The Irish Lover Page 5

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Still hungry?”

  She shrugged. “We can get breakfast in the morning room starting in a few hours. I can wait.”

  “In Chicago, can you go out and get food any time?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, we have that in Dublin.”

  There was a hesitation in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Mary licked her lip, wondering where this was going. “I liked Dublin.”

  “I’d like to show you around—not the tourist places, but real Dublin. I think you’d love it.”

  “I...I’m sure I would.” Mary was having trouble breathing. Was he implying what she thought he was, or was she so in-lust with him that she was hearing things that weren’t there?

  Michael rubbed the back of his neck, a line between his brows. Trying to get away from the serious direction their conversation had taken, Mary busied herself putting away the snooker equipment. “So we’ll eat in a couple of hours.”

  As she bent to slide the tray of balls into the slot on the underside of the table Michael ran his hand over her ass. “I can think of something to do until then.”

  “Oh really?” She straightened and faced him, twining her arms around his neck. “What’s that?”

  Michael regarded her solemnly. “We should go get books about gardening and read them.”

  “Of course.” Mary matched his tone. “My Irish flora knowledge is sadly lacking.”

  “Or we could do this.” He kissed her until Mary was ready to lie back on the snooker table and have him fuck her on the green baize. Michael must have felt the same because he pulled away, grinning at her. “We should go.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Together they started back the way they came. For a moment Mary thought she heard something. Stopping, she looked back at the door they hadn’t gone through at the far end of the hall. A small plaque on it said “West Wing” and below that a range of room numbers. It sounded like there was someone on the other side of the door.

  “I think we woke someone up,” she whispered, suddenly uneasy, and urged Michael on.

  As they crossed the foyer something caught her eye. Mary again turned, this time looking at the grand main staircase. The sweeping double staircase was dark wood. The second and third floors of this building were—according to her map—still under renovation.

  “Michael did you see something?”

  He stopped, muscles in his arm hard and tense under her fingers. “Where?”

  “There, at the top of the stairs. I thought I saw...”

  Mary blinked but there was nothing there.

  “Mary?”

  “Must have been my imagination.” She turned to Michael, a smile on her face, but he was white as a sheet…as if he’d just seen a ghost.

  Michael had never understood the phrase frozen with horror until that moment.

  At the top of the stairs was the outline of a figure. The apparition seemed to be made of nothing more than smoke, and waved as if in a breeze.

  Mary’s touched his cheek. “Michael?” Mary looked over her shoulder, following the direction of his gaze, but she didn’t react to the gray-mist figure coming towards them.

  “Michael what’s wrong?”

  He found his voice, struggling to remain calm. Thirty seconds must have passed, but the thing was still there, and it was definitely heading toward them. “Nothing, except one of Glenncailty’s ghosts wants to meet you. I’m thinking we should go now.”

  “A ghost? Really?” She looked both hopeful and skeptical. She turned to the stairs again, and this time she froze, her fingers clamping down around his. “Michael, there’s a ghost!”

  He said simply, “Run.”

  They bolted across the floor towards the heavy front doors. He shoved at them, but they were locked.

  “Is it dangerous?” Mary gasped, looking back at the ghost.

  “No.”

  “Then why are we running?”

  Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t really know why they were running. It wasn’t that he thought the ghost would hurt them. It was more that he didn’t want to come into contact with a remnant of the castle’s past.

  The doors wouldn’t budge, so Michael started inching along the wall. “There has to be an emergency exit or something.”

  Mary was pressed against his side, body turned so she could watch the ghost that was still moving towards them.

  “Come on.” Michael led her back toward her room. As they dashed though the hallways Michael kept checking behind them. When they reached the small foyer at the foot of the east wing stairs, where the door to the pub was, they stopped.

  Michael looked at Mary. Her eyes were wide and dark.

  “I can’t believe we saw a ghost. A real ghost!”

  “Are you happy?” Michael asked suspiciously.

  “Not happy, but it’s pretty cool.”

  Michael shook his head. “The people who died in Glenncailty did not have happy lives.”

  Even in the dim light he could see the flush to her cheeks. “Of course. That was insensitive of me.”

  Michael immediately felt like a jerk. “I didn’t mean to make you—”

  “Michael.” This time her whisper was thick with fear. He turned. The ghost was in the glass hallway, less than ten feet behind them.

  No longer a wisp of smoke, the ghost was taking shape. He could see the head and shoulders, the hint of arms and legs. Without stopping to question his instinct Michael grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her under the stairs, where the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign guided them out. Slamming the door open Michael pulled her into the gardens at the rear of the castle. Their breath steamed from their mouths as they stumbled through the plants.

  “Michael, what about the other people in the hotel? Should we warn them about the ghost?”

  “My phone, and my keys, are in your room.”

  “There must be someone around.”

  Michael took a breath, hoping his heart would stop beating so loudly. Then he’d be able to think. He smiled, doing his best to hide his worry from Mary. They should be fine now that they were outside, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the ghost had been looking at Mary.

