Mulligan Stew (43 page)

Something white came flying toward him. He ducked and the plate shattered on the marble floor. "Jaysus." He continued toward her, dodging flying saucers of the earthly kind all the way. "Stop, Bridget!"

"Don't you mean
Bronagh
?" she asked, her voice icy.

He stopped a few feet away, gazing up into her face. She'd been crying, and she held a flashlight in one hand and a plate in the other. "No," he said quietly. "I said Bridget and that's what I meant."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She stood there on the steps, a plate clutched in her hand.

He shook his head. "You'll have to be more specific, lass. Tell you about what?"

"About Bronagh Erienne
Frye.
"

"How did you—" Riley stopped and drew a deep breath. "Who told you? I just found out my—"

"I found her death certificate, or whatever they called it back then." She dropped her arms to her sides, still holding the plate.

A basket of plates sat on the step at her feet. She'd come well-armed.

"I saw the date, Riley. The
date
." She flung the plate, barely missing his head.

Now he was really confused. "What date, lass?" He shrugged. "I just saw Brady this afternoon, and he showed me his notes." He withdrew the paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. "Aye, it says Frye."

"You expect me to believe you didn't
know
?" Her voice trembled and she bit her lower lip. "That you didn't sleep with me just to stop your silly old curse?"

He took a step toward her, but she retreated a step, steadying herself with her hand on the wall—not the banister. "Bridget, it wasn't like that." He reached toward her. "Come down here and let's talk about it, luv."

"Don't call me that."

"All right." Riley couldn't lose her now, and he didn't deserve to lose her. "Bridget, it's the truth. I didn't know her last name until today. Brady will vouch for me."

"You... you didn't see the death certificate before...?"

"No. I did
not
."

"Well..."

"Come, lass." He held his hand out to her and thunder shook the ground beneath them. "I came here to tell you what I learned today, because I don't want to begin our marriage with secrets. We're meant to be together, but we knew it before we saw the bloody name."

"I want to believe you," she whispered as lightning flashed, illuminating the chamber.

He took another step, slowly closing the gap that separated them—physically and emotionally. "I love
you
, Bridget. I wouldn't care if your name was Bridget Elizabeth Francesca Martini instead of Frye."

She smiled.

"Ah, there's me lass." He was at the bottom step now, reaching for her. "Come with me. Let's talk about our marriage. Our future together."

"I..." She retreated another step. "I'm not sure."

"Don't go up the stairs, Bridget," he said. "It's dark. You could fall."

"Like Bronagh...?"

"You aren't Bronagh."

"I... I'm not so sure."

"What?" Riley climbed up one step. "Even if the spell the witch cast is true, it doesn't matter. You've proven we can enter
Caisleán Dubh
without dropping dead."

"Yes." Her voice sounded vague and distant. "But the dreams, Riley."

Aye, the dreams.
He exhaled very slowly, deciding to tell her everything. "I had dreams, too." She gasped and he added, "About Aidan and Bronagh."

"Not yourself?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"And Bronagh? Not... me?"

He swallowed hard, trying to find the words to explain it all. "I can't deny there's something special—even powerful—between us, Bridget." He shrugged. "Maybe we're soul-mates. Maybe, you were Bronagh and I was Aidan. Who knows? Does it really matter, since we love each other?"

"I do love you," she said. "But..."

"But what?" He took another step, but she retreated two more. She still had the flashlight, but all the circular artillery sat safely on a lower step.

"The dreams. I need to understand them. I think they took place here in the castle."

"Aye," he said. "I felt it, too."

"When we were here with the inspector, I had... images flashing through my mind of myself with my dream lover." She gave him that sad smile again. "With you."

Riley's throat went dry and he could barely swallow. "Aye. I know." He reached again. "Come down here so we can kiss and make up proper."

"What about the date, Riley?" she asked. "Did you know that yesterday was the anniversary of Bronagh's death?"

Taken aback, Riley narrowed his gaze. "The devil, you say?" He raked his fingers through his hair. "No. I didn't know. Are you very sure about this?"

"Yes." Her voice was calmer now, but she made no effort to halt her slow but steady retreat up the stairs. "I want to believe you," she repeated. "I need to understand all this. I need to know the whole truth."

The wind outside whipped through the opening. The doors behind him groaned and shuddered. He looked over his shoulder as thunder again reverberated through the castle. Lightning flashed overhead. Had it been inside the castle? No, of course not.

He turned to Bridget again.

But she was gone.

Chapter 21

Bridget's heart hammered as she raced up the steps, being careful not to touch the banister. She needed to see more of
Caisleán Dubh
. She
had
to know if she was Bronagh. It sounded crazy, yet in a way it all made sense.

