Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy) (16 page)

“How do you know?” That cottage would be hundreds of years old, built and re-built countless times, unrecognizable.

“Everyone knows. It’s just a fact, like the time of the tides or when to plant potatoes.”

Her hands accentuated each word. It reminded Tynan of the Italians he knew around Boston’s North end, struck dumb if their hands were tied.

But it wasn’t only her hands, the toss of her head, or the fire in her eyes. Muireann was sure of everything. Usually he didn’t like that in a woman. Now, for some inexplicable reason, in this woman, he found the propensity riveting.

If Tynan were offered a lineup of women and given his pick, he might not have chosen Muireann straight away. Nearly everything about her was contrary to his long-held list of requirements. She was not only opinionated and devotedly rural Irish, but she liked to swim in the sea, stand on the edges of precipitous cliffs, and had a dog with an appetite for expensive shoes.

Had he completely lost perspective? All he knew was he couldn’t imagine booking it back to Boston until he understood what it was about this selkie. How could she pull him into her gravitational sphere and refuse to let him escape?

He rose and stepped behind her. Though they stood in shadow, the heat of her body warmed him. He breathed in her scent and tried to keep from touching her.

Resisting her was not possible. He placed his hands on her shoulders and let his lips tickle the back of her neck.

She trembled.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” he whispered.

“No.” She turned to face him. “Let’s forget this for awhile.”

“Forget what?” He tried to read her eyes.

“Bertie, his stories, the land…all the controversy.”

“Sounds like a grand idea. After all, we have very little time and I barely know you, Muireann.”

“Why do you think you want to know me any better than this, Ty?”

“You fascinate me.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get into my knickers?”

His hand went to his heart in mock distress. “You wound me! Do you take me for a shallow man?”

“A man.” She licked her lips.

The gesture, whether intentional or not, punched the breath out of him. “You really shouldn’t do that.”

“What? This?” She licked her lips again, more slowly this time. Her hands crept around his waist and stroked the muscles at his back.

“Yeah, that.” Ty pulled her a little tighter against him. “We could stand here and pursue that line of reasoning or we could go back to your cottage.” He wasn’t sure if the thunder was coming from the clouds off the sea or his blood coursing through his body. “It’s going to bucket on us.” As he examined the sky, the first drops hit them. He released her from his embrace and took her hand. “Which way is the fastest?”

“Follow me,” she said and led him down the sloping field toward the road. Muireann refused to let him get the best of her—in a race or challenge.

The cottage gate had flung open in the wind and fuchsia branches slapped the stone wall, leaving red petals like drops of blood on the pale limestone face. Muireann’s boots slid on the wet paving that ran from gate to front door. If Tynan had not had hold of her hand, she would have gone down.

“Saved me,” she shouted over the cacophony as sheets of rain slashed into the roof slates.

“Ah, now, and I think you’re worth the saving,” Ty quipped. Before she had a moment to object he had scooped her into his arms.

“Put me down, you fool. You’ll pull a groin muscle and I’ll have to call Dr. Finn.”

“What’s wrong with Dr. Finn?”

“Nothing, if you’re a horse.”

“No panic. You’re a feather.”

She knew she wasn’t. Muireann had always been the tallest girl in school and teased for her height and athletic build. She would never qualify as a fragile damsel by anyone’s standard.

Tynan held her with such ease. He made her feel feminine and even, God forbid she should admit it, a bit vulnerable.

“You’re breathing hard, selkie. Tell me I haven’t worn you out with our little run.”

“It’ll be the day I hang up my runners when an ex-pat tourist can best me in a foot race.” The rush to beat the storm back to the cottage was not the cause of her breathlessness and rapid pulse. “And where did you get the idea you could call me that?”

“Call you what? Selkie?” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Prove you’re not and I’ll stop.”

Digital music punctuated the space between them.

Tynan laughed. “Either there’s a piper in your pocket or your mobile is ringing.”

Muireann reached into her wet jumper pocket and pulled out her phone. “It’s my da. I should answer it.”

He nodded.

“Hey, Da, how’re ya keepin?...Sure, now, I haven’t forgotten.” But of course she had. “On your way over?…Right…see you in a few.” She closed the phone and turned to Tynan. “My da’s on his way to talk about plans for tonight. Fancy a bit of a pagan-come-Christian hooley?”

