Finula stifled a yawn. Getting up so early to be ready for the 7 a.m. start after a late night working was taking its toll already. She glanced to the side of her. Marcus was busy concentrating on his driving, and soon they would be off the motorway and entering Shropshire. The journey hadn’t taken too long and it had passed particularly quickly as they chatted and laughed comfortably together. It occurred to Finula again how at ease he was when it was just the two of them, compared to his more serious, intense side when working. She wondered who else he could relax with, when he wasn’t amongst his colleagues.
Finula longed to learn more about Marcus. So far, he had been a closed book, never talking about his family or his past, and it had started to intrigue her. She only really knew what she had gleaned from looking him up online months ago; about his career and that he had been married once, briefly. He had talked a little about his mother, who had died last year, but there had been no mention of his father. Instinctively Finula had refrained from probing, sensing his need for privacy, but now she did want to know. After all, he knew all there was to know about her, didn’t he? He’d been living in her home for the past few weeks, got to know her dad, her friends, and was pretty hands on with her, she reflected happily. This weekend would bring them closer together. She hoped he’d really unwind and switch off, giving her his full attention.
She looked again at his profile. Hell, he was handsome, in a dark, brooding way that appealed to her. His forehead held a slight frown, as it so often did. Why? What was going on in that complex mind of his? Surely, it couldn’t always be work. He had once chastised her for being ‘all work and no play’ so he must appreciate a decent work-life balance. So, what exactly did he have on his mind? The words of the clairvoyant sprung into her head: Your revenge will not be sweet. What a strange thing to say and yet… it did seem to have had an effect on him at the time, for some reason.
‘Nearly there,’ he said, turning off the motorway junction. He glanced at her and smiled. It felt good having Finula by his side as he made his way home.
She was the only girl he’d brought back there. Usually he would date in London, where he frequently worked, and chose to keep his house as the safe, private haven he had bought it to be, tucked away in the Shropshire hills. But with Finula, it had seemed the most natural thing to do, to bring her back to share his world. His emotions for her had taken him by surprise. He had never expected to feel like this about anyone, especially so soon after his mammy’s death.
‘I must confess to having a peep at your house on the internet.’
Marcus grinned to himself; she was so open and honest. Many a girl wouldn’t have admitted to that, even if they had had a sneaky look.
‘Now, why am I not surprised to hear that, Finula?’ he chuckled, pulling onto a roundabout signposted ‘Deacon’s Castle’.
‘Deacon’s Castle, that sounds so quaint,’ remarked Finula.
‘It is. There’s lots of history to it. The village once had a castle owned by a rich deacon and when it was destroyed, the stones from the castle were used to build many of the surrounding buildings. The local pub, for one.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, we’ve picked a good time to come. There’s an arts festival here this weekend. It’s always a great atmosphere. There are flags hanging from the shops and bunting across the streets. There’s lots going on, with dance, music, singing, workshops and films, in all kinds of venues.’
‘Fantastic! When you say venues, do you mean shops and pubs?’
‘Not just that. Churches, libraries, hotels and galleries open up, too. The festival’s a big deal in Deacon’s Castle.’
‘Marcus, it sounds amazing!’ Finula could hardly contain herself.
Then, he carefully turned down a rural side road.
‘It’s a bit bumpy,’ he warned as the 4 x 4 jostled up and down the uneven dirt track, which ran up into the hills.
Eventually he pulled into a cobbled driveway and parked outside his home. Finula’s eyes widened with delight. It was every bit as pretty as she’d remembered from seeing it online, with its black timber frame, the white walls covered with ivy. The windows were leaded and had boxes underneath them containing bright winter pansies. The garden, although quite void of colourful plants, with it being November, was still perfectly maintained.
Together they carried their luggage to the front porch and, once inside, Finula was struck by how neat and tidy Marcus’ home was.
‘Who looks after your house when you’re not here?’ she asked. Clearly someone was keeping the place shipshape.
‘A couple from the village come once a fortnight to clean and garden.’ He smiled to himself again: she didn’t miss a trick. Her eyes were darting about the place, taking everything in, from the wood burner nestled inside an open brick fireplace, embedded with a driftwood mantle, to the wooden beams running along the ceiling, to the stone floor covered mainly with rag rugs. A rocking chair stood under a window, which looked out on to the lush jade hills. There was no television, nor any kind of music system that she could see, just bookcases crammed full of books, and magazines piled high on a coffee table. As if reading her thoughts Marcus explained.
‘I don’t like any form of distraction when I’m here. It’s strictly chill-out territory. In fact, you’ll struggle to get a signal for your phone, or internet connection.’
‘Is that why you bought this place?’ she laughed, ‘so no one can contact you?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, looking deep into her eyes. He moved to stand in front of her. Finula’s heart started to beat faster. ‘It’s just you and me now,’ he said quietly, and Finula’s legs went weak.
