hair. She checked her teeth in her compact mirror for errant pieces of her meal. After replacing the lipgloss she had eaten off with lunch, she popped a mint.
As she passed the legendary leprechauns on her way out of the room, she jerked a suspicious glance at the one nearest the entrance. For a minute there, she would have sworn the thing had winked at her. But of course, she found its features frozen in the sly smirk created by the artist.
“You really are losing it, girlfriend,” she muttered under her breath.
Her gaze averted from the wooden tables scattered about the bar, she stumbled over the small step leading up from the snug. “Good job,” she mumbled to herself.
At the bar she spotted Mr. Kavanagh and stepped up next to him. She paid for her meal with colorful Euro notes that reminded her of Monopoly money. Smelling strongly of alcohol, the property manager greeted her and slipped an over-familiar hand over hers on the bar. Put off by the inappropriate behavior, she pulled her hand away. Next thing she knew, Caleb had inserted himself neatly into the small space between her and the man.
“Arianna,” Caleb murmured a greeting, then acknowledged his uncle behind the bar with a curt nod. “Conor, how’s the craic? I’m off to call on Granny now.” He handed Conor his check and a twenty euro note.
Conor deposited the money in the cash drawer, counted out the change. “Stopped by the hospital meself before coming in this morning.”
“Is she needing anything so?”
“She is, o’course. To go home.” Conor grabbed a glass and began to layer in a Guinness. “You know yourself, there’s no good reason for them to be keeping her there. Not when they can’t find a bloody thing wrong with her. First, they’re after diagnosing a massive coronary. Now they’re saying there’s no damage to the heart muscle, no evidence of a heart attack a’tall.” Still grumbling, he placed the pint of dark beer in front of a wrinkled old man wearing a wooly cap and a green flannel shirt.
While Caleb was conversing with Conor, Miles Kavanagh turned to Arianna. “The garage rang me a few minutes ago,” he told her. “Brakes are more banjaxed than they suspected, and one of the parts isn’t available ‘til Friday next.” His words were heavily slurred and his eyes had that bleary, red-rimmed look of someone who had had a few too many. “If you come back with me to the office, I’ve a number there you can ring to hire another car to drive whilst this one’s being fixed.”
With Caleb standing so close, she could feel his body heat, Arianna found herself playing nervously with the strap of her purse. “No, it’s okay,” she told Mr. Kavanagh. “I have some things I need to do at the house. I’ll get a ride.”
Caleb cringed. A man further down the bar smirked and nudged the guy beside him.
Kavanagh chuckled. “So it’s a ride you fancy.”
Before Arianna could respond, she felt Caleb’s hand squeeze her shoulder. When she looked up at him, she saw that his eyes had gone flat, his features etched in stone. With a voice cold and hard as steel, he said to Kavanagh, “
I’ll
be giving the lady a lift home.”
The man blinked twice, then with an indifferent shrug turned back to nurse his lager.
Totally clueless about what had just transpired, Arianna could feel the air snapping with tension. Caleb’s arm encircled her shoulders as he urged her away from the bar. The gesture was protective. Innocent. And yet it ignited a raging wildfire inside her. Jeez, she had it bad. One simple touch and her heart went to tripping like a jackhammer.
“Thanks for the ride, Caleb.”
He frowned down at her. “Don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“What you just said.”
Perplexed, she looked up at him. “What? Thanks?”
Caleb’s lips quirked, eyes danced with devilment, as he put his mouth to her ear. “Sure I can’t say as I’ve ever been
thanked
before, Arianna.” His voice went low and wicked. “Well, not in so many words.” Playing with a strand of her hair, Caleb leaned close again. “Here in Ireland,” he explained
sotto voce,
“‘a ride’ is a euphemism only for having sex.”
Arianna tugged away from him, face flaming. “You can’t be serious.”
The mocking amusement in his eyes was answer enough.
“Ah, man, that is so wrong,” she moaned. “You know, the tourist board ought to warn Americans about stuff like that in their travel guides.” Arianna tipped her head back, raised her brows. “Any other expressions I should avoid while I’m here?”
Caleb considered for a minute. “Fanny,” he declared.
“Fanny? What—?”
“Don’t ask,” he replied with a smirk. Eyes alight with mischief, he glanced at his watch. “I’ve time to give you that
ride
now if you’d like.”
