Nora gave up trying to bicycle the narrow streets of Cong. Between the tour buses off-loading tour groups near the Quiet Man Museum and the hordes of tourists roaming the streets of the village, it was nearly impossible to ride without hitting someone or getting knocked off her bike. She dismounted and walked her bicycle to the shops she’d been planning to visit, tucking her purchases into her backpack. It had been hard at first to trust that she could leave her bicycle leaning against shops or parked in bike racks and find it still there waiting for her when she came back outside.
“You mean you wouldn’t do that back in the States?” Sheila had asked in astonishment.
The day was gorgeous, sunny and pleasantly warm. Rather than taking the river trail, she decided to ride the long way out to Ashford and take some photos. She pedaled her way out of town, past the abbey ruins and the old church where more tourists congregated, taking selfies. She wheeled along the tree-lined road and saw a familiar Land Rover approaching. It braked to a halt, and Craig leaned out the open window.
“Hello, Miss McNeill,” he called cheerfully. “How are you enjoying your summer?”
“It’s been wonderful,” Nora said. “I can’t believe a whole month has gone by already.”
“Heading to the castle?”
“Yes. I want to get some more photos for my family.”
“’Tis a grand day for it,” he said. “We’ll see you soon.”
She rode the rest of the way to the castle. Crossing the bridge with a wave to Rob, the uniformed guard, she spent the next few hours wandering the gardens. Here, too, many more tourists were out, making it nearly impossible to get images that didn’t have people in them. She focused on shots of plants and trees. Despite the increased numbers of tourists, the castle was spectacular, as always, pennants flying from the stone towers.
Deciding to treat herself, she rode back across the bridge to the Thatched Cottage for lunch.
She placed her order and tugged her iPad out of her backpack to check her most recent emails. About once a week, she brought her laptop to the nursery to connect to the internet and catch up, but she hadn’t done it yet this week.
She smiled as she saw five messages from her family. The smile slid off her face as she saw the sixth message.
Amy.
Nora hesitated, not really sure she wanted to open it. At last, she clicked on the message.
Hey, you must be having a good vacation, since you haven’t had time to write. Thought I’d hear something from you after four weeks. A postcard or an email.
I’ve been thinking I might come over to see you. Spend a couple of weeks. Let you show me around.
What do you think? Write back when you can. I’ve been looking into flights.
Love,
Amy
Nora slumped back against her chair, staring at the tablet.
“More water?”
Nora jumped and quickly flipped the cover over the screen. “Sorry, what?”
Her server stood next to her with a pitcher of iced water. “A refill?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“You’re Nora McNeill, right?”
“Um, yes. How did you know?”
The young woman grinned. “I’m Liam’s sister, Mary. He said he’s seen you around the stables and that you’re working with Sheila at the nursery.”
“I am.”
“That’s nice.” Mary looked for a moment as if she was going to ask a question but just said, “I’ll leave you, then. Have a good day, Miss McNeill.”
Nora opened her iPad again and dashed off replies to her family, giving her parents and sisters the same updates about working at the nursery and the price of groceries at the market and going for another ride with Briana. But with her message to her grandparents, she hesitated. After some thought, she typed,
Mamma and Pop,
I met a woman named Aoibheann Ní Mheolchatha. Do you remember her? She remembered you. She’s fascinating. Seems to know a lot of the history of this area. I’m particularly interested in the history of my cottage. Sure wish I could see you both face to face.
Love you,
Nora
She hit Send and bit her lip, pausing a few moments over Amy’s email. She had time to think about it. Coward, she chided herself as she closed her iPad case and stuffed it back into her bag.
Briana sat at the computer in the office at the private stable, scowling at the monitor. Vaguely, she was aware of boots clomping by outside, then heard them stop and return.
“You know, computers are like horses, they can tell when you’re afraid of them,” Liam said, leaning around the doorway.
She turned her scowl on him. He just laughed, coming in and folding his lanky frame to sit in the chair next to the desk, crossing his freckled arms over his chest.
“What are you trying to do, squint?” he asked.
Not accustomed to explaining herself—when was the last time you had anything to explain?—she belatedly tried to close the browser, but Liam’s quick eyes caught the image.
