The Cork Contingency (11 page)
Donnell nodded to his aunt and dropped Margaret’s hand. “I’ll be downstairs in the sitting room, if you need anything.”
Mrs. McCleary scrutinized Margaret. “Can you move enough to take your things off or do you need help?”
“I’ll be OK. Thank you for the offer. I’ll let you know if I need help.” Margaret stood, hobbled to the bathroom and turned on the tub water.
“I’ll put together a tea tray and bring it up,” Mrs. McCleary said.
Margaret gingerly removed her soiled clothing. A sharp pain shot through her right shoulder when she tugged her shirt off. Pinpricks danced across her skin as the water closed around her scratched arms and legs. But the deep ache in her chest came from something entirely new.
Why would Janet pay him to take me touring?
Margaret lathered up a cloth with lavender vanilla soap and ran it down her arm
. If he was being paid, why didn’t he just tell me in the first place? Did she pay him to kiss me?
She dunked her head under the steaming water. The burn across her face throbbed in protest. Margaret cried out when she broke the surface.
“You all right, dear?” Miss McCleary’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. “I brought you some soft clothes to change into. Sometimes the guests leave things and never claim them. Usually I just give them to charity, but for some reason I hung on to this one.”
Margaret whimpered.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital?”
Margaret clenched her teeth against the pain. “No, everything is superficial. I’m just sore.” She wrapped up in a plush towel and perched on the edge of the tub. Wisps of steam rose from her body. “Could you get me some pain reliever?”
“I’ll be right back up with it.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. McCleary pulled the door shut
Margaret eased into a standing position. On the bed lay a long sleeved rose-colored tunic and navy leggings. She slid the smooth tunic over her tender skin. The leggings took more effort. Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and pushed her feet through one at a time. She started to comb her fingers through her damp curls but stopped when pain dug through her shoulder. “Is Donnell still downstairs?” Margaret asked Mrs. McCleary when she entered the room.
“Is Ireland green? That lad’s been pacing across my floor so much, I’m afraid I’ll have to put in new carpeting.” Mrs. McCleary placed the pain medication into Margaret’s palm.
“I think you should tell him to go home for the night. The longer I lay here, the more I realize how much it hurts to move.” She swallowed the pills and laid her head against the pillow.
“You get your rest. I’ll let Donnell know.”
Mrs. McCleary’s steps were heavy as she exited the room.
Margaret woke sometime later and watched the glowing lights of the clock flick from four fifty-nine to five AM. Regardless of how many times she turned over in the night, her body felt as if it was in a vice.
If I don’t move around soon, I’ll turn into a statue.
She pulled herself upright and rubbed the muscles in her neck
.
The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the door.
Mrs. McCleary is up.
Grasping the handrail, she shuffled down the stairs. A velvet rope closed off the breakfast area.
She must still be cooking.
Margaret turned toward the hall and wandered past a wall covered in family pictures. A young Mrs. McCleary smiled down at twin toddlers in her lap.
I wonder which one is Donnell?
She walked further down the hall and stopped at a picture of Mrs. McCleary and what must be Donnell holding a mechanical engineering degree. His sienna hair looked darker without the gray flecks in it. She ventured into the small sitting room at the end of the hall.
Donnell sat at the edge of a small couch, his arms propped against his knees, his fists against his chin. His slow breathing broke the silence.
Poor man, he never went home.
Margaret turned to leave.
“Meggy, its you.” Donnell’s groggy voice startled her. He stood and folded her into a careful embrace. She felt the scratch of his unshaven face when he rested his chin against the top of her head.
She wanted to stay there forever, to breathe in his smell and feel his strong arms about her.
I need answers.
Margaret stepped back. “We need to talk, Donnell.”
“That we do, bird, and I have a feeling it’s me who will be doing the most talking. Here, sit on the couch.”
Margaret pulled her legs up onto the smooth gray leather.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the carpet. “I’m sure my aunt told you I run tours for her guests. When your sister booked your stay, she hired me to take you around and see the sights. She asked me not to let you know.”
Margaret swallowed. “Did she pay you to kiss me?”
“No, Meggy.” Donnell crouched and took her hands in his. “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. The moment I saw you on the plane, actually, the moment I picked up the passport you dropped in line, I knew you were more than a tourist.”
“Wait, you found my passport?” She cringed. “Did you open it?”
“Yes.” He chuckled.
“How did you recognize me?”
“First, I noticed you in line. I didn’t know who you were, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I saw you drop it. When the security man had you step into the scanner I slipped it into your bag. What I’m trying to say is,” he paused and took a deep breath.
“You didn’t know me at the airport?”
He shook his head. “My aunt didn’t give me your info until after I arrived.”
“So you figured it out when you found me wandering around Blarney Castle.”
“Margaret.”
She clamped her mouth shut and made a zipper motion across her lips.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something ever since the day I saw you wearing that coat over your lumpy poncho. Margaret Smith…” He locked eyes with her. “I love you.”
Tears pricked at Margaret’s eyes. “Why? I’m thirty-two, I live with my dad, I eat your pastries without asking, accuse you of adultery, and pretty much mess everything up. Why me?” She tasted salt as a tear rolled down her face.
