The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1 (12 page)

Chapter Eight

Out of the Glen

“The forfeit is a kiss.”

“Forfeit? I didn’t agree to play. And I’m driving.”

“Oh, I see, you’re chicken.” Tim nodded in mock understanding. 

They’d been driving for a few hours and their talk of music had lapsed into a companionable silence, until now.

Caera huffed out a sigh. The man was relentless. “All right, fine, I’ll play your silly game.”

“Twenty Questions isn’t a silly game, it’s an important in-the-car activity.”

“Is this an American thing?”

“I didn’t think it was, but maybe. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead.”

Caera glanced at him. What was she supposed to do?

“Do you know how to play Twenty Questions?” he asked, seeing her expression.

“Well, I assume we ask each other twenty questions.”

“That’s not exactly it, but it sounds like a good game. How about I go first?”

“I thought it was my turn?”

“New game, new rules. We’ll start easy. What’s your middle name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it?”

“Well, your first name is Caera. I expected something more exotic.” 

Caera burst out laughing—her, exotic?

“Elizabeth was my grandmother’s middle name.”

“Okay, do you have any brothers and sisters?”

Caera’s mirth disappeared in an instant. She didn’t want to talk about her family. “I do.” She said no more.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“I answered your question.”

Tim must have heard the strain in her voice because he touched her leg, his palm warm through her slacks. “This isn’t supposed to upset you. I’m sorry I asked about your family.”

His voice was thick with regret for asking. Caera sighed, wondering if he, like others had in the past, now assumed something tragic had happened to them and that’s why she didn’t talk about them. Normally she let their misconception continue so they wouldn’t question her personal life, but with Tim it felt like a lie.

She took a breath, forced herself to relax. “I have three siblings, all alive and well. My older brother is an architect. My younger brother is a civil engineer. They work together. My sister, who is three years younger than me, is married with three children.”

“Accomplished family.”

“Except for me.” The words were out before she could stop them.

“What?” Tim’s hand, still on her leg, squeezed. “Caera, you’re incredibly successful. You’re single-handedly turning a remote venue into an important musical center. You’re an amazing musician and singer, you—”

“Thank you,” she said, just wanting him to stop. “And you’re right, I’ve had success too.”

Tim took his hand from her leg. Caera bit her lower lip and stared resolutely forward. She was pushing him away. She knew it and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop. There was no future for them, and no reason to expose her heart to a man who would be gone in a few days.

The silence stretched, humming with tension, unlike their previous silences.

 It was nearing four o’clock, and they’d made it farther than Caera thought they would. Traffic on the M8 was light. They’d been held up as the M3 reached Dublin, but they were able to avoid the worst of it as they changed onto the M7, which headed southeast out of the capital into the southern counties before turning into the M8.

They passed a sign that said it was ten kilometers to Cashel. 

She hadn’t planned to stop there, but they’d made such good time they might as well. Plus, she wanted to do something, anything to break the cold silence in the car. 

She signaled and pulled off. The town of Cashel wasn’t far off the motorway, and the Rock of Cashel was a sight most people didn’t forget.

“We’re in Cahir?”

“Not yet. We have time so we’re making one quick stop.”

The Rock of Cashel rose from the center of the town. The small stone hill had long been the seat of the kings of Munster before one king had turned it over to the church, and the castle atop the rock became a monastery. Buildings fell and rose anew atop the rock, like a living thing dying to be born again. Manmade structures were bound to natural rock formations until the name “Rock of Cashel” came to mean both the stone and the building atop it.

Caera drove the car up one of the steep residential streets that led to the top of the rock. As they got closer, the gray stones of the rock itself were visible in patches where no soil held long enough to allow grass to grow.

Tim picked up his guidebook. “The Rock of Cashel. The round tower is the oldest structure, dating to 1100 AD—”

“Look.”

They’d reached the top of the road. Here there was no grass, and it seemed as though the castle grew out of the stone it sat on.

“Can we go in?” Tim didn’t look at her when he asked.