“The Cliffs of Moher? Are you taking a sightseeing tour, then?”
She felt that cursed telltale heat creep up her neck to her cheeks. “I just thought, since Nora McNeill hasn’t seen anything but Cong and a bit of Dublin, she might want to take a couple of days and…”
Liam’s freckled face split into a wide grin. “That’s a grand idea. Mary said she waited on Nora at the Cottage yesterday. She was on her tablet, I suppose getting messages from home. Said she looked upset.”
Briana’s eyes left the computer to focus on him. “Upset? About what?”
“No idea. Bad news? Mary didn’t think it was her place to ask.” He pointed at the computer as he got to his feet. “Anyway, this sounds like it might be a good distraction.”
He left her to check some other websites, printing off a few pages.
Absently, she chewed on a fingernail, wondering what kind of bad news Nora might have received. Someone sick back home, maybe. But she had a feeling in her gut that told her it wasn’t that. She turned the computer off and went to her cottage. Leafing through the pages she’d printed, she wondered why she was even doing this. It was stupid to let herself care about someone who was going to leave in a couple of months. The whole reason she’d never let herself get involved with anyone when she was racing was the unpredictable gypsy lifestyle they all led. It had never been worth the heartache to let herself care for someone who wasn’t going to be around.
If her gut was right, if Nora’s bad news had to do with the woman she’d been involved with, then this idea was for naught. That thought brought her to an abrupt stop.
Why are you doing this?
What had started as a good-natured gesture had begun to change into something else in the shadows at the back of her mind, and she wasn’t ready to stare at the something else in the light.
She tossed the pages onto her table and headed back outside to work with another of the yearlings.
An aromatic steam rose from a pot on the stove. Nora crushed lavender with a mortar and pestle while Sheila added other oils to a large pot, stirring the thick, creamy concoction inside, as it bubbled sluggishly like white lava.
“This smells so good,” Nora said.
“It works as good as it smells,” Sheila said. “If I say so myself. Nothing better for your skin.”
The shop bell rang.
“Give this a stir every minute or so, will you?”
Sheila left to tend to the customers, while Nora continued grinding and stirring. Steam from the pot moistened her face. The warmth felt good, chasing away the chill from a damp ride to the nursery that morning.
When the customers left, Sheila came back and peered into the stone mortar. “I think that’s fine enough.”
“Do you only sell your products here? I thought I saw some in town.”
Sheila took over the stirring and added Nora’s crushed lavender to the pot. “Several of the gift shops in the village stock them. I thought about opening a shop of my own, but it’d be one more thing to juggle. This works best.”
They worked in silence for a bit, letting the mixture distill. At some point that was evident to Sheila, she slid the pot off the burner.
“We’ll let that cool and then put it in the jars there.”
They went to the sink to wash their implements.
“Any sign of Móirín?” Sheila asked.
“Nothing,” Nora said glumly. “I finally have a name, and she’s not shown herself once in these past few nights since we talked with Eve.” She paused. “I’ve wondered if I should ask Eve to come to the cottage. She seems to have a way about her.”
Sheila chuckled, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “She does that.”
“How old is she?”
“I’ve no idea.” She flicked a glance in Nora’s direction. “My Gran remembers her from when she was young. Says Eve hasn’t changed at all.”
“That’s impossible.” Nora stared. “But somehow it doesn’t surprise me. I just wrote my grandparents that I met her. Can’t wait to hear back from them.”
“It is a bit eerie, how she never seems to age.” Sheila filled the kettle. “Time for a break.”
Rusty stirred himself from his nap to sniff hopefully as Sheila placed a jar of cookies—biscuits, Nora remembered—on the table.
“How are your family?” Sheila asked.
Nora retrieved a couple of mugs from the cupboard. “They’re fine. Getting ready for a Fourth of July picnic at my mom and dad’s house this weekend.”
“Can’t believe you’ve been here more than a month already. Do you miss them?”
“I do, but I’ve loved every minute here.”
“Then what’s wrong? You sound… not quite happy.”
“I got an email yesterday. Well bunches of emails. But one in particular.”
Sheila lifted one eyebrow. “From what’s-her-name?”
Nora sighed. “Yeah. Amy. Wants to come here for two weeks. Have me show her around.”