“Let me think about it—NO,” she shot back. “But I would appreciate a
lift.
” His warm chuckle stirred nerve endings she never knew she had.
Chapter Twelve
W
hile driving her home the day before, Caleb had invited Arianna out for dinner. Now, after a forty-minute car ferry ride—a ferry Caleb had rented privately for their date—they were in County Galway, just north of Clare, on their way to a restaurant near Clifden. “The place is a renovated seventeenth century farmhouse owned by one of my friends,” he informed her as they traveled up the Sky Road.
Gazing over the sheer drop-off to the sea below, Arianna decided that the roadway had been most aptly named.
“After dinner we’ll drive to Galway City for a bit of craic.”
“Crack...?”
“Not the drug, c
ailín
. It’s spelled c-r-a-i-c, Gaelic slang for a lot of things, but usually means fun.”
Arianna huffed. “Another one of those tricky Irish words.”
“Mmm.” Caleb looked at her inquisitively. “I wonder that you’re not familiar with any of these expressions, your Da being Irish and all.”
Arianna lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe it was easier for him that way. You know, leaving everything Irish behind. Except his accent,” she added, her smile sadly reminiscent. “Guess you can take the boy out of Ireland…”
Caleb chuckled. “So, how’ve you been settling in?”
“Fine, thanks. Other than not having much luck with cars. But at least I have a cell phone now, in case of an emergency.” Arianna took a breath, then blurted out, “Which reminds me: What the heck was with the lightning strike the other day. I—?”
“I’d really rather not discuss that, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh....”
Well that was rude.
Arianna darted a furtive glance in his direction. The stubborn set of his jaw, his shuttered gaze, told her it would be futile to push for more. Maybe he was still feeling traumatized by the incident and was just too macho to admit it.
Outside her window, the Irish countryside flashed by. The view was breathtaking. The moon, peeking poignantly from behind the clouds, cast a silvery haze over sea and valley. Basking in the rugged beauty, Arianna felt her heart fill with a feeling a lot like infatuation. “I think I’m in love,” she murmured.
Caleb frowned at her questioningly, before realizing she was speaking of the scenery. “Lovely, isn’t it? Sky Road’s been named one of the most scenic spots in all of Ireland.”
“It’s all so different here, from where I live in the States.”
“And where is that exactly?”
“Beddeford, Maine. I share a condo there with my two best friends. It’s about a mile from the house where I grew up, where my da lives….” She paused, breathed in, braced herself to ride the wave of pain. “I mean
lived
.”
Caleb reached over, covered her hand with his. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know, to be honest.”
He raised a black brow. “Your ticket wasn’t a return then?”
“Return? Oh, you mean round-trip. No, you see there’s something I have to….”
Her words trailed off. But she had Caleb’s full attention. “Go on, tell me,” he encouraged gently. “I’ve sensed there’s something more.” The low rumble of his voice was hypnotic, his words a compulsion no woman could have resisted.
Suddenly Arianna wanted nothing more in the world than to open up to him, to share the incredible burden she had been bearing alone. She wanted to divulge all of her secrets. About her father. Her mother.
The waking dreams
. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve had these…dreams, where I wake up here in Ireland.”
In your castle. In your wide platform bed. In your arms.
“Crazy as it sounds, you were there,” she admitted softly. “First as a boy, and later a man. That’s why I totally freaked out on you that first night. I thought there was some kind of strange kismet at work. Some weird psychic connection.”
“You thought I was a vampire,” Caleb reminded her dryly.
“Yeah, well. There is that,” she admitted sheepishly. “Anyway, I think I’ve finally got the whole thing figured out.”
His eyes cut to hers. “Your conclusion?”
“Remember when I told you Granny had taken care of me as a baby?”
He gave a slight nod.
“Well, it’s fairly obvious, if you think about it,” she said, warming to her theory. “I was only three when I left. So the dreams must have sprung from a subconscious memory of you.”
This still didn’t explain how I knew exactly what he would look like now.
Caleb stretched like a lazy tiger, then settled back in his seat. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How was it you reconnected with my grandmother?”
