Mulligan Stew (22 page)

With that, he spun around and marched into the kitchen just in time to see Jacob scurrying up the back staircase. "
Shite.
" He started to follow the lad, but Bridget gripped his arm, digging her nails into his flesh.

"
I'll
see to my son." She pushed past him, pausing with one foot on the bottom step. "You've done enough." Then she disappeared up the stairs.

Riley shoved his fingers through his hair, hoping he hadn't destroyed the relationship he'd just begun with his nephew. The lad loved his mother, and—right or wrong—he wouldn't be likely to forgive anyone who upset her. Riley didn't want to lose what he'd gained today with Jacob. Nor that link to Culley.

Another traitorous voice deep inside him wondered if Bridget would ever look at him again with desire in her eyes.

Chapter 10

Bridget fought the tears until she reached the safety of her room. She leaned against the closed door, gulping lungs full of air and trying to hold the tears at bay, but the liquid Benedict Arnolds betrayed her. Hot and fierce, they ran down her cheeks and neck. She had to bite her tongue to suppress a sob.

"Momma?"

Gasping, she swiped the damp trails off her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She reached down to brush her son's hair away from his face. "Jacob, you should be asleep."

"I heard Uncle Riley yelling." Her son looked up at her with trust shining in his eyes. "Is he mad at you?"

Bridget had vowed never to lie to her son, and this was one of those times when she wished she could withdraw that promise. But she couldn't. Promises were important, and if she expected her son to grow up to be a man of honor, she'd best show him what honor was.

"Y-yes." She sniffled and tried to smile, but knew she failed miserably. "I'm afraid he's very mad at me."

"Why?" Jacob tugged on her sleeve. "Why, Momma?"

She drew a shaky breath and led her son to her bed, where they sat facing each other. Jacob crossed his legs beneath him, waiting with amazing patience.

"You were listening," she said quietly, watching her son for any reaction. He lowered his gaze and nodded. "Then you know why your uncle is mad at me."

"I... I'm sorry for spyin'." Genuine regret filled his young eyes as he met her gaze again.

"I know you are." She scooted closer to him and put one arm around his shoulders. "But you did, so I reckon you know why he's mad at me."

"I heard what you asked him." Jacob pulled back to stare at her unblinkingly. "He got mad, but I don't know why."

"Well, Jacob, you remember the first day we were here, don't you?"

He nodded, but didn't speak, leaving Bridget no choice but to continue with her pitiful explanation.

"Then you know your uncle doesn't believe the castle is safe."

"'Cuz of that dumb old curse?"

Bridget squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching for strength. "The folks here believe there's a curse, but I think the castle being so old is another reason."

Jacob appeared thoughtful, and said, "But old buildings can be fixed."

"Some can." Her son made so much sense. Of course, he must have heard her say almost the same words. "Your uncle and
mamó
don't think the castle can be fixed."
Or
should
be fixed.

"Well I think we oughta try." Jacob set his jaw in that stubborn Frye way.

"I know. So do I." She cupped her son's cheek and kissed him on the forehead. "I'm not going to give up yet, but they have the final say. Okay?"

She saw his young mind churning ideas around, but she had to let this subject drop. She didn't want to cause any friction between Jacob and the Mulligans. Lord knew she'd caused enough of that between
herself
and Culley's kin.

"Okay, Jacob?" she repeated.

"I reckon." He didn't look at her as he spoke.

"Do you remember how angry I was at you that time you followed General Lee onto the highway?"

"Y-yes." Jacob sniffled and his lower lip trembled. "I coulda got squashed like... like Granny."

She gave him a quick, fierce hug. "But you didn't, darlin'." She pulled back and stroked his cheek. "Maybe Uncle Riley got mad at me, because he doesn't want anybody getting hurt in the castle."

I'm not
really
lying, Lord.

"I reckon." Jacob sniffled and scrubbed his eyes.

"Now, stop worrying about me and get some sleep." She eked out a smile of sorts. "It's late."

"All right." Jacob stood and padded barefoot to his narrow bed beneath the eaves.

Bridget followed him, pulled the quilt around his shoulders, and kissed him good-night. "Sweet dreams, darlin'."

"'Night."

She turned off the small lamp beside his bed and returned to her room. Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. She rubbed her arms and turned off her bedside lamp.

Slowly, she walked to the window and stared out at the night. No rain or clouds marred her view now.
Caisleán Dubh
stood majestically by the sea, its tower lording over the Mulligan farm, the village, and everything within sight.

That strange tugging called to her again. Something about that castle spoke to her, and she knew it was far more than merely the whispers. What called to her was something unheard and unseen. It came from inside her.

Bathed in moonlight,
Caisleán Dubh
was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. "Mulligan Stew," she murmured.

She had to find a way to make her dream come true. She wanted this more than anything. The idea had only come to her a few hours earlier, but she felt as if she'd lived with it and worked toward it all her life.

Maybe longer.

