Page 14 of An Irish Kiss
She shook her head at her sister’s laughter, snatched an umbrella, and made sure she exited to the left so Aisling would be sure to see her go in the opposite direction from the way she’d suggested.Then, as soon as she was out of her sister’s sight, she backtracked around the garage and pool area and took the southern track that led to the golf course.And the castle ruins.
Not because she wanted to meekly comply with her mother and sister’s suggestions.Not that she was desperate to see the man.But shewasdesperate to show that she bore him no ill-will, and if it meant she found out a little about what the man was interested in, then all the better.
* * *
It lookedlike it would rain again.Aidan peered up at the grey skies, the soft cotton wool-like heavens so close like he could touch them.Or maybe they were touching him, as a light mist dampened his face.Fresh, some would call this.
But the moisture probably accounted for why the land was such a vibrant green.He was used to the muted grey-green of eucalyptus trees back home, but this, a green so bright it nearly hurt his eyes, made sense when it rained so much.
Interspersed with the moss and lichen-covered trees were patches of pinky-red flowers.Fuchsias, his grandmother loved them.He stopped at a nearby bush and handled the delicate stalk with its ballerina-like petals, not unlike what he remembered little Keira dressed like at a concert he’d been dragged to last year.Best uncle of the year award, attending that one.He loved his niece but that was two hours of his life he’d never get back.He would never do that again.
He glanced down, saw a little fairy garden statue.Cute.Not aimed at his particular demographic, more the one who had guilted him into that best uncle of the year attendance.But it was nice to see how someone had tried to ensure the hotel’s littlest guests were catered for.
He glanced at the estate map, noting the different paths.It was another five hundred metres or so until the castle remains, and from the look of the clouds he needed to get a hurry on.The whole purpose of coming to Ireland lay there.
Mary had told him about the church cemetery, and it had been a little surreal to see the graves of one Thomas John Quinn, died 1717, along with his wife and children.The names of long-dead ancestors made