The Irish Lover (8 page)

****

“You do?” That wasn’t what she’d expected him
to say.

“Did you hear a voice last night? Before the
second ghost showed up?”

Mary thought back. “I did, but it was just one
word.”

“I think it was the ghost talking. Talking to
you.”

“Well I could tell—or at least I thought I
could—that she didn’t want to hurt us. She was trying to warn us
about something.”

“No us. You.”

“Me? Why?”

“The ghost said
iníon
. The ghost called
you
iníon
.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t remember what
that means.”

“Iníon
means ‘daughter’ in Irish. The
ghost called you ‘daughter.’”

Mary felt her mouth drop open. She met
Michael’s gaze, expecting him to laugh and tell her he was kidding,
but he was serious.

“So that ghost was…”

“You great, great, great, many greats later,
grandmother.”

Mary shook her head. Somehow this information
was more alarming than the ghost had been.

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not? The Callahans have been in the glen
as long as anyone can remember. The Callahans, the Donnovans and a
few others are names as old or older than Glenncailty.”

“That wasn’t random last night. The ghost was
looking for me.” Mary shook her head. It felt like Chicago and her
life there were worlds away from this pretty, haunted
place.

“Yes.”

“And she was trying to warn me about
something.”

“Do you have any idea what?”

For a moment Mary thought of the voices she’d
heard coming from behind the door to the west wing, but she shook
her head. “No, I don’t know.” Her lips twitched with a smile.
“Maybe she was trying to warn me about you, Michael.”

“Warn you not to let such a fine man get away.”
Michael wiggled his eyebrows and Mary laughed. Then his face grew
serious. “Welcome home, Mary Callahan. It seems Glenncailty has
been waiting for you.”

Mary absorbed that, taking a deep breath. She
was part of this place, and it was part of her—she felt that,
believed that, now more than ever. What that meant for her future
she didn’t know.

Had she really met him only two days ago? Those
days had been full of emotional highs and lows, even before their
encounter with the ghosts. She thought he’d been giving off signals
as if he was interested in something more from her, with her, but
she didn’t trust that she’d interpreted his actions
correctly.

They were silent for a moment before Mary asked
the question she’d been dreading.

“What are we doing, Michael?”

Michael put down his cup of tea. His eyes were
shadowed from lack of sleep, and she could tell he was tired—same
as she was. He took her hand, shifting on the couch to face her. In
the early morning light his hair was a gold halo around him, his
eyes a clear green. “I like you, Mary.”

She braced herself for the brush off, prepared
herself to smile and laugh and pretend it was okay.

“I’ve never met a woman I wanted the way I want
you. I’ve never been so drawn to someone as I am to you, and I’m
not ready to say goodbye.”

Warmth filled her and she exhaled, closing her
eyes as relief and happiness spread through her.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she
admitted.

“I didn’t want to scare you. It seems mad to
tell a woman you’ve only just met that you’re falling in love with
her.”

“I feel the same about you.” Mary laced her
fingers with his. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it work,
but I want to be with you. You make me feel…beautiful and
special.”

“You are both those things, and more, to
me.”

Mary looked into his eyes, and it clicked. She
was home. In this place, with this man, she was truly
home.

As the sun rose higher, flooding the room with
light, Michael cupped her head, drawing her to him for a slow, soft
kiss.

They rested their foreheads together. “Are we
really going to do this?” she asked, more scared now than she’d
been when faced with the ghosts.

“Yes. We’ll stay here tonight, and then we’ll
go to Dublin. I want to show you the city, and when it’s time for
you to go home I’ll take vacation and go with you. I’d like to meet
your grandparents.”

“And after that?”

“As Yeats says, ‘Life is a long preparation for
something that never happens.’”

Her lips twitched in a smile.
“Meaning?”

“Meaning that after that we’ll live, pretty
Mary, we’ll live and be happy.”

Dawn blanketed the gray stones of Glenncailty,
pushing back the shadows, and the ghosts, with the clean light of
day.

~~~~

Epilogue

Sorcha dropped into her desk chair. Her hands
were shaking. Clenching them into fists she stared at the phone,
wondering what she should do. This wasn’t the first time one of
Glenncailty’s guests had seen a ghost, and after what had happened
to her friend and roommate Caera, Sorcha was starting to worry that
the castle wasn’t safe.

Someone had warned her—tried to warn her—two
years ago when the castle first opened, but she hadn’t listed. Now
she was afraid she might have put people at risk by ignoring that
warning. Elizabeth, the hotel manager, needed to know about this
latest incident, as did Seamus, the owner. But before she explained
her fears to them she needed to understand exactly how great the
danger was. As far as she knew the ghosts had only harmed one
person, but it seemed that last night Mary Callahan and Michael
Baker had come close.

There was a knock at the door. “Sorcha? We need
you, I can’t find a reservation.”

Rising from her chair, Sorcha put her best
greet-the-guests smile on and followed Kristina to the front desk,
making a mental note to come back to the problem of the
ghosts.

Before she did anything, she had to talk to
Sean Donnovan.