Sheila’s eyes flashed, but then she carefully composed her face. “What do you want to do?”
Nora snorted. “I don’t want to waste any of my precious summer with her.”
“Then tell her so.”
Nora’s doubt must have shown on her face because Sheila said, “Not in those words. Look, you told me you waited and planned a long time for this summer. To get away and do what you wanted for a change. Don’t lose that.”
She poured the hot water in the mugs and joined Nora at the table. Opening the jar, she took a couple of biscuits, giving one to Rusty who was now sitting at her feet.
“You’re right.” Nora broke a ginger cookie in half, taking a bite. “I’ve got to find a way. It just feels selfish. I feel guilty even thinking that it would waste my summer to have her here, but I know what it would be like. She’d take over, plan everything. And I would let her.”
Sheila tilted her head as she regarded Nora. “Why would you?”
Nora huffed out a breath. “Because that’s what I do. It’s easier than arguing. Everyone around me is better at making decisions. Better at everything.”
“Bollocks. That can’t be true.”
“Well, it feels true. It’s not just my lack of accomplishments compared to them.” Nora frowned at her cookie, deliberately avoiding Sheila’s gaze. “My dad took over my grandfather’s electrical business and grew it into this big company. He’s still handsome. My mom has this gorgeous head of silver hair and produces amazing pottery. My oldest sister looks just like her—beautiful now, and she’ll still be beautiful as she gets older and continues showing her watercolors. The two younger ones are like pixies—cute and petite—and they’re both teachers. One teaches music and the other art. And then there’s me, all clumsy and—”
“Don’t say you’re ugly,” Sheila cut in. “Because you’re not a’tall.”
“Thanks for saying that,” Nora said, though she didn’t believe it. “But it’s not only looks. They’re all artistic and creative, or have built something. My life is dull. I’m dull.”
“You’re nothing of the sort,” Sheila insisted.
“But I am,” Nora said firmly. “And I’ve realized I kind of set my life up that way. I’m just a librarian.” She ignored Sheila’s scoff. “Work and my cat and my books. It was safe and predictable. Amy liked it well enough because I never had anything else more exciting to do than hang with her every weekend. But I don’t want to any longer. I want my life to be different.”
“You could tell her you’ve met someone,” Sheila suggested. “Isn’t that what she did to you?”
“Well, yeah, she did, but…”
“Haven’t you?”
Nora felt her cheeks burn. “What do you mean?”
One corner of Sheila’s mouth twitched. “What’s with you and Briana?”
“Nothing’s with me and Briana.” Nora hid her face behind her mug.
It was Sheila’s turn to snort. “Not that I’m an expert in lesbians and their mating rituals…”
Nora sputtered as her tea went down the wrong way.
“…but it sure seems to me, judging from the way you look and then don’t look at each other, that there’s something going on.”
Nora covered her mouth, coughing to clear her airway. “Briana…” she rasped when she could talk. “She… she drives me crazy!”
Sheila grinned. “So does Quinn. Maybe that’s the best kind. He’s down-to-earth, not one for romance. There’s no poetry or roses. He comes in with horse shite on his boots, smelling of hay and horses, most times not until after dark. He works his tail off at the stable and then hauls mulch for me. He fills my car with petrol and inflates the tires when they run low. I’ve learned to be content with those more practical signs of his love.”
She hesitated. “And he got me through the worst time I’ve ever known when Annie died.” She couldn’t continue for a moment. “Just when I think he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body, he’ll bring me a wildflower he spied on the side of the road that made him think of me. I can’t help but love that man. My guess is Bri would be much the same if you gave her that chance.”
Nora ducked her head, staring hard at the cookie crumbling in her fingers, wishing she could stop blushing.
“Are you telling me you don’t feel anything for her?” Sheila pressed.
“No. I’m not saying that.” Nora felt as if the words were being dragged out of her. “Sometimes, I think she likes me, and then other times…”
Sheila leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “But how do you feel?”
Nora cocked her head as she struggled to answer. “I’m only going to be here for a few months. I wasn’t looking for… anything.”
“Sometimes that’s when it comes,” Sheila offered sagely. “When we’re not looking.”