  “Seamus—Seamus O’Muircheartaigh,” he said as his breathing evened out. “My mother said he lives in the old dowager house at the back of the gardens.”

  “Who’s Seamus?”

  “The master of the castle.”

  Mary followed him as he picked his way through the garden until they found one of the crushed stone paths. The followed it until he caught a glimpse of rooftops on the other side of the garden’s rear wall. “There it is.”

  As they stepped off the path a growl stopped them.

  “What was that?” Mary’s words were nothing more than a breath.

  Michael pushed her behind him, scanning the shadows for the source of the sound. Finally he saw it—a massive wolfhound, its shoulder nearly as tall as Michael’s waist.

  “Is that a wolf?”

  “No, it’s a wolfhound.” Michael tried to relax, if only to calm Mary. “Seamus has wolfhounds, it’s a tradition with the Lord of Glenncailty.”

  “Is it…dangerous?”

  Michael was about to say no when the hound came out of the shadows into a patch of moonlight. The silver beast was translucent, his paws leaving the grass unbent.

  “That’s, that’s…” Mary stuttered.

  At the rear of the main building was a terrace with a set of double doors leading into the breakfast room. The terrace was empty except for a few urns of flowers, but as Mary and Michael stood there staring at the ghostly beast the doors opened.

  “Look, there’s someone coming out.” Mary started forward, skirting the wolfhound, which had stopped under a tree ten feet from them.

  “Mary, wait.” Though the doors were open there were no lights on in the room beyond. It didn’t feel right.<
br />
  The silvery figure appeared on the terrace. As Michael watched the still-vague outline resolved into that of a woman, appearing more solid as it left the building.

  Mary gasped. “It’s a woman.”

  “I’ve heard people talk about seeing a female ghost.”

  “Michael, I think I know her.”

  Cold slid down Michael’s back. He grabbed Mary’s shoulders, tried to turn her away from the ghost but she shrugged out of his hold.

  “I know her, Michael.”

  “No, Mary. She’s a ghost, someone who died a long time ago. You don’t know her.”

  Mary took a few steps forward, as if she were going to greet the ghost. Michael grabbed her around the waist. “Mary, stop.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Mary, I need you to stay with me.”

  Iníon.

  The word floated on the breeze, faint yet distinct.

  Michael looked at the terrace to see that the ghost had twisted to face them. He could see the woman’s features now—nose, chin and eyes were distinct.

  “I need to go up there.” Mary looked up, her face silver in the moonlight. “I need to listen to her. She has to tell me something.”

  Michael smoothed Mary’s hair back from her face. “Don’t listen to her, listen to me. Stay with me.”

  Michael had never been more truly afraid than he was in that moment. Whatever that thing was it had some kind of hold on Mary.

  “Mary my love, I need you to wake up.” Michael cupped her face, stroking it with shaking fingers. Out of desperation he kissed her. It was a move right out of a fairy tale, but it seemed like a better option than slapping her.

  To his unending shock, it worked.

  “Michael, is this really the time or place for a make-out session?”

  She sounded more disgruntled than possessed. Her voice had lost the strange intensity of a moment ago.

  “Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re okay.”

  “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No idea. Oh wait, maybe it’s because you’re chatting with a ghost.”

  “I’m not talking to her, not really. I just…know what she wants. We’re not in danger, Michael.”

  He certainly didn’t believe that, but Mary sounded absolutely sure of it. He wrapped his arms around her as they watched the ghost.

  Iníon.

  He heard it again, and though the ghost’s lips didn’t move he knew she was the one who’d spoken. He looked down at Mary and with a click understood why the ghost had followed them.

  “Who is she?” Mary laid her cheek on his chest as she looked at the ghostly figure.

  A cloud passed in front of the moon, dampening what little light there was. In the darkness the woman seemed to glow. She wore rags, and thick chains hung from manacles at her wrists.

  “The servant girl,” Michael answered. “There were always stories about people who’d seen a woman wearing rags and chains wandering the halls. Sometimes they see her with a broom, as if she were still cleaning.”

  “Can we help her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They stood there, unsure what to do. Michael felt better out here in the open than he had inside the castle, but the figure was just standing there, as if she were waiting for something. If she were waiting for Mary to come up there she’d be waiting a long time. Though Mary said it wasn’t dangerous, Michael didn’t want her any closer to the ghost than they were now.

  “Look!”

  Mary pointed at the ghostly wolfhound. The animal headed for the terrace. The woman’s head turned to watch it come. As the wolf approached, the woman seemed to deteriorate, her dress shredding, long black lines appearing on her arms and face.

  “What’s happening to her?” Mary asked in horror.

  “I don’t know, but I think those are cuts, or scars.” Michael was born and raised in Glenncailty, and he knew that the castle’s history was dark and tragic, but if that girl really were a ghost of someone who had once lived here than it seemed even the darkest tales only touched on the true horror of this place’s past.

