The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 Page 15

  After they were done and the dishes had been taken to the kitchen, Joan declared that she needed a little rest and suggested they take a walk. Sorcha nodded, not bothering to argue. Séan found her a coat, socks and a pair of rubber boots—more of his sister’s clothes, she assumed—before pulling on his own items and grabbing a flashlight.

  It was fully dark outside, the sky cloudless and the air cold. Once away from the lights of the house, the starlight seemed to grow brighter, so much so that Séan tucked the flashlight into his pocket and they walked side by side in the starlight.

  Sorcha was happy for the quiet and the walk. She thought better when she was moving. Right now she didn’t know what to feel. It had been a strange few days, and she felt as if she never had time to stop and think about what was happening around her. It was as if all she could do was react, never act. And tonight had been no different.

  “I’m sorry,” Séan said, as they passed through a gate in the wall of the back garden.

  “For what?”

  The ground went from smooth, mowed grass to bumpy, rough soil. She teetered and Séan reached out a hand, steadying her.

  “For my mother, for tonight.”

  She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, so she asked, “Is this one of your fields?”

  “Yes, the cows just went off it. It’s churned up from their hooves. In a few weeks the grass will grow again.”

  They followed the dry-stacked stone wall that marked the edge of the field. On the other side she could see low white shapes.

  “Are those sheep?”

  “Yes. I don’t normally keep sheep—they’re a waste of good grass, and they eat down too close to the root, but Tristan wanted lamb and mutton for the kitchens at Glenncailty.”

  “It seems strange that only a few days ago we sat in the restaurant and talked about closing Glenncailty.”

  “I’ve thought about that…and I wonder if that’s why it happened.”

  “You mean you think the ghosts knew we were going to abandon the castle and so made sure the room was found first?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that before, and as frightening as that is, it seems possible. Why else would it have happened now?”

  They walked in silence, each thinking their own thoughts. But despite all that had and was happening at Glenncailty it wasn’t the castle and its dark past she worried about, but him.

  “Séan, about tonight…”

  He sighed heavily. “I told my mother you were only coming to look through the old papers with me.”

  “I’m sure you did. I’m also sure that she knows there’s more going on between us than a little research.”

  He looked alarmed at that. His face, which was silvery-white in the moonlight, blushed to the faintest pink. “I’ll pretend that isn’t true.”

  “Well, even if she doesn’t know that we’re sleeping together—”

  “Jaysus.”

  “—she knows that you’re interested in me.”

  He was silent as they passed through another gate. This field had knee-high grass, which rustled in the breeze. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

  “I know. I wanted you too.”

  “Then why did you sleep with those other men?”

  Sorcha blew out a breath. He’d mentioned this once before, briefly, but she’d had a bad feeling that the topic wasn’t done.

  “My past, and who I choose to share my bed with, are my business.”

  “But you knew I wanted you.”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t a fool. She was a woman who enjoyed, and sometimes used, men. She was aware enough to know when a man desired her.

  “And you didn’t care?”

  “What would you have had me do?” she asked, turning to face him. “Should I have stayed chaste because I thought that you might have feelings for me? You’re the reason I made a rule never to be involved with a local man. After what happened that first night we met, it was awkward and I didn’t want that, couldn’t have that.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you slept with those other men.”

  “Because I wanted a man’s hands on me, because I wanted to feel that connection with someone.”

  Séan rubbed his chin, his hand making a scratching noise on his beard. “I would…no. I will give you that.”

  Sorcha held up her hands. “I know you would, but we can never be.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you why.”

  “Because you think you can’t have children?”

  “Because I know I can’t have children.”

  “I’m not looking for a brood mare. I want a woman to share my life with, to love and grow old with.”

  Sorcha’s throat was tight with tears. “I know. You think I want to be alone?”

  “Then be with me.”

  “I cannot. You may say now that you’re fine with not having children, but what happens in ten years? In fifteen? Everyone you know will have families, and you have so much—” she gestured around her at the fields, “—to pass on.”

  “None of that matters without love.”

  “Maybe at first, but you would come to hate me. I couldn’t bear to fall in love only to be hated.”

  “So you push away everyone, even those who could love you.” Séan reached for her. “Who do love you.”

  She pressed her palms against his chest, elbows locked. “You think it will be fine, that we can fall in love and be together, but I know it won’t be.” She took a few stumbling steps sideways. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have ever slept with you.” Sorcha turned and stumbled back the way she came, angry tears on her cheeks. She hated him in that moment, hated him for offering her something she so desperately wanted but knew she couldn’t have.

  “Sorcha, wait.”

  She didn’t wait, she kept going, stumbling through the gates until she reached the house. She wanted to jump in her car and drive away, but the keys were inside. She let herself into the mudroom, pulling off the rubber boots and slipping into her own shoes. When she walked into the house in search of her bag, Joan looked up. The smile in her face died as she caught sight of Sorcha’s tear-stained face.

