Briarwood Cottage (15 page)

“The Fountain of Youth,” Duncan said.

“Some have made that same comparison, but we’ve kept the secret well as another ploy to keep us from being overrun by even more tourists.

“Not wanting the spring to flood the valley, the queen instructed that it be capped every night with a large stone. But unfortunately, a faerie who lived in the glen fell in love with the queen’s handsome husband. Her sour spirit had made her as ugly as an old boar, as sharp as a brier, and as evil as the devil, which made it difficult for any man, let alone one married to such a good and lovely queen, to love her back.

“So, she turned herself into a beautiful young girl. But still the noble king remained faithful to his lady, and when he refused to return her affections, she lost her temper and cast a wicked spell on him.

“That night, during the summer solstice celebration, despite having always been a man who could hold his mead, the prince got drunk and passed out before putting the capstone on the spring.”

“I can see this coming,” Duncan murmured.

“Aye. It flowed and flowed, and by the time the sun rose in the morning, the entire valley, including the fairest of cities and all its people were now underwater. But, because the water was magic, no one drowned. Instead they adapted quite well to their new life below the lake. Although every so often, the queen, who sensibly replaced her fine satin gowns with waterproof emerald scales, comes to the surface to gaze upon the hills that she continues to miss after all these many years.

“And there are fishermen who swear that sometimes on a still summer evening, you can look over the edge of your boat and catch a shimmering glimpse of the turrets of the queen’s castle and the townspeople busily going about their daily work.”

“That’s a very bittersweet story,” Cassandra said.

“It is, indeed. But isn’t all life comprised of both bitter and sweet? We can only hope they balance themselves out.”

As he blew out a breath, Cassandra found herself holding her own. She sensed he was finally ready to tell the tale they’d come to hear. And having heard the legend, as much as her heart wanted to believe it could be true, her head, having engaged in years of fact checking, said otherwise.

“The Lady first appeared to me when I was six years old. It was a difficult time for my family. My da died in a steeplechase accident before my first birthday, leaving my mother to struggle to keep the farm going and raise both me and her younger sisters and brothers all alone.

“Although she always kept up a good front, late at night, I could hear her weeping in her room. My great-grandmother Fionna had taught us all that God always answers our prayers. But I’d been praying for what seemed like forever, and a da hadn’t appeared. And my aunt Kate had given me a magical druid stone, but that hadn’t helped, either.”

Cass would have had to have been blind and deaf not to see the remembered sorrow in his dark eyes. To hear the helplessness of a young boy in his voice.

“Making things even worse was that we were going to have to leave Castlelough and the farm that had been in the family for centuries so my mother could take a job with a businessman in Galway.”

“Moving when you’re young can be difficult.” And didn’t both she and Duncan know that firsthand? A lack of roots was another thing they had in common.

“I first came out here to be alone,” he said. “Where I could cry without my aunt Celia catching me at it. Although she’s my mother’s sister, she’s only a year older than me and back then liked to sport her superiority.

“One particularly bad day, I was sitting on the bank, crying my eyes out, when the Lady first appeared. At first I thought I might have dozed off in the warm sun and was dreaming. But she was as real as you or Mr. McCaragh.”

“Duncan,” Duncan reminded the young man quietly, as if not wanting to interrupt the narrative.

“Duncan,” Rory agreed. Then sighed. “The Lady became my best friend. I’d visit every day and share anything and everything with her. Things I couldn’t even share with my mother.”

“Did she talk back?” Duncan, always the reporter, asked.

“Not in the beginning. But I could sense that she was listening… Which has you thinking even more that I’m either making this up or was hallucinating as a child.”

“He didn’t say that,” Cass said.

“But he’s thinking it,” Rory said. “As I myself might, had I not experienced her presence. Then one day, she did speak. The words, meant to reassure me at a dark and sad time, weren’t spoken out loud, but I heard them quite clearly in my head.

“Shortly after that, Quinn came to Castlelough, stayed at our house, and he and Mam fell in love. Of course, like all romances, they had their ups and downs, but they eventually got married in the circle of stones on our farm, and all our lives made a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn for the better.

“Which is when the Lady stopped appearing to me.”

“Just like that?”

“Aye. I later came to the conclusion that once I no longer needed her, she either went back to staying beneath the lake or began appearing to someone else who needed an open heart who would listen to their problems.

“So. That is my tale you asked for. There are undoubtedly others in the village who’ve had a similar experience, though I’ve never had anyone tell me of it. Which makes sense because only my family knows. My grandda did claim to have seen her, but then again, he was a man fond of his drink and had also claimed to see leprechauns and faeries, so there are few who put much credence to his tales.”

“Thank you,” Cass said. “That was lovely, and you were very generous to share it.”

“I’m glad you found it worth your time.”

“Well worth it,” Duncan said. “Although it’s a difficult concept to wrap my mind around, you’ve definitely shifted my thinking.”

“It’s glad I am to hear that.”

As he smiled, Cassandra couldn’t help thinking how the teenage girls at St. Bernadette Mary High School were going to react to the newest member of the faculty. Rory Joyce, she imagined, would have more than a few personal challenges his first year of teaching. But she had no doubt that he was up to handling anything thrown his way.

“S
o, what did
you think?” Duncan asked Cass after they’d returned to the cottage and Rory had driven back to the Joyce farm. He’d told them that Quinn Gallagher had expanded the property to include guesthouses, one of which he was staying in while preparing for his new job.

