The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1 Read online

  “Is this your bag, sir?” The bus driver had his collar up around his neck, and water sheeted off his cap as he held Tim’s suitcase.

  “Yes, sorry.” Tim quickly grabbed it.

  “Never apologize for the love of a good woman.” He tipped his hat to Caera, then mounted the steps back into the bus.

  Caera grabbed her brolly, which now held a small lake, and emptied out the water. They were both drenched; there was hardly any point in using it.

  “The car’s here,” Caera said as she led them across the street.

  They climbed in, throwing their wet jackets onto the floor in the back to keep from soaking entirely though the fabric of the seats.

  Tim scooped his wet hair out of his eyes and smiled at her. “I thought that bus would never get here.”

  Caera grinned in reply and started the car, turning up the heat once the engine was warm.

  “I’m so happy you came back.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “I worried.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “I know, but it’s so strange, what we’re doing.”

  “Is that how it feels to you, strange?”

  Caera could have bitten off her tongue. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I never imagined my life like this.”

  “If you don’t want this relationship, you should tell me now. I don’t have a flight home to Boston anymore—I changed it to come here.”

  Caera had the creeping feeling that this was all falling apart, that it would all end now, before it ever had the chance to be anything.

  “I knew this would happen. I told you I’ve never been in a proper relationship. I don’t know how to do this.”

  “There’s no ‘way’ to be in a relationship. Just be honest.”

  Be honest.

  Caera nodded, but there was a ball of dread in her belly. She needed to be honest with him.

  “So, honestly, if this…us…isn’t want you want in your life then you should just say so.” Tim assured her. “No hard feelings, we’ll part as friends.”

  His words were easygoing and light, but his tone was dark and dangerous, as if he were forcing the words out because he knew he should say them, but at the same time he had no love for the saying.

  Somehow, that made her feel better. She raised a brow. “Now who’s not being honest?”

  “All right then. Let me be honest. I like you. I more than like you. I want to spend the next few weeks here, figuring out if what we have together is as good and as special as I think it is. I don’t think the fact that we live apart is a good enough reason not to be together. One hundred years ago…yeah, that would be a problem, but today? No.”

  “You’re right. I’m scared, and this is all too new to me. I don’t even feel like myself when I’m with you.”

  “Who do you feel like?”

  Caera turned off the motorway onto the smaller road that would take them into the heart of the land, and then down into the glen. “I feel like someone I thought I’d lost long ago.”

  “Well, whoever you are, I’m glad to be here with you.”

  The blanket of the storm lay over the glen, the sky above gray, close and ready to burst. They’d driven out of the worst of the rain, but it was coming this way. He could see the sheets of water, like smudges on the bottoms of the clouds, headed towards them.

  “Hurry,” Caera urged, and together they gathered his things and ran from the car to Caera’s cottage. As they ran, their feet sinking into the loamy ground, Tim felt as if the rest of the world were disappearing, as if he were going down the rabbit hole, away from what he knew of reality. The tree line was dark with shadows, but Caera picked a path through them without hesitation. Her little cottage, which had seemed quaint and a little rundown when he first saw it, now seemed like a haven, an oasis away from the world.

  That’s what he wanted, to be away from everyone, everything, but Caera.

  Maybe once he got his hands on her, got his fill of her taste, her scent, he’d be able to function again, but right now all he could think about was stripping her of her clothes and touching her.

  The little kitchen was warm and inviting. Tim set down his suitcase and took his fiddle from her, putting it aside.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea? I may have coffee—”

  “Caera, come here.”

  She turned slowly. Her blue eyes were large in her face. With her hair plastered to her head, she seemed younger, more vulnerable. Or maybe it was the way she took soft, small breaths, then bit her lip, that made him ache to possess and protect her.

  He cupped her chin, tipped her head to the side and kissed her neck, down to her collarbone, which was exposed by the low scoop of her dress. He ran his fingers up and down her back, found the zipper. He lowered it inch by inch as he kissed his way down to the swell of her breasts.

  Her dress fell with a sodden plop, and he was reminded of their first night together in the pool, where she’d been so wild, so powerful. He’d suspected the woman who stood before him now, lovely and so fragile, hid inside, but he’d had no idea just how fascinated he would come to be by her, by the dichotomy of her.

  Her bra was wet, her nipples tight, cold beads. He suckled them through the lace, nipped the tips. Biting the lace, he rubbed it back and forth over the tip of her breast until her nails dug into his shoulders.

  Together, they divested him of his jacket and shirt, then his jeans and underwear, which were quickly followed by her tights and boots.

  His cock was rigid with need, so hard it was practically touching his stomach. She slid her hand around his dick, her breasts rubbing his chest. She was still wearing her underwear, and as pretty as it was, he wanted, needed her naked.

  Grabbing the cups of her bra, he yanked them down, and her breasts popped free. The full, soft globes were so pale he could see the veins that marbled her skin. She shucked her underwear, and as soon as she kicked them away, he pressed two fingers into her sex, testing her.

  She was warm, wet and ready. As ready as he was.

  He wouldn’t take her on the table, not this time.