“Yeah, it must have seemed like I was stalking you. Turning up at your grandmother’s the day after we met,” she joked. “Actually, she was my mother’s mid-wife. I found her name on my birth certificate. When I went to visit her, she told me she’d been like a mother to my da. And that she’d taken care of me after my mother died.”
Caleb gave her a thoughtful glance. “I seem to remember a lad hanging about when I was very young. About Conor’s age, he was. Patrick....” His voice rose at the end.
“O’Sullivan,” Arianna finished. “He dropped the ‘O’ when we moved to the States.”
“Right. I also remember when I was a bit older, eleven, twelve or so, I’d come to call on Granny and find her sitting in her rocker.” Caleb reached out and tugged a strand of Arianna’s hair. “With a wee yellow-haired tyke all curled up and sleeping on her lap.”
“That would have been me,” Arianna offered with an impish grin, before growing pensive again. “You know, Caleb, I’ve always felt like something was drawing me back here…calling me home. You see? I said ‘home’. That’s how this place feels to me, even though I was only a baby when I left.”
“’Tis the Spirit of Hibernia,” Caleb murmured. “
An ceangal.
A living bond, this connection between Eireann and her people. Take the burgeoning tourist trade, for example. That which was after turning a nation the likes of a downtrodden whipping boy into the fierce Celtic Tiger of recent years.”
Arianna grinned. “It’s gotta be faerie magic.” She grinned. “I mean, what else can explain how people from all corners of the globe are drawn to a tiny island no more than a splash of green in the Atlantic.”
“There seems to be a sense of homesickness amongst the Irish Diaspora, no matter how many generations removed they are from the land.” Caleb’s voice had deepened, his brogue thickened, as he settled into a rhythmic story-telling cadence. “Their holidays here become pilgrimages bordering almost on the spiritual.”
Arianna scratched her nose. “I heard something on the news a while back. A Swedish geographer wrote a book claiming that Ireland could be the lost continent of Atlantis. He said it’s the only place on earth matching Plato’s description exactly. So, who’s to say, but that there really is some kind of mystical allure here.”
Caleb tensed slightly, an expression she couldn’t decipher moving across his face. “You’re speaking of a book by Dr. Ulf Erlingsson,” he offered. “But the National Museum in Dublin denies there’s any archaeological evidence to support his views.”
“Yeah, and our government insists there’s nothing alien about Roswell’s Area 54,” she said. “Be that as it may, I’ve personally experienced the inexplicable bond you’re talking about. It’s almost as if we who are born here, are somehow Ireland’s betrothed. That wherever the winds of fate may blow us, we’re destined always to hear her voice calling us home.” Arianna bit her lip, suddenly self-conscious. “And I wax lyrical.”
“’Tis the Irish in you,” Caleb said softly.
“Must be,” she murmured distractedly, then thinking aloud, “Maybe that’s what Daddy meant when—” Catching herself just in the nick of time, Arianna slammed her lips shut. She was so
not
going to admit to seeing ghosts.
Count on Caleb, however, to hone in on the aborted statement like a heat-seeking missile. “What your father meant....?”
As she sat in silence, Arianna felt a warm rush flow over her, like waves breaking on a tropical shore. “Do you believe in God, Caleb? In the afterlife, I mean?”
Caleb slanted her a look. “Mmm. Seems I recall the Scriptures referring to the man who doesn’t believe in God as a fool.”
Arianna chewed on a thumbnail, collecting her thoughts.
Caleb pulled a tin of mints out of the console, pushed the lid open with his thumb and offered it.
“Thanks.” She slipped one into her mouth, enjoying the cool, minty sensation on her tongue, as she weighed the pros and cons of sharing the experience of her father’s visitation with a virtual stranger. Solidly in the
Pro
column was the fact that Caleb hadn’t scoffed at her talk of the waking dreams. Had gone so far, in fact, as to put a Gaelic expression to the connection she had always felt to her homeland.
She took a deep, calming breath, then began to speak. “That first night you asked me why I came here so soon after Da passed away. And, while it’s true that his final wishes
were
to have his ashes scattered from the Cliffs of Moher, there’s more.” She hesitated, then gave a long sigh. “The day he died...well, that night actually...he came to me.” Her words, which had been measured at first, hesitant, now began to spill freely from her mouth “As he was leaving…to go into the light…he told me to come back here.”