~~~~

More from Glenncailty
Castle

The Harp and the Fiddle
, Glenncailty
Castle Book One

The Fire and the Earth
, Glenncailty
Castle Book Two (May, 2013)

Keep reading for an excerpt from
The Harp
and the Fiddle
.

~~~~

The Harp and the Fiddle

by Lila Dubois

Caera Cassidy has spent two years building the
historic—and haunted—Glenncailty Castle into one of the most
sought-after hotels and performance venues in Ireland. But she
can’t say it’s her dream. She lost that years ago when what she
thought was love led her to a dark place not even her music could
reach.

Once in a while, though, it’s safe to pretend.
And that’s what she’s doing when she plays her harp on the empty
stage in the castle’s theater.

When American folk musician Tim Wilcox spots
the mysterious woman at the front of the theater, he’s enraptured.
Not only by her virtuoso skill and ethereal voice, but by her dark
beauty—and the shadows in her blue eyes when she insists she’s no
musician.

Wary of repeating the mistakes of her past,
Caera tells herself she can indulge in the pleasure of Tim’s
company, his touch, without risking her heart. But she hadn’t
counted on Tim’s determination to convince her she’s worthy of her
gifts. Or on lingering souls who live in the castle, who are
growing restless, ready to warn her that deadly mistakes are not
meant to be repeated…

~~~~

An excerpt from
The Harp and the
Fiddle

Copyright Lila Dubois, 2012

All rights reserved, Samhain
Publishing

Chapter One: The Fiddle
Meets The Harp

At the edge of the castle grounds, where the
gardens gave way to mowed grass, but before the wild tangles of
bramble that skirted the tree line, a large stone barn with a
pitched roof and dovecote stood tall and proud in the afternoon
sun. It was called Finn’s Stable, though no one knew or remembered
why. It simply was. It had been half fallen down when Caera took on
the job of special events manager at Glenncailty Castle. Two years
ago, the castle had been a crumbling and dilapidated private
residence. Now the castle was renovated and the outbuildings of the
estate were coming to life, starting with her love, Finn’s
Stable.

Today the gravel and stone path than led to the
concert and event venue was clogged with trucks from RTE, Ireland’s
national broadcaster, as film and sound crews hauled equipment in
through the heavy wood doors. RTE was going to film a special event
in Finn’s Stable tomorrow night. Free Birds Fly was a concert with
some of the best young Irish musicians in the country. They’d be
performing traditional songs as well as their own original music.
There were even guest musicians coming from America and Australia,
both countries that owed much of their musical inheritance to their
Irish immigrants.

Between now and the doors opening tomorrow
night there were plenty of details for Caera and her team to
oversee, not the least of which was the layout.

“I could change it to a smaller stage in the
middle and have the audience seated all around. They’d be the
background.” Caera eyed the space as she mentally set up the
theater in the round.

“I don’t want to be forever editing the tape
looking for someone with fingers in their nose.” The producer from
RTE looked both bored and irritated. He’d made it clear that he
thought it was a waste to bring the event out to Glenncailty,
rather than hosting it in Dublin.

“What if you took down the drapes and filmed
during the day? The glen is beautiful.”

When they repaired the crumbling walls and
added a new wood roof, she’d opted to replace one of the short
walls with glass, offering an unrestricted view of the woods behind
the stable. She wanted a way to let in the late summer sun and
allow people see the wild beauty of the unmanicured wood. Normally
the windows were a prized backdrop, providing either a view of the
green glen or the black of night. Finn’s Stable had become the
choice for ceilidhs and parties for those not only in the local
village, but in the surrounding parishes. Currently, the stage was
placed in front of the windows, opposite the stable doors. It had
never been a problem, and Caera had been applauded for her choice,
but according to the producer, windows were a difficult backdrop.
The RTE team had put hideous matte black curtains over the windows
on a frame of PVC pipe. Caera had to bite her tongue as they dulled
her sparkling gem of a venue.

“Neither of us wants the headache of changing
the time of the concert.” The producer for RTE, the national
broadcaster, crossed his arms. Caera pressed her lips together and
took a few steps to the side, resting her hand against the stone
wall of the stable-turned-event space. She was working very hard to
be polite to the man who hadn’t had a good word to say since he got
here.

“Maybe we can use the windows.” The producer
considered the pipe and drape. “We could light the trees outside
and angle the interior lights to minimize the reflection.” The
producer wandered away to talk to the lighting director he’d
brought.

Caera hesitated, wanting to go with him and
give her input, but knowing that to the Dubliners—Dubs—she was just
a country girl and what she said wouldn’t matter. It was hard to
step back and let them decide what to do. Tomorrow would be Finn’s
Stable’s first time on TV. She didn’t want them painting her baby
in a bad light.

“How’s it?” Rory Mac Gabhann, Caera’s assistant
director, asked. He was carrying two chairs, and behind him his
younger brother, Gerard, carried a few more.

“They’re going to take down the pipe and drape
over the window, I hope.” Caera pointed to where she wanted the
chairs. It seemed they’d be using the regular stage, so it was time
to get the chairs in place.

“Just as well, those black curtains look
hideous.” Rory smiled, his brown eyes sparkling.

“You’ll be quiet,” Caera said, giving him a
push towards the storage area, a strange cone-shaped addition off
one side of the stable that had once been a dovecote.

“It does look stupid, Miss Cassidy.” Gerard
tossed his head, the floppy waves of hair that covered his face
flipping back for a second, revealing eyes as melting as his older
brother’s. At fifteen, he was gangly and awkward, with none of his
brother’s finesse and smooth talking. Something for which all the
teenage girls in Cailtytown should be grateful.

“Well, don’t be saying that so loud,” she
admonished, tapping Gerard on the shoulder with the back of her
hand. “We wouldn’t want to offend them.”

“Offend the Dubs? Impossible. They’re so thick
nothing gets through to them.” Rory carried two more chairs
in.