“I’d almost forgotten. It’s St. John’s Eve.” Ty grinned. “
On Midsummer Eve
,” he quoted some forgotten bard, “
when the bonfires are lighted on every hill, the fairies are at their gayest and ready to steal away beautiful mortals to be their brides
.”

Chapter Thirteen

Oiche Fheile Eoín.
St. John’s Eve happened in Ireland each midsummer. It was an ancient celebration and, in Ballinacurragh, a grand excuse for a party.

Bonfires would blaze up and down the Irish coast. The heat of all combined was no match for the burn of need Tynan felt for the woman in his arms.

Tynan’s hand slipped from her waist to her hip and felt Muireann shiver. “Should we go back inside?” The dress she wore provided little protection from the chill, but Tynan liked it because he could feel the subtle line of her thong through the delicate fabric.

“Hmm…they will expect a few more songs from me. Then I should have you all to myself.” Her voice was a study in flirtatious. Coming from another woman it might have seemed overdone. Not from Muireann.

“You’re trying to seduce me,” he said. His lips nibbled across her brow. Her skin was damp from dancing and cool with the evening breeze off the sea.

This, in Tynan’s mind, was the perfect way to end a perfect day…almost. He ached to know the feel of Muireann’s body around him, her warm and slippery secret places inviting him in.

The promise of great music, food, and laughter had drawn both locals and tourists into Ballinacurragh this evening. O’Malley’s had been packed to the walls since noon, serving the appetite and thirst of young and old.

By ten o’clock, there was only room for the music that spun and flowed through the spaces in the standing crowd.

Muireann had tucked in tightly between a bouzouki and a bodhrán with barely enough elbow room to lift a glass to her lips. “We need a mando player in here,” she shouted above the chatter and waved at Tynan.

“Got room for one more?” he said as he wedged himself into place next to Muireann, pint of stout in one hand, mando in the other. “Thanks. I thought I was going to have to buy the band a round to get a seat next to you.” He sat at her left so the mandolin neck wouldn’t be between them.

Ty had not been able to keep his gaze from Muireann as she sang. With the slow airs and laments, she always closed her eyes. Though this was tradition, with Muireann it was as though she stood naked before all creation, exposed and vulnerable, her only protection the ability to transport herself to a secret world within the music.

Her voice touched chords he’d forgotten lived in his memory. Joy and sorrow, hope and despair, the words might mask her meaning, but the tones exposed her soul.

Now, nearly midnight, the twilight of Ireland’s longest day hung suspended over the sea in a red haze. He held her close, the fragrance of her hair reminiscent of herbs and sun-drenched blossoms, her lips touched with a tangy scent of the whiskey she’d sipped earlier.

“Thanks for helping in the pub this evening,” she said. The warmth of her breath tickled his ear and raised more than the goose bumps on his arms.

When the bar stood four deep with patrons, Tynan had joined Turlough in building pints. “My pleasure,” he said and lightly brushed her lips with his. She shivered and pressed into him.

The blood rushed in his ears and muffled all sounds.

He didn’t hear the footsteps.

Muireann did.

“You flamin’ creep,” she barked. “Can’t get any nookie of your own?”

Ty spun around to see Feeney not three yards away. He looked as though he had been there for a while. Eavesdropping? “What’s up, Feeney?” he asked hoping to calm Muireann and keep a little of the romance of the moment alive.

Ian Feeney stepped into the light of the street lamp. “I see she’s getting what she wants the only way she knows.”

His tone was nasty, and Tynan’s blood ran hot at the perceived intent of the comment.

“This is a private party, Ian,” Muireann said through clenched jaws. “I’ll catch you inside, Ty. I need a minute.” She walked off toward the back of the pub.

“Man, your timing sucks.” Ty started after her. Feeney grabbed his arm and Ty tugged away. “What?”

“I’m trying to save you a bit of grief. She’ll romance that piece of land out of you and drop you cold.”

“What makes you think you know anything about what’s between Muireann and myself?” Ty’s fists balled at his sides.

“Hey, I know from experience. Muireann O’Malley doesn’t give it for nothing,” Ian sneered.