Nora gave a half-laugh. “I couldn’t manage a full-time relationship with Amy who was only an hour away. How can—”
“You knew better than to try a full-time relationship with her,” Sheila interrupted. “There’s a difference.”
Nora frowned as she slowly spun her tea mug around and around. “I don’t think I can love the way other people do. The way you and Quinn do. All in, holding nothing back.”
“Bollocks again,” said Sheila firmly. “Since the day you got here, you’ve been one of the most open, giving people I’ve ever met.”
“That’s different,” Nora protested. “You and Quinn are family. Romance is different.”
“You just have to meet the right person,” Sheila insisted.
“I don’t know,” Nora countered. “I’m not sure I’m built that way.”
Sheila helped herself to another biscuit. “When did you become such a cynic?”
“Am I?” Nora pursed her lips as she considered. “Maybe I am. I’ve read about love all my life, in thousands of books. I’ve wished for it. Thought I’d found it once, but it didn’t feel the way everyone says it should.”
She reached for another cookie, and Rusty quickly repositioned himself, resting his paw on her foot to remind her he was there. She broke a bite off and offered it to him.
“If this summer has given me anything,” she mused, “it has been time to think.” She slid one of Sheila’s candles near, tracing a fingertip over the vines on the label. “A bittersweet garden. That’s what I think the heart is. Everyone writes about love and joy and hope with flowery language, and all of it lasting for the rest of our lives. But how often does that happen? I think there’s more pain and loneliness and heartache when you wish and pine for something that isn’t there. We pray the lovely things will bloom, but so often the thorns take over, obscuring everything else.”
Sheila reached across the table and clasped Nora’s hand. “But does it follow that the thorns choke out the beauty? Even bushes with thorns bloom. And when the thorns are carefully cleared away, who knows what you might find?”
Nora felt a sudden tightness in her throat. She stared hard into Sheila’s eyes, demanding the truth. “Do you really believe that?”
Sheila smiled. “I do. Truly.”
A loud crack of thunder shook the eaves, startling Nora awake. She lay for long minutes, listening to the lashing of the rain and the rumbling echoes of the thunder even as new forks of lightning strobed through the night. She got out of bed to close the windows. Though they’d been lowered, a bit of rain was blowing in. When she turned around, the lilac-like scent of bird cherry filled the room.
“Móirín?” she said softly. “Móirín Ní Ceallaigh, are you here?”
In response, the fragrance grew stronger, enveloped her.
Nora sat cross-legged on her bed. “What do you need? How can I help you?”
Faintly, so faint under the continued rumbling of thunder that Nora wasn’t certain at first she’d heard it, came a whisper.
“Rowan.”
Nora gasped. “Who was Rowan? Móirín, what do you want from me?”
The air suddenly reverberated with the sound of weeping, and a gust of wind swept the curtains. Nora held her breath, but everything became still inside the room. Only the rain and the receding thunder could be heard.
She lay back down, listening through the fading sounds of the storm. The rolling rumbles of thunder in the distance lulled her back to sleep. And in her dreams, a child laughed.
Briana paced back and forth, all of ten strides from her tiny kitchen out to her sofa and back again. Shannon, tired of watching her human act so strangely, lay with her head resting on her paws. Only her eyes moved, following Briana’s trek to and fro.
“It’s just a kindness,” she said to Shannon. “Like our trip to Dublin, right?”
Shannon’s tail thumped in response.
“I’m just offering to take her to see a bit of Ireland while she’s here.”
Only it didn’t feel like just a kindness. It felt like a date. A date with a potential for overnights together somewhere. Not that Briana knew what that actually felt like. She’d never spent a night with a lover. There were precious few female jockeys, but plenty of women who were grooms and exercise riders. Back when she was racing, it was easy enough to scratch that itch. Furtive glances, lingering smiles—a kind of secret communication that led to quick grapples in an empty stall or a caravan, but she’d always left immediately after.
Maybe the invitation to accompany her to Dublin had been a casual suggestion to allow Nora to sightsee, but the conversation on the way home, the things they’d shared with each other…
Briana stopped and squeezed her eyes shut.
It’s different now, and you know it is, said an annoying voice in her head. And what happens if you ask her and she says no?
That stopped her in her tracks.