“You’re going to think I’ve been drinking the Castlelough Kool-Aid, but I believe him,” Cass said.

“I’m still a skeptic. But there’s no way I’m going to write his story. Because while the
Castlelough Celtic
is far from a credible paper, if it picked up the story on some wire service, or worse yet, if it appeared on RTÉ, locals would be able to put two and two together and figure out who the story was about.”

“Which Rory Joyce doesn’t need his first year of teaching.”

“Definitely not.” So…Duncan thought about sharing his new plan with Cass. Then decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait for a few hours.

They’d go to the pub. Have a pint and dinner, dance if there was music, then return home. To bed. And then, after they made love, he’d lay the idea on her.

Failure was definitely not an option. But as they drove to Brennan’s, Duncan wished he’d thought to ask Rory if he still had that magical druid stone.

*

“I think you’ve
killed me,” Duncan said as he lay on his back amidst hot, tangled sheets. This time Cass was sprawled over him.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound it. What she sounded was more than a little pleased with herself.

“That’s okay. You give good sex, sweetheart. It was worth dying for.” At least he’d died a happy man.

She rolled off him and lay on her back beside him. “Thank you. I think. But I don’t believe dead men can talk,” she said.

“Sure they can. You never saw that Willis flick?”

“Of course I did. But
The Sixth Sense
was fiction.”

“Ah, but we’re in Ireland. Where there’s a thin line not only between realms but seemingly between fact and fiction.”

“I suppose that’s true enough.” She turned on her side, propped herself up on an elbow, and ran a hand down his chest, to his stomach, then lower, curling her fingers around him.

“But you certainly don’t feel dead.”

“Don’t pay any attention to that,” he said as his body responded to her stroking touch. “It’s stolen the blood from my brain again, and this time I’m taking back control because we need to talk.”

“Oh?” She removed her hand, hitched up in bed, and looked at him. “If it’s about what I came here to discuss—”

“No.” He quickly cut her off before she could say the dreaded D word. “But it
is
about us.”

Because he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted, Duncan crawled out of bed, relieved to discover that his legs were still working.
Dead Man Walking
.

“I love you,” he said after he’d pulled on the pair of boxer briefs he’d retrieved from where they’d landed atop the chest of drawers after Cass had ripped them off him.

“I know. I love you, too.”

“But?” He didn’t like the unwelcome hesitation he’d heard in her soft tone.

“I don’t know. We loved each other once. And it wasn’t enough.”

“That was my fault.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve finally accepted it wasn’t even mine. It just was what it was at the time.”

“We didn’t expect to be hammered like that,” Duncan pointed out. “Your parents had a good marriage. From what you’ve told me, they were best friends who managed to be in love after all their years together.”

“They were soul mates,” she said. “Although having them die was the second worst time in my life, I’ve realized that them dying together in that earthquake was for the best. Because I’m not sure either one of them could have survived that long without the other.”

“I never witnessed anything like that at home.” Duncan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I never thought it was possible to have a connection like that. Until I met you.

“Which is why I want time to show you how good we can be together, in every way, not just sex, before you pull out those papers you brought with you.”

“I had a plan, too,” she admitted. “To have you sign on the dotted line as soon as I got here.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. And not just because you asked me to wait. Because once you opened the door, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.”

“Because you remembered what we’d had.”

“And lost,” she pointed out, making him wonder why he’d ever thought this might be easy.

“We’ll make a pledge that if we start going off the rails, we’ll get help,” Duncan suggested. “A marriage tune-up.”

Cass shook her head. “It still wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m no longer the woman I was. The same way I can’t return to serious journalism, I can’t be married to a man I only see for a few days at a time. A man who could get himself killed in some godforsaken place. It wasn’t easy putting myself back together, Duncan. I’m not sure I’d have the strength to do it again if I lost you.”

“You’re way stronger than you think. But that’s a moot point because I’m quitting.”

“What?”

“I sent the e-mail to Winston this evening. Before we went to the pub, because, when I asked you to try again, I wanted you to realize that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things work.”

“You love your work.”

“I did. Now I don’t. And even when I did love it, I always loved you more.”

“What would you do?”

“How would you like to be married to a newspaper man?”

“Papers are closing every day. The ones that don’t are going online. It’s not exactly a growth industry.”

“As it happens, I just happen to know a paper that’s for sale. Which I could buy for a song, and with a little help from my wife, when she’s not writing the great American novel, turn the thing around.”

He saw the comprehension dawn in her remarkable eyes. “You’re talking about the
Castlelough Celti
c.”

“I am. While you were getting dressed earlier, I called the owner. It’s true what Brennan said about him wanting to move to Greece. We could have it for a song.”

“And live here in Castlelough?”

“And live here in Briarwood Cottage.”

“Don’t tell me. You also talked with Michael Joyce.”

Duncan shrugged. “I’m a Marine. I plan missions. And you, Cassandra Carpenter, are the most important mission I’ve ever undertaken.”

Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip. Something else was bothering her. Something Duncan couldn’t quite get a handle on. Deciding he’d thrown enough at her for one night, he returned to the bed.

“Just think about it, okay?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. Teasing, coaxing, taking things slowly when what he wanted to do was drag her into the mists until her brain was so muddled she’d have no choice but to agree.

“I promise.” She turned in his arms and framed his face between her palms. “But for the moment, I wouldn’t be complaining if you were to be making love to me again,” she said on a lilting brogue, sounding as if she’d grown up in this very cottage.