The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (76 page)

“Da, please listen.”

Brendan disregarded him. “I asked the matchmaker to find a suitable girl for you. It cost me a bottle of good whiskey, but he’s turned up three good prospects. We’l choose by the end of the month. You’l have the farm when I’m gone, and your son after you.” Pinpricks of ice gleamed in the old man’s eyes. “And Dan wil go to America.”

Fists bunched tight, Tom leaped from his seat. “I’ve met the girl I want to marry. A girl from Tubbercurry. Can the matchmaker try for her?”

The bald head wagged from side to side. “You wanted to leave Ireland a minute ago. Now you want a girl from Tubber. I’m thinking it’s good I’m here to guide you, Tomás Og.” Brendan sighed without making a sound. “Who is she?”

Grateful for the kindness that had seeped into his father’s tone, Tom reclaimed his seat and explained about Dol y, omitting her thoughts on emigrating. If the old man knew she was thinking of leaving, he’d never approve the marriage.

He rejected Dol y anyway. “No father would give a girl like that to a no-account farm.”

“I can always bring in more gold, Da.”

“Perhaps, but after I’m gone, you won’t be off sel ing tea. You’l be here al the time, and so would she.” Brendan stood easily. “Even if her father agreed, a girl who’s been to London would never be happy tending chickens and vegetables. She’s seen too much of the world. Like you, Tomás Og. Get her and your lofty ideas out of your head.”

It sounded so logical, put like that. The old fel a was right. Yet as Tom watched his father lift the ladder from the corner, the memory of Dol y’s kisses sparked an indelible yearning in him. He slipped his hand in his jacket pocket and fingered the pearl ring. The light of his heart flickered and dimmed.

His father had obviously dismissed him. The old man set the ladder against the wal by the hearth and snatched the bag of gold from the table. Moving as his age al owed, he climbed the rungs to the rafters, to the secret cache he’d cut from the biggest beam. Tired and heartsick, Tom sought his bed in the loft.

Over the next week, he cut enough turf for the winter and went to work thatching. He’d just finished Charlie McGowan’s roof when the letter from Dol y came. A lad on a bicycle rode past McGowan’s vegetable garden late in the afternoon. He stopped by the piles of old thatch and said Miss Keenan had instructed him to give the note to Tom O’Byrne or no one. Watching the boy ride off, Tom strol ed to the wel as calmly as he could with his knees quaking and his heart skipping beats.

He’d nearly despaired of hearing from her again.

Drinking a cup of water gave him a moment to muster his courage. He opened the envelope and stared at the elegant script until the words made sense to his befuddled mind.

Dearest Tom,

My father has sold me off to a man his own age. I want nothing to do with him. I have enough gold to book us both passage to Boston. The train leaves Bal ymote for Queenstown tomorrow morning at nine. I’l wait for you under the clock.

Ever yours,

Dol y

Short, sweet and dangerous as hel . Could he do it?

What of their parents? Was leaving them selfish? Tom didn’t think so. Dan could look after their father, and Dol y’s brother could take care of her old ones. The matchmaker would find a girl for Dan. Dan would have the farm, and his son after him, God help him. Kate would marry Séamus Hunt and have a new family to terrorize. They’d al be fine.

Tom had little to pack, no more than an extra pair of trousers and a few spare shirts and socks.

He wished he didn’t have to sneak off, but he’d never have his father’s blessing, not now. Maybe never.

So be it. The hospitals in Boston would welcome Dol y’s nursing skil s, and Tom would find plenty of work, more than enough to send money home.

Yet he needed money now. He wasn’t about to let Dol y support him.

He’d earned every coin of gold in the rafters. He had as much right to it as Kate. He wouldn’t take it al , just enough for his train ticket and passage, and some respectable clothes and lodging when he reached America. Once he found work, he’d pay it back. He’d say so in the note he’d leave his father.

Giddy with joy and pricked by guilt, he hurried home. His father and Dan were out somewhere, mending a fence, he recal ed. They’d had to walk, as Kate had taken the wagon to town for groceries. Feeling like a boy stealing apples from an orchard, he set the ladder against the wal and climbed to the rafters. He counted out twenty pounds, no more. Kate would have plenty for her dowry.