  “Sorcha?”

  Afraid to stay anything, Sorcha just shook her head and bolted through the house to the front door, grabbing her purse and running out to her car.

  By the time she reached the road up to Glenncailty, she lost her battle with the tears and broke into gut-wrenching sobs. In that moment there was nothing she wanted more than Séan’s arms around her, his kiss comforting her.

  And that was exactly the thing she couldn’t have. Whatever he might say, she knew she was right. When she’d lost her son, it had been more than her child that died—it had been a piece of her soul and the vision of the future she’d had for herself. She’d learned to keep men away so she wouldn’t have to go through this heartbreak.

  She parked and stumbled from her car. She didn’t see the pale shapes in the woods, watching her fumble through the trees toward her cabin.

  “Séan, are you okay? Is Sorcha okay?”

  Séan toed out of his boots and put them away, then picked up Sorcha’s discarded boots and put them away too.

  “Séan?”

  He hung up his jacket, hoping the chores would give him time to come up with something to say to his mother. He’d been embarrassed that she’d orchestrated this evening to be some formal dinner, but it had been nice, both the dinner and the company. While they ate, he’d entertained more than a few fantasies about dinners such as this being a regular occurrence, about Sorcha moving in here with him, and nice evenings ending with him taking her up to their room where he’d make love to her deep into the night.

  Instead she’d run from him.

  “Séan, I’m so sorry if this is my fault.”

  He looked at his mother, then hugged her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “She was upset when she left—why was she upset?”

  He shook his hea
d.

  “Séan, you said she didn’t want you, but you’re wrong. I could see in her face that the girl is mad for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters. If you love her and she loves you, that’s all that matters. Did you tell her that you love her?”

  “Yes.” He stopped to think. “Maybe. She didn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to be with me, with anyone.”

  Joan frowned. “And what does that mean?”

  “She thinks that… I mean, she…” Séan couldn’t think of a way to explain without telling his mother what Sorcha had told him, and he wasn’t comfortable doing that. He would respect her privacy and keep her secret.

  “Séan, listen to me. I was married to your father, God rest him, for most of my life. In those years we were together, we faced more hardship than you know, but we survived. If I’d known going in what we’d be up against, I don’t know that I would have married him.”

  Séan was surprised by his mother’s words. His parents’ relationship had always seemed steady and calm.

  “Nowadays young people seem to think that they have to figure everything out before they get married, that they have to agree on a whole life’s worth of decisions before they’re even living together. It’s foolish.

  “There will be hardships, some you can plan for, but many you can’t. And even the best plans won’t mean anything when life comes knocking on your door.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I said, but I don’t think Sorcha agrees.”

  “Then you convince her otherwise.”

  “She doesn’t want to be with me and I won’t upset her.”

  Joan waved her hand in the air. “A little upset never hurt anything, but being foolish or fearful and not taking a chance on love really can hurt you.”

  Séan nodded slowly, more to end the conversation than anything. It hurt him to see how much his mother wanted this for him. He knew she was worried that he still hadn’t found someone. He couldn’t bear to tell her that the woman he’d fallen in love with would never let herself be with him.

  “I’m going up to the attic for the boxes.”

  Joan searched his face, but then nodded. “All right. I’ll spread out a cloth on the kitchen table; they’ll probably be dusty.”

  Séan changed out of the nice clothes he’d put on for dinner, throwing on an old pair of pants and a shirt. In the upstairs hallway, he reached up and pulled down the hatch, extending the ladder and climbing up into the attic.

  Once in there, he took a seat in an old rocking chair, needing a moment of quiet to think.

  Sorcha said that he’d eventually hate her because she couldn’t have children.

  He’d dismissed it the first time she said it, but the conviction in her words tonight made him stop and think.

  He wasn’t one to think too much about the future. He’d always had a vague idea of how his life would go, the future out there, inevitable but not something he really needed to do anything about. The day to day was more than enough to handle, and as hard as he worked, there was always the fear that something would go wrong with the farm—there would be a drought, or too much rain, or the cows would get BSE. Those were the worries he carried with him every day. He’d always figured that when the time was right, the other things would come. He’d fall in love, get married…

  …and have children.

  Sitting there in the dusty attic, surrounded by generations of his family’s history, he imagined his life in ten years, in fifteen.

  In that far off future, Séan had assumed he’d have a wife he loved and children. He’d never had a picture of that woman in his mind until Sorcha, and even that hadn’t been clear until he’d put his hands on her. Before that he’d wanted her, regretted how their first meeting had gone, but she’d been more a hope and fantasy than anything. Now that he knew better and had lived through strange and hard days with her, he was sure that he loved her beyond everything that was reasonable.

