Mulligan Stew (44 page)
He turned to survey the room, decorated with Irish lace and a profusion of vines and flowers. Chairs filled with guests sat theater fashion, and a white carpet stretched its entire length from the wall of windows and open French doors where the old double doors had been, to the bottom of the curving staircase. An altar of white roses and violets adorned the bottom step, where Father O'Malley waited.
All the renovations respected the historical integrity of the castle. Bridget and the Irish Trust wouldn't have it any other way. Riley smiled to himself.
Since the night Bridget accepted his proposal, the curse or spell seemed to have vanished. No whispers. No aphrodisiac banister—not that they needed one.
"Uncle Riley?" Jacob asked from his side. "I'm glad you and Momma are getting married."
"I'm glad, too." A smile curved Riley's lips as he gazed down at his nephew and best man. Culley's son. Nothing could be more perfect.
Harp music came from an area beneath the stairs, the crisp notes echoing off the high ceiling. Mr. and Mrs. Larabee came over to pump Riley's hand again, declaring their joy about the marriage. Bridget and Jacob had been thrilled that they'd made the trip, though General Lee had, thankfully, remained in Tennessee.
The tone of the music shifted, and the Larabees took their seats. Riley and Jacob walked quietly to the altar, where Father O'Malley beamed at them both. Riley turned his attention to the French doors, watching his old friend Sean Collins escort Mum up the aisle. Tears of joy streamed down her face and she blew Riley a kiss before taking her seat.
Kevin Gilhooley and Maggie came next. Riley's baby sister looked dazzling in a gown of violet lace. Her smile for Riley reflected his own joy as she took her position as maid of honor.
The music grew louder and Riley's breath stuttered. All eyes turned toward the wall of windows overlooking the sea. Brady appeared first, holding his elbow out for the bride.
A vision in Irish lace, Bridget appeared beside Brady and took his arm. Her face was covered by a veil, and the train trailed several yards behind her as they made their way toward the altar.
Riley swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked rapidly as his love for this woman billowed through him. By the time Brady placed her hand in his, he was dizzy with it.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, gazing through the lace at her lovely face.
"I could eat you with a spoon," she whispered, smiling.
The ceremony was long and there wasn't a dry eye in the place. They all must have felt it, too—the powerful joining of two hearts, two lives.
And two souls for eternity.
"You may kiss the bride," Father O'Malley finally said.
Riley tenderly lifted the lace covering Bridget's smile and embraced her. Their kiss was gentle and sweet, yet filled with promise.
A faint, magical whirlwind encircled the bride and groom. Riley sensed that the whispers had returned to say good-bye.
Bridget smiled up at him with tears of joy glittering in her eyes. Applause and cheers echoed through the castle from behind them, but he distinctly heard his bride's fervent whisper.
"Bingo, Granny. Bingo."
The End
Dear Readers:
This opportunity to know Ireland through the Mulligans has been one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of my career. I hope to write many more novels set in Ireland, as I am now even more in love with that lovely Emerald Isle. I hope you enjoy sharing Bridget and Riley's adventures as much as I did creating them.
I love to hear from readers. Write to me at PO Box 539 Palmer Lake, CO 80133-0539. I'm even easier to find online at
www.debstover.com
or email
[email protected]
Love
Deb
Page forward and read how the legend continues in
Mulligan Magic
...
Excerpt from
Mulligan Magic
Book Two
by
Deb Stover
"The Irish Blessing"
Author Unknown
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
~
Go n'éirí an bothar leat
Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl
Go lonraí an ghrian go te ar d'aghaidh
Go dtite an bháisteach go mín ar do pháirceanna
Agus go mbuailimid le chéile arís,
Go gcoinní Dia i mbos A láimhe thú
Prologue
County Clare, Ireland—1783
Sinéad climbed the massive boulders surrounding the castle, where her sweet Bronagh had died. Feet planted firmly on the highest rock, Sinéad's old body shuddered with rage and sorrow.
She tilted her head back to gaze upward at the tower of
Caisleán Dubh
. "'Tis a place of evil," she whispered.
Bronagh had taken her own life after Aidan Mulligan rejected her love. Sinéad glowered at the proud, stalwart tower. She knew a thing or two herself about lost love. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her fist against her own broken heart, remembering.
She'd once been young and in love. Oh, he'd been a handsome lad, and for one summer, she'd believed he would ask for her hand. She believed it so completely, she had lain with him—her virginity but a memory. But he never asked. Instead he had married himself to his church—his love of piety and traditions stronger than the love he'd professed for her.
And now—
now
—he dared to deny sweet Bronagh the comfort of being buried on hallowed ground. Sinéad straightened to scrub away her tears, allowing rage to flood through her mind to drive away the grief. The sun dipped lower, casting a long shadow from the tower toward the village. The shadow pointed like an arrow toward the church.
Toward Fergus—the man Sinéad had once loved.
She shook her tightly clenched fists in the air, and an angry gale whipped her long, black skirt about her legs. In her many decades upon this earth, she had never used her powers for evil—never done deliberate harm.
Until tonight.
She rested her hands on the rough stone of the castle wall. Power pulsed through her frail frame. This morning, she'd written and memorized the words, needing them to be perfect. And potent. Summoning all the will of her ancestors and the universe, Sinéad cursed
Caisleán Dubh
.
"A darksome curse on them that walke these halls. May they finde only death and miserie. No joying be withstood within these walls—much daunted by sore sad despaire they be! Until that cruell, disdayned destinie, beguile them torne asunder with her power. Rejoin the accurst for all eternity with her so fierce bewronged within this tower. And ende this spelle, forever, in that blessed hour!"
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Sinéad lifted her open hands to the heavens and rain exploded from the sky in a furious torrent, washing Bronagh's blood from the rocks that had stolen her sweet, young life mere days ago. "So mote it be," Sinéad shouted into the storm.
"Stop this madness!" Strong arms encircled Sinéad's waist and dragged her away from the castle wall.
Fergus.
It didn't matter now. Her spell was cast. She didn't struggle against his physical strength. The storm drowned out most of his words, but she knew the feel of him. The scent of his wet skin, and even the texture of his wool cape.
She'd once loved him.
Fergus dragged her across the rutted road to his church, pushing open the heavy door without releasing her. Out of the tempest, he released her and they stood staring at each other, their breathing ragged and echoing off the high, stone walls—a ghostly reminder of the love they'd once shared.
"What have ye done?" he asked. His voice trembled. "Sinéad, what have ye—"
She met his gaze. "Bronagh will live and love again."