  The dog glided up the steps to stand beside the girl. She turned to look at them, and Michael instinctively pushed Mary behind him. The ghost’s mouth opened, her eyes sinking into her head. Michael had to fight the urge to run. What had been a bedraggled woman was now a mangled horror. Her jaw moved and he realized she was talking. He heard, though only faintly, snippets of words, all spoken in Irish.

  Before Michael could translate what she’d said a second figure appeared from the gardens. As they watched it walk towards the girl Michael got the strangest feeling that he was watching a play—that the ghosts’ appearance had nothing to do with him or Mary. They’d walked in on something that had happened long before they were born and might continue long after they were dead.

  The second figure, a wavering outline without the detail of the woman, mounted the steps to the terrace. It stopped before the girl, who had returned to her previous state—no more gaping wounds or eye-less sockets.

  “He loves her.”

  Michael looked to the side to where Mary was peaking out from behind his back. “What?”

  The figures embraced, for a moment becoming a single silver mass, before they separated. The new ghost turned and glided away, leaving the woman and the dog alone.

  “He loves her, but he’s leaving her there, and she’s hurting.” Mary’s words were laced with sadness.

  The moon emerged from behind the cloud, flooding the garden in pale light.

  The ghosts were gone.

  Mary looked up at Michael. She seemed as stunned as he felt.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  “I am. I was scared for a moment, but more than scared I’m sad for her, and for him.” Mary shivered.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  ~~~~

  Chapter Six

  The door they’d exited had locked behind them, but as they were circling the building looking for a way in the first of the kitchen staff arrived. After hearing a few minutes of their rambling story about ghosts he called the guest services manager. Ten minutes later they were seated on a couch in the formal front room with mugs of tea and the promise of scones.

  “Was that the man you told me about?”

  Michael looked at Mary, confused by her question. “What man?”

  “You told me that story when we saw the statue in Cailtytown about the man who got rid of the first Lord of Glenncailty. Maybe that was him. You said he had a dog kill the lord when he was hurting a woman. There was a man, a woman and a wolfhound. Maybe the woman the lord was hurting was the man’s wife, or girlfriend.”

  Michael stared at her in shock. He hadn’t seen enough of the second ghost to identify it as a man, but Mary seemed certain. Though he’d experienced the same thing she had, he hadn’t really tried to understand what was happening. His main concern had been keeping her safe.

  “If that’s true than I’m sad for both of them,” he said. “They can’t have had peaceful lives if they’re still here, wandering the grounds of the castle.”

  “It is sad, because he loved her. I know it sounds crazy but I could tell that he loved her.”

  “Ms. Callahan, I’m so sorry.” Sorcha bustled in. Despite the fact that she’d probably been pulled out of bed she was impeccably dressed in a suit with her nametag in place. “The kitchen is bringing you some breakfast momentarily.”

  Sorcha took a seat across from the couch where they were. “Please, tell me what happened.”

  Taking turns they explained what they saw. Sorcha’s frown deepened as they spoke. “I’m so sorry. Ms. Callahan, we’d be happy to help you move to a different hotel, and we will refund your stay.”

  Mary laced her fingers with Michael’s. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, it was more sad than scary.”

  The redhead l
ooked skeptical for a moment, before her face smoothed into a smile. “Well, we’d like to comp your room last night, and this evening we’ll have staff at the registration desk all night, if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” Mary nodded.

  Sorcha left to check on their food and bring fresh tea. Michael pulled Mary against his side.

  “Are you sure you’re okay in the hotel tonight?”

  “Yes, though it would be nice if I had someone to keep me company.” She fluttered her lashes at him.

  Michael laughed. “That I can do, pretty Mary.” He kissed her, but pulled away quickly. “I think I know why we saw the ghost.”

  ****

  “You do?” That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.

  “Did you hear a voice last night? Before the second ghost showed up?”

  Mary thought back. “I did, but it was just one word.”

  “I think it was the ghost talking. Talking to you.”

  “Well I could tell—or at least I thought I could—that she didn’t want to hurt us. She was trying to warn us about something.”

  “No us. You.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “The ghost said iníon. The ghost called you iníon.”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t remember what that means.”

  “Iníon means ‘daughter’ in Irish. The ghost called you ‘daughter.’”

  Mary felt her mouth drop open. She met Michael’s gaze, expecting him to laugh and tell her he was kidding, but he was serious.

  “So that ghost was…”

  “You great, great, great, many greats later, grandmother.”

  Mary shook her head. Somehow this information was more alarming than the ghost had been.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not? The Callahans have been in the glen as long as anyone can remember. The Callahans, the Donnovans and a few others are names as old or older than Glenncailty.”

  “That wasn’t random last night. The ghost was looking for me.” Mary shook her head. It felt like Chicago and her life there were worlds away from this pretty, haunted place.

  “Yes.”

  “And she was trying to warn me about something.”

  “Do you have any idea what?”