The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (72 page)

She was not going anywhere near the stone circle in the rain. Even a light drizzle would undo her. To o many hurtful things lurked in Irish rain.

So she walked as fast as she could, hurrying past quiet, thick-wal ed houses with wood or peat smoke curling from their chimneys and soft, yel ow light shining dimly in the windows. She pretended the sight didn’t bother her. But it was so hard not to let envy eat her alive each time she glanced at such a window and imagined the cosiness behind the pretty white lace curtains.

In her mind, she saw Conal sitting before the hearth fire, a whiskey glass in his hand and his dog at his feet. She’d be busy in the warm, stone-flagged kitchen, stirring a pot of steaming soup or taking a round of fresh-baked bread from the oven. After they’d eaten, they’d enjoy a late-night strol around the vil age. They’d talk about whatever pleased them, occasional y stopping to admire the stars.

Such a life might not be every twenty-first century American woman’s dream. But, it sure was Such a life might not be every twenty-first century American woman’s dream. But, it sure was hers.

Somewhere a dog barked and she also heard the distant bleating of sheep. If she listened closely, she could stil catch the roar of the sea.

It was al so idyl ic.

And felt a tril ion light years removed from the hectic bustle of Philadelphia and the mad, rushed world waiting for her return. How sad that she’d rather have someone pul out her toenails than board the plane that would carry her away from Ireland.

She swal owed a sigh and threw another glance at the houses lining the road. They were spaced a bit farther apart now, each neat little cottage boasting tidy, wel -kept gardens that, she knew, would absolutely burst with flowers in the summer.

“Damn.” She felt her chest tighten; the images she’d conjured thrust a spear through her heart.

She was so pathetic.

It was pointless to let such things get to her. Circumstances she couldn’t change, dreams she couldn’t possibly seize. She lengthened her stride, careful now to keep her gaze on the road.

She could see the ivy-covered shel of Howth Castle up ahead, its half-standing wal s and empty, black-staring windows beckoning her. She could spend days exploring the castle’s warren of hol owed rooms and long, grass-grown passages. Just now the ruin meant she should soon spot the marker for the Seven Sisters.

Howth Castle would have to wait.

It was time to put the past behind her.

But when she did find the trail sign, her heart started hammering so fiercely that she almost wished she hadn’t made the trip.

She was fooling herself. Coming here had only made things worse.

Each step she took up the wide, wel -marked tourist path to the stone circle proved her fol y.

Hot, throbbing pain stabbed her in the side and every indrawn breath was a struggle, each onwards stride an agony. Her insides were on fire and it wasn’t because the trail was steep or difficult.

It was because being here again was torture.

And it burned her soul.

“Damn you, Conal Flanagan.” She pressed a hand to her hip and soldiered on, her breath ragged and her heart in shreds. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

One, two, three more steps, and then she could feel the Sisters’ presence. The low humming in her ears that she’d only ever experienced here. And the way the air thickened and crackled. It was like walking through a sea of invisible fourth of July sparklers.

She was almost at the top of the hil and thin mist was already twisting through the trees. Wispy blue-grey threads of it rol ed across the ground, curling around her ankles, pul ing her onwards.

Then the path ended, the woods fel away, and she found herself at the edge of the sheep field she remembered so wel . The Seven Sisters loomed before her, shimmering silver as always, close enough to touch.

She was there.

And so was Conall Flanagan.

Maggie froze, staring. He stood near the stone circle and had his back to her. His hair was shorter and his shoulders broader, but she knew it was him. She’d recognize him in the darkness of 1,000 aeons. Just as she’d spent the last twelve years feeling his touch, his kisses, and his lovemaking, even though endless ocean miles had stretched between them.

And seeing him now sent every imaginable emotion whipping through her. Her heart hammered painful y and her knees buckled, making her sway. A wave of dizziness washed over her and, for a moment, she feared she was going to be il .

For sure, she couldn’t breathe.

She pressed her hands hard against her chest, trying to inhale, but each great gulp of cold air that she pul ed in felt like ingesting fire.

Conal wasn’t alone.

