The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 (17 page)

One
moo
ed when she found it empty.

“I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it.” Séan pulled a handle that released a measured amount of sweet pellets, which were his pretty girls’ reward for getting milked, into each trough. They settled in for their snack as Séan went to work cleaning their teats before attaching the clusters.

A clock on the wall revealed that he was moving slower than normal. Milking should take about ninety minutes, and he’d already been here three hours. He flexed his stiff and painful hands. Since dropping Sorcha back off at Glenncailty, nothing had gone as planned. He’d returned home to take care of some farming chores, planning to then go right back to the castle, but instead he’d been so tired he’d gone up to his room to lie down.

His mom had found him there several hours later, burning up with fever.

He’d had to go to the hospital, where he was told that one of the cuts was infected and that he’d dislocated some of his fingers. Dislocated fingers were nothing new to him, but after the X-rays, the doctor had insisted on setting them. They’d even given him these strange braces to wear on his hands to keep him from moving his fingers until they’d healed a bit more, along with antibiotics for the infection.

He’d worn them for a day, but no longer.

Yesterday he’d been confined to his mother’s parlor, lying on the couch with the braces on his hands while she fretted over him. He hadn’t specifically said how he’d been hurt, letting her assume it was a farming accident. He didn’t want to face the questions that would come if he started to explain what he’d really been doing.

They’d called in someone from a farming relief agency to do the milking yesterday, but he wasn’t comfortable being away for more than a day. It would be a while before he could do anything more than the daily chores, and even that was more than he was supposed to be doing.

When the milk stopped flowing through the clear pipes that ran into the tank, he gently pulled the clusters from the cows’ teats and opened the exit door. They filed out, each cow knowing the way back to the field they were on this week. Séan cleaned the equipment and closed up the milking parlor, pulling the headphones off with relief.

Done for the night, he headed home, hopping over stack-stone fences and pushing through the barely-there breaks in shrubs. His property was divided into multiple fields so he could rotate the animals from one to another, giving the land a break while the grass regrew. The milking parlor was toward the front of the property near a road, which allowed the milk lorry access.

He slipped into the mudroom, shucking his dirty farming coverall and washing his hands and face.

“Let me see your hands,” Joan Donnovan said as he entered the kitchen.

He held them out, allowing her to push him into a kitchen chair.

“Séan Donnovan you shouldn’t be doing the milking,” she scolded. “And look at these bandages, soaking wet.”

“I wore gloves,” he said, letting her fuss over him.

Séan loved and respected his mother—even if she did make him feel as if he were no more than sixteen rather than a man grown.

She hauled a battered plastic box of first aid supplies out from under the sink. The last rays of sunlight touched her face and Séan could see the lines around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes.

She was getting old.

It was strange to think of his mother as getting old. For as long as he could remember, she’d looked the same—pretty, with dark hair like his, an easy smile and a total air of command. She didn’t smile as much since his father had died. His father had been older than his mother by almost twelve years. One of his favorite stories had been to say that he’d been resigned to being alone, to living and dying as a bachelor farmer when he met Joan. They’d met in Dublin, when Séan’s father had gone up see a show with a few mates. He’d wooed Joan for nearly a year before she agreed to start seeing him regularly. They’d been married six months later and Joan, who was an accountant, took over the business side of the farm with an iron fist and did the taxes of half the farmers in the parish. She’d retired from everything but the paperwork for their own farm when his father died. Séan had tried to take that over too, but the first time he’d messed something up in her computer system she’d banned him from ever touching the books.

“It’s foolish to stand on your pride and insist on working when you’re hurt.”

“It barely hurts.”

“Just like your father.” She shook her head.

Peeling off the wet bandages, she cleaned his hands with wipes and then applied ointment and more bandages. Before he knew what was happening, she’d grabbed the braces they’d given him and strapped them on.

“I can’t wear these, I’m going out.” Soft straps Velcroed around his wrists, holding a curved piece of plastic against his palms. On his right hand, three pieces of plastic extended from the palm piece, cupping his index, middle and ring fingers. On the left it was just his index finger. Little Velcro straps held his fingers in place. With the brace on, his right hand was basically useless, though he was able to pick up things with his left.

“No, you’re not.”

Séan resisted the urge to thump his head against the table and reminded himself that he was a man grown. Rather than argue, he didn’t say anything.

“I can hear you planning to sneak out.” She stood and put the water on for tea. “You’re going back to Glenncailty to see what’s happened with the bones.”

Séan’s jaw dropped open in surprise.

Joan was grinning. “You thought I didn’t know what happened?”

“I…I assumed they would try and keep it a secret.”

“Ah sure, a secret it is, no one knows and no one is talking about it.”

Séan sighed. “Of course not.”

“And how do you think I felt, having to hear from someone else that my son was one of those responsible for opening up a secret room in Glenncailty Castle?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d find out.”

“What kind of child did I raise that he thinks his own mother is stupid?” She sighed heavily, her voice distraught. Séan raised a brow. “Oh well, it was worth a try,” she said, voice returning to normal. His mother rarely resorted to theatrics, and it was both comical and silly when she did it.

“As Da would say, you’re mad as a hatter.”

“Maybe I am, but I’m no fool. I knew you were lying the minute I saw your hands. I’ve dealt with more than a few farming injuries in my day.”

