Mulligan Stew (41 page)

Riley growled and eased himself inside her. "Jaysus," he muttered. "You're so tight. So hot."

"So are you." She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "More."

Riley answered her plea, burying himself to the hilt. For a moment, he froze, waiting for the urge to burst to ease some before he dared move. Like millions of tiny fingers, her muscles gripped him, drawing him ever inward.

He'd known it would be this way with Bridget. From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd known. "Ah, but you feel so good."

She reached up to caress his nipples and he gasped. No woman had ever done that before, and he didn't realize it would feel so good.

He withdrew his full length—all but the very tip—and returned again and again. She clung to him now, riding along with him toward journey's end, her nipples brushing against his chest hair. She linked her ankles behind his waist, drawing him even deeper into her tightness.

She clenched him in a vise of pure pleasure; over and over as he drove into her, she demanded more. The wind howled louder, and lightning crashed nearby. He'd never known it to lightning this time of year, but he shoved the thought aside as he climbed higher.

She was a merciless lover—the best kind. She took and gave and took some more. He'd never known such a wild ride. Bridget was a woman who would always give and take. Always want him. As he would always want her.

The knowing made this even better. No more denials. He knew the truth now. He loved her. Only her.

Always her.

He loved her smile, her laughter, her beauty, her generous nature, and her cooking. Most of all, he loved her heart. Her tender, giving heart.

The explosion came. He plowed his seed deep, gave his love freely, pledged himself to her through action, if not word.

She shouted a single word that echoed from the high ceiling: "Bingo!"

With the storm raging outside, he slumped against her and whispered,
"A ghrá mo chroí."

Their hearts thudded in unison as their breathing returned to normal. Riley slid to his side to avoid crushing her, pulling her snug to keep her from catching a chill. She sighed and curled against him.

"That was nice."

"Nice
, is it?" He chuckled. "Only nice?"

"It was... spectacular."

"Better. My ego can handle spectacular."

"Riley?" she asked in the semi-darkness. "What did that mean?"

"What we did?" He pulled her closer, though he doubted he could ever be close enough to her.

"No, what you said."

"Bingo?"

"No, silly. That was me." She gave a throaty chuckle. "What
you
said."

He thought back, remembering.
"A ghrá mo chroí?"

"Yes, that." She rose up on her elbow to stare at him through the candlelight. "What does it mean?"

He caressed her cheek. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, and if you don't tell me, I'm letting Maggie do all the cooking after she gets back."

He shuddered against her. "You don't fight fair, lass. All right, I'll tell you if you promise not to let Maggie poison us all."

"I promise."

"A ghrá mo chroí
means... love of my life."

* * *

As the rain eased, they strolled from the castle to the cottage, where they spent the night in Bridget's bed. They made love again and again—each time more magnificent than the last.

Bridget stared at the window as the first streaks of dawn fanned across the sky. Riley slept at her side, his arms about her waist and his cheek pressed to her back. She smiled, remembering.

Love of my life.

Her heart fluttered and she bit her lower lip, praying it was true, and hadn't been merely the heat of passion talking. She loved Riley Mulligan with all her heart. After Culley, she'd never believed she would love another.

She loved Riley's strength, his passion, his tenderness. She loved his sense of honor, his gentleness, and the way he treated her son.

He shifted, and the pattern of his breathing told her he was awake. She rolled onto her back and gazed into his eyes. "Good morning," she said.

"The best." He kissed her and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. "Did I tell you I love you?"

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. "I love you, too." Relief and joy soared through her and she reached up to brush his hair away from his strong forehead. "So much."

"Bridget..." He sighed and she watched the internal struggle play itself out in his eyes. "I want to marry you, to make you my wife, to raise our children with you, to spend my life at your side."

She gasped and fought the urge to immediately agree. She had to use her brain—this was too important. "I... I want to say yes," she said.

"Want to?" He smiled. "Then say it, lass."

"Let me think about it today, and I'll give you my answer this evening." She caressed his morning stubble with the palm of her hand. "I want us both to have time to consider our future before we commit our lives to each other forever." Releasing a long, slow breath, she added, "Especially you, Riley. I want you to think this over very carefully before you decide."

"I've already decided, Bridget." His voice was husky with emotion. "I can't imagine living my life without you in my arms. I want to start every day of my life just like this."

She giggled, acutely aware of his erection pressing against her. "Hmm. Well, I rather like it myself, but just take this one day to make sure. Please?"

"Aye." He kissed her again, pressing her back against the feather bed. "I'm giving you something to carry with you the rest of the day, though."

She sighed as his mouth found her breast. Entwining her fingers through his hair, she held him against her. "Yes. Oh, yes."

Later—much later—they had a light breakfast before Riley left to fetch a cumbersome part he'd ordered for the tractor. Bridget waved from the front porch as he drove away in his truck. He blew her a kiss as he turned onto the road.

