Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3) Page 5

  Giggling, she reached up and kissed a few stray crumbs from his chin as a stray cloud darkened the sun. His desire flared at this, despite being ridiculous in the middle of the crowded fair. The bloody thing had a mind of its own, and damn the rest of the world. He tried to shift his leg so it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable, but she caught the movement.

  “Restless today, are you, my sweet man?” Her hand began brushing crumbs and then wandered lower. This made him squirm more, and he flushed. Perhaps they could—

  “Deirdre! Mother wants you. Now!” Katie’s sharp voice cut through the fog in his mind as he tried to make plans.

  “In ainm Dé!” She had a pretty pout, even when she cursed and stomped off. He sighed with both relief and regret. Deirdre certainly had a sweet, kissable mouth. That raven hair was smooth, like a mare’s mane. He shook his head. Thinking of this sort would simply make his stance so much more uncomfortable.

  Katie still stood there, arms crossed.

  “And you! Don’t go messing about with such as her!” Katie’s mouth often looked sweet, too. But right now it was set in angry lines.

  “Oh? And are you her mother, then? She can look after herself, that one. But alas, I hoped to go for a lovely walk by the river and now I’ve no companion. Would you join me?” He proffered an arm, all gallant gentleman. Staring at him for a long moment, she made a growling noise in her throat, spun on her heel and stalked away.

  * * *

  Ciaran was game for trying to get the grey stallion.

  “I’ve just the lucky doit to seal the deal!” He flipped a large coin and went off to find Lochlann.

  The horse had placed second in the race. Éamonn had truly hedged his bets, placing wagers on first, second and third, and had made a tidy sum. The horse not winning meant bargaining power. He sent his cousin off to the stalls while he sat with Turlough.

  “Let’s walk, son. I’ve got to get away from the people.”

  Confused, Éamonn agreed. They took a path north from the fair, into the brushy moors. They walked carefully, but Turlough must have had a destination in mind. After about a half hour, they came to a solid island in the bog. It had a circle of ancient stones.

  The stone circles had always been a mystery. No one knew from where they came or who built them. They were clearly man-made. Many had tool marks or carvings. Some said they were druids, turned to stone by Saint Patrick. Others claimed they were the lost souls of those who had angered the Sídhe. Still, others reckoned giants placed them there, perhaps an ancient game of marbles left and forgotten in the mists of time.

  Éamonn tried to keep an open mind about such things. He believed in the Fair Folk, of course. Only a fool would risk angering them. But he also believed in the power of God. Were the two beliefs were so different? The priests certainly said so.

  “Come, Éamonn. Sit by me. The damp is getting into my bones, and I need a rest.”

  Éamonn sat and waited. Turlough would talk when ready, but he needed to fill the silence.

  “I heard something about the music, Da. It’s not much, but I heard someone talking about ‘music papers.’ As far as I know, you’re the only one around this fair with written music. I might be wrong… but when I turned, they had gone. A young man with a gruff voice.”

  Turlough had perked up at his first words, but he deflated and shrugged.

  “At least you would have recognized Ciaran’s voice, so it wouldn’t be him. Thank you, son. I hadn’t been able to find anything at all in the gossip. I began to think they were taken back by the faeries, so I had. But I have a mortal thief to deal with.”

  “Do you really think the Fair Folk gifted O’Carolan their music, Da? Truly?”

  “I truly do, son. The Sídhe are real, I can guarantee that, at least. And I do believe his music to come from their mystical land.” Turlough caressed the stone he sat on in a tender way as if stroking the cheek of a favorite child.

  “Guarantee? How could you possibly do that?” He stared at his father as if he had sprouted a second head.

  Turlough smiled smugly. “I’ve heard the music, lad. I’ve heard it when no earthly musician stood nigh. I’ve heard it in the mists of the morning and behind the moon shadows. It is all around us. And it sounds like that music stolen from my bag.”

  Éamonn imagined Turlough might have lost what few wits he had left. But he knew better than to argue when he took that tone.

