The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 (18 page)

“A good surprise or a bad one?”

“A…good surprise. I hadn’t heard from you, so I—” Séan had shifted, uncrossing his arms, and she saw the braces on his hands. “Oh my God. Séan, your hands.”

He looked down, then shrugged. “The doctor thinks I need it because my fingers were dislocated, and because of the infection she didn’t want me moving too much and breaking the cuts open again.”

Her heart pounding, Sorcha touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry. We should have gone right to the hospital that day. I can’t believe we sat around talking and, um, other stuff.”

“I’d rather have sex than go to the hospital.”

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said.” She smiled. “How are you feeling now?”

“Well enough. The farm chores take a bit longer than normal.”

“Wait, you’re milking the cows with your hands like that? Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t like the farm relief people being out for more than a few days. It stresses the cows.”

Sorcha took hold of his right forearm, examining the brace that held three of his fingers in place. “You took care of me when it should have been me taking care of you. You were the one who suffered.”

“What you saw there hurt you too.”

What you saw.

Thoughts of Séan calling or not calling had only been a way to keep herself from thinking about what she’d seen in the nursery, what she’d experienced.

“What did it feel like, when you were possessed?”

He rose, and for a minute Sorcha thought maybe her question had upset him so much that he’d leave. Instead he said, “I’ll walk you home.”

Tucking her heels into her bag, she too rose. Séan held out his arm and Sorcha looped hers through it, holding him up near the elbow to minimize the possibility that she’d jostle his injured hands.

Together they stared walking, crossing the drive and following a path towards the tree line. “I’ve been dreaming about it, dreaming that I was back in that hall,” Séan said.

“Oh, Séan, I’m so sorry.”

“In my dreams the wall isn’t there—I mean, the plaster wall. It’s only the stone wall, but it looks cleaner, newer, and the bricks are new too. I’m not sure how I know that, but I know the bricks are new. I start hammering on the bricks, and calling out a name.”

“What name?”

“Mary.”

“Do you know anyone named Mary?”

He shook his head. “I know plenty of Marys, including a cousin or two, but don’t think I was dreaming about them.”

“Then what happens in your dream?”

“I’m calling out for Mary and I hear people, footsteps. Then I’m being pulled away from the wall. I can’t see what, or who, is pulling me. That’s it, that’s the end of the dream. It’s not frightening so much as I still feel angry and sad when I wake up.”

They walked in silence for a moment. When they crossed into the trees, the moon and starlight disappeared and Sorcha took a small pocket flashlight from her purse and flicked it on.

“What if what you’re dreaming is a memory?” she asked.

“Whose memory?”

“The memory of the same man who possessed you.”

“Is that possible?”

“Is any of this?”

“For that you’d have to ask a priest or some scientist.” Séan pulled her close to his side. “Possible or not, these things are happening.”

“Yes…I guess they are.” They’d reached her cottage. She turned off her flashlight as they stepped into the little clearing, which was lit by starlight. “I think that I saw a memory too.”

Séan turned her to face him, his gaze piercing as he searched her face. “When?”

“When we were in there, in the…nursery.” Sorcha took a breath, let it out slowly, trying to control her emotions. “When I tripped and fell, my hand touched one of the spots of blood on the floor. That’s when I…” Sorcha pressed her lips together, frustrated she didn’t have the right words. “I…remembered. I remembered what had happened, as if I had someone else’s memory.”

“What did you see?”

“There was a man and he was beating her.” She touched her cheek. “He called her a witch and then I think a ‘murdering Irish whore.’”

“It was a woman’s memories?”

Sorcha stopped to consider that. “Even before the man called her a witch, I knew it was a woman, though I don’t know why.”

“He spoke in English?”

“Yes. The man who was beating her sounded English, but I couldn’t see him. He threw her down, kicked her. One of her legs was broken. She knew he was going to kill her, but she didn’t seem to care.”

“You could feel her emotions?”

“Yes. Then she said…she said she would burn in hell for her sins.”

Séan pulled her against his chest and hugged her. “Why didn’t you say anything at the time?”

“I would have, but after I saw that is when I uncovered that trail of blood, then found the bodies. Found those poor little bodies.”

He nodded. They stood in the moonlight, rocking slightly side to side. She felt safe in his arms.

Sorcha pulled back and looked up into Séan’s face. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would, but I may not be of much use to you.” He held up his hands, but his gaze was hot.

All thoughts of bones and old suffering disappeared under the promise of pleasure.

Sorcha smiled and leaned into Séan, pressing her breasts to his chest. “I guess I’ll just have to do all the work, won’t I?”

His nostrils flared and Séan tried to grab her but couldn’t hold her. With a little smile, she took a few steps back to her door. “Coming?”

Without hesitation, he followed her into the cabin.

Chapter Eleven

The Mystery

It was only six hours later when Sorcha and Séan sat at her little kitchen table drinking tea and eating biscuits for breakfast. When Séan’s phone alarm had gone off, Sorcha had gotten up too. She was working an earlier shift today and getting up at six with Séan only meant that she’d have a bit of time to herself this morning to tidy her house. The counter was a mess of old teacups and takeaway boxes. She’d brought home meals from the Glenncailty kitchens rather than eating in the pub to avoid talking to anyone.

Séan looked more alert than he had any right to be after only five hours of sleep.

He drank his tea and took another biscuit from the pack. The cookies were the only food she had in the house. She made a note to go in to Cailtytown and get some bread for toast. Boiling water in a kettle and making toast were the extent of what she really cooked here.

