Chapter 19

How long could it take to fetch thatching supplies? A sense of urgency for the men’s return churned inside Moira, and she chided herself for it.

The kettle hung over the fire, ready to brew the finest cuppa in Gweedore. A small selection of tea cakes, biscuits, and brown bread lay in a flower-shaped pattern on a dainty platter.

Moira presumed Sean respected his mentor a great deal. Though a hand-trade, thatching was a highly respected profession in Ireland. She was determined to make a good impression.

Are you sure that’s all it is?

Anytime Sean’s name came up, those eyes floated in her mind, stealing her breath. Her attraction to the man made no sense. While she couldn’t deny the ruddy thatcher was handsome, she barely knew him. And most of the time she had known him, he had infuriated her.

The argument is better than the loneliness, her mother’s voice sang in her head. Moira remembered well her mother’s oft-used phrase. Moira first heard it when, as a child, she inquired about her parents’ playful, flirtatious banter. However, it then became a regular part of the reconciliation ritual after the more heated debates not uncommon to an Irish marriage.

She hated to admit it, but Moira certainly didn’t mind the kind of “arguments” in which she and Sean had engaged. Her stomach leaped at the memory of the sparkle in Sean’s eye when he had good-naturedly teased her about the fire in the schoolhouse. Then there was the ladder incident earlier today. Their eyes had locked, awakening feelings she didn’t know were possible from a simple look.

She clicked her tongue and shook the image from her mind. The man was as irritating as wet wool. She couldn’t let her need for companionship infuse affections where there were none.

A knock at the door interrupted her reverie. She pressed a hand to her abdomen and took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. When she opened the door, Sean stood there next to an older gentleman. Not as old as she had pictured but certainly old enough to be her father.

“Miss Moira Doherty, I’d like to introduce you to my mentor, Colm Sweeny.”

Moira dipped a shallow curtsy and Colm extended his hand. Moira accepted it. His sun-darkened hand immediately swallowed her small, pale one.

Standing a good six inches shorter than Sean, Colm wasn’t a large man by any stretch. But his hands! Massive, solid, and strong. They were rough from years of hard labor but not overly coarse.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” Colm tipped his hat and smiled. The light twinkled in his eyes, setting Moira at perfect ease. He reminded Moira of her father—God rest his soul. She loved him from the start.

“Thank you for coming.” She smiled. “I suppose you both will need to build your strength with a cuppa first?”

The men exchanged glances and Colm swiped his nose to the side.

“Sean, ya better not let this gairl get away. She’s got her priorities straight.” A breathy guffaw escaped Colm’s lips as he slapped his knee and strode inside to sit at the table.

Once again Moira’s cheeks warmed. She decided to ignore the heated glance Sean shot his mentor.

Grateful for the distraction, Moira turned to prepare the tea.

The trio drank in relative silence. Colm devoured so many cakes in such quick succession, Moira wondered if the man had eaten at all in a week. Just as the lads were finishing their final sips of tea, footsteps came scurrying up the path.

Moira looked out the window. “How lovely! Bríd’s just arrived.”

Bríd’s head poked in the open door. “Hallo? Anyone home?” A grin was plastered across her face.

The men uttered crumb-filled greetings, and Moira let her in, welcoming her friend with a warm embrace.

“I knew youse were comin’ to fix the roof and I wanted to make sure things were done properly, like.” She leveled a motherly glance at Sean first, then Moira.

Good grief, was the whole town going to involve themselves in this affair? Who knew a hole in the roof was so fascinating?

“How’s the schooling, peata?” Bríd asked, helping herself to a pinch of brown bread.

“Yes, does Muinteoir Sean need to make any house calls to unruly students?” Sean set a mock stern look on his face.

Moira poured a cup of tea for the newcomer. How much should she reveal about Áedach’s little rampage? Perhaps one of them would have some idea about what the lad could have meant with all the nonsense about secrets and whatnot. She decided to test the waters.

“It’s going fine, mostly.” She handed the tea to Bríd and leaned up against the windowsill. “Most of the children are lovely, and so eager to learn.”

Colm leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “I notice ya say moost of the children. Moost isn’t all, is it?”

A firm swat from Bríd displaced his elbows from the table.

Moira rolled her lips between her teeth, measuring how much to say.

“Well, Áedach—” A collective groan went up from her visitors at the mention of the lad’s name. “He’s been a bit of a scallywag from the beginning,” Moira continued. “Nothing I can’t handle, of course. But yesterday—”

Sean shot to his feet. “What? Yesterday what? Did that brute lay a finger on you? If he did, so help me . . .”

The group stared at Sean. Colm hid his mouth behind another slice of bread.

Sean’s face reddened and he cleared his throat before returning to his seat.

Moira tried not to find his ire, and chagrin, adorable.

Bríd rolled her eyes at the younger lad. “What happened yesterday, peata?”

“Well, he was waiting for me in the schoolhouse when I arrived. He cornered me. He said he knows ‘my secret’ and threatened to reveal it to the whole village.” She crossed her arms. “The peculiar thing is, I don’t have any idea what he’s talking about.”

Bríd and Colm shared a passing look.

Odd.

“What did he mean?” Sean questioned, looking from one person to the other. “What secret?”

Moira shrugged. “That’s just the thing. I haven’t the foggiest notion! I’ve only just arrived. What scandalous affair could I have drummed up in such a short time?”

Another glance flashed between Bríd and Colm. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at a shake of Bríd’s head, he promptly clamped it shut again. At least, Moira thought Bríd shook her head. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her.

The older woman sidled up next to Moira and laid a motherly arm across her shoulders. “Don’t ya be worryin’ about the likes of Áedach. I’m sorry if he scared ya. The lad doesn’t know what he’s sayin’.”

Moira searched Bríd’s face. Something akin to guilt or sorrow clouded the woman’s eyes. Moira didn’t know what to think. She looked at Colm, who was staring hard at a spot on the floor. Her eyes looked to Sean’s, hoping to find some sort of answer there.

Sean’s brow was furrowed, and a hand worked the back of his neck so hard she worried he would break the skin. Then he stopped and his gaze shot up to meet hers.

“You said this morn’ that someone had been skulking about the place. Leaving you . . . treats?” From the pinched arch of his brow Moira gathered he was angry or confused. Or both.

“I didn’t ask about it before,” he said, “because I was too, eh, distracted. By the damage to the roof.” His face flushed.

“Well, yes,” Moira offered. “I’ve found eggshells scattered around the entrance to the chalet a few times. Sinead says someone is trying to send the faeries to hurt me.” She shrugged and turned to stoke the fire.

“Perhaps it’s that dolt Áedach,” Bríd said a bit too quickly. “Maybe he’s just tryin’ to intimidate you with false claims of some saicrit and fake afflictions?”

Colm picked at a splinter in the table, keeping his eyes firmly planted below the gaze of the others.

“I don’t know.” Moira sighed.

Memories of her dreams floated to the forefront of her mind—visions of her mother entreating her to come to Ireland and save her. Could this be related to that? Moira resolved in her heart to find out.