That thought sounded so foolish, she shoved it aside, though something continued to niggle at her brain. It almost seemed as if she should remember something that she'd forgotten. Something important.

She gazed down at the meadow between the cottage and the castle. He was there, as she'd known he would be. Riley Mulligan stood staring up at the house as if willing her to defy him.

Bridget struggled against the urge to show grouchy old Riley her middle finger, as Granny had been known to do back in Reedville when properly provoked. No, Jacob's momma wouldn't resort to that, though she would sure as heck think about it. A lot.

A smile tugged at her lips. "So there," she whispered.

Enough of that nonsense. She needed sleep, because one way or another, she would find a way to get inside that castle. She had to do it, even if in secret.

Maybe once she saw the inside of
Caisleán Dubh
for herself, she would realize that it was a lost cause. Maybe then she could accept defeat. Maybe.

But she doubted it.

She changed into her nightgown, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, but still didn't feel sleepy. "Enough of this," she whispered. She needed to rest so her brain would work right in the morning. After all, she had a mission.

She lowered herself onto the feather mattress, deciding this was the most comfortable bed in the world. Surely she would be able to sleep. She stared at the ceiling for some time, then rolled onto her side and pulled her legs in close.

Gradually, her body warmed and relaxed, allowing dreams to carry her away....

He was back—her dream lover. Who was he? She knew now that the language he spoke was Irish, but that didn't help her understand a word.

Standing across the room from her, he crooked a finger. Well, she understood
that
. He was bathed in shadow, making his face completely indistinguishable. The only light in the room came from the fire burning in the hearth, and it created a golden glow that flowed around the man from behind. Faceless, he stood there. Waiting.

She didn't need to be told that he waited for her. Somehow, she just knew. Maybe because of the other dream. This was the same man—of that she was certain, face or no face. As she walked slowly toward him, she savored the fact that his massive chest was bare. Muscles rippled across his chest and arms. He placed a fist on each hip, and continued to speak to her in his deep, rumbling voice. If only she could understand his words. Maybe then she would know who he was and why she kept dreaming of him. Heck, seeing his face might help, too.

However, his body was a fine sight. Was he naked again? Curiosity overcame her and she glanced down the length of him. Through the shadows, she saw his erection clearly. It thrust outward from his body like the tower of Caisleán Dubh...

"Oh, my." She tilted her head to one side to examine him more carefully. After all, this was a dream. She didn't have to be shy or even decent. Did she? Wasn't that why people had these kinds of dreams? So their secret fantasies and thoughts could find a release?

She fanned herself with her hand, noticing a cold draft. Glancing down, she stifled a small gasp. She was almost naked herself, with a thin excuse for an undergarment barely covering her breasts, and no panties at all. Scandalous.

She giggled at herself and decided to enjoy her dream. She swung her hips a bit more than necessary and felt the straps of her chemise, of all things, slip lower. The soft fabric brushed along her nipples, catching near the peaks, which were tight with longing.

She wanted him to touch her again. To kiss her. Oh, she wanted him to do a lot more than that. Why not admit it? It was
her
dream.

By the time she stood before him, a heated flush had crept over her entire body. Her blood sang through her veins, pulsing wickedly right between her thighs. Between the heaviness of her breasts and the gnawing hunger in her most private place, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Her gaze dropped to his erection again and she licked her lips. Exactly.

He reached out with one finger beneath her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. The infernal shadows still hid his features from view, but she looked in the direction of his eyes anyway.

Easing the tip of his finger down her throat, he whispered,"
Bronagh
."

Did he mean the village?

He looped his fingers through the straps of her chemise. A shiver coursed through her, but not from the room's temperature. He filled his large hands with her breasts and brushed his thumbs across her nipples. Her knees threatened to give, but desire kept her upright.

She wanted this. Needed this. A release, even if only in her dreams...
My wildest dreams,
she thought, and prayed that would prove true.

"
Bronagh
," he repeated, then dipped his head to draw her nipple through the thin fabric.

"Mercy." She gasped and wrapped her arms around his muscular neck for support. Rivers of warmth eddied through her, zeroing in on the part of her that wanted him most.

His tongue stroked her through the fabric, and he nipped her with his teeth. He drew her deeply into his mouth, sending rivulets of need spiraling through her.

She buried her fingers in his long hair, holding him against her breast, and praying her dream wouldn't end too soon this time. She wanted to finish this—not that she was in any hurry to have it end.

A low, primal growl rumbled from him and vibrated against her tender flesh. He straightened and the cool air circled her damp nipples, compounding her sense of loss at his abandonment.

"
Bronagh
?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" This was how she'd lost him last time—by not understanding his questions. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me again."

Since she couldn't make him understand her words, she decided to show him. With trembling fingers, she grasped his red-hot erection. He pulsed with power. Life. Promise.

A small sob erupted from her and he growled again as he covered her mouth in a smoldering kiss. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, imitating the movements of her hand on his body.