Mulligan Stew (20 page)

Tenderly, he brushed dust from the cap and pulled the leather tab inside the brim to tighten the band as much as possible. He cleared his throat and faced Jacob, focusing only on the lad.

"This is for you," he said, holding the cap out to Jacob.

A muffled sob came from Mum and Riley blinked away the stinging sensation behind his eyes. He didn't dare look at his family right now.

"For... me?" Jacob took the cap and turned it around in his fingers to examine it. A huge grin split the lad's face, displaying a missing tooth right in front. "Really and truly mine?"

"Really and truly yours. On the blessed Virgin." Riley swallowed the lump in his throat and lifted the cap from Jacob's hands, placing it on the lad's head at a jaunty angle. Just the way...

He cleared his throat again and heard a sniffle from behind him, but he didn't look. He couldn't.

"There now," he said, girding his resolve and squaring his shoulders. "Aren't you dapper wearing your own da's cap?"

"Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph," Mum said quietly from behind them.

"My... daddy's?" Jacob's lower lip trembled a bit and his green eyes were like giant shamrocks. "Really?"

"Aye." Riley released a long, slow breath and placed his hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Now, let's go out and introduce you to
Oíche
, right proper like."

"Who's that?"

"My horse.
Oíche
means Midnight."

"A real horse?"

"Well, now, what would I be doing with a fake one, lad?"

"A
real
horse!"

"A real horse." Another smile tugged at Riley's mouth and at his heart as he reached for the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder once and found all three women staring at him.

Tears streamed down Mum's face, but he knew they were tears of joy, so he didn't worry. Maggie smiled with approval shining in her eyes.

Bridget held her chin high and her lips pressed together tightly. She met his gaze with a bewildering expression. Was it still a mother's gratitude he saw shining in her eyes now?

Or fear and suspicion?

* * *

Bridget chose her words with great care. Using the stationery Mrs. Larabee had given her, she asked Mr. Larabee the burning question that had plagued her since the moment she'd realized that Riley had accepted Jacob as Culley's son.

Can the Mulligans take my son?

She looked down at the light green paper, her eyes blurring and her hands trembling. For some reason, the moment Riley had referred to Jacob as Culley's son, Bridget's sense of security had shattered.

But isn't that what you wanted?

She leaned back in the chair at the small writing table in her room. The sun hadn't yet set and Jacob was still at the stable with his uncle.

Riley had made no secret of his hatred for Bridget. Now that he'd accepted Culley's son, would he try to push Bridget out of Jacob's life?

Would—
could
—he steal her child?

Her fingers fluttered and she dropped the pen. It rolled across her desk and landed in her lap. She made no effort to retrieve it, but continued to stare at the words she'd written.

She had to know her rights. This was a strange land and though the Mulligans were Culley's kin, they were still strangers to her. She trusted Fiona and Maggie. They wouldn't try to take Jacob.

But what about Riley?

If he truly believed Bridget had tricked Culley into her bed, would he consider her unfit to raise Jacob? Did he have that right? That power? What rights did uncles have in Ireland? With her husband dead, would Bridget have any defense if Riley chose to seek custody of his nephew?

"Don't listen to yourself." She drew a shaky breath and collected her pen. Common sense demanded this wasn't possible. Jacob was her son—her life. No one could take him from her.

However, a sinking sensation gripped her each time the thought crossed her mind. She
had
to ask Mr. Larabee. He was her friend and her lawyer. He would give her an honest answer. It might take weeks, though. For now, she would watch and listen.

And worry.

Forcing her hand to remain steady, she completed the letter and sealed the envelope. She would ask Maggie or Fiona where to mail it in the morning.

She propped the envelope against a paperweight that boasted a shamrock encased in clear glass. Maybe it would bring her luck.

When she'd first learned about the Mulligans and planned her trip to Ireland, she'd considered this the luckiest thing to have ever happened to her. Short of Jacob. Now... she wasn't so sure. She couldn't deny how fond she'd grown of Fiona and Maggie in just a few days. But Riley...

Could she trust him with the most precious part of her life?

If only she had some money of her own. That would give her independence, and a smidgen of power. Then if Riley did try anything underhanded, she wouldn't be helpless.

She couldn't very well take a job in the village and leave Jacob here all day. What could she do to make money?
Cook, of course.
But where? Did anyone in Ballybronagh need a cook or housekeeper? The Larabees would give her a reference. She had no doubts there.

She went back downstairs and heard the television in the parlor. Fiona and Maggie were both seated in front of the hearth, chuckling at a program. Feeling restless, Bridget slipped into the kitchen and stared out the window beside the back door. There was a good hour of daylight left.

Across the meadow, she watched as a dark shape moved away from the house. Her heart swelled, pressing upward against her windpipe. Jacob was riding that gigantic horse.

She saw Riley holding the reins, leading the horse, and her breath eased from her lungs. Now that Riley had accepted Jacob as his brother's son, she knew he would never allow any harm to come to the child. If only she could be as certain of Riley's intentions toward
her
.

Remembering their earlier encounter at the castle, she looked at the dark image against the twilight. She'd tried to confront that stupid castle, but Riley had stopped her. She would never stop fearing it unless she faced it and gave it what for.

Now was the perfect time. Riley was occupied, as were Fiona and Maggie. Her heart pounding in her ears, Bridget pulled her sweater close and slipped out the back door. As she walked across the meadow, her gaze was riveted to
Caisleán Dubh
. This was her hour of reckoning with that pile of rocks, and no one was going to stop her this time.