Caera shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had a right to her privacy, but she knew that didn’t excuse her from being rude when he tried to compliment her. She desperately wanted to go back to where they’d been before he started his Twenty Questions game. 

“I’m afraid we’re too late for that.”

He consulted the guidebook. “Yep, they’re closed. Maybe we could just wander around the grounds?”

“Ah, I think it’s walled all around. There are cemeteries on the grounds, and they don’t want people disturbing them.”

“That’s fine.”

Caera pulled onto the shoulder so they could get out. Tim pulled out his camera and took a picture. She raised her hand, wanting to offer to take his photo, but she dropped it, worried he’d rebuff her. 

Searching her mind for something, anything to say, Caera blurted out, “Shall I tell you the story of how the rock got here?”

Tim looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. The band around Caera’s chest loosened. 

There was a gate in the wall not far from where she parked. Caera walked down to it. Halfway there, Tim moved up beside her and laced their fingers together. Caera felt like a world that had been off-tilt had just righted itself. 

They stood looking in the gate facing the rock and its stony buildings. The modern buildings were at their back, the view of the town that skirted the rock hidden by the wall that circled the grounds. If she ignored the sound of cars, she could imagine what it was like when there was nothing but the castle, the seat of a king’s power.

“According to local legend, the Rock of Cashel was formed when St. Patrick banished the Devil from a cave in a mountain near Templemore. That’s to the southwest of Cashel.” She turned to point. “The mountain is called Devil’s Bit. You see, the Devil was holed up in the cave, waiting for St. Patrick to leave Munster so he could continue to torment the people of Tipperary. The town knew the evil was in that cave because it glowed with a terrible red light every night. Anyone who got too close came back raving about flames and the monsters that danced in them. When the town told St. Patrick this, he knew it was the Devil himself in the cave, and the fires were those of Hell that traveled with the Devil when he came to Earth. 

“St. Patrick was a brave man, and he climbed the mountain until he could see the fires, so hot and bright that they were visible even in the day. When the Devil saw St. Patrick, he came roaring out of the cave. He told St. Patrick lies, changed his form to try and fool the holy man, but St. Patrick was not deceived and he cast the Devil out.”

“Then what happened?”

“As the Devil was being sucked back to Hell, he opened his mighty huge jaws and took a bite out of the land. But the mountain is, and was, a holy place, and the rocks were like poison to the devil. He spit them out, and when he did they landed here, forming the Rock of Cashel.”

“Well done, St. Patrick. I thought he just got rid of the snakes.”

“St. Patrick had many holy victories.”

“Gotta love the saintly super powers.” Tim pulled her against his side when she laughed. “So, this is a giant Devil spitball.”

Caera frowned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“My apologies. Is there really a bite out of a mountain somewhere near here?”

“There’s a gap in the mountain between one outcrop of rock and another small plateau.”

“That’s the Devil for you, ruining a perfectly good mountain.”

Caera giggled, nervous that he’d joked about such a thing, but still finding him deliciously funny. 

“I thought I saw a coffee shop on our way up here,” Tim said. “Can I take you to coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee this late in the day, but I am thirsty. Maybe we could find a—”

“Caera, I’m asking you out on a date.”

“A date,” she squeaked.

Tim nodded as if her reaction had confirmed something for him. “Yes, a coffee date. American dating protocol indicates that it’s always best to start with a coffee date.”

Caera had never been out on a real date. Certainly she went out with friends, and she’d met people when she was living and working in Europe, but a date? The whole concept of going to dinner one-on-one with someone she barely knew and interviewing them as a potential boyfriend seemed very strange and American.

“I don’t have date clothes.”

“Coffee dates don’t have specific clothes.”

“Ah, all right.”

“So you’re accepting my offer?”

“Yes.” Caera cleared her throat. “Tim, I’d be honored to go out on a date with you. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tim tucked her hand in his and led her away from the rock and down the road.

Chapter Nine

Cahir

“It’s late. We might have to look for a guesthouse outside of the town center,” Caera worried.

“Guesthouse?”

“Bed and breakfast.”

They’d lingered too long on their coffee date, Caera with tea and biscuits, Tim with coffee and a scone. It was eight o’clock and they were just leaving Cashel for Cahir, which was an hour away on the winding country roads that linked the cities.

“You think they’ll be booked up? It’s a weeknight.”

“Irish hotels are usually smaller, so there’s very little space for walk-in guests.” Caera’s work experience had come from larger metropolitan hotels in Europe and England, and the change to the scale and business practices of Irish hotels had been eye opening.

“Wait.” Tim fished in his pocked and pulled out his sleek phone. “I’ll check and see.”

“Check what?”

“If there are hotels in the town and if they have vacancies.”

“Is that your American phone?”

“Don’t worry, I have international data coverage.”

Caera hadn’t been worried about his roaming, but rather about him wasting his time. Tim was going to be disappointed when he realized that wouldn’t help him. Most hotels in places like Cahir, which was not a tourist destination, were used for out-of-town guests, events and business meetings. Those people didn’t care about booking on their phones because—

“Got it!” 

“What?”

Tim smiled. “Found a room, booked it online.”

“Well done.” Caera couldn’t hide her surprise. “I didn’t think any of the hotels would be online.”

“Well, this one was, at least. It looks like it’s right in the middle of town too.”

“Great. Do you have a name or address for me to use when we get closer?”

“It’s Cahir Bridewell.”

He butchered the pronunciation of Cahir, which was simply “care”, but that’s wasn’t what caught Caera’s attention.

“Bridewell?”

“Yep, in the picture it looks like a castle. Not as big as Glenncailty, but still, I never say no to castles. I’d planned to stay in a castle on my original bus trip.”

“A castle…okay.” Caera’s lips twitched.

She couldn’t wait to see Tim’s reaction when they walked in to the “castle” he’d just booked for them. 

“Are you married?”

Tim and Caera cowered before the innkeeper. A tall, thick woman, she wore a gray dress, white stockings and a flowered apron. Her hair was the same gray of her skirt. 

Tim gave Caera a little push forward, making it clear he was not going to answer. “Ah, no, missus, we’re not.” Caera pinched Tim’s thigh, the movement hidden by her body. 

“Shameful thing, that.”

“We’re—” Caera wasn’t even sure what she was going to say, but the woman cut her off.

“I’m Mrs. Reilly. Mr. Reilly’s been dead now these twenty years.”

“God rest him.” Caera joined her in making the sign of the cross.

“A good man, he was. At the Lord’s right hand, I’m sure.”

Behind her, Caera heard Tim murmur “Holy shit,” and bit her lip to hold back a laugh.

“And you, young man, you’re an American?”

Tim jumped, then said, “Uh, yes, yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re interested in this Irish girl?” She pronounced girl “gehl”.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” 

Caera sucked in a little breath at his words. 

“Then you’d best marry her. I’ll be sad to see a good Irish girl moving to America for a man. We lost too many to America in the past, but the way young men are nowadays, it’s no wonder young women must go elsewhere. And you’ll take a firm hand. You’ll do right by her and care for her, and no messing, but you’ll not be like these young men today expecting a wife to run their life as their mammy did. No, none of that now.”

“Uhhh.” Tim was blinking rapidly. 

Caera pinched him again.

“Yes, yes, ma’am.”

“Good, good.” She went to a rack of keys and took one down. “This will be your room. I’ve no great love for an unmarried couple staying together under my roof, but I can’t blame you girl for wanting to test your options. You cannot depend on men to be men in these times, and isn’t that a great sadness?”

She handed Tim the key. “You’ll bring your own bags up. And don’t think I don’t see that fiddle on your back, so I’ll have a bit of music from you before you leave.” 

Tim seemed frozen, so Caera answered, “Of course. Thank you,” and dragged Tim towards the stairs in the far corner of the room.

Tim was still reeling when they started up the metal spiral staircase. “Did that just happen?”

“Shh, she might hear you.”

Tim looked over his shoulder in horror.