“Ah, Briana, you’re a fecking idjit.”
A sudden ruckus from outside jolted her from her thoughts. She sprinted through the door, Shannon on her heels, to find utter chaos. The first thing that registered was that Lizzy was going berserk. The gray mare was bucking and racing around her paddock, neighing wildly. Not even the presence of Stubbs was calming her. She had a split second thought that the mare might accidentally kick him as he tried to follow her.
She barely had time to notice that Nora McNeill was there, standing beside her bicycle near the barn where an unfamiliar pickup had just driven up. The man who got out of it—a balding, unshaven man with a cigarette hanging from his lips—made for the paddock gate, weaving as he walked. He was soft, gone to seed, but underneath that, he was thick and heavily muscled.
Lizzy flattened her ears and rushed the fence with her teeth bared. The man fell back, cursing.
“You worthless sack of shite,” he growled.
Briana ran to the enclosure. “Get away from my horse, Rafferty.”
Rafferty turned on her, swaying. The long ash from his cigarette dropped onto his stained shirt, but he seemed not to notice. “Your horse?” He peered at her with his bloodshot eyes. “I remember you, you little runt.”
Briana’s nostrils flared at the combined stench of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes. She positioned herself between him and the fence, Shannon at her side. “I was big enough to give a black eye the last time we met.”
“You cost me my job!” he roared.
Liam appeared at her other side. “Clear off.”
“Where’s Quinn Donnelly?” Rafferty demanded. “I want my goddamned horse back!”
“We bought her,” Briana said. “She’s not yours. Never was.”
Only then did she see the thick riding crop in the brute’s hand. Behind her, Lizzy’s terrified neigh went through her like a knife. His knuckles tightened on the crop’s handle. Before he could raise his arm, she launched herself at him, throwing all of her weight into a punch that landed in his soft gut. When he doubled over, gasping for air and grabbing his belly, she yanked the crop out of his hand and planted her other fist in his face. The stub of his cigarette went flying and blood poured from his nose. He lurched forward, bellowing like an angry bull, throwing a ham-fisted punch.
Briana ducked but not fast enough. His fist caught her cheek, knocking her sideways.
Liam seized her from behind, plucking her up as easily as a sack of potatoes. Rafferty put his hand to his nose, his lip curling as he looked at the blood.
“You bitch!”
Shannon leapt in between them, a fierce growl vibrating from deep within her chest. Dilly raced from the barn to stand between her front legs, his hackles up, barking furiously. Rafferty staggered back a step.
“I suggest you clear off,” Liam said again. “Before we loose the dogs on you.”
By this time, Nora had joined them, though she hadn’t said a word. Rafferty glared at them, but retreated to his truck, wiping at his bloody nose and keeping a baleful eye on Shannon, who continued to growl menacingly.
“Put me down,” Briana said as the pickup lurched down the drive.
Liam set her on her feet. He tried to take a look at her face, but she wrenched free and went to the horses. She easily wriggled between the fence slats and stood, her arms open. Stubbs trotted to her immediately, but Lizzy stood back, trembling. Briana crooned meaningless words to Stubbs, patting him. He followed her as she slowly approached the mare.
“You’re all right now,” she murmured. “He’s gone. He won’t hurt you. We’ll never let him hurt you again.”
Lizzy took one step and then another, until she could press her pretty face into Briana’s chest. Slowly, under Briana’s soft strokes, her trembling ceased.
Briana turned at the sudden sound of truck tires on the gravel, afraid the bastard had come back, but it was Quinn.
He jumped out. “I saw Rafferty just now. What the hell happened?”
Briana gave the horses a final pat and climbed back through the fence.
Quinn gaped at her. “And what the hell happened to you?”
He took her chin and tipped her face to inspect the cheek that Briana only now realized was throbbing like a toothache.
“She was brilliant,” Nora said, her eyes shining.
Briana forgot her bruised cheek as Liam and Nora both babbled about the encounter. Quinn turned to her with a grin.
“You gave him a bloody nose?”
Briana lifted one shoulder. “You got to last time. Bastard didn’t learn the lesson.”
Quinn burst out laughing. “I’m guessing he won’t try for a third.” He pointed to her face. “We’d better get some ice on that.”
