Mulligan Stew (32 page)

"Aidan's love. The peasant girl who threw herself to her death from the tower of
Caisleán Dubh
."

Riley suppressed a shudder at hearing the tragedy spoken so plainly. "What was her name?" No wonder Katie was so hard to follow in a conversation. She'd inherited the trait from her granddad.

"Bronagh, Riley. Bronagh." He pointed to the faint, spidery scrawl. "'Tis right there, where it names the poor lass."

Riley leaned closer. "Bronagh," he whispered, remembering the night at the castle with Bridget. She'd accused him of calling her Bronagh. "Jaysus."

Cold sweat coated his skin and his pulse skittered like a spider's web along his veins. "What was her last name?" He held his breath.

"Look here, lad. Me old eyes can't read that part." Brady tilted the old book toward Riley. "Can you see it? What was Bronagh's surname?"

Riley looked at the word from every angle, and even borrowed Brady's magnifying glass, but he still couldn't read it. Wasn't learning her first name proof enough?

Proof of what, Mulligan?

If only he knew. "I'm sorry, but in this case, my eyes aren't any better than yours, Brady," he said.

"A pity, but thanks for tryin', lad." Brady pointed to another book sitting on the table beside him. "In his diary, the priest who was here in Aidan's time writes about Bronagh's aunt—a
cailleach
, by all accounts."

Riley blocked the memory of Katie's words from clouding his judgment. He only wanted to hear this from Brady. He trusted Brady. For some reason, every shred of common sense he possessed told him not to trust Katie. Not anymore. Maybe he never could.

Maybe Culley shouldn't have....

Don't be going there now, Mulligan
. Culley was dead and the past was history now. Yet... the very history Brady was researching might very well affect the future.

"A witch, you say?" Riley tried to sound flippant. "Da never spoke of her."

"Aye, that's because much of this information comes from Bronagh's clan—not the Mulligans." A satisfied gleam danced in Brady's eyes. "The other side of the story, if you will. The untold one."

"But you will tell it."

"Aye, though it may take a miracle to read some of this. Time has been unkind."

"Aye." Riley craned his neck to look at the spine of the diary, which had obviously been damaged by moisture and was illegible. "And nowhere else in all those notes, does it mention Bronagh's surname?"

"I've not finished reading them all just yet," Brady said. "But I can see that you recognize how important this could be."

"Aye, well..." Riley couldn't deny the hum of excitement whirring through him, almost as insistent as the whisperings of
Caisleán Dubh
. Almost. "Have you figured out what role the
cailleach
played in all this?"

"The priest believed she placed an evil spell on
Caisleán Dubh
to avenge her niece's tragic death."

Riley fell silent for a moment, remembering how his da had described the events. "Aye, the lass was treated unfairly."

Brady nodded. "She loved Aidan, and he loved her." He pointed to another book. "The priest speaks of Aidan's mourning here. 'Tis quite a sad life he led after that, though he did rear strong sons. Alas, not with the woman he loved."

"Da said the lass came to the castle the day of Aidan's wedding, but was forbidden entrance. She even told Aidan's da, that she was with child."

"Aye. That's all in here, lad." Brady's head bobbed again. "Just as your da told it."

"Except for the
cailleach
, and the lass's name."

"Aye." Brady frowned. "When I did this research before, years ago, I had notes about the priest's interview with the
cailleach
. Some of it was ugly, lad, as the old
wan
was grieving and angry."

"That's understandable," Riley said, pointing at the priest's diary. "Does he reveal the nature of her so-called 'spell' in there?"

"No, and 'tis angry I am that me earlier notes were lost." He heaved a weary sigh and scratched his bald head. "Katie moved them and swears she doesn't know what became of them."

"Was there... something in there about the spell?" Riley's mouth went dry.

"Aye. In fact, the priest quoted it. I copied the words into me notes, and now they're lost. I
think
I copied the lass's surname there as well, but I can't remember it now."

Stolen
. The more Riley heard about this, the more he believed that Katie hadn't wanted Culley to know what her granddad's notes
really
said. She'd made up a pretty story in her head and used it to manipulate Culley into marriage.

But it hadn't worked. The curse had won.

Listen to yourself, Mulligan.
He didn't want to, but he couldn't deny the facts. More and more, he believed a spell had caused the curse. The more Brady spoke of the old
cailleach
, the more sense it made. Of course the woman had wanted to avenge her niece's tragic death. Who could have blamed her for that?

"I do remember bits of the spell, though."

Jarred back to the present, Riley whipped his gaze around to Brady. "You do?"

"Aye." Brady looked up at the sky as he spoke as if thinking very hard. "The crux of it was that those who were denied their love must wed before all would be well again."

"Whew." Riley rubbed the back of his neck, the tense, rigid cords there. "And how is that supposed to happen after they're all dead and gone?"

Brady's expression grew very solemn. "I have a theory."

"Theory" had been the word Katie used. "I'm listening."

Brady removed his glasses and narrowed his gaze at Riley. "It takes a powerful leap of faith to believe, lad."

Riley smiled, though he felt more like screaming. "I'm Irish, Brady."

"So you are, lad, but some of what I'm about to tell you will be considered blaspheme by Father O'Malley. And, I'm ashamed to say, by your dear mum."

"I suspected that," Riley admitted, deciding he had to trust this old man a bit. "I
need
to learn as much as I can."

Brady met and held his gaze for several seconds, then nodded. "We'd best go to confession after I'm finished...."

* * *

"Lass, you look tired," Fiona said as she entered the kitchen Wednesday morning.

Bridget nodded and yawned, bringing the glass of caffeine-laden soda pop to her lips. "I'm sorry."