  “I wanted to give you a fair warning, though. You are messing with dangerous things at the fair.”

  The change of subject took Éamonn by surprise.

  “What dangerous things?”

  “Several. The MacCrimmon boys, for one. I’ve asked questions about them. They’re over from Scotland, and have a connection with the big clans there.”

  “Bah. They’re Travelers like us. What connection could they have to a big clan?”

  “Their father holds a position with a Clan Chief. That’s all I heard. Tread canny now, to be sure.”

  Éamonn huffed but nodded. “What other dangers do you see?”

  “The two wee O’Malley girls. You’re seriously courting disaster there, in so many senses of the word, my son.”

  “Ah, we’re just having fun, Da. They’re both—”

  “They are not both fun. Caitriona is the strong one. If you want her, go for her. But don’t toy with her! She’s worth the keeping. The other one… what’s her name, Deirdre? That one is trouble, and not in a good way.”

  “She’s no trouble at all, Da.” He thought of Deirdre brushing off crumbs, and his body began to respond to the memory.

  “Éamonn! Pay attention. That one will be a girl her whole life. You don’t need a girl. You need a woman.”

  “She’s plenty woman, Da, trust me.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

  His father rarely struck him, but the cuff stung.

  “Da!”

  “Éamonn, if I have to beat sense into you, I will. Stop messing about with her. She’ll make you sorry. I can tell the type. And you aren’t her first love, I’ll warrant. She’s got her ways down pat, so she does.”

  Éamonn didn’t want to defy his da, but Deirdre tempted him sorely. Then again, so did Katie. Perhaps she made the better bet, temper and all. Her temper made her more interesting. Like a fractious mare to be broken. Best not mention that to Da, though.

  “Mind me, now. I’m not fooling one bit about this. I want to see you well married off before I shed my mortal coil.” His father’s gaze fixed upon him and he saw a strong spark behind his father’s eyes.

  “Da, stop being gloomy. You’re not about to die any time soon. You’re only, what, forty-five?”

  “Forty-seven, and stop arguing. I feel the winter in my bones, no mistake, and it’s April. Those years of wandering did damage, I think. It sunk into my marrow and never truly let go.”

  Turlough sighed, and his shoulders slumped. Suddenly his father appeared frail, as if he had aged overnight into an ancient, wizened man. That scared Éamonn, and he sat straighter.

  “You’ll never be old, Da. Your music keeps you young.” He said it emphatically, willing it to be true.

  “Aye, I suppose it does at that. Perhaps we can find the missing bits and set everything to rights. Come. We’ve chatted long enough. Let’s go check on that brother of yours. Hopefully, he’s not traded the best stuff away for pennies.”

  The walk back was oddly tense. He considered what his father had said about getting old. Old? There were plenty of folks older than his da, practically dancing jigs in the streets. His da can’t get old. Besides, that would mean he aged, too. And he wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  Deirdre and Katie. While Deirdre was indeed beautiful and alluring, Katie fascinated him, and not many women had that talent. She beguiled him as well as delighting him. The more he thought of her, the more he agreed with his father. She would be a much better choice as a partner.

  He had lived eighteen years, after all. Time to settle down with a wife soon.
His father had married late, and he lost his wife after just twelve years.

  He tried to invite Katie for another walk by the river, but she outright refused him. He helped her with her chores several times, caught up with her as she did her errands at the fair, but each time she turned away with nothing but a blur of her copper curls.

  This wouldn’t be easy at all.

  Chapter Four

  Katie balanced the basket of washing on her hip as she threaded her way around the edge of the fairgrounds. The sopping mess kept dripping into the dust, making mud when she had to stand still. She hated laundry with a passion. Deirdre was supposed to be doing it, but her feckless sister had disappeared that afternoon. Of course, she wouldn’t get in trouble for it, not as Katie would have.

  No one knew where she had gone, but Katie thought she had a clue. Her sister had cuddled up to Éamonn earlier on. Well, he could have her, and please take her away. Bloody idjit.