“I should eat biscuits for breakfast every morning,” Séan said happily.

Sorcha propped her elbow on the table, her head on her hand. “That’s a proper, healthy idea.”

He smiled and winked, and Sorcha’s belly fluttered.

“I was thinking about what you were saying last night,” he said.

Sorcha raised a brow. “Anything said during sex cannot be held against you in the morning.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but I promise you I won’t forget what you begged for.”

Even without the use of his hands, Séan was a dangerous and through lover. He’d pinned her down and tormented her with his mouth, goading her into admitting to some of her fantasies.

“And I won’t forget what you said,” Sorcha countered. Not to be outdone, she’d taken her turn at pleasuring him orally, but she had the advantage of being able to use her hands. It had helped her overcome the guilt from sleeping with him when she knew she shouldn’t.

Plus, she’d been relieved that he’d still wanted her after she’d told him about her past.

His smile disappeared. “Well now…”

“Oh no, Mr. Donnovan, you admitted to wanting to fuck me in the Cailtytown library, and now I won’t rest until we’ve fulfilled that fantasy.” She smiled slowly. “Do you want to fuck me while I’m lying on the big table, or maybe up against one of the shelves, the books all falling down as you thrust into me over and—”

“Jaysus.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “You’re dangerous, you are. I guess I could be a bit late for milking.”

He reached for her, but Sorcha leaned away, widening her eyes. “Oh no, I couldn’t make you late.”

He raised a brow. “So you’ll just leave me like this?”

“I’m afraid so.” She laughed at his forlorn expression. “I bet you’ll be thinking about me and won’t forget to call me.”

He mumbled his next statement while reaching under the table to adjust his trousers. She didn’t quite catch it but thought he might have said, “I already think about you all the damned time.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to say something more, but he took a long drink of tea. Then his eyes got wide and he looked at her.

“Was I supposed to call you?”

“Well, you weren’t
supposed
to. But if you’d wanted to sleep with me again, it would have been nice.”

“I was busy.”

“I know that now, but I assumed that after our talk at your house the silence meant that had been our parting of ways.”

He caught her hand, gripping it awkwardly because of the brace. “You’ll not get away from me so easy.” He sighed. “I didn’t know about the calling. I’ll remember that.”

Sorcha’s lips twitched. “Thank you.”

“When I said I was thinking about what you said last night, I didn’t mean what we said in bed, but what you said before, about what you saw.” Séan finished his tea, put his cup down and then turned to face her. “I think we need to find out who those people were.”

“You mean the bones? The scientist they called in from Dublin, Melissa Heavey, is doing that.”

“Maybe, maybe, but that won’t tell us who the man was, the one who possessed me.”

“How could we find that out? We don’t know anything about him and we don’t have his bones.”

“I don’t think we need the bones. We just need records.”

“There are no records for Glenncailty.” Sorcha stopped, then corrected herself. “At least, I thought there weren’t, but something Elizabeth said makes me think there are.”

“Oh, there are records. I’m sure of that. I’m just as sure that Seamus won’t let anyone near them.”

“Why not?”

“Glenncailty is not, and never has been, a happy place.”

“It’s happy enough now.”

“True, so maybe it’s changing. Maybe that change is what Seamus hoped for, but the past is not happy. The English lords who came to Glenncailty were all cruel, and the Irish who fought and won control of it weren’t much better. And though the O’Muircheartaights have owned the castle and the land for generations, how they came to own it has always been a mystery.”

Sorcha sucked in a breath. “So Seamus may be hiding the records because they might cast doubt on his ownership?”

“I don’t know, it’s only speculation, and I’ve known Seamus all my life, so I’ve no love for accusing him of this.”

“We’re not accusing anyone of anything,” Sorcha assured him. “But we can check with the parish office, see what records they have.”

“I have something better than that,” Séan said. “My family’s house used to be the parochial house. When the priest moved into Cailtytown, most of the parochial house records went with him.”

“Most?”

“My father found some in the attic. They were mixed in with some of our own family records. He always said he’d sort them and then return those that should be with the priest to him, but he never got around to it.”

Sorcha tapped her fingers on the table, thinking furiously. “I’ll try and find the scientist and see what she’s figured out. We can compare that with your records.”

“Good.” Séan rose and stretched, his arms hitting the low ceiling. With a disgruntled look, he bent down and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Come to my place after work, we’ll start then.”

And with that he walked out of her cottage.

It wasn’t until she was in the shower that Sorcha realized that they hadn’t talked at all about what was between them, about what they were doing.

“Hello, Caera—can you see me?” Sorcha waved at the computer camera. On the screen was Caera Cassidy, one of her dear friends and Glenncailty Castle’s special events director. She’d taken a leave to go on tour in America with her boyfriend, the famous American folk musician Tim Wilcox.

“I can! Hello, friend. It’s wonderful to hear a bit of home.”

Caera looked happier than Sorcha had ever seen her. Her eyes sparkled and she had a smile on her face. Sorcha wasn’t sure if was being in love that made her look that way or the fact that after years for tormenting herself over past mistakes, Caera had finally decided to try again at a musical career.

“And how is America treating you?”

“It’s grand. You wouldn’t believe how many people come to our concerts. I never imagined something like this.
The Irish Echo
, the American paper for Irish immigrants, wrote about us.”

“That’s brilliant! And how is Tim?”

“Wonderful as always, and his family has been so kind. They’ve even offered to let my family stay with them when they come to visit.”