Face what scares you, and give it heck,
Granny had said.

"All right, Granny," Bridget whispered as she marched around the castle's foundation for the second time today. "I'm doing it. Be proud of me."

And, somehow, Bridget knew the old woman was smiling down on her from heaven, probably between rounds of Bingo. A smile of remembrance tugged at her lips and she knew she was doing the right thing.

She kept her pace steady and tried not to look directly at the castle until she'd reached the front of it again. Then she put a fist on each hip and swung around to face the thing.

As always, the sight of
Caisleán Dubh
gave her a jolt. She'd never get used to the size of it, but that wasn't what terrified her. It was something invisible. And powerful.

"Now that's just nonsense." She shook her head and drew a deep breath, then released it in a loud whoosh. "Ready or not,
Caisleán Dubh
, here I am. Bridget Colleen Frye Mulligan, in the flesh."

Icy wind circled around her and she blinked, but continued to stare at the closed doors. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, noting a slight quaver to her voice. "Well, dang it all, you're nothing but a pile of really old rocks."

The whispering surrounded her, louder than before. More insistent. "What is that?" she whispered back. "Who are you?
What
are you?"

A shudder rippled through her. Which would be worse? A who or a what? Granny had always said not to ask questions you didn't really want answered. "Forget that," she said, trying to sound flippant and failing.

She sounded downright scared. Petrified. And of
what
? She was a Mulligan, albeit by marriage, and she had a perfect right to be here.

"Are you trying to scare me away?" She lifted her chin, listening to the whispers. "Because I'm not going anywhere." She took another step toward the castle, keeping her breathing steady and her concentration on only one goal.

Touching
Caisleán Dubh
.

The whispering grew louder, and it sounded like many voices murmuring in different languages—nothing identifiable. All she knew was that the whispers, the ghosts, the castle—whatever—was trying to communicate something important.

To her.

"Why me?" She took half-a-dozen more steps until she stood within arm's length of the space beside the entrance. "I understand Riley and Culley, but why me?"

She inched a bit closer, holding both hands chest high, palms open. The cold of the stone closed the distance between her and the castle. The whispering swirled around and through her.

Beyond the point of no return, Bridget drew a great breath and leaned against the castle wall. Her palms touched it first, and the roughness of the cold stone felt somehow comforting—as if she'd achieved a long coveted goal. Well, in a way, she had.

The stone seemed to warm beneath her hands and she moved closer, pressing her entire body against it. An ache commenced deep in her chest. She felt the pull of the castle, a calling of sorts. She belonged here. She was welcome. Wanted.

The whispering stopped and only she and
Caisleán Dubh
remained.

"It feels like... home." Her breath came on a sob and she bit her lower lip as her hands rubbed against the stones. She'd never experienced anything like this, but she knew in her heart that this was right.

Desperately, she wanted to go inside, but even in her state of discovery, common sense reminded her that it might not be safe to enter the centuries old castle. But it could be made safe. The structure seemed sound from the outside. Was it possible to enter and even to live in the castle again?

What about the curse?

She forced open her eyes to the deepening twilight, anchoring herself in reality. Deeply, she breathed in the salty scent of the ocean below the cliff. "I don't believe in curses." Besides, the castle felt good to her—not evil. She was welcome here. It wouldn't harm her. It wanted her here. "Crazy."

But undeniable.

With great effort, she pulled herself away, staggering as she moved back far enough to gaze up at the tower again. The beauty of the waning sunlight shimmering against the stones brought tears to her eyes. Before, she'd only thought of it as a terrifying structure. But now...

She couldn't define how she felt, but she knew she had to do something with
Caisleán Dubh
. Maybe she could open some kind of business in it. But what? Something. She would talk to the Mulligans about restoring and using it.

Excitement made her walk in circles before the doors. She envisioned a parking lot on the level area over there. Near the entrance she would plant flowers and hang baskets of more flowers overhead. She would make it a welcoming place. A friendly place.

"Food." She froze as butterflies fluttered through her veins. "A restaurant. A bed and breakfast?" Hadn't she read something about castles that had been converted to bed and breakfasts?

"Oh, Lord, that's it." She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, envisioning the place. "Mulligan Stew." After all, her relationship with the Mulligans had been quite a stew. A smile spread across her face as she opened her eyes again to look at the castle. Her castle. No, not quite, but part Jacob's. Hadn't Mr. Larabee said as much?

She would work hard and make the castle into something her son would be proud of... and he would be proud of her, too. His momma. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

One thing at a time. She needed to broach the subject with Fiona and Riley—that wouldn't be easy—then get someone out here to inspect the place. A restaurant first, then, maybe, a bed and breakfast later. Assuming the Mulligans agreed to her proposal...

"Mulligan Stew." She hugged herself as a cool breeze wafted in from the sea and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. "Won't folks be surprised to find Tennessee cooking right here in County Clare?" The idea felt so right.

What could go wrong?

* * *

Riley lifted Jacob from
Oíche
's back and set the lad on the ground. "Well, now you've had your first horseback ride."

"Let's do it again." Jacob's cheeks glowed and his smile was huge in the waning twilight.

"Too dark, but now that you and
Oíche
have made friends, we'll be sure to do it again." Riley saw disappointment spread across his nephew's face. "Come full summer, the daylight will be much longer, lad."

Jacob's grin returned. "Then we can ride longer?"

"Aye, sometimes." Riley showed Jacob how to rub
Oíche
's sleek black coat with a rough cloth, then he turned the horse into his stall with an extra ration.
"Buíochas, Oíche."