Page 16 of The Wild Hunt

Finally, I arrive at Bridget’s bakery, the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries wafting out as I open the door. The warmth inside is welcoming, and I smile as I see Bridget behind the counter, busy arranging a tray of scones.

“Ah, there you are!” She greets me with a wide grin. “Come in, love. You must try one of my new creations today—apple tarts with a dash of cinnamon. They’re fresh from the oven.”

My stomach growls in response, and I nod eagerly. “That sounds perfect.”

Bridget packs one up for me, slipping it into a small bag with a wink. “On the house, for my favorite foreigner.”

I laugh softly, feeling a warmth in my chest at her kindness. “Thank you, Bridget.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Will I be seeing you at the pub later then?”

I take a bite of the apple tart, savoring the sweet and spicy flavor. “Yes, I’ll be there. I’m planning to explore the rest of the village first, but I’ll definitely come by the pub later.”

“Great!” Bridget says, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll keep an eye out for you then. Enjoy your exploration, and let me know if you need any recommendations for where to go.”

“Will do. Thanks again for the tart!” I wave as I head out of the bakery, the warm pastry in my hand making me smile.

I spend the next few hours wandering through the village, stopping in various shops and chatting with locals. Each store has its own charm, from the antique shop filled with curious trinkets to the small bookstore with its cozy reading nook. Ennisvarra’s atmosphere is enchanting, and I find myself losing track of time as I explore.

As evening approaches, the sky grows darker and the temperature drops slightly. I’m grateful for the jacket I’ve brought along. With the last of the daylight fading, I make my way back to the pub, eager for a nice meal and good company.

The sound of laughter and music drifts out the door before I even enter, and I can see the warm glow of the interior through the windows.

The pub is just as lively as the previous night; the air is filled with the clinking of glasses and cheerful conversation. I spot Bridget at the same table again, surrounded by a group of friendly faces. She waves me over with enthusiasm.

“Here she is!” Bridget announces as I approach, her voice rising above the din. “Come join us!”

I take a seat and am immediately greeted by the other occupants. The locals are friendly and welcoming, their easy camaraderie making me feel at home and it’s not long before I’m drawn into their discussions.

As the evening progresses, I start to relax, and I find myself laughing, chatting, and enjoying myself. I’m comfortably engrossed in conversation when one of Bridget’s friends, Sean, turns to me with a grin. “So, are you planning to explore more of Ireland while you’re here? There are plenty of touristy spots you might enjoy. I could be your personal chauffeur if you like,” he adds with a wink.

Before I can respond, Bridget playfully smacks the back of Sean’s hand. “Leave the poor girl alone, will you? She didn’t come here for you to flirt with her,” she says, giving me a knowing look.

I smile softly at Sean, feeling that his intentions are simply kind. “Thank you, Sean, but I really did come here to unwind and find some quiet.”

Sean gives a mock sigh of resignation. “Alright, alright. Just offering. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Dinner arrives, a simple cottage pie that smells wonderful. The flavors are rich and I savor each bite, as conversation continues to flow around the table.

Nora, one of Bridget’s friends, suddenly leans toward me with a grin. "You know," she says, eyeing my hair with playful curiosity, "your hair reminds me a bit of Red Mary’s. Ever heard of her?"

Before I can answer, Bridget rolls her eyes, swatting at Nora’s arm. "Oh, don’t be filling her head with ghost stories."

But now, my curiosity is piqued. "Who’s Red Mary?" I ask, intrigued.

Nora’s smile widens, leaning in closer to tell me the tale. "Red Mary, or Máire Rua, was known for her fiery red hair, like yours. She lived in Leamaneh Castle, not too far from here, and let’s just say she wasn’t a woman you’d want to cross. She married… oh, so many men, and rumors say some didn’t live to tell the tale."

Bridget sighs. "She was a woman who had to make tough choices in hard times. She did what she had to, especially during the Cromwellian wars."

Nora’s eyes sparkle mischievously. "Oh, but the stories, Bridget! They say she hung servants by their hair, and her husbands—well, some of them mysteriously disappeared. They even say her ghost haunts the castle to this day, her red hair flowing in the wind. A right banshee, some say!"

Bridget shakes her head, smiling. "The truth is always a little less exciting, but there’s no denying Máire Rua was a force of nature."

Nora leans back, satisfied. "Careful walking home, now," she adds with a wink, her words playful but sending a shiver down my spine.

Soon after, deciding to have an early night, I bid farewell to everyone, promising to return the next evening. The pub's warmth lingers with me as I step out into the chill of the night. The sky has cleared slightly, revealing a smattering of stars, and the village is bathed in a serene, silvery glow.

The walk back feels longer than before, the darkness of the forest seemingly more pronounced. I quicken my pace, eager to return to the safety and warmth of the cottage. Once inside I remove my jacket and stand there for a moment with a sigh, simply taking a moment to appreciate where I am.

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