Mulligan Stew (25 page)

Bridget puttered around the kitchen while Brady and Fiona shared stories about Culley and Riley's childhood antics. A band tightened around her heart each time she heard her late husband's name.

He shouldn't have died. Yet, somehow, she felt his presence here with his family. She wasn't pining away for him or anything like that. The loss of a young life was such a waste. That was what touched her most now—not the loss of her husband or the love of her life.

Culley would've been so proud of Jacob. Smiling, she opened the oven door and removed two perfect, golden brown loaves of bread and set them on a rack to cool.

"If that isn't a scent from the angels, I don't know what is," Brady said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

"Our Bridget cooks like an angel," Fiona said, beaming with pride. "The lass hasn't prepared anything but food fit for saints since she got here."

Bridget blushed and thanked her mother-in-law. Cooking was the only thing she really knew she did well. "I'll get plates," she said, managing to loosen the bread from the sides of the pan enough that it came out cleanly. She placed it on a board with a small dish of butter, and took it all to the table with the long-bladed bread knife and three butter knives.

Even
she
couldn't resist fresh-baked bread. With a glass of soda, she sat at the table and munched the yeasty bread while listening to Brady's stories.

"So what brings you home?" Fiona asked between bites of warm bread. "Really?"

"Me life's dream." Brady shook his head and his brow furrowed. "I'm sure you remember how much research I did over the years on local history."

"Aye." Fiona nodded and sipped her tea. "Didn't you come 'round here askin' questions often enough?"

Brady blushed to his ears. "Well, why do you think I'm here now?"

Fiona laughed and Brady's eyes twinkled. Bridget couldn't prevent herself from smiling at the pair. They'd obviously been friends for many years.

"When I went to the States, I left all me notes here with me son Colin. They were in his Katie's closet, safe as can be." He sighed, shaking his head.

Bridget's appetite fled and she washed a lump of bread down with tepid soda. She didn't make a sound, because she didn't want to miss anything Brady said now. He was a historian who knew about the castle....

And the curse? Could he help her understand why the Mulligans insisted there was a curse? After this morning, she was more convinced than ever that
Caisleán Dubh
was just a very old, very lonely castle. It needed her.

She needed it. Warmth oozed through her and she glanced out the window at the tower. Why had she been so frightened of it at first?
Well, no more of that nonsense.

"One whole box of me notes are missing, and it's the one that deals with
Caisleán Dubh,
" Brady said. "And isn't the curse the most interestin' part of Clare's history?"

Bridget leaned on her elbows, resting her chin in her hands.

"Interestin' is one way of puttin' it, I suppose." Fiona sipped her tea. "Too much pain and misery."

"Aye." Brady reached over and patted Fiona's hand. "We all remember what happened to your Patrick."

Fiona nodded but said nothing.

"Patrick was Culley's da?" Bridget asked.

"Aye. He was me husband, lass. All me children's da." Fiona stared through the window. "'Tis best not to speak of what happened. It will only upset Riley." She blinked rapidly as if to clear her vision. "And me."

Bridget's pulse thudded louder with every breath she took. Patrick Mulligan's death was important, and it was something she needed to know. If Fiona wouldn't speak of it—and she knew Riley wouldn't—then how was Bridget to learn the truth?

From Maggie.
Yes, that was it. She would ask Maggie.

"'Tis bewildered, I am, to have only that one box of notes missin'." Brady sighed, obviously determined to change the subject away from anything that upset Fiona. "I'll have to reconstruct the lot of it."

"You know where to find what you need."

"Aye, that I do, but..." Brady patted Fiona's hand again. "I wanted your blessing, lass."

"Keep callin' me lass, you old charmer, and you can have anythin' you want."

Brady blushed to his ears and Bridget decided she still liked this man, even if he was related to Katie.

"I left for the States when Katie and Culley were first court—" Brady stopped abruptly and looked at Bridget. "'Tis sorry I am to mention the subject, dear Bridget. Forgive me."

"I've already heard that Culley was engaged to Katie," Bridget said carefully, studying Brady's expression as she spoke. "Is she your kin?"

"Aye, me granddaughter."

Bridget held his gaze, deciding to go ahead and ask the question burning in her heart. "Why don't
you
hate me?"

Brady didn't seem a bit taken aback by her blunt question, but Fiona's eyes grew wide.

"Riley and Katie both hate me," Bridget continued, keeping her voice calm and her gaze on Brady.

"Well, now, I can't be speakin' to someone else's feelins, but I've no cause to hate you or anyone, lass." Brady drew a deep breath and held her gaze. "I was already livin' in the States with me daughter's family when Katie and Culley became engaged." He lifted one shoulder and a sheepish grin brightened his wrinkled face. "I never believed them well matched anyway."

"Well, then I guess it won't shock you to learn I felt the same," Fiona said with an emphatic nod. "A more mis-matched pair never lived."

Bridget managed a weak smile and said, "Thank you for that. I didn't realize I've actually felt a little guilty about Katie until now."

Brady shot her another of his crooked grins and said, "And how could it have been wrong for you to marry a charmer like Culley Mulligan if you loved him?"

"Especially since you couldn't have known about Katie," Fiona added.

