Mulligan Stew (23 page)

Oh, but she wanted more. She stroked the petal-soft skin covering his engorged penis, knowing that nothing less than having him inside her would satisfy the fierce hunger he'd awakened. Her movements became more frantic as he kissed his way along her jaw and down her throat, leaning her back against his strong arm.

Her breasts spilled from the confines of the chemise, baring her flesh to his insatiable lips. "Yes," she whispered as he devoured her. He moaned against her as she slid her hand down his full length then back to his moist tip.

With his lips brushing her nipple as he spoke, he said, "
Éirigh.
" His voice was hoarse and thick.

"What?" She continued to caress him until he grabbed her wrist with a grip of steel. "Oh." He'd wanted her to stop. They really could communicate.

"Aye." He swept her into his arms and carried her deeper into the room's shadows, then placed her on what felt like a silk sheet. The bed dipped when he joined her there, hovering over her.

He was so large, he blocked most of the light from the fire, but she didn't care—not as long as he finished the job this time.

All right, in a dream she was allowed to be tacky. Make that trashy. She rolled onto her side and found his erection with her hand again, pulling him toward her.

He chuckled low in his throat and pressed her onto her back, pinning her hands over her head. He leisurely feasted on her breasts while she writhed beneath him. She'd never wanted like this before. Her body clenched the emptiness, aching for him to fill her. She wanted him to claim her, to bury himself inside her, and even to ravish her.

Oh, yes. "Ravish me," she whispered.

He chuckled almost as if he'd understood, though she suspected that was impossible. He released her hands and kissed his way down her belly, tickling her navel with his tongue.

"Mercy." She stroked his hair, afraid he would stop. Afraid he wouldn't. He was doing things to her she'd never experienced before, but right now she wanted nothing but this. She wanted him to give her everything he had to give.

"Now?" she pleaded.

He cupped her bottom in his large hands and angled her pelvis toward him. Then, amazingly, he covered that most sensitive part of her with his molten lips....

"No!" Bridget whispered, bolting upright in the bed. She slapped at the mattress and noticed the blankets bunched between her legs as if she'd been—

"Oh." Her face flooded with the heat of embarrassment and she darted a glance toward the archway that led to Jacob's alcove. At least her son wasn't standing there watching his momma have a wet dream.

Embarrassment might make her behave while awake, but frustration was still her ruling emotion. She ached and throbbed with the hunger her dream lover had created.

What kind of torture was this? Her body quaked with an overpowering weakness as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and straightened her bedding.

"Positively indecent," she muttered. "Shameful." She drew several huge gulps of air and pushed to her feet. On wobbly legs, she staggered into the bathroom and closed the door before flipping on the light.

She stared at her mussed image in the mirror. Her hair was a wild, knotted mane. Her lips looked swollen, almost as if... they'd been kissed. Her breasts still ached for the feel of her dream lover's lips.

Instinctively, she brought her hand to her breast and gasped.

The worn flannel covering her nipple was damp.

* * *

The mysterious woman haunted Riley's dreams again. He hadn't experienced a good night's rest in nearly a week.

Rising slowly, he stretched the kinks out of his muscles. He splashed his face with cold water and felt almost awake, so he dressed for a day's work. Hard physical labor might make him tired enough to sleep without dreaming tonight. He stifled a yawn and pulled on his socks.

Tea, strong and hot, was what he needed. He made his way into the hall, pausing at the narrow door that led to the attic. To Bridget. No, to Jacob, he amended with a scowl.

He ducked under the low beam and went downstairs to put the kettle on, but Mum was already up and bustling about the kitchen. She wore shoes and walked without a limp.

"Mum?" He kissed her cheek. "Is the gout gone then?"

"Aye, pretty much." She patted his cheek and poured tea into his cup. "Nice and strong, the way you like it."

"Thanks." He took the cup and seated himself at the table. "Don't overdo, though, with this being your first day of feeling better."

"I promise." She flashed him a smile that took twenty years off her face. "I'm so happy to be back on me feet I could sing."

"You wouldn't."

Laughing, she flung the tea towel at him. "I just might if you keep blatherin' on about me miserable voice."

"Fortunately, I got my musical genes from Da."

"Aye, so you did." Mum's expression grew thoughtful. "Tell me, Riley," she said, stirring something at the stove. "What do you think your da would have to say about Bridget's idea?"

Riley released a long, slow breath and took a sip of tea to brace himself. He should've known the subject of
Caisleán Dubh
wouldn't die peacefully. "I don't know," he finally said, shaking his head.

"I was rememberin'...." Mum bit her lower lip and lifted one shoulder. "'Tis like it was only yesterday."

"Aye." Riley didn't want to remember. Mum seemed to take comfort in remembering, but he wanted to bury the memories so deep they'd never return. "It never goes away."

"Does a body
and
a heart good to remember, lad," she said, seeming to understand exactly what he was thinking. She often did.

"I'd rather not." He drank his tea in silence for several blessed minutes while Mum prepared their breakfast. "Did everyone else sleep late?" he finally asked.

"Riley Mulligan was the layabout this morn'." She smiled again. "I heard you tossin' and turnin' half the night, so I figured you hadn't slept well when you didn't come down earlier. Bridget and Jacob haven't come down either, though."