She loved that man, and hugged herself as he rounded the curve beyond
Caisleán Dubh
, heading toward the village. Maybe she should have agreed immediately to his proposal, because she wanted to marry him more than anything. She just wanted to make sure
he
wanted it as much. If she gave him time to ponder it and he still wanted it, then she would have her answer.

And she would become Mrs. Mulligan again. The thought brought a smile to her face as she watched the sun rise higher in the sky. After last night's storm, seeing the sunshine today made it even more perfect.

She closed the front door and headed toward the kitchen to clean up the breakfast mess, but a piece of folded, yellowed paper on the floor caught her eye. She stooped down and retrieved it from beneath Riley's desk, intending to lay it on top of the stack of Brady's research material, but curiosity prompted her to stand there, staring at it.

She unfolded it carefully, as it had grown brittle with age. She shouldn't, but it wasn't as if she were prying into Riley's personal papers. This was research material on the Mulligans and
Caisleán Dubh
, and she definitely had a vested interest in the castle's history.

The paper was a record of death, signed at the bottom by a priest. A powerful premonition swept through Bridget and her hands trembled as she read the deceased's name.

Bronagh Erienne.

Was Erienne her last name? It sounded like a middle name to Bridget. She kept reading and came to the full name near the bottom of the page. A sob erupted from her very soul.

"Oh, my God." She clawed at her throat with one hand, and a burning sensation washed through her. "Frye... like me." A lump formed in her throat and she struggled to breathe, rereading the entire document again. And again.

Bridget had always known her Frye roots were Irish, but she had no knowledge of what part of Ireland. She knew nothing at all about her family tree beyond Granny and Grandpa. Could she be a descendant of the same family?

She dropped into Riley's desk chair, confused. Was that why he'd called her Bronagh more than once? He hadn't last night, though, and she was glad. Their lovemaking had involved only them—she was certain of that. Even the castle's whispers had been absent.

Why? What had been different about last night?

She was spying, but this was
her
business, too. With trembling hands, she lifted the diary on the top of Riley's stack, finding a verse of some kind. The following pages described it as a spell cast by Bronagh's elderly aunt—a witch. The rest of her family had disowned the old crone, according to the priest's accounting. However, Bronagh had been kind to her aunt. Apparently, the old witch had cast a spell on
Caisleán Dubh
after Bronagh had plunged to her death from the tower. The aunt had also revealed that Bronagh had been with child at the time of her death.

The word "suicide" didn't appear in the documents, but it was certainly suggested. Bridget kept reading, then returned to the verse—the spell.

The cause of the alleged Curse of
Caisleán Dubh
?

"It all makes a sick sort of sense." She held the diary open to the spell and looked at the record of Bronagh's death again. The date leaped off the stiff parchment, stealing Bridget's breath.

Yesterday had been the anniversary of Bronagh Erienne Frye's suicide. And Aidan's wedding day, if the stories Bridget had heard were true.

The evidence made tears spill from Bridget's eyes. She had to add up the facts and use her brain. That was what Granny would have done, though sometimes the old woman's "facts" hadn't quite added up.

Shoving memories aside, Bridget scrubbed her eyes and focused on the evidence staring her in the face. The burning questions inside her would have to be asked.

And they would have to be answered.

Had Riley known about all this before he'd made love to Bridget in
Caisleán Dubh
?

She looked at the witch's spell again, her heart thundering.

A darksome curse on them that walke these halls

May they finde only death and miserie.

No joying be withstood within these walls—

Much daunted by sore sad despaire they be!

Until that cruell, disdayned destinie

Beguile them torne asunder with her power,

Rejoin the accurst for all eternity

with her so fierce bewronged within this tower

And ende this spelle, forever, in that blessed hour!

Bridget was a Frye. Riley was a direct descendant of Aidan Mulligan. Riley had seemed so relieved and happier these last few days. Was the reason because he'd discovered a way to remove the curse on his family? On
Caisleán Dubh
?

And ende this spelle, forever, in that blessed hour!

Did that mean the spell could only be broken on that date? She covered her face with her hands. If he'd known the words of the spell and the significance of the date....

"That son of a bitch!"

Riley had
used
Bridget to break the spell.

Chapter 20

Riley stopped at Harrigan's to pick up the part, only to find an "Out to Lunch" sign in the bloody window. He shoved his fists into his pockets and decided to pay Brady a visit now. His old teacher had planned to phone the parish in Kilmurray this morning. Maybe he'd learned something more.

He walked the two blocks to the Reardens' cottage and knocked on the door. Katie answered.

I'm the one who's fecking cursed.

"Riley," she said, obviously surprised. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose swollen.

She'd been crying. "Is something wrong?" he asked gently. "Are your parents and granddad well?"

"Aye." She opened the door and stepped aside. "She's won."