  And while it seemed that he hadn’t thought about the future enough, she’d thought about it too much.

  Did he want a future that involved Sorcha but no children? They could adopt one, if they really wanted a child. Did it matter if the child was biologically theirs?

  Séan pushed to his feet, mind made up. Without Sorcha, the rest of the future didn’t matter.

  He went to the farthest corner and found the old wood box with parochial records.

  He needed some time to figure out how to talk to Sorcha. Until then, he’d go through the records. He needed something to distract him while he figured out what to say to convince the woman he loved that love was enough.

  At three A.M., the phone rang. Sorcha was in the middle of a bad dream, and it took her a minute to distinguish that the phone was ringing from her nightstand and not as part of her nightmare.

  “Hello?” she answered, eyes still closed.

  “I think I found it.”

  Sorcha rubbed her forehead and propped herself up on one elbow. “Séan?”

  “I think I know who the bodies are. Maybe.”

  That woke her up. Sorcha sat up and turned on her light, looking at her watch. “It’s three in the morning!”

  “It is?” There was a moment of silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I woke you up. My apologies.”

  “No, don’t apologize. It’s good to hear your voice.”

  The words were out before she thought them through. She was awake but not really thinking. Considering how they’d left it earlier, she shouldn’t have responded that way.

  “Well, I’m happy to hear that, but next time I’ll check the clock before I call.”

  “Have you been up all night?”

  “I guess I have.”

  “And you found something?”

  “I think so.”

  “What is it?”

  “It might be easier to show you. Would you, uh, would you like to have breakfast with me?”

  “Séan, it’s not a good idea.” For so very many reasons.

  “Yes, it is. I need your help to figure this out and then, once we’re done with ghosts and bones, we’re going to talk. You’re not the only one who’s worried about the future, and I want a turn to tell you what I want and what I feel.”

  Sorcha pressed her lips together and covered her face with one hand. Finally, she said, “I’d like breakfast.”

  “Would nine work? I’m slow at the milking because of my hands, but I should be done by then. Come out to the house.”

  “Yes, that will work, but I’m bringing breakfast.”

  “Very well, and Sorcha?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I hope you get some sleep, Séan. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Sorcha tossed the phone away and lay back. Staring at the ceiling, she realized she was smiling, that the sound of his voice had lightened the heavy, dark sadness that had enveloped her since she’d left him earlier.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Lost Records

  Sorcha’s rash offer to bring breakfast resulted in an hour spent cajoling the chefs who were in the castle kitchen to stop their prep work and fire up the grills. She managed to sneak out with her takeaway boxes before Tristan arrived. She stopped again in Cailtytown and grabbed some lovely fresh-baked muffins.

  A mere twelve hours after she’d run out of Séan’s home in tears, she was back. As she drove up, Séan called out to her. She stuck her arm through the open window and waved.

  He was walking across the field they’d been in last night. His long legs ate up the distance, and the morning sun haloed his hair in gold. She pulled up in front of the house and grabbed her breakfast bags. Rather than go to the front door, she went around to the side and met him at the back.

  “Good morning,” she said as he came closer. Up close, she could see the shadows under his eyes, and there was a line between his brows as if he were worried or in pain
. “Séan, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I just need put the braces on my fingers for a bit and maybe take some pain tablets.”

  Sorcha opened the door and preceded him in. The kitchen table was covered in books and papers. A trunk-like wood box sat on the floor by one of the chairs. The whole room smelled of dust, which was almost enough to overpower the smell of cow coming off Séan.

  “I’ll clear this away.” Séan started to tidy the papers.

  “No, don’t be silly. We can eat in the front room where we ate last night.”

  “We could eat in the living room. There’s no table, but the couch is more comfortable than the chairs in the front room.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “I’ll shower quick-like.”

  She expected him to go upstairs, but instead he went back into the mudroom, pulling the door closed behind him. It must not have latched because it fell open a bit. Sorcha craned her neck to see him stripping off his clothes. The muscles in his shoulders, arms and chest flexed, and she had to look away.

  “Will your mother be joining us?” she called out.

  “I’m not sure. She’s in her rooms.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “No, the addition off the back. It was built for my grandmother, who died years ago, and after my father passed away, we converted it into a little flat for her. She said that she was old and wanted to give the house over to me and my…to me.”

  “Well, that’s nice that she has her own space.”

  “The house is still hers, there’s no doubt in that.”

  Sorcha laughed. “It can be hard to let go of your home, especially if you’re still living there.”

  There was a pause, then Séan said, “I forgot you said your mother turned your house into a guesthouse.”

  “What had once been my home was suddenly a business, except for a little flat off the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. It was hard at the time, but the guesthouse kept us going and taught me everything I know about guest relations.”