Page 11 of An Irish Kiss
“Oh.”She took it, examined the back, then peered up at him.“Can she read?”
“I don’t think she’s quite at this level.”
“I see.Well, perhaps it’s more suitable if someone reads it to her.”She opened it up to the centre pages.“But the illustrations are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”She traced what looked to be a picture of a princess holding a sword.
He blinked, distracted by her shiny pale pink nail, then looked at the illustration more closely.His heart clenched.The picture looked very similar to the dream he’d had yesterday.The one with a redheaded Irish heroine, fiercely protecting him with her sword.
He inched away.Obviously he was extremely sleep-deprived to be thinking such things.This was a book about make-believe, not something he should take as gospel truth.
She eyed him uncertainly, and he realised that his shifting away might be misconstrued.Just when he’d thought he was making some headway with her too.
“Well, it’s up to you, of course,” she finally said.“It would make a nice souvenir, and at least it’s been written and illustrated by true Irish folk, and not those who wish they were.”
He chuckled.“Does that happen?”
Her chin dipped.“Like you wouldn’t believe.People whose ancestors left these shores a century or two ago then boast about long distant heritage like they think they still have some right to claim our land.”
His chest banded.Judging from the sound of that it didn’t seem she’d be too open about why he was here.Which might prove difficult, seeing as he was staying on the very site his grandmother had said still rightfully belonged to his kin.
“Ah, but I shouldn’t get carried away.It’s not very tourist-friendly of me, is it?”Her lips formed a rueful smile.“And I know I have not exactly provided the warmest of welcomes.”
He could agree, or he could let it slide.“I don’t know what you mean.”
Her golden laughter burbled again.“That’s kind of you.Now, did I spy you looking up some of our local history books before?You know we have several at the castle.”
“That’s what drew me here.I, uh…” Hmm.How could he explain what he was doing and not sound exactly like the kind of person she despised?“I found it interesting,” he finished, conscious of how lame he sounded.
“Well, in that case, perhaps you should meet the author of one of them.I’m sure she’d be very happy to speak with you.”
“Um, sure.”She led him back to the aisle with the local history books, then pulled out one.“See this?”She tapped the cover.“Written by a very local local.”
“Yeah?How local is that?”He grew aware that Mary, the shop owner, had drawn near.
Mary’s smile at Aurora turned to him.“Me.”
CHAPTERFOUR
Lunchtime in downtown Derryloughlin was a funny thing.On sunny days like today Rory enjoyed leaving the shop for her lunchbreak, and taking her sandwich and apple to the small park overlooked by the pastel-coloured pub and village shops.Usually she would find a friend to chat with, would find something of a refresh for her soul, something that reminded her why she loved living in this little dot on the western edge of Eire.
But today she’d wanted to stay.To find out just what it was that had made Aidan’s face light up when she introduced Mary as the author of the local history book.And while she didn’t want to be snoopy, she couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about.
She swallowed the last of her egg sandwich, then wondered at the wisdom of eating egg and have potential egg-breath when he might talk to her again.“You’re being ridiculous” she muttered to herself.
It felt odd, this push and pull towards him.She didn’t want to bethat girl, trying to impress a boy.And she certainly hadn’t done so, not yesterday.But neither could she deny the fact she now wanted to make up for it, that she was curious about this man and why he was here.Hence the desire to know what he and Mary were speaking about so earnestly, after Mary had encouraged her to take her break.
What was his interest in local history?She winced, recalling her earlier comment about blow-ins who claimed ancestry when their ancestors hadn’t lived here for a century or more.What was it that made people cling to the past?Was it dissatisfaction with the present?Trying to make sense of the future?Or were people intrigued by a simpler time, and hoped that learning about the past might help them make sense of who they were today?
The bell on the church tower tolled the half hour, a reminder that she’d need to return soon.If she and her siblings wanted to explore the past then they only needed to look in the church building, where the gold-plated plaques of long dead ancestors lined the walls and filled the graves.The Fairalls and Griffins might no longer have as much social clout as they once did, but there was still a healthy amount of respect, such as when the locals had turned up in their droves for her father’s funeral a few years ago.She had been surprised by the number of shops that had dressed their windows in black.They weren’t nobility or very rich, after all.But Mam said later it had felt like an embrace from the entire village, something that had helped her carry on in the dark days that followed.
A cloud glided across the sun, making her shiver.She needed to return.
She passed across the bridge over the rock-strewn river below.The recent rain made the cascades louder than usual.She drew nearer the bookstore when a familiar figure hailed her.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Rory Fairall.”
She paused, hand lifted to cover the sun’s glare.“Ah, Declan O’Curran.”She turned her cheek, accepted his kiss.Fiona’s old schoolmate had long had a soft spot for her, which Rory put down to her charming personality that contrasted to Fiona’s at-times spiky one.
“And how might you be?”
