Fire of My Heart (6 page)

The sign posts on the edge
of town had said there was a carnival that weekend, but wandering

around the village, Ellen
grew steadily disappointed. It had taken over an hour to walk there from the
estate, and in that time she’d conjured up all manner of quaint and cozy sights
she might experience in the old Irish village fair.

Red and
white striped tents offering cotton candy, kids enthralled by puppet shows, and
timeless Celtic music. Instead she was greeted with electronic sideshows, noisy
rides and blasting rock n’ roll.

Deciding to
avoid the bustle, she wandered into a local inn, hoping to indulge in a little authentic
Irish pub food and, perhaps, gain some information about the manor. So far, the
manor’s library had yielded very little, and no one in the village seemed to
know anything about Banth’s history prior to the Second World War.

A little
bell tinkled as she opened the door and entered the dimly lit room. Decked out
in a white shirt and dark green vest, a barman looked up from the counter and
smiled.

“Good day
to you, miss. What can I get you?”

She smiled
back. A group of young men sat at a table in the corner, watching her. Staring,
really. Trying to ignore the unwanted attention, she sat up to the bar. God,
anyone would think they’d never seen a woman before. Maybe they didn’t like
tourists. “G’day. I’ll have a beer, please.”

The barman
smiled as he poured her a pint. “G’day? An Aussie, are you?”

“Yes. How
did you know?”

Conversation
with a local. Nice.

“I have a
sister who lives in Perth. Been there five years this Christmas. Hoping to go
there myself next year.”

She nodded
and sipped at the thick, foamy head of her beer. “Oh, that is a good drop.”

“Aye, you
can’t beat Irish beer.”

“That’s for
sure. Hey, I was wondering. Could I get something to eat here? Didn’t feel like
carnival hotdogs.”

“Don’t
blame you. Lot of nasty rubbish, that stuff. Of course we can get you
something, miss. We always have a pot of stew on the go--if nothing else.” He
called over to a woman cleaning glasses at the other end of the counter. “One
serving of stew, Sinead, and some soda bread. There should be a fresh loaf on
the sideboard.”

Taking
another sip of her drink, she leaned forward a little across the bar and
lowered her voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are those three blokes
sitting in the corner? They’ve been watching me since I came in. I get the
feeling they don’t like me being here.”

The barman
glanced over her shoulder, grimaced and shook his head. “Now, miss. Don’t you go
mindin’ them louts. Always up to no good. Think they own the town, they do. I
only let them in here when they’re quiet. But, soon as they’ve had a few too
many, I send them on their way.”

“I see.”
The barmaid placed a steaming plate of hot Irish stew in front of her. God, it
smelled good. She broke off a piece of the crusty soda bread, dipped it in the
gravy and ate. Oh, that was delicious. If only she could cook like that… Did
Rowan cook?

“So, miss,
where are you staying while in town? At the Ivy Inn?”

“No,” she
replied through a mouthful of hot stew. “I’m staying at Banth Manor.” A chair crashed
to the floor, startling her and she glanced around. The three men had risen
from the table and were walking toward the exit. Pausing at the door, the last
man shot her a caustic look then slammed the door behind him.

A sigh
escaped her. Bastards.

“And good
riddance to them,” muttered the barman. “Now. You were saying that you’re staying
at the manor?”

“Yes. The
lord who owns it is a distant cousin of mine.”

“I see.”
His brow furrowed. “But his lordship isn’t in town. Are you staying with
friends?”

“No. Is
that a problem?”

“Of course
not. Just a bit old and run-down is the manor, that’s all. Thought you’d be
more comfortable in one of the lodgings in town.”

Wouldn’t
she though? Don’t get her started. She cleared her throat and took another sip
of beer. “It’s not so bad, and besides, the caretaker has been most
hospitable.”

The barman
stopped wiping the bar and gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t recall any caretaker
at the manor.”

“Well,
Michael, his lordship I mean, was supposed to meet me there himself. Instead
he’d arranged some supplies and told me to let Mr. Grady know if there was
anything else I need. He must have arranged Rowan to meet me there.”

“Rowan, you
say? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Yes, Rowan
O’Connell.”

“Why, I
haven’t known there to be an O’Connell in this village since…I couldn’t even
tell you when. He must be from out of town.”

She shifted
on her seat. Surely the barman couldn’t know everybody in these parts. Before leaving,
she’d looked for Rowan everywhere, hoping he might accompany her to town, but
couldn’t find him. She sopped up the last bit of gravy from the plate with a
piece of bread, ate it, and licked her fingers. “Speaking of Banth Manor, do
you happen to know any of its history? I’m actually here researching my family
tree and was hoping some of the people in town could help me.”

“Afraid
not.”

His lack of
hesitation made her uneasy. But, surely he wouldn’t be hiding anything. Not
like the place was notorious for being haunted or anything. “So, you know
nothing of a terrible battle that happened in this valley a couple of hundred
years ago?”

“There have
been many battles in this area over time, but none in particular come to mind.”

He nodded
to her and went to serve another customer who’d entered the bar. She would get no
further help from him.

* *
* *

After
buying some old books at a stall, she’d endured enough of the fair. At every
stand, she’d tried to pick up a conversation in the hope she’d discover a bit
more about the manor. The same lack of response as the barman had given met her
inquiries. It seemed little was known about Banth. Almost like it had never
existed.

Rummaging
with little interest through a stand selling second-hand jewelry on the
outskirts of the carnival, she noticed a smaller tent set a little back from
the others. She edged toward the small flap which made up the entrance.

Peering
inside the tent, she smiled.

Oh, now
this was more like it, really authentic. The area inside was confined, dimly
lit by a few huge tallow candles along the sides. Their pungent smell made her
rub her nose.

