Briarwood Cottage (16 page)

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.

A
lthough 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, unbeknownst 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.

A
lthough 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?

Sedona did some quick mental math. Finding the sum impossible to believe, she recalculated. Twenty-two months, three weeks, and eight days? Seriously?

Unfortunately, given that she was, after all, a former CPA with excellent math skills and a near-photographic memory, Sedona knew her figures were right on the money. As where those additional sixteen hours she reluctantly tacked on to the initial subtotal.

How could that be possible?

Granted, she’d been busy. After leaving a high-powered accounting career in Portland, she’d opened a bakery in Shelter Bay, Castlelough’s sister city on the Oregon coast. But still… nearly two years?

That was just too depressing.

Unlike last evening, when Brennan’s had been crowded to the ancient wooden rafters with family members and close friends enjoying Mary Joyce and J.T. Douchett’s rehearsal dinner, tonight the pub was nearly deserted, save for the lovers, three men watching a replay of a rugby match on the TV bolted to the stone wall, and an ancient man somewhere between eighty and a hundred years old who was nursing a foam-topped dark ale and singing sad Irish songs to himself.

And, of course, there was Patrick Brennan, owner, bartender and cook, whose smiling Irish eyes were as darkly brown as the fudge frosting she’d made for the chocolate groom’s cake.

Which was what had brought Sedona to her ancestral homeland.

She’d met international movie star and award-winning screenwriter Mary Joyce when the Castlelough-born actress had visited Shelter Bay for a film festival featuring her movies. After Mary had gotten engaged to a former Marine who’d been pressed into service as a bodyguard, Mary had asked Sedona to make both the groom’s cake and the all-important wedding cake.

Happy to play a part in her friend’s wedding, Sedona had jumped at the chance to revisit the land of her ancestors.

A cheer went up as a player dressed in a green jersey from the Ireland Wolfhounds scored against the England Saxons. After delivering her order, Patrick paused on his way back to the bar long enough to glance up at the screen, and even the old man stopped singing long enough to raise his mug before switching to a ballad celebrating a victory in some ancient, but never to be forgotten war.

Sedona was thinking that watching a game when you already knew the final score must be a male thing, when the heavy oak door opened, bringing with it a wet, brisk wind that sent her paper napkin sailing off her lap and onto the floor.

Before she could reach down and pick it up, her attention was captured by the arrival of a man she had already determined to be trouble on a hot, sexy stick.

His wind-mussed hair, which gave him the look of having just gotten out of bed, fell to a few inches above his broad shoulders and was as black as the sea on a moonless night. As he took off his black leather jacket—revealing a lean hard, well-muscled body—testosterone radiated off him in bone-weakening waves that had her glad she was sitting down.

“Well, would you look at what the night gale blew in,” Patrick greeted him from behind the bar. “I thought you were leaving town.”

“I was. Am,” Conn Brennan clarified in the roughened, gravelly rocker’s voice recognizable the world over. “I’m flying out of Shannon to catch up with the lads in Frankfurt. But I had a sudden craving for fish and chips and sure, everyone knows there’s no finer food than the pub grub served up by my big brother at Brennan’s.”

Patrick laughed at that. “Sure, with talk like that, some would think you’d be from Blarney,” he shot back on an exaggerated brogue. “So how did the party go? I assume the bride and groom enjoyed themselves?”

“The party was grand, in large part due to the music,” Conn Brennan said. The infamous bad boy rocker known by the single name
Conn
to his legion of fans around the world had been dubbed “Conn of the Hundred Battles” by tabloids for his habit for getting into fights with the paparazzi.

“As for the happy bride and groom, I image they’re shagging their brains out about now. The way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other had the local band lads making bets on whether they’d make it to bed before consummating the nuptials.”

The heels of his metal-buckled black boots rang out on the stone floor as he headed toward the bar, pausing when he almost stepped on Sedona’s dropped napkin. He bent to pick it up, then, when he straightened, his startlingly neon blue eyes clashed with hers.

And held for a long, humming moment.

“Well, fancy seeing you here. I would have guessed, after the busy day you’ve had, that you’d be all tucked away in your comfy bed at the inn, dreaming of wedding cakes, sugar plums, and all things sweet.”

He placed the napkin on the table with a dangerously sexy smile he’d directed her way more than once as he’d rocked the reception from the bandstand. When an image of a bare-chested Conn, sprawled on her four-poster bed at the inn flashed wickedly through Sedona’s mind, something quivered deep in her stomach.

It was only hunger, she assured herself. Between putting the last touches on the towering wedding cake and working with the serving staff during the reception, she hadn’t taken time for a proper meal all day.

“I was in the mood for a glass of wine and a late bite.” Her tone, cool as wintry mist over the Burren, was in direct contrast to the heat flooding her body.

He lifted an ebony brow. “Why would you be wanting to go out in this rain? The Cooper Beech Inn has excellent room service, and surely your suite came with a mini-bar well stocked with adult beverages.”

“You’re correct on both counts,” she acknowledged as the old man segued into “The Rare Auld Mountain Dew.”

She took a sip of wine, hoping it would cool the heat rising inside her.

It didn’t.

“But I chose to spend my last night in Ireland here at Brennan’s instead of an impersonal hotel room. Besides, you’re right about your brother’s food. It’s excellent.”

While the pub grub menu might be more casual than her chef friend Maddy Douchett’s gourmet dining, Patrick Brennan had proven to be as skilled in the kitchen as he was pulling pints. “There’s also the fact that the mini bar is ridiculously expensive.”

“Ah.” He nodded his satisfaction. “Your parents didn’t merely pass down an Irish surname, Sedona Sullivan. It appears you’ve inherited our Irish frugality.”

“And here I thought that was the Scots.”

“It’s true that they’ve been more than happy to advertise that reputation, despite having stolen the concept from us. Same as they did the pipes, which, if truth be told, were originally intended as an Irish joke on the Scots, who, being dour people without any sense of humor, failed to get it.”

“And didn’t I recognize your famed Irish frugality the moment you roared into town in that fire-engine red Ferrari?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a rich, deep, sound that flowed over her and reminded her yet again exactly how much time had passed since she’d been with a man.