“Because, bird, you fit,” He slid next to her on the couch, carefully put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her next to him, “right here.”
Margaret leaned her head on his chest to hear his heart beating at a steadier pace than hers.
“Donnell?”
“Hmm.” his voice resonated in his chest.
“I love you back,” Margaret whispered.
16
Six months later
“Donnell asked me to go back to Ireland with him.” Margaret flipped the vacuum off. “Dad, did you hear me? I said Donnell asked me to go back to Ireland. Dad?” Her ears perked at the sound of laughter. Her father sat in the den looking at a computer screen. “Who were you talking to, Dad?”
His spoke with a slight slur. “Donnell called. He said you are going back to Cork together.”
“I hadn’t made my mind up yet.” She tilted her head and rested one hand on her hip. “Are you trying to get rid of me so you can spend more time with Charlene?”
His lopsided smile grew larger. “I think you should go.”
“It would give me a chance to kiss the Blarney Stone.” Her heart gave a flutter. “Elaine, Donnell’s sister-in-law, just had her baby. That’s why Donnell is going back.”
“I’m doing fine. You should go.” He covered his smile.
“You said that already. Is something going on here?” Margaret perched on the edge of the couch and waited for her father’s gradual reply.
“It would be good for us both. I want a chance to be on my own for a while. You can ask Charlene to drop in on me every day, if that would make you feel better.”
Margaret ran her hand across the couch. “I’ll call him tonight. He’s still in town for a few more days.”
Her father tugged at the desk drawer.
“Here let me, Dad.”
“Margaret, let me do it.” He tugged again and the drawer popped open. “He left this for you.”
Margaret peered into the drawer at an airplane ticket to Cork.
Maybe Dad wants to get rid of me so he can get to know Charlene better. They did hit it off while I was gone the last time…or it could be a surprise for my birthday.
She thought about the zip line and shuddered.
Good surprises, I hope.
She picked the tickets up and read the departure date. “Tomorrow, I can’t be ready by tomorrow.”
“Donnell is already in Ireland. Do you want me to call Janet to help you pack?”
A vision of burgundy stilettos peaking from a trash can shot through her mind. “I’ve got it.” Margaret jogged upstairs and threw the essentials into her carry-on bag. This flight she would be wearing stretchy pants, an oversized sweatshirt, sneakers and absolutely
no
heels.
~*~
The plane touched down in Cork ahead of schedule. The cloudless sky allowed Margaret to admire the countryside on her descent. The chunks of land divided by fences reminded her of a patchwork quilt assembled in a spectrum of greens.
“Hello, dear.” Mrs. McCleary trotted over to Margaret and embraced her. “Donnell sent me to the airport to pick you up. He had an appointment. He told me to take you straight off to Blarney Castle so you could kiss the stone.”
Margaret’s stomach lurched.
“He told me you didn’t get to do that the last time you came. Do you need to get your bags?”
“Um, no. This is all I brought.” Margaret felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead. “Is there any way to get hold of Donnell? I’m a bit tired from my flight over. I think some tea and a rest would be nice before I take on Blarney Castle
.
”
“You can’t go back to the B and B yet.” Mrs. McCleary grinned and walked her toward a black stretch limousine.
“A limo?”
“Er, my car is in the shop.” Mrs. McCleary held the door open.
Something is up. I hope he isn’t throwing me a surprise party at the top of the castle keep.
Margaret regarded her comfortable attire.
“Should I change?”
Mrs. McCleary looked down at her wrist watch and shook her head. A few minutes later she dropped Margaret off at the front of the castle. “Go straight to the castle keep.”
Margaret got out, trotted to the entrance, set her purse on the counter inside, and dug through to find a few euros.
The man at the desk waved her on. “It’s free day,” He leaned over to view the man standing behind her. “Only for the lass, though.”
Margaret’s heart slammed against her ribcage.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll climb that tower.
She passed over the small bridge. The tower grew with each step.
I’m a grown woman. I’ll beat this fear of heights if it kills me.
She flinched and pushed away the vision of falling from the top. She reached the bottom of the stone stairs. “OK, Margaret, you can do this. Just focus on the steps and don’t look down.”
“Meggy!”
She dared to glance up from the pocked stone stairs.
“Donnell.” Margaret concentrated on the last three steps, and then regarded the man before her. He was dressed in a gray tweed vest over a white shirt. His slacks fell against obsidian-black shoes. As Margaret approached, Donnell held out two roses tied together with a cream ribbon. A rumpled piece of paper peeked from between the blossoms.
She took it, breathed in the sweet smell, and unfolded the paper. She flattened it with the palm of her hand. “It’s my itinerary. You kept this?”
“Read it.”
“Blarney Castle, English Market, Charles Fort, Butter Museum, buy cabled Aran knit sweater and…say yes to Donnell?” She looked up from her paper.
Donnell sank to one knee and held out a box with a golden ring perched on peach satin. The two hands etched into the band encircled an emerald heart with a crown over the top, the traditional Irish Claddagh, signifying the love in one’s head, heart, and hands.
Margaret rested her hand against the nape of her neck.
“Margaret Caroline Smith, the first time you walked past me, I knew.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Just like my Da knew he could never love again, I knew I could never love anyone else but you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
“Yes… now and forever, yes.”
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