  Cursing under her breath, she came to their shelter. She slowed when she heard voices inside. Not her parents’ voices, but she did recognize them. Listening a moment more, she heard the gruff voice of the older MacCrimmon. She paused a couple more minutes. Yes, she recognized Lochlann’s light voice as well. She still hadn’t figured out how her da could possibly afford a horse from these two. But why else would they be in the house, talking in low, urgent tones?

  She walked in with her head high and nodded, polite as she could be. The two brothers and her da were in the tent. Her mother wasn’t around. They all stopped talking when she entered. Did she have dirt on her face? Lochlann definitely watched her oddly. She checked herself, but nothing was amiss. Her skirt wasn’t tucked into her belt, and her stays weren’t askew. She patted her hair, but it remained well bound by the kerchief. Time to play the hostess.

  “Hello, Donald, Lochlann. May I get you a cool drink? We’ve cider in the back.”

  “I’d love some, Mistress Caitriona, thank ye kindly.” My, how polite Lochlann acted. To what purpose? She didn’t think him rude normally, but he rarely offered much in conversation.

  She cocked her head in inquiry to Donald, but he shook his head. “I’m fine. Go and get his drink.”

  Hiding a snort at his rough command, she went to the back where the cider jug lay under a flap of canvas. She poured and came back into the room. They were talking again, but practically at a whisper. Obviously, whatever plan they were hatching wouldn’t be for her ears.

  “I’m off to hang the wash. I should be back in about an hour.”

  That would give them a timeline for whatever shady deal they were working. She didn’t think ill of Lochlann, even after the fight last week. He actually acted rather sweet. But she shivered whenever Donald stared at her. It’s the way he looks at me. As if I was a pork shoulder that wanted marinating.

  Katie worked on the laundry in the communal space behind several wagons. Lines were strung across trees, with about half the space left. She hummed under her breath. A rare fine day, with the sun bright and hot. Not a cloud showed in the sky. A light breeze kept the weather cool but not strong enough to be cold. Odd for late April, but she welcomed the warmth and the joy. It made her sparkle and fizz, after a long winter. The humming turned to singing.

  “Your sweet voice could call the angels down from heaven, so it could.”

  She whirled around at the voice over her shoulder. The sopping wet skirt in her hands slapped against Éamonn’s hip, making a smacking sound. He jumped back in surprise.

  “By all that’s holy! What are you trying to do, drown me?”

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on people!” She trembled, but she hoped it didn’t show in her voice.

  “That’s the fine thanks I get for giving you a compliment.” Even when annoyed, he had a disarming grin.

  “Oh, compliments, is it? Is that what they call spying these days?”

  He sighed. “Can we start again?”

  She glowered but nodded.

  “Mistress Caitriona O’Malley, I came to ask if you would care to walk with me on this fine day. May I escort you?” He offered his arm, so posh and polite, as a lord of the manor might ask a lady. She chuckled in spite of herself, never one for giggling like Deirdre. She couldn’t stay mad at such a man.

  “Very well, Sor. Shall we?” She blinked several times, enjoying the playacting. It made him smile even wider, if possible.

  “Oh, but… I have to do the laundry first.”

  “Here, I’ll help you finish. Then we can be away more quickly.”

  “A man? Helping with the washing? How does that happen?”

  He laughed. “I do it often, as a matter of fact. The men outnumber the women in our household, so I’m used to lending a hand. Come. You hand me the pieces, and I’ll pin them. I’m taller.”

  She wanted to take umbrage at the reference to her height. It wouldn’t be fair to lose her temper over such a minor thing. She handed him the skirt she had held when he’d surprised her.

  The chore went more quickly than Katie had imagined. They were through the basket and off to the moors in no time. He was pleasant company, after all, and had charm when he tried. Of course, his entanglement with her sister barred any chance of an attachment, but spending a bright afternoon in his company felt better than returning to whatever caper her father was hatching with the MacCrimmons.

  As they picked their way through the bog, Katie asked, “Where on earth are you taking me? Should I be worried?”