They spent the day exploring the many stalls, open studios and the artisan market that Deacon’s Castle Festival had to offer. Finula was captivated by the place. She loved wandering among the artists and crafts people selling their wares of furniture, jewellery, ceramics and silk. Inside the Public Hall, oil paintings, watercolours, textiles and cards were exhibited, whilst the Women’s Institute served afternoon tea under gazebos in the vicarage garden. Circus acts performed along the steep, narrow streets: jugglers, stilt walkers and unicyclists. A bake-off was taking place in a nearby café and a banquet was laid out in the restaurant next door. Classic films were played in the top room of the Deacon Castle Inn and a brass band could be heard playing from inside the church. All in all, it was magical and Finula was totally spellbound.
‘Oh, Marcus, it’s just wonderful!’ Her eyes shone with excitement.
‘I thought you’d like it,’ he replied, passing her a cup of mulled wine from a nearby stall. Dusk was falling now and the old Victorian streetlamps had started to glimmer, giving the little town an even more enchanting feel.
‘Let’s get something to eat.’ She pointed towards a spit roast on the side of the street.
‘Yeah, but let’s take it back.’ They’d spent all day at the festival and Marcus wanted a sit down, plus an Irish whiskey in front of his wood burner.
Within the hour the pair were munching their hog roasts, sipping whiskey in Marcus’ cosy lounge. He never drew his curtains, preferring to look out at the dark sky, scattered with stars like diamonds. Only the light from the fire filled the room. Finula hadn’t felt this relaxed for a long time and suspected Marcus hadn’t either.
Once they’d finished eating, Marcus refilled their glasses. She was sitting leaning against him on the sofa, totally at ease.
‘Marcus, tell me about your ex-wife,’ she asked quietly.
Although a touch taken aback by the question, he answered without hesitation.
‘I met Niamh at uni. We were together for two years, then married when we found out she was pregnant. Unfortunately, Niamh miscarried our baby and then… well, we drifted apart. We’re still good friends, though. I see her occasionally through work. She’s a researcher.’
‘Oh,’ Finula replied flatly. Marcus again smiled at her transparency.
‘I’m good friends with her husband, too. In fact, I’m godfather to their eldest son, Callum.’
‘Oh, right.’ She sounded a little perkier, making Marcus laugh out loud.
‘What?’ She looked up at him, bewildered.
‘You. You’re such an open book, Finula.’
‘I am not!’ she replied indignantly.
‘You so are.’
‘To be sure, I am not Marcus Devlin,’ she mimicked his Irish voice, badly.
‘That, darlin’, has got to be the worst Irish accent I’ve ever heard,’ he spluttered.
She loved the way he’d called her ‘darling’. Suddenly they caught each other’s eye and sat completely still until Marcus put his glass down. ‘This way,’ he said huskily.
He led her up the creaky, wooden stairs, ducked under the low beam on the landing and into his bedroom. It was small, containing only a double bed covered in a pale grey bedspread, and a bedside table. The room was filled with moonlight shining through the large, leaded window. Marcus took her in his arms and his mouth sought hers. Finula responded instantly, kissing him back urgently. She breathed him in, that sexy, tangy citrus fragrance he had, and pulled him closer. Marcus took a gentle handful of her hair and tugged her head further back to deepen his kiss. Finula’s hands moved over him, encouraging him out of his clothes. In moments he was stood naked in front of her. Her eyes devoured his broad, dark chest, hard, muscular thighs, slim waist and swollen erection.
‘I want you,’ she whispered as Marcus pressed his lips to the hollow at her throat and to the freckles that dusted her shoulders.
Feverishly he yanked her top off and unbuttoned her jeans. Soon their bodies were entwined on the bed. He eased back a little to savour the moment and ran his hands down the length of her naked, alabaster-white body, over the curve of her breasts, the swell of her stomach and the round of her hips. She felt soft and warm beneath his touch. He cupped her breasts as his lips and tongue sucked and licked them. He heard her moan. Then he slid his hands between her thighs and pushed them apart, feeling the slick heat and smoothness of her. ‘Finula,’ he groaned, easing himself between her legs. He edged into her, with infinite slowness and unhurried strokes. Her hands brushed his toned back as he thrust deeper, making her arch in pleasure. He started to move harder and faster, taking Finula into ecstasy, and she cried out his name as he finally exploded inside her. They held each other tightly. Marcus blinked back the tears in his eyes, which took him by surprise. He hadn’t felt this close to another person for such a long, long time. He rolled to one side and pulled her onto his chest. ‘Finula, you’re amazing,’ he said gently, kissing her head. Finula hugged him.
‘So are you,’ she whispered back.
Together they fell into a blissful sleep.