Moving careful y about the loft to keep from waking his brother, Tom gathered his belongings. Just before dawn, he bid Dan a silent farewel and stole downstairs.

In the light of the banked turf fire, Tom kissed his mother’s picture and whispered goodbye.

Sure she was smiling, he ventured into the starless gloom, finding his way by the light of his heart.

They’d miss him at breakfast. They’d read his note and know what he’d done, but they’d be too late to stop him. By nine o’clock he and Dol y would be on the train to Queenstown.

At ten to nine he jogged into Bal ymote station, wrinkling his nose at the fug of tobacco, stale whiskey and acrid coal smoke. He saw the big round clock right away. Dol y waited beneath the black Roman numerals, dressed in the same clothes she’d worn when they’d met at Tobernalt. A satchel similar to his rested by her feet.

“Dol y!”

Her head jerked towards him. Her bril iant smile offered hope of a blessed new life. Oblivious to the people around them, he dropped his bag beside hers and kissed her.

Her lips trembled before she spoke. “Tom. You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

The wel ing tears in her eyes suggested she’d had doubts, yet she clasped his hands and smiled. “I knew you’d come, Tom. I bought you a train ticket.” She drew two tickets from her pocket to prove it.

He took them from her, and the train whistle blew. “Thank you, darlin’. We’l settle it later. Let’s get aboard now.”

Halfway up the steps, he turned to see Bal ymote one last time – just as his father stormed into the station. Kate hurtled along beside him, her hair a frightful tangle, her face contorted in venomous fury. They must have come in the wagon and raced the poor horse half to death.

Tom swal owed hard. “Hurry, Dol y. Get inside.”

Dol y’s eyebrows arched in question, but she obeyed. They hurried through several coaches until they reached an empty carriage near the end of the train. Tom stowed their bags on an overhead rack. He and Dol y plopped on to seats facing each other. He pul ed out his pocket watch. Five minutes to nine. Not enough time for his father and sister to search the train.

But it was. Kate’s shril shouts spewed from the adjacent car. She was coming quickly towards them, screeching Tom’s name, imploring her father to cal the guards and have her thieving brother arrested.

Dol y plainly understood the significance of the shrieks. “Oh, Tom! What wil we do?” Throttling Kate came to mind. She’d cause a scene and demand the dowry she thought he’d stolen. He could plead with his father, but the old man would surely side with Kate. He just might cal the guards if Tom refused to come home, and they’d take him away in handcuffs.

Al hope drained from his heart. Dol y must go without him. Sure he’d never see her again, he reached into his pocket to return her ring to her.

The ring was gone. His fingers encircled the golden bean.

Hurry, Tomás O’Byrne . . .

Stunned, he slipped the bean into his mouth. Dol y’s jaw dropped in disbelief, and he knew he’d disappeared. He seized her hand just as Kate blew through the door.

“He’s not here either. I’m tel ing you, Da. Cal the guards! The miserable scut has stolen my dowry!”

Brendan marched in behind her. “Silence, girl! I’l not cal the guards on my own son.” The train whistle blew a second time. The old man brushed a tear from his cheek. “We have to leave the train, Kate. If this is what your brother wants, good luck to him.”
Thank you, Da. I’ll write often, and send money. And I’ll come back to visit you.

With his sputtering daughter stomping behind him, Tom’s father left the train. They’d just reached the big round clock when the train whistle blew again. The engine chugged, and Tom took the golden bean from his mouth.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Dol y whispered. “I remember it al now. You were there, Tom. You saved me from the Fairy King.”

“The old woman who guards the wel at Tobernalt saved us both,
mo chroí.
”

“What’s that thing in your hand?” Dol y gently uncurled his fingers. Her ring lay in his palm.

Nothing remained of the golden bean.

The train picked up speed. Tom slid the pearl ring on to Dol y’s finger and smiled. One day soon, he’d place a gold ring on her other hand.

Glossary

Ard Rí

High (or Supreme) King.