Séan didn’t reply. If she’d heard the full story—that it was him alone who’d pulled down the wall while possessed by a very angry ghost—she wouldn’t have kept quiet this long.

He was expecting her to ask what they’d found, to ask about the bones, but she didn’t. She asked a far scarier question.

“I heard that Sorcha, the pretty redhead who works at Glenncailty, was there. Was she?”

“Uhhhhh.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?”

“I see why you went to help, if the girl you fancy was there.”

Séan opened his mouth, ready to deny that he fancied her. He’d spent years hiding his interest in Sorcha, too embarrassed to admit that he’d had his chance with her and messed it up by acting badly.

The time for that was passed.

“I don’t fancy her.” Séan took a deep breath. “I think I love her.”

The teasing smile dropped from Joan’s face. “You do?”

“I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“Oh, Séan, my darling boy, that does sound like love. I’m so happy for you.”

“Don’t start planning the wedding. She doesn’t love me.”

“Of course she does. Every girl falls for you.”

Séan grimaced. “You’re my mother. You’re not objective.”

“I may be your mother, but I know when a woman loves a man. That girl from Navan, Lizzy O’Toole, the other one whose name I could never remember…they were all in love with you, waiting, hoping for some sign from you that you felt the same.”

“I…they…what?”

“You, my
macin ban
, were totally oblivious. They each figured it out, gave up hoping that you’d someday love them back.”

Séan stared at his mother, shocked. That couldn’t be true. He’d enjoyed the company of the women he’d been with in the past, but it was never more than fun. There’d been nothing serious between them—at least from his side.

“Why didn’t they say something?”

“Have you told Sorcha how you feel?”

He pressed his lips together.

“There’s your answer,” she said. “Tell the girl how you feel. If you want her, you can have her—there’s enough of your father in you for that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” she said.

“No, there’s reasons she doesn’t want to be with me.”

“So you’ve talked about it? Splendid!”

“No, Mother, she won’t…she doesn’t want me.”

Joan’s gaze searched his face. “Listen to me, Séan Donnovan. There will always be more reasons to stay apart than to be together. Trusting in another person, loving another person, is the hardest thing anyone does in this life. If this girl has convinced herself that there are reasons she can’t be with you, then you need to either walk away or decide if you’re ready and willing to be with her, despite her fears.”

Séan stared down at the tabletop, taking in his mother’s words. He admired Sorcha and wanted to respect her feelings and desires, but if he did that it meant giving her up.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Séan?”

He stood, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, sit down and I’ll make us some supper.”

“I’m going to…”

“There’s plenty of time for wooing, and you need to eat. Sit, eat and think.”

Séan dropped back into his chair. She was right, he couldn’t just run off and tell Sorcha that he didn’t care if she had some genetic thing, that he loved her and nothing else mattered. He may not be good with women—had the women in his past really been in love with him?—but even he knew it was a mistake to dismiss her fears by telling her they didn’t matter.

He needed time to think, to plan.

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t go see her tonight. Pulling his phone awkwardly from his pocket, he left his mother in the kitchen and stepped out into the hall, where he called the castle. The woman at the front desk told him that Sorcha was still at work and would be until late.

Séan thanked her and hung up.

Sorcha rubbed her eyes and then the back of her neck. She’d been wrestling with their online reservation system for hours, trying to get it to adjust for the fact that they had fewer rooms than normal due to the closed west wing. After some frustrating after-hours calls to their web designer, she’d gotten it figured out.

It was nearly midnight. Time to go home.

She still hadn’t heard from Séan.

Sorcha shoved that thought away, reminding herself that she had no right to pine for him.

Leaving the cramped office space in the staff room, she headed for the foyer, her jacket and the tote containing her rubber boots over her arm. Part of her wanted to go find the forensic anthropologist and see what she’d discovered, if there was anything new. A bigger part of her wanted to avoid the west wing at all costs. She’d already given Dr. Heavey her cell phone number in case she had any problems. That would have to be enough for now.

Tristan was on his way out too, and as she pulled on her jacket, he opened the heavy front for her and gestured her through. She nodded to the staff person at the registration desk and slipped out.

“Thank you, Tristan. How was dinner service?”

“
Bien
. The specials did well and wine service was up.”

“That’s wonderful, did the curry…”

Her voice trailed off. At the foot of the front steps was Glenncailty’s long curved drive, which led past the steps to the parking area. On the other side of the drive was a wild garden of roses, tall grass and old trees. It was made to look as if the forest that surrounded the castle came right up to the front door, though in reality the area was maintained by the gardener.

Séan was sitting on a pretty stone bench just across from the steps amid the wild foliage.

He was here.

Sorcha didn’t know if she should run and throw herself into his arms or if she should ignore him. Séan’s gaze flicked to Tristan then back to her, and Sorcha heard the other man walking away.

Composing herself, Sorcha walked down the steps and cut across the drive. She took a seat beside Séan, who was sitting with his arms crossed.

“It’s late,” she said, taking her rubber boots from the tote.

“It is, but it’s a pretty night. Look up.”

Sorcha looked up to the sky. It was crystal clear, and the pinprick light of stars covered the night sky.

“It is beautiful. Sometimes I forget to appreciate it.”

“We all do.”

She felt him watching as she took off her heels and put on her boots. With that done, she turned to look at him. “I’m surprised to see you.”