Bridget realized now why Fiona had accepted her so easily. "I wonder why Riley..." She bit her lower lip. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."

"'Tis in the past," the old teacher said. "We live in the present, except for old fools like me who'd rather be diggin' up history than livin' in the here and now."

"You were a good teacher," Fiona said. "And not just about history."

"'Tis a flatterer you are, Fiona Mulligan." The twinkle in his eyes gave him away as he said, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're after a husband."

Fiona blushed and stuttered, then said, "You old fool."

"I'm old, but not a fool." Brady squeezed her hand, his expression solemn. "I'll be askin' Father O'Malley for the parish records again then. With your blessing?"

"You have it," Fiona said. "But don't be botherin' Riley about it, please."

"I promise." He rose. "I'd best be about my business then. Thank you for the tea."

"You're always welcome." Fiona stood, turning toward the door to see him out, then she snapped her fingers. "Brady, would you know of someone who could inspect
Caisleán Dubh
for us?"

"Inspect it, you say?" Brady scratched his bald head, his eyes growing wide. "Well, now, 'tis an interestin' question, that."

"Bridget here wants to see if it's sound enough to restore."

"At least part of it," Bridget added, standing near them now, her heart pounding as she waited anxiously for Brady's answer.

"Aye, just call the Irish Trust in Dublin," he said. "They have engineers and architects on staff who'll come out and look it over for you."

"Thank you, old friend."

Fiona wrote down the number Brady gave her. As soon as he'd left, she went to the phone and dialed while Bridget stood by, still holding her breath. They really were going to inspect the castle.

And so was she.

Tonight.

Chapter 12

Riley took another bite of what Bridget called a "chicken-fried steak" and almost moaned aloud. As much as he hated to admit it—again—the woman's cooking could bring entire armies to their knees.

He'd planned to walk into Ballybronagh to eat at Gilhooley's, just to avoid this. And her. Aye, and hadn't that been a good plan, too? He took another bite. Then another. Aye, it
had
been an excellent plan.

Mulligan, you're weak.
He'd been felled by a piece of beef and gravy rich enough to make a grown man weep with joy. Mum had made his favorite fried cabbage with rashers crumbled in it, and he really hoped there were no afters. If he ate like this every day, he'd be too heavy to ride
Oíche.

"Maggie made the dessert," Bridget said, smiling.

"Oh?"
I'm saved.
Riley could easily resist sampling something his sister had prepared. "I don't think I'll have room for afters."

"Aye, you will." Mum's eyes twinkled mischievously, and she turned her attention back to Bridget. "Bridget, tell me again how you make this meat with your sourdough? I can't believe it could taste any better."

"The sourdough helps make the outside even crispier," Bridget explained. "I dip the meat in the sourdough starter, then dredge it in flour and spices like I did this time."

"Then you cook it the same way?"

"Yes. I'm glad y'all like it." She smiled and her entire face glowed.

Riley's throat threatened to close around a half-swallowed piece of meat. The woman's smile did things to him—different things than looking lower would do. Heat rose to his neck and he took a sip of cool water before his entire face turned crimson.

Something swelled within his chest as he watched her chat with Mum about cooking. She obviously loved to cook, so it wasn't hard to understand why she'd thought of opening a restaurant.

A restaurant in
Caisleán Dubh.
Had he ever heard a more ludicrous notion?

At least Jacob hadn't blathered on about the wretched castle all day. In fact, the lad had behaved himself in every way after his little disappearing act. Riley cast a sidelong glance at his nephew—master con-artist—who shoveled mashed spuds and gravy into his mouth faster than old Seamus Doone could down a pint after Lent.

"Riley, are you listening?" Maggie asked, spearing his attention.

"Aye. What?"

All three women snickered. Would this be another of those "Funning Riley" evenings? He drew a deep breath and vowed that he would not let them bother him this time.

"No," he said, smiling at his sister. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you're ready for the afters."

The expression on Maggie's face reminded Riley of the time she'd begged him to teach her how to ride his bike. Of course, it had been much too tall for her, but she'd finally managed to ride it to the road and back. Had he ever seen her look as proud as she had that day, with her missing tooth and her hair curling wildly around her freckled face?

Aye, he was really going soft.
Eejit. Sap.

"You promise not to kill me?" he teased, though there had been a time or two when he'd feared just that from his sister's disastrous cooking.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I just might, boyo." She pushed away from the table with Mum right behind, leaving Riley at the table alone with Bridget and Jacob.

"I saw Brady Rearden out on the road," he said, watching Bridget's expression.

She looked up at him suddenly, her gaze darting to Mum's empty chair, then back to Riley. "He came by to see Fiona," she said.

"Aye, old Brady is a charmer." Riley managed a smile, though suspicions continued to press to the front of his mind. "Did he tell you he's Katie's granddad?"

"Y-yes. Yes." She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, filling out the same green jumper she'd worn the day she'd first arrived far too well.

Riley drank more water, keeping his gaze on her breasts. And weren't they fine breasts, too? Lightning struck right between his legs. Served him right for staring, but they were right there. Tempting him.

Jaysus.
He sucked in a sharp breath and shifted into a more comfortable position. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat and reminded himself about Brady.