“I’ll do it,” Nora offered.
Briana thought she heard a muffled snigger from Liam as Nora took her by the hand and led her back to her cottage.
“Sit down,” Nora said when they entered the kitchen.
Briana reluctantly let go of Nora’s hand and sat.
“This place is cute,” Nora said as she went to the refrigerator and got a few ice cubes from the freezer. Wrapping them in a towel, she joined Briana at the table, gently placing the cold compress on her cheek. Briana winced.
“I’m sorry,” Nora said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” Briana responded, putting her own hand over Nora’s when she started to pull away.
Nora was so close, Briana could see herself in those brown eyes. For a long moment they sat like that, Nora cradling the ice to Briana’s cheek with Bri’s hand over top of Nora’s.
Nora’s eyes shifted as she reluctantly tugged her hand free. “Your knuckles, too.”
She got another towel and some more ice to apply to Briana’s swollen knuckles. Briana lost track of time as Nora held her hand, leaning dangerously close, close enough to—Shannon pawed at the door with a loud bark.
Nora jumped and got up to go let Shannon in.
“I’m okay,” Briana said as Shannon laid her head in her lap with a soft whine. “You were brilliant.”
“You both were,” Nora said. “You were fantastic.”
“Not so fantastic. I should have ducked faster.”
Nora laughed. “But that jerk got the worst of it.”
“He did that.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Why are you here?” Briana asked at last.
“I was coming by to see if you wanted to take Lizzy and Stubbs for another ride, but I guess today isn’t such a good day for that.”
“Probably not.” Briana’s heart sank.
“I work with Sheila tomorrow. How about Thursday?”
“Thursday would be perfect.”
“Okay.” Nora stood. Her gaze flicked to the printouts from the computer, still lying on the table. “Taking a trip?”
“No,” said Briana. “I mean, yes. Maybe.”
Nora frowned in bewilderment.
Briana took a deep breath. “I was doing some research on places, just in case…” Her words came all in a rush. “Do you want to see some other parts of Ireland while you’re here?”
A slow smile spread across Nora’s face. “I’d like that. Very much.”
“Okay.” Briana remembered to breathe. “Okay.”
Despite the chill February day, Callum’s face glistens with sweat as he pumps the forge bellows for his da. With each heave, the air blasts the coals, shooting sparks up and making the flames surge. Donall withdraws the white-hot metal out of the fire and lays it on the anvil, striking it with his hammer, over and over until the iron begins to cool too much to beat. He shoves it back into the flames.
“Take a rest, boy.”
He dips into a nearby bucket of water, handing the cup to his son, who drinks deeply. Then he drinks.
“How much longer?” Callum asks, dropping to a bench to rest.
“Till the work is done,” Donall says. “We’re lucky to have the castle sending work our way. The plowshares we’re repairing here, plus the hay rakes and pitchforks. We’ve enough to keep us busy into the summer. Hopefully, the family will be back in the fall for another hunting party, and we’ll be needed again. Never turn down work, Callum.”
The boy scowls. “Rowan’s not working.”
“Your ma is just starting to make new liveries for the butler and the footmen. She needs help, and Rowan is working with her.”
“She’s not. I saw her out there.” He points toward a nearby field.
Donall shields his eyes and searches the tall grass for any sign of movement. “Rowan? Rowan!” He shakes his head when he receives no answer. “That girl. Sometimes I swear the sióg switched our babe for an impostor.”
He tousles his son’s hair. “Come. That iron should be ready to strike again.”
Out in the field, Rowan giggles when she hears her da calling to her. Ducking down so she’s out of sight, she picks flowers. Flowers for Mam, so she won’t be sad. She sees her mother cry when she thinks no one notices, and she hears her weeping at night, hears her da comfort her. There’s so much sadness everywhere lately.
But flowers make Mam smile. She’s gathered so many, she can’t hold them all. She uses her skirt as a basket, plucking still more.
She roams far across the fields, so far that she can no longer hear the strike of the hammer in the forge. Beyond the fields of waving grass and wildflowers, there are the woods, with flowers of their own. Snowdrops and blackthorn. And more. There are the little lights that beckon, that call to her.
She carefully sets her flowers down and wanders into the forest shadows.