Caleb’s head turned, his gaze intense. “You’re saying your father appeared to you after his death and sent you here.” A statement, not a question.
“He said something about my meeting my Fate here, or my destiny, or some such.”
It was almost imperceptible, Arianna thought, the whitening of his knuckles on the steering wheel, the tensing of neck and shoulders. “Maybe the experience was only a dream,” he suggested mildly. “A
normal
one.”
Emphasis on ‘normal’. As opposed to what? she thought irritably. Crazy? Demented? Deranged? She opened her purse and reached into the change pocket in her wallet.
“I might have thought the same thing. But when he kissed me goodbye, he gave me this.” Arianna held out her hand, uncurled her fingers.
“Your house key.”
“I’d never seen it before that night, didn’t have any idea what it might open. It was only the next day, while going through his safe deposit box, that I came across the deed to the cottage. A property I hadn’t even known existed. And all at once, I knew…I just
knew
the key would fit that door.”
Caleb responded, the tenor of his voice melodic. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—”
“Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” she finished quietly.
Hamlet
. God, what kind of man was this? A despot one minute. The next, a poet quoting The Bard to validate her experiences. And managing to sum up the running theme of her life in that one, single line.
Arianna patted his knee, felt the ripple of lean muscle beneath the fabric. “Enough about me now. Tell me about yourself. Have you always lived in Clare?”
“Except for a few years when I traveled abroad,” he answered absently. ”Em…whilst I’m thinking about it, let me see your mobile for a minute.”
Arianna pulled her cell phone out of a zippered pocket on her purse. “Why?”
“I want to program my number in for you, so you can reach me in case of trouble.” He glanced at her, a teasing look in his eyes. “Sure, aren’t you after attracting the stuff to yourself like a daffodil draws honeybees.”
“I wasn’t the only one almost struck by lightning,” she countered, clearly baiting him.
Refusing to bite, Caleb kept his eyes on the road, his hand held out to her. Arianna smacked her cell into his palm. With his attention divided between the twisty road and the phone in his hand, he added his number to her contact list. “There now,” he said, handing it back. “I’ve set it up on speed dial. If ever you need me, just press ‘9’. I’ve my mobile always with me—even in the bathroom while I shower.”
That was all it took. One offhand remark. And—with the precision of an Olympic gold-medallist—her mind did a swan dive straight into the gutter. Her head filled with erotic images of that delectable male body draped in nothing but sandalwood-scented clouds. Of hot water sluicing in steamy rivulets over wide shoulders and sculpted pecs, trailing down….
“We’re here.” The SUV lurched as Caleb shifted into low gear and steered hard to the left—sending it up an embankment and into a nosedive onto a narrow, pebbly path not visible from the road.
“Crazy driver,” Arianna teased.
Caleb chuckled as they wound down the rutted lane for several yards before pulling into a small, uneven parking lot, the Jaguars, BMWs and other luxury cars forced to park so haphazardly the scene resembled a train wreck.
Caleb helped her out of the vehicle. His large hand wrapped around hers, he led her along the uneven path with the grace and sure-footed agility of a mountain lion. Arianna inhaled the moist, salt-tinged air as they tramped through a lush thicket of greenery. The ground-hugging mists and shimmering moonlight gave the setting a smoky, dreamlike quality.
A slight rustling in a clump of bushes drew Arianna’s attention. A tiny winged creature seemed to be spying on them through the foliage. “What the heck is that?”
Caleb glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Never mind,” she mumbled. After playing true confession on the way here, there was no way in the world she was copping now to seeing faeries.
So intent was she on watching the bushes for further activity, however, that she tripped over a raised slab of rock on the path in front of her. Caleb’s hand tightened around hers in a bruising grip, saving her from falling on her face.
“You okay?” he asked, steadying her.
“Yeah. Good save, thanks.” But as she went to take another step, a stabbing pain shot fire through her ankle. She crumpled and, like some lame heroine in one of Michaela’s novels, fell into Caleb’s arms. He scooped her up and set her on a waist-high, crumbling stone wall bordering the path.
Definitely red-faced and humiliated here.
Caleb hunkered down in front of her and began to untie her bootlaces. “I’m fine,” she protested, batting at his hands. “Seriously, it’s nothing. A little twist is all.”