A chuisle

My pulse.

A

nighean

Red-haired girl.

ruadh

Aos si(dhe)

The faerie race (
see also
“Sidhe”); singular “
Aes si(dhe)
”.

Banshee/
Bean

Female spirit whose screams herald death. Also called a “washer woman”, she’s often seen
sí

washing bloody linens at a stream; woman of the fairy mounds.

In Viking lore, a warrior who gained the blood-lust of fighting, and charged into battle so fiercely that Berserker

nothing or no one could stop him. Some say his form even changed into that of a raving beast.

Bog-oak

Ancient wood found buried in peat bogs.

Chainse

A white long-sleeved undertunic of fine linen worn in the early Middle Age.

Chausses

Armour for the legs, usually made from mail.

Colcannon

Irish traditional dish consisting of mashed potatoes and cabbage.

Cohuleen

A red cap made of swan feathers that enables merrows (
see entry
) to swim through the ocean.

druith

Compeer

Partner.

Craic

Gossip/chatter.

Dun

Fort; usually covered a whole hilltop with walls protecting many buildings.

Drùth

Harlot.

Éire/Ériu

Ireland.

Fine

Clan.

Gael

Celtic, Gaelic-speaking ethnic group of Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man.

Gardai

The police force of the Republic of Ireland.

Gasún

Child.

Geis

A curse, spell, or incantation.

Guraiceach

A blockhead, oaf.

Imbolc

An ancient Celtic religious festival, celebrated on 1 February to mark the beginning of spring.

Imeacht gan

“May you leave without returning”.

teacht ort

Unit of measurement historically used in Ireland, slightly larger than a standard acre. One Irish acre Irish acre

equates to 1.62 English acres.

Jig/Reel

Lively Irish/Scottish folk dance. Also refers to the accompanying music.

Leannán

Female “faery lover” in Celtic mythology. She seeks out artists and poets, and in return for Sidhe

inspiration, she feeds off their life force.

Lios

Ring fort or enclosure; property belonging to a chieftain or group.

Lir

King of the ocean.

Lughnasa

The Celtic harvest festival named for Lugh, one of the chief gods of the
Tuatha Dé Daman.

Màistreàs

Mistress.

Mavourneen

My darling.

Merrow

Mermaid.

Mo

chroí/A

My heart.

chroi

Nuada

Lord of Tir na Nóg, first king of the Tuatha Dé Danaan.

Airgethlam

Og

Irish for young. Tomás Og is “young Tomás”.

Ollphéist

Monster.

Pict

An ancient Celtic warrior race.

Publican

Proprietor/Licensee of a public house (pub).

Ráth

A walled enclosure in Irish antiquity.

The people of the
Tuatha Dé Danaan (see entry),
aka the Fair Folk;
Daoine Sidhe;
the faerie race (as Sidhe

“sidhe” (lower case) it refers to the mythological underground palaces in which the Sidhe live, aka Fairy Hills); singular “Sidh”, a faerie.

Sithen

A fairy mound.

Tiarna an Ama

Lord of time.

Tir fo Thoinn

The Land Beneath the Waves.

Tir na Nóg

The Land of Eternal Youth.

Tuatha

Dé

Mythical Irish race.

Danaan

Will o’ the wisp

The fabled lights of the fey.

Author Biographies

Cat Adams

Cat Adams is the new pen name of USA
Today
bestsel ing authors C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp. The
Romantic Times
BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award winning paranormal romance and urban fantasy authors live in Texas and Colorado. Their award-winning “Tales of the Sazi” and “Thral ” series for Tor Books wil soon be joined by a new urban fantasy series “The Blood Singer”, in 2010.

www.catadams.net

Jennifer Ashley

Jennifer Ashley is the
USA Today
bestsel ing and RITA-award-winning author of historical romances, paranormal romances and mainstream novels. She also writes award-winning paranormal romances as Al yson James and award-winning historical mysteries as Ashley Gardner. Read more about Shifters and their prides, packs and clans in
Pride Mates
, by Jennifer Ashley, Book 1 of the Shifters Unbound series.