A small table sat in the
center with a chair either side, and in the middle a clear crystal ball

shone on a dark, carved
wooden stand. She stepped forward and leaned over the ball to get a closer look.

“I’d say
I’ve bin expectin’ you, but don’t it sound so clichéd?” came from a darkened
corner of the tent in a crackling voice.

“What?” She
jumped back, as a small elderly woman came into view. Thick rimmed glasses framed
her sunken eyes, dark, but with a spark that caught her attention. Her salt and
pepper gray hair was tied back into a bun, and the odd woman sipped a mug of
steaming…something.

Whatever it
was, it smelled awful.

The old
woman gestured for her to sit down, and she couldn’t help but think she
belonged in a library somewhere instead of a gypsy tent.

Looking
back toward the entrance, she considered declining the woman’s offer, but
curiosity got the better of her and she sat. Only a bit of fun after all. What
could it hurt?

Placing the
mug down beside her, the gypsy smiled broadly, displaying an ill-fitting set of
yellowed dentures.

Oh God. She
daren’t laugh.

“So.” The
woman adjusted her glasses and leaned forward, her intense gaze strangely

hypnotic. The spark she’d
seen there earlier flared for an instant and revealed glimpses of deep sapphire
blue. “Is he as handsome as I have envisioned?”

“Who?”

The woman
sighed, leaned back and scratched her ear.

“I see.
We’re goin’ to play cat n’ mouse are we? Well, to be frank ma’ lovely, I don’t
have that kind of patience any longer. I’m not gettin’ any younger you know.”

An awkward
feeling crept into her gut, like she’d been caught out somehow. But about what?
Her and Rowan? There wasn’t much to tell.

“Now, let
me ask you again.” The gypsy took a crumpled tissue from her sleeve and proceeded
to dust the top of the ball. “Is he handsome?”

Heat rushed
to her cheeks.

“So he is
then. So he is.” The gypsy looked over the rims of her glasses and smiled.
“Smitten with him, aren’t you?”

Hell. She
nodded. There seemed little point trying to fool this odd woman.

Apparently
satisfied, the gypsy waved a bony hand over the crystal ball and gazed into it.
Hoping to see something--anything--she leaned forward too. There was nothing,
not even her reflection. Oh boy, she’d been sucked in. It was all a con. The
gypsy must have guessed she’d had a potential boyfriend, and now she’d get some
sort of reading about her ‘future’. Just like those ‘dial-a-tarot’ readers back
home, fake readings for five bucks a minute.

As she was
about to make an excuse to leave, the old woman’s face grew deathly pale and she
seemed transfixed by the globe. She recited words in Gaelic, then in English.
“A tragic heart, an angry hand, he’s cursed and tethered to this land. His
penance paid will only be, when bloodlines spilled can set him free. And, by
the power to forgive, in times long dead, he will start to live.”

A riddle,
maybe. Seriously? The woman must have been practicing that one for days.

Disappointed,
she stood and made to leave.

The gypsy
continued staring into the ball. Then the woman grabbed her arm, startling her,
and shot her a determined look. “Not all eyes can see ma’ lovely.” Her grip
tightened. “What you see as reality is nothin’ of the sort. But don’t despair.
The one you seek is still waitin’, but his heart is one in the same.”

Terrific.
More riddles. Either the woman had been drinking or she was nutty as a
fruitcake.

What was in
her tea? Releasing her arm from the woman’s loosening grasp, she stood back and
reached for her wallet. “Okay, okay. How much do I owe you for that, er,
interesting reading?”

The old
woman rose, collected her mug and resumed sipping her brew. “I know you don’t believe
me lovely, but that won’t change a thing.” She motioned for her to put her
money away and walked toward a flap in the back on the tent then glanced back
at her, wrinkled face beaming. “I suppose you could always call one of those
fancy dial-a-tarot card readers, but they may be as nutty as me.”

Her jaw
dropped as the gypsy disappeared from the tent. How could she have known what she
was thinking? Spooky.

A crack of
thunder made her jump and gave her all the more reason to start heading back to
the manor. Between the nosy bartender and a crazy gypsy, she didn’t need any
more weird stuff that day.

As she
passed through the town, many of the stands were already packing up. The skies threatened
to pour down at any moment. The bags of books she’d bought didn’t weigh much at
first, but the longer she walked, the heavier they grew. Right about now, she
could have used that lift Daniel had promised.

Having time
to herself, she couldn’t help but think about Rowan, already more complicated and
unusual than any other guy she’d known. And what of all the nonsense the gypsy
woman proclaimed? He wasn’t the one she was looking for. What would that crazy
old bat know? Though corny, even to her, she felt somehow destined to be with
him. Anyway, it was her future, and she would decide who to be with.

She
shuddered, as uncharted territory began to unfold before her.

Never
before had she even considered a man in her plans.

Bryant had
been the closest she’d come to settling down. He hadn’t succeeded. Now it was her
turn, chasing a man who infuriated her, confused and muddled her thinking. Not
the kind of husband material any sane woman, let alone a scientist would have
chosen. Hah. Maybe she was going crazy.

Whenever he
was around, though, her heart took control. Her sensible, methodical mind never
stood a chance.

Little more
than halfway down the road, the heavens opened up and bucketed down upon her.
“Fabulous.” No power at the manor meant no hot bath or hair dryer. Hell, there
wasn’t even indoor plumbing. So no point stressing.

She trudged
on further. Hopefully Rowan had the kitchen fire blazing. Her clothes would have
to be dried out and she needed a hot, strong cup of coffee. That would be
heaven.

After what
seemed like forever, she reached the open gates of the manor, adjusted the bags
in her hands and began the long walk up the drive. No one was around, and even
if Rowan had shown up to greet her with an umbrella, she was soaked to the
skin.