  “No, no, just a spot my father likes to go when he wants quiet. It’s special, I assure you.”

  “It had better be. This isn’t a trek for the faint-hearted!”

  “It’s not much longer now.”

  As they came around a large bush filled with light green spring buds, she saw the stones. It was if someone had built a flat hill in the center of the marsh, and plopped the stones evenly in a circle. Well, and perhaps they had after all. Legends of the Fair Folk and Giants swam through her head, a jumble of tales and songs. She grew dizzy.

  Sitting on a stone, she took control of her head and her body. The stones were warm in the sun, and she took comfort from that. Éamonn sat next to her.

  “Standing stones. I had no idea there were any nearby.”

  “You said you liked the tales with magic. What’s more magic than faery stones?”

  She laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I’ve also got a surprise for you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What sort of surprise?”

  Her suspicion appeared to amuse him because he chuckled. “A tasty one!”

  Slinging the leather bag from over his shoulder, he proceeded to unpack a feast. He had several pears, a couple of goat’s cheeses, two stone bottles, a fresh loaf of barley bread, and spicy sausage. He sliced chunks off the cheese, bread, and sausage and handed her some. She nibbled as she watched him.

  This Éamonn, he was an odd one. He was smitten by her sister, but also fond of Katie. She was touched that he remembered she liked magical stories. But no, he remained merely a polished player. This interlude had been all well planned and designed to compromise her. Well, unlike Deirdre, she wouldn’t be sold so cheap, certainly. The food tasted wonderful, though.

  “You said your father comes here?”

  “Mmmhmmm.” He finished swallowing a slice of pear. “He especially likes it in the morning, before the mists lift. He says the stones sing to him.”

  Katie shivered. She liked the tales, but messing about with the Fae, and right dangerous. She crossed herself.

  Oddly, this didn’t amuse Éamonn as everything else did. He simply nodded and crossed himself as well.

  “What about your mother? Does she not come to the fair?”

  He shook his head, the first time she had ever seen his face sad. “She died when my little sister, Síle, was born.”

  “Oh, I’m that sorry… how old were you? Do you remember her much?”

  “Eleven. I remember her clearly, though usually only fla
shes and scenes. She was always pale and frail, like a changeling. The last pregnancy—she had eight in total, with five living children—had been too much for her poor body.” Katie was amazed that tears fell down his cheeks. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care if she saw them.

  Katie took her kerchief and dabbed the wetness from his cheeks. He blinked several times and sniffed. His nose, already a prominent hook shape, now shone red. She handed him the kerchief.

  He honked into it a few times until he got back under control. He peered at the piece of cloth and then at her.

  She shook her head. “Keep it. I have others.” She smiled in sympathy.

  “Thanks, a chailín rua.”

  The endearment made her unaccountably warm inside. Normally she disliked people mentioning her bright red, unruly hair. But to be called ‘my red one’... well, it made her warm inside.

  “That’s when my Da started wandering.”

  “Wandering? With five children, and one a new-born babe?”

  “No, no, he left most of us with our aunt and uncle. He did take Ruari with him—the biggest, though I’m the oldest. I don’t think he could handle seeing Síle every day, knowing she killed Ma.” His voice sounded flat, a far cry from his usual jovial tone.

  “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”

  They sat in silence. The wind picked up and whistled around the stones. The newly sprouted grasses shifted in the breeze. A crow squawked in the distance. Éamonn sighed.

  “Well, it’s all past history, so it is. I’m meant to be dazzling you with my winning personality, not depressing you with tragic tales.” He handed her one of the stone bottles.

  “Oh, and so what had you wanted?” Her sharp tone returned, unbidden. She unstopped the bottle and cautiously sniffed, mindful of his access to Ciaran’s poitín. However, she smelled simple small ale. She took a grateful gulp, washing down the bread and cheese.

  “Just to have rare time alone with you.”

  This didn’t sound like the typical Éamonn to her. She glared at him.

  Stung by her mistrust, he said, “No, truly! I much prefer your company to that of your sister, you know.”