  Instead, he led her to the bed, lay her down on it. She spread her legs for him, invited him into the warm heart of her body. Her eyes were bright in the dim room, her arms and legs elegant, pale ribbons against the dark sheets.

  Tim lowered himself between her legs. He took a breast into his mouth, while he tugged and rolled the other nipple with one hand. When she bucked and moaned beneath him, he pressed the tip of his cock into her warm, wet core.

  He felt complete. Her body clenched around his cock and his balls twitched, warning him that this would not last.

  Releasing her breast from his mouth, Tim kissed the corner of her lips, her neck. Tucking his hands under her shoulders as she wrapped her legs over his waist, Tim withdrew from her and thrust.

  He kept it slow as long as he could, working his cock within her in a way designed to give her pleasure. When little shivers coursed through her, Tim rolled them over. Lying on his back, he grabbed her hips, lifting her up, then eased her down. She found the rhythm, as he’d known she would. He pressed his thumb into the top of her sex, finding the hard nub of her clit.

  Her mouth dropped open and her breath came in hard rasps as her clit rubbed against his thumb with each down stroke. He clenched his teeth, holding back his own orgasm as he waited for her to come.

  In the next breath, she did, her back arching briefly, before she curled forward, nails scoring his chest. Needing more, Tim grabbed her hips, rocked her forward and back, her orgasm-tight body clenching hard around his cock.

  His orgasm exploded through him, the pleasure more than physical.

  It was nearly 3 A.M. before they were sated. Shaking from exhaustion and residual pleasure, Caera helped Tim pull the sheets and duvet from the bed. The storm had arrived at the glen, and the cold whipped in through tiny cracks in the old walls. It was too cold in her bedroom, so they carried the
blankets to the kitchen and made a bed on the floor in front of the little fireplace.

  Caera added a few bricks of turf to the fire before settling in beside Tim on the warm floor. The flames cast red and gold patterns across Tim’s face and made his hair the color of old bronze.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, lifting a strand of hair and examining it in the firelight.

  “I was just thinking about how handsome you are.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  He smiled, and Caera knew she would be both happy and blessed to see him smile every day for the rest of her life.

  “Tá mé i ngrá leat,” she whispered, her secret words of love.

  Tim touched her cheeks, her lips, then said. “I love you too.”

  Caera jerked back in surprise. “You…you speak Irish?”

  “No, but I remembered what you’d said at Kilknock Abbey, and I asked someone what it meant.”

  “So you’ve known this whole time.” Embarrassment curled in Caera’s belly while tears pricked her eyes. “Is that why you’re here? Because you knew I’d already fallen in love with you?”

  “Don’t cry, don’t cry, beautiful.” Tim cupped her face, kissed her cheeks, her nose. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew or tell me you loved me before you left?”

  “I didn’t want to scare you away.”

  Caera blinked, then nodded. She wasn’t sure she would have believed him if he’d said he loved her then. Even now she didn’t trust his words.

  “I fell in love with you when we were at the Vee, when we played together. You were like an angel or some ancient Irish princess as you stood there singing. I fell for you, and I fell hard, but every time we got close, you closed yourself off, pulled away. I’d already planned to make you fall in love with me.”

  Caera let out a surprised bark of laughter.

  “But,” Tim continued, “I thought I’d have to spend years visiting you, breaking you down, and if that didn’t work, I was going to take naked photos of you and blackmail you.”

  Caera jerked, fear sliding through her at his words, but then she looked at him. His hair fell over his forehead, his eyes sparkled and a little smile twisted his lips. He had no idea why his words scared her. She smiled, though there were tears in her eyes. He kissed her temple.

  “When I realized what you’d said, my whole world came alive. I’d finally found the woman of my dreams, found the woman I want to love for the rest of my life, and she loved me in return.”

  “I do love you. I realized it when we were at the Vee, when I watched you play, so serious and intense. Most of the time you’re all smiles and laughing, but at that moment, I saw what’s inside you, here—” she placed her hand over his heart, “—and I loved you.”

  Their gazes met, held, in a moment of perfect clarity, of understanding.

  Without another word, Tim tucked her against his body. Caera lay her head on his chest and listed to his heart, as outside the storm raged on.

  Tim found the last empty barstool in the pub and slid onto it. It was lunchtime, and there were more people here than he’d thought there would be, though Caera had told him that they were building their business with the local community.

  Tim ordered a beer and sighed. He’d been so focused on getting back here to Caera he hadn’t really thought about what they’d do when he was here, besides have amazing sex. He’d gone with her to her office in Finn’s Stable, planning to have hot, sweaty sex on her desk, but she actually had work to do. Her phone had been ringing, her co-worker Rory needed to go over details about that night’s event and after an hour of sitting in the corner toying with the instruments she kept in there, he’d given up and headed over to the main castle. He’d played around with the billiards table, though he only knew how to play pool, leafed through some picture books on Ireland and finally headed here to the pub for lunch.

  Normally, on a morning like this he’d have practiced or spent some time writing a song. His dream was a CD of original music, but between now and then there were plenty of folk songs to sing, and people bought those records. He could, maybe should, have done one of those things, but he was too antsy. In the intimacy of last night, everything but how much he loved her had slipped Tim’s mind. When they woke up, he’d been prepared to tell her what his agent had said, but they were running late and had to rush out the door.