And the woman leaning in so close to him, her hand resting possessively on his arm, was so sophisticated, so stunning and polished, that Maggie hated her on sight. She had glossy black hair, stylishly cut. And she was wearing a sleek leaf-green suit and a cream silk blouse. Maggie couldn’t tel , but she knew instinctively that the woman’s nails would be perfectly manicured.

Maggie swal owed, feeling nauseous.

Even in New York, she’d rarely seen a creature so elegant.

And she wasn’t about to shame herself by butting into their intimate rendezvous.

Shaking, she took a step backwards, but something that felt like a firm hand stopped her. She tried to wheel around, but couldn’t.

“There’l be none of that now.” An old woman’s voice lilted the words. “No running away after al the years of waiting and the long miles you’ve crossed to be here.”

“Wait!” Maggie stil couldn’t move. “I don’t know who you are, but I can’t go out there. Conal —”

“Conal has been foolish. But he’s a good lad and he needs you.” Then the crone gave her a nudge, just as she’d done twelve years before.

Maggie caught a fleeting glimpse of two smal black boots with red plaid laces and then she was stumbling forwards, out of the wood and into the open sheep field. She caught herself quickly and whirled about, staring at the path.

The old woman wasn’t there.

It didn’t matter.

She’d regained her legs and was leaving. But she’d only taken three steps back into the woods when she heard a shout behind her.

“Maggie!”
The surprise and joy in Conal ’s voice stopped her.

She turned slowly, because she was afraid to believe what her heart was tel ing her. Conal was sprinting over to her, his dog hard on his heels. The raven-haired beauty was striding in the opposite direction, away from the Seven Sisters and across the field towards the Flanagan farmhouse.

She looked furious.

Maggie swal owed, sure she knew why.

“You stil have Booley.” She spoke when Conal was almost upon her. “I’m so glad to see him.”

“You’re glad to see my dog?” Man and beast skidded to a halt. “After al these years, you’re final y here, and you’re more interested in Booley than me?” Booley pranced, clearly approving the sentiment.

“I’ve always loved dogs.” Maggie couldn’t believe her voice was so calm. “You know that. Unless

—” she couldn’t help herself “—you’ve forgotten such things.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Maggie.” He stepped closer, set his hands on her shoulders. “Not one single moment we shared and not an hour since. Hours I’ve spent missing you and regretting that I let you go. Hours that—”

“And the woman you were with just now?” Dear God, had she real y said that? “Does she know about those hours?” she added, unable to stop. “I’m assuming she’s your wife. She looked quite angry—”

“She was livid.” Conal ’s lips twitched. “And with good reason, because she’s one of Dublin’s top estate agents and she just lost the land deal of the century.” Maggie blinked. “She’s not your wife?”

“God forbid.” Conal slid his hands down her arms, linking their fingers. “She’d sel her own granny’s false teeth if it’d put money in her pocket. She was here to persuade me to let her hand-sel my land to someone wanting to build a community of executive homes. I declined the offer.” He glanced at the Seven Sisters, then back to her. “You of al people should know I could never love such a woman.”

But do you love any woman?

Do you love me?

The words snagged in Maggie’s throat. “So—” she braced herself “—you’re not married?”

“Would I marry a woman I don’t love, Maggie Gleason of America?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is if you’re listening with your heart.” He raised her hand then and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. “Do you real y not know what I’m tel ing you?”

“I . . .” Maggie’s voice broke. “It’s just . . . damn!” She jerked free, pressing her fingers to her lips.