Fiona puttered around the kitchen while Bridget sat and stared out the window at
Caisleán Dubh
. Today, the inspector and his crew would come. Once they had his approval, she wouldn't allow Riley to stop her. She'd find a way to convince them all.

"Riley's been lookin' a bit tired, too," Fiona said, joining Bridget at the table with her tea. "Can't imagine what would keep two young, healthy folks awake nights."

Bridget shot her mother-in-law a suspicious glance, but the woman was sipping her tea in complete innocence. "I think I'm just nervous about the inspection."

"Ah." Fiona nodded. "I've been ponderin' this restaurant idea of yours, and I like it. I really do." She released a long sigh.

"But...?"

Fiona offered a crooked smile and patted Bridget's hand. "Even if it can be restored enough for your restaurant, I'm not convinced it will be safe, Bridget. The curse."

"I have to try, Fiona." She squeezed her eyes closed for several moments. Then she met the older woman's gaze again and said, "The only way to prove to y'all that there is no curse is to use the castle."

Fiona chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "What if there is a curse, lass?" Her expression and tone were solemn. "What if... harm came to someone? What about Jacob?"

"I wouldn't do this if I thought for a moment he was in danger. Besides, just last week Jacob and Riley entered and left the castle without harm." Bridget gripped the cold glass tightly. "It's hard to explain, but I feel sort of a... a kinship to the castle."

Fiona chuckled and shook her head. "Are you into this mystical stuff Maggie sometimes talks about?"

Bridget blinked. "Fiona, isn't a curse mystical?"

The older woman gasped. "Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, but I've never thought of it that way." She looked around guiltily and crossed herself. "I guess you're right about that, lass, though I'm ashamed to admit it."

"I think God will forgive us both." Bridget squeezed her mother-in-law's hand. "I'll fix breakfast."

"No, you won't." Fiona rose and patted Bridget on the shoulder as she passed. "You look asleep on your feet, lass. I'll do it."

Sleepless nights combined with busy days to make Bridget a walking zombie. On those occasions when exhaustion had overtaken her and dragged her to sleep under protest, her dream lover—still faceless—had touched, caressed, kissed, but never satisfied her hunger. She always awakened craving more of his touch. More and more and more.

She couldn't go on like this night after night. At some point, something had to break the cycle. Maybe today's inspection would end it once and for all. Maybe...

"I've been meanin' to tell you about my trip," Fiona said over her shoulder.

"Trip?" Bridget turned in her chair to face Fiona.

"Aye. Me mum lives in a retirement home near Kilarney." Fiona dried her hands and leaned against the counter, facing Bridget. "I go every couple months, and Maggie always goes along. 'Tis hard for Riley to get away, with the farm and all."

"Yes." Bridget stifled a yawn, trying to pay attention to Fiona. "Someone has to tend the stock."

"Aye." She took a few steps to the stove and stirred a pot, replacing the lid a moment later. "With your permission, lass, I'd like to take Jacob along to meet his great-
mamó
."

Just Jacob?
Bridget chewed her lower lip, wondering why she wasn't included in this invitation. She glanced out the window at
Caisleán Dubh
. The thought of traveling far from it just now didn't set well with her. She needed to be here. At least for now.

"Yes, I think Jacob would enjoy it," she finally said.

And she would be left here alone with Riley....

A hot flush crept over her as Fiona prattled on about how pleased she was, and so forth.

Alone with Riley...

The subject of her fantasy walked in the back door and washed his hands at the sink. Riley had already been out doing his morning chores, and when he turned toward Bridget, his gaze locked with hers.

Red rimmed both his eyes and dark circles smudged his high cheekbones. He wore a haunted look. A flame flared in the blue depths of his eyes and she amended that thought.

He wore a
hungry
look.

The passion she'd struggled so hard against flickered to life within her and a tremor trickled through her. He licked his lips and took a step toward her.

She licked her lips and waited.

"There you be, Riley," Fiona said, shattering the spell.

Thank God.

"Mornin', Mum." He visibly reined himself in and kissed his momma's cheek. "Something smells good."

"Black puddin'."

"Ah, that'll stick to a man's ribs."

Bridget made a note to make Riley some kind of black pudding next time she cooked breakfast. She'd never heard of anyone eating chocolate pudding for breakfast before, but chocolate was chocolate, after all. Being black pudding, it would have to be very dark chocolate.
Yum.

Granny had always said that a good brownie was better than sex. Glancing sideways at Riley, Bridget doubted that.

She was having naughty thoughts again. Riley fixed himself a cup of tea and lingered at the counter. She suspected he didn't want to be near her.

Remembering how much he'd wanted to be near her the other night made her squirm in her chair. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened. She didn't need a dream lover to frustrate her. Riley Mulligan did a fine job of it on his own.

Unless he
is
my dream lover....

Her opinion of Riley had softened considerably since Maggie had told her the story of how Patrick Mulligan had died and been found. Plus, Riley adored Jacob. How could a woman not admire a man who was good with children and respectful and loving to his own momma?

And handsome enough to be in one of those cigarette ads, but without the nasty old cigarette.... Bridget could just picture Riley and his long black hair in one of those ads. The wind would blow his hair and the sun would make him squint. Those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes would show.

Her breath snagged in her throat and she coughed.

"Are you all right, lass?" Fiona called over her shoulder. "Be a good lad and fetch her some water, Riley."

Bridget tried to protest, but that just made her cough more. Jacob was out gathering eggs with Maggie, so he couldn't come to her rescue just now.

Maybe that was just as well. As Riley set the glass of water on the table before her, his hand brushed against hers and their gazes met. Bridget's pulse leaped into the final round of "Jeopardy," and the rest of her was ready for "Let's Make A Deal."