Tynan moved so quickly he even surprised himself. His hands found their way around Ian’s fleshy neck and set firmly there. “If I’m not mistaken, you just came very close to maligning a woman I care deeply for. You wanna retract that insinuation before you step any deeper into your own shite?”

Feeney’s face reddened and beads of sweat sprung out on his forehead. “I’m only trying to help. Let’s be rational.”

“Rational? You want me to be rational?” Ty loosened his grip. The fear in Feeney’s eyes was enough. “What goes on between Muireann and myself is none of your business.” He pushed Ian back against the pier railing and let him go. “The O’Malley land is off the market.”

“You can’t do that. What about the taxes? The lien? What about the promise you made to sell to the bank?”

“The taxes and the lien are my problem. Running your bank is yours. I made no promise to anyone.” Ty turned his back on Feeney and walked toward the pub.

“You’ll regret this, Sloane. You can’t just come in here and disturb the status quo of our community.”

Tynan stopped. He turned and took one step toward Ian.

Ian backed up until the railing halted his retreat.

O’Malley’s back screen door slammed. Muireann stood in the light of the doorway.

“You,” Ian shouted at Muireann. “I know what you’re doing. You won’t get what you want. Not this way.” He shot a glance at Tynan and added, “Your man here has a deal with me.”

She bolted.

Ty followed, but by the time he squeezed past the solid wall of humanity between the back and front entrances of the pub, she seemed to have vaporized.

Ian bullied his way past the men leaning against the bar. “A whiskey,” he demanded. Turlough’s expression changed from jovial to aggravated as he poured the drink.

Though Ty was eager to find Muireann, he delayed his leaving when he saw the receptionist from the bank sidle up to Ian and give him a brusque nudge in the ribs.

“Walshe?” Ian’s eyes darted past the woman as though checking out who might be watching.

The unmistakable, watery look in Miss Walshe’s eyes betrayed the liberal amount of booze she’d consumed.

“We need to have a little chat,
Mister
Feeney.” She almost fell into him. Feeney pushed her away.

Her eyes were pinwheels and her voice too loud, even in a bar full of people. Whatever she had to say, he was sure the banker would rather receive the news in private.

Tynan stepped back toward the kitchen and out of their line of sight. He could still hear the conversation. Walshe had long lost control of discretion and the volume of her voice.

“Can this wait until the bank opens on Monday?” Ian suggested.

Walshe’s laugh verged on hysterical with the shrill sound of warning alarms. Feeney grabbed her arm and she staggered along with him.

Ty could see from his vantage point as Walshe stumbled over the threshold and into a group gathered outside the exit. One of the men reached to help her to her feet.

“Sorry,” Ian said but gave them a look that said
this is none of your business, back off.
He took hold of Walshe and walked toward his parked car.

“Now,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “What the hell is this about?”

Ty’s instinct was to follow. Was Walshe in any danger from this man? They knew each other. Perhaps they had a relationship outside the professional one.

Walshe laughed.

“You won’t think you’re so funny when you’re looking for another job, Walshe,” Ian threatened.

“Oh, you won’t want to let me go, Feeney. I know too much,” she shouted uncharacteristically of the calm woman Ty had first met in the lobby of the bank.

Feeney glanced over his shoulder, spied Tynan, and then turned once again toward his employee. “Get in the car, Nora. You’re making a scene.” He shoved her rather roughly, slammed the passenger door, and got behind the wheel.

As they drove away, Ty wondered what Nora Walshe knew and why it made Ian Feeney so nervous.

Chapter Fourteen

Flames licked and crawled in a combustible dance, releasing sparks that flew upward into the black of the night. Tynan imagined them sticking to the canopy of space, creating billions of new stars.

The roar of the fire was alive with the crack and moan of energy freed back into the heavens. Her back was to him as she skirted the flames, headed toward the beach. Tynan’s instinct was to call out to stop her, but it would be a sacrilege to raise his voice on this sacred night.

She was a daughter of the Sidhe, an apparition.

Muireann turned and caught his eyes before she reached the edge of the Monk’s Ladder.

“Wait,” Ty called in desperation to stop her. He really didn’t want to descend the treacherous steps in near darkness.