He didn't want to hear about Bridget. The less he heard about her, the better. "Maggie gone to school, then?"

"Aye. A few minutes ago." Mum sighed. "I believe Jacob will be old enough to go next year. Bridget said he went to kindergarten in Tennessee."

"If he's still here." Riley regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

Mum turned down the fire beneath the pot and walked over to the table, her blue eyes snapping. She shook her index finger at him. "Riley Francis Mulligan, if you were a normal-sized man instead of the giant you are, I'd turn you over me knee and—"

"Good morning," Bridget said as she entered the kitchen.

Riley didn't look at her. Instead, he returned his attention to his tea. Tea was safe. Women—including mothers—were not.

"Have you seen Jacob this morning?"

Riley had to look at Bridget now, and was both relieved and disappointed to find her properly dressed. "He wasn't in his bed this morning?" he asked, worry slithering through him.

She shook her head, concern puckering her brow. "I... I didn't sleep well, so I didn't wake as early as usual."

"You weren't the only one," Mum said. "Riley, have a look 'round the house for young Jacob, and if the lad doesn't turn up, we'll look outside. 'Tis a sunny morn'. Chances are he went out to frolic with the faeries."

Riley was out of his chair before Mum completed her whimsical statement. He took the steps two at a time, bumping his head on that wretched low beam. His ancestors must've been pint-sized.

Rubbing his skull, he searched all the rooms, including the attic. No sign of Jacob. Icy fingers of fear spiked through him. The horse.
"Oíche."
He almost hit his head again dodging down the stairs.

"Where are you—"

"The stable," Riley called, foregoing his boots. He raced along the well-worn path, unmindful of the small rocks that bruised his stockinged feet.

The lad had promised not to go near
Oíche
alone. He'd promised. But Jacob was just a lad. Riley should've known. He should've been wiser, a better uncle. A better protector of his brother's son.

"Jaysus, let him be safe." He flung open the stable door, startling
Oíche
. There was no sign of Jacob anywhere. Just to be sure, Riley entered the stall and moved straw around, terrified he might find the lad beneath it. Trampled.

"Nothing." He leaned against a post, recovering his breath. Where could the lad be?

"Did you find him?" Bridget burst into the stable without stopping.

Riley grabbed
Oíche
's bridle. "Easy, lad." He pinned Bridget with a glare. "You scared my horse."

"I'm more concerned about my son than your stupid—"

"As am I." Riley released
Oíche
and left the stall. "Do you have any idea where—"

"Oh, my God." Bridget's face blanched and she swayed, grabbing a post for support. A moment later, she swung around and bolted out of the stable as if the devil were on her tail.

"
Shite.
" Where the devil was she going now? Riley pulled on a pair of old Wellies he kept for mucking out the stall. "Bridget, wait."

But she was far ahead of him by the time he started after her. Where was she going? And where was—

"Jaysus."
Caisleán Dubh
.
 
The lad had overheard them last night. "Not him, too. Not him, too."

Riley ran as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. He passed Bridget and kept running.
Please let me be in time. Please...
Memories bombarded him, echoing the panic-driven thud of his heart. The vault at the back of his brain that he'd guarded so carefully edged open a bit more.

Not now.
He needed to save Jacob.
Please, Mother Mary. Please.

Someone else was running toward him from the direction of the road. Maggie. Her twisted features spoke of panic. "Jacob," she said, gasping for air. "
Caisleán Dubh
."

Riley left her there and kept running. As he rounded the front corner of the castle, his floppy Wellies tripped him and he landed on his face in sand and grass. A moment later, he was back on his feet. He hazarded a glance back to find Bridget and Maggie racing toward him.

Sweat trickled into his eyes, blinding him. He mopped it away and bridged the distance between him and the opening beside the massive doors.
I should've torn it down. I should have. Why didn't I after Da...?

His throat swelled, almost closed, but he cleared it and shouted through the crevice. "Jacob?" Then louder and louder.

Only his echo answered.

Chapter 11

Panic pressed down on Riley as memories bombarded him. For a few terrifying moments, he again became the lad in search of his missing da. Cold sweat seeped from his pores, and his throat squeezed shut. How could he ever forget that day?

That horror.

"No." He drew a shaky breath and anchored himself in the present. Jacob was here and now. Da was long dead and nothing would change that. "Jacob, can you hear me? It's your Uncle Riley come to fetch you home."

Silence.

"Come along now like a good lad."

Please, Jacob. Please.

Riley heard a sneeze from the bowels of the black castle and angled himself into the opening. "I know you're in there, lad, and if I can hear you sneeze, you can hear me shouting like a bloody fishwife."

Riley edged sideways through the opening, jagged edges of broken stones scraping his flesh through his clothing. Of course, the last time he'd entered
Caisleán Dubh
, he'd been much smaller. Remembered images invaded again—the darkness, the fear, the tragedy.

Don't think about that. Don't.
"I'm not leaving here without you, Jacob." Riley didn't want to go any farther. His feet were rooted in place, though his memory kept walking deeper into the castle.
Jaysus.