  Now it seemed there wouldn’t be time until late this afternoon, when she had a break before she had to do a final check of that evening’s event. That left Tim with free time for most of the day.

  The bartender set a plate in front of him, then hustled away.

  “Uh, wait, this isn’t mine.”

  “It’s mine.” The man seated to his left raised two fingers.

  Tim slid the plate over. “Looks good, maybe I’ll get that.”

  “The food’s fine here.”

  The man nodded once, then turned his face to his plate of sausage and potatoes. His accent was thick and deep. He wore battered, oil-stained khaki slacks, a blue button shirt that Tim would have called a dress shirt, except it looked old and worn as the pants. The man’s shoulders and arms were massive, straining the thin fabric of the shirt, and though he had deep wrinkles around his eyes, his hair and beard were a rich brown. Tim guessed he wasn’t more than thirty, thirty-five.

  “Are you from around here?” Tim asked. Until he caught the bartender’s attention and ordered some food of his own, talking to his interesting-looking neighbor seemed like as good an idea as any.

  “I am.”

  This was going well. “Do you work at the hotel?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a…” Tim looked at the oil-stains on his pants, “…mechanic?”

  “If needed.”

  This guy wasn’t giving anything up. He could work for the CIA, MI-5 or whatever the equivalent Irish agency was.

  “So you do it all, then? That’s a good skill. Are you—”

  The man sighed, put his fork down and turned to face Tim.

  “Hey, I’m just being friendly,” Tim said, raising one hand. It was not a good idea to piss off someone with muscles like that, who probably knew where to locate a tire iron.

  “You’re an American, yes?”

  “Guilty.”

  “A curious lot, all of you.”

  “Guilty again.”

  The man picked up the cap he’d hung over his knee, rubbed his head with it, then dropped it back onto his lap. “I’m Donnovan, Séan Donnovan. I’ve a farm a few miles up the road.”

  “Séan, nice to meet you. I’m Tim.”

  “Welcome to Ireland.”

  “Thank you, though I can technically say this is my second time here.”

  “A smart man you are, if you’ve come back.”

  “I fell in love.”

  “With an Irish girl? Well, the Lord love and help you, then.”

  “You know, everyone keeps saying that.”

  “With reason.” Séan turned back to his food, took a bite, then said. “You’ll take her away from this place.”

  “Uh, well, no. I mean, we haven’t—”

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling. Take her away. There’s nothing here but sadness.”

  Séan Donnovan finished his food, put a few euros on the bar and left.

  “I brought you a sandwich.”

  “Bless you, you clever man.” Caera dropped down onto the decorative bench and took a bite. They were meeting in the garden, taking advantage of the break in the storm. Around them, everything seemed shiny and bright, scrubbed clean by the rain. The day had gone pear-shaped, and this was the first thing she’d had to eat besides a few sweets she’d found in her desk.

  “Have you eaten anything today?”

  She took another bite and shook her head.

  “I’ll go find you something else.” Tim rose from his spot beside her, but she waved him down.

  “This is perfect. They’re having f
ood at the event, so I’ll have another bite later.”

  They sat in silence while she chewed.

  “Is this what it’s like to have a boyfriend?” she teased, when she could think past her hunger. “You’ll be taking care of me and feeding me?”

  “Yes. You’re mine now, and I’m going to take care of you.”

  Warmth spread through her belly at his words. “I think I’ll like that.”

  “Good.”

  She popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. Tim was watching her intently, his eyes sparkling with excitement. She raised a brow as she swallowed.

  “There’s something I’ve been waiting to tell you.”

  “Something good?”

  “Something very, very good.”

  “I cannot wait.”

  Tim took her hand, laced their fingers together. “I sent my agent the recording of us singing together in Miltown Malbay. He loved it—he wants you to send him a demo tape.”

  Caera jerked her hand from his. What was he talking about?

  “I’ve already got a deal with a label to do a record of Civil War ballads, and my agent loves the idea of changing that to American and Irish war ballads with both of us on it, singing and playing together.”

  “What?”

  “And he wants to sign you, separate from doing the record with me.” Tim was grinning ear to ear. “I told you, you have a gift, a real gift.”

  “How…dare you.” Caera shot to her feet, held her hand out to ward him off when he came toward her. “You had no right.”

  “What are you talking about? Caera, we’re going to record an album together. We’re going to sing together.”

  “I will never—” she slashed her hand through the air, “—sing professionally. That’s my choice, and you had no right to send a recording of us to anyone, to assume I’d want to do that. How dare you?”

  “Hold on, hold on. You love to sing, and not just sing, but perform. You told me so in Miltown Malbay. You thanked me for getting you up on the stage.”

  “That was a fantasy. That’s not reality, not my life.”

  “If I thought you really didn’t want a music career, I wouldn’t have done it, but I know you do. You can deny it all you want, but when you perform, you come alive. Are you really going to live the rest of your life watching other people do what you love and sneaking onstage when you think no one is looking?”