She was a Frye, like Bronagh. She'd fallen in love with not one, but two Mulligan men. She heard the castle's whispering, especially now as it seemed to urge her up the circular stairs.

What was happening to her? Was she
becoming
Bronagh? No, that was ridiculous. She was Bridget and she wasn't about to fling herself to her death from the top of the tower.

But she needed to see the room where her dreams had taken place. Aidan's bedchamber. It had to be. Somehow, she knew exactly where she would find it. She didn't pause to wonder why now, but she would later. How could she not?

She ventured through an archway at the next floor, rather than continuing up the stairs. Mr. Kelley had said the master bedchamber was on this floor. Hadn't he?

Riley called her name, and guilt niggled at her. "I'm here, Riley," she said. "I'm all right. I just have to see."

"I'm coming, too."

"Be careful." She couldn't bear for anything to happen to him because of her impulsiveness. After all,
she
had the flashlight.

Another thunderclap shook the castle as Bridget shoved on a heavy planked door. It squealed in protest, and the shutters covering the windows inside burst open, admitting a fierce gust of wind that almost slammed the door in her face.

Bridget screamed, taking several seconds to recover her ability to breathe. The gale stirred the dust in the room and she sneezed.

Riley came in behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You scared me out of my wits."

"I... I'm sorry. I had to see." Only a little twilight remained outside, as she aimed her flashlight at the huge object in the corner. A bed. "Aidan's?"

"I... I think so," Riley whispered.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by another, and another. "Yes," she said. "I've seen it before." A shudder rippled through her and she walked slowly toward it, knowing Riley was right behind her. "They made love here. They made a child here—a child who never took his first breath." A sob choked free from her throat and she bit down on her knuckles to silence herself.

"Aye." Riley's voice sounded odd. Respectful.

"You know it's true," Bridget said. "Their spirits live on inside us. Riley, it's
true
!" She turned in a slow circle, noticing the huge hearth across from the window. "They made love in front of the fire, too."

"Aye." Riley exhaled very slowly, sliding his arms around her from behind.

Though the dreams had worried her, now that she knew the truth, a sense of peace washed over her. She leaned back against his broad chest, feeling his love and his strength. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Loving me."

He turned her slowly in his arms as another blast of wind made the shutters close and open again and again. "I
do
love you, no matter when or if our spirits ever lived or loved before." He kissed her and she returned the kiss with a passion that left him weak in the knees.

She came up for air. "I love you, too."

The wind died. The thunder and lightning ceased.

He took Bridget's hand in his and led her to the window. A full moon broke through the clouds, bathing the farm and the sea below them in silver.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Aye." He slid behind her again with his arms about her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. "I'm thinking that when we renovate the castle, we shouldn't stop with the ground floor."

"No?" Her pulse quickened. "For the bed and breakfast?"

"Not all."

"I'd like that."

"Would you...?" He kissed the side of her neck.

Bridget melted into him, remembering the image she'd had of him holding her just this way. "Bronagh wanted to live here," she said. "And so do I."

"Then you shall." He held her close. "
We
shall."

"Yes." Bridget smiled to herself, feeling at peace for the first time in a very long time. "Bronagh loved Aidan with all her heart."

Riley sighed. "I know she did. And he loved her."

Bridget nodded. "It was awful for them both."

He nodded against her. "It's over now."

Bridget turned in his embrace and gazed into his handsome, moonlit face. "No, it's not over."

He flashed her that crooked grin that made her dizzy with desire.

She reached up to caress his cheek. "I will marry you, Riley Francis Mulligan," she said, and the whispering of
Caisleán Dubh
embraced them with joyous song.

"Thank the Blessed Virgin and all the saints." Riley spun her in a circle, then set her back on her feet as the whispering ended. "We'll make this old castle a real home, Bridget. For us, for Jacob, for all the brothers and sisters we'll create for him...."

"Oh, yes," she breathed, closing her eyes and seeing Aidan and Bronagh as they had been before the tragedy. In her heart, she bid them farewell, but it wasn't the end—not for any of them.

"It's time to come home."

Epilogue

Riley stood in the main chamber of
Caisleán Dubh
, gazing up at the restored portrait of his ancestor, Aidan Mulligan. After the grime and damage from moisture, salt, and age had been repaired, it became clear that Riley definitely resembled Aidan.

However, staring into Aidan's eyes was more like staring into the eyes of Patrick Mulligan twenty-one years ago. It comforted Riley to see the resemblance—and to know that the dreams he'd had of Aidan had truly been of himself. With Bridget—not Bronagh.