“You’re looking fine, Maggie.” He circled his arms around her from behind, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. “You’ve become a beautiful woman and—” he kissed her hair “—I can tel by your upset, that you’re stil the wonderful girl I fel in love with al those years ago. I love you stil , Maggie.” He turned her to face him, used his thumbs to smooth the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve always loved you. And I’m hoping that your being here means you stil care for me?” Maggie rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly. She never cried. She
ached,
but she never shed tears. “You know how I feel. I told you back then and nothing has changed. But I didn’t come here looking for you. I came to forget you, to make peace with the past and move on with my life. I never expected you to be here.” She was so glad that he was! “I thought you were in Spain and—”

“I came back three years ago. But that’s a story I’l tel you later. Just now—” he pul ed her close and kissed her deeply “—the only thing that matters is that you’re here. And this time I’m not letting you go. Unless you think you might get homesick for America?” He looked at her, his eyes twinkling. “You might grow weary of Ireland,” he teased, dimples flashing. “Al the storytel ing and fiddle music, our turf fires and castle ruins. The long cold nights with the wind howling round the—” Maggie slipped her arms around his neck, stopping him with a kiss. “I’m not going to answer that. But I think you already know how likely it is that— Oh, my God, look!” She jumped back, pointing to the Seven Sisters.

The sky had darkened with heavy black clouds rol ing in from the sea and turning day into night.

But the stone circle shone brightly, each tal , graceful stone glimmering with an eerie blue light.

Thick mist, equal y luminous, swirled and eddied everywhere. And the soft humming Maggie had heard earlier now sounded like low singing.

Beautiful female voices raised in a sweet, rhythmic chant.

Most amazing of al , a seventh stone now rose from the middle of the circle. Not quite as tal as the other stones and just a bit more slender, the new stone shone with the most bril iant blue of them al .

It was also translucent.

Maggie stared, her jaw dropping.

Conal reached for her hand, gripping tight.

Booley squeezed between them.

“She’s the seventh sister.” Conal ’s gaze was riveted on the glowing stone.

Chil s raced down Maggie’s spine. Her entire body tingled. “But how—”

“Shhh.” He spoke low. “Just watch.”

And she did, looking on in wonder as the stones shimmered and sang. The beautiful blue light seemed to come from deep within them, though their edges glittered like sapphires. Maggie was sure sparkles danced between them, connecting the stones like a web of bril iant jewels.

Then the mist whirling around the stone circle spun faster and – Maggie’s mouth went dry – the Sisters began to dance. They swayed and rocked, tipping slowly in one direction, and then twirling in another. The humming increased, almost sounding like cries of joy, when suddenly the stones rushed together in a dazzling blaze of white-blue light.

It lasted only seconds. Then they snapped apart, springing back quickly. So fast Maggie wasn’t even sure she’d seen them move at al . But she knew they had.

And when the swirling mist settled and slipped back out to sea, she saw that the seventh stone was gone.

She turned to Conal , this time not hiding her tears. “Did we real y see that?” He glanced at her, but kept on stroking Booley’s trembling shoulders. “I’m for saying we did.”

“The seventh sister, too?”

“Aye.” Conal ’s gaze warmed. “Her most of al .”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Maggie could hardly speak.

Conal shrugged. “I’m Irish.”

“And that explains everything?”

“It’s as good an answer as any.” He tweaked her nose. “Or would you hear what the tale-tel ers would say about what we just saw?”

Maggie nodded. “I’m for the tale-tel ers.”

“Then—” he pul ed her to him again “—you might be interested to know there’s an important part of the legend that I didn’t tel you years ago.”

“Oh?” She waited.

“The six remaining sisters weren’t the only ones who wept when the raiders stole the Princess across the western sea. There was someone else in the King’s household who grieved her loss.

“The story is that she was a wise woman who travel ed the land helping those in need where and when she could. Some say she hailed from Scotland, others insist she was Irish. Whoever she was—” he paused to glance at the sea “—she was often an honoured guest in the King’s hal and she loved al seven sisters dearly.

“So when she saw that the other sisters’ sorrow had turned them to stone, she vowed to use her greatest powers to grant them a reunion with their lost sister.” Maggie rested her head on his shoulder, listening. Each word sent shivers rippling through her and her heart was beating so fast she had to strain to hear above the rush of blood in her ears.

Booley was watching them both, his eyes sharp.

“Maggie Gleason of America, it’s said that every seven generations, the seventh sister returns.” He paused to smooth her hair, the touch gentle. “And when she does, she and her sisters dance and sing and are able to embrace each other once more. Such is the gift of the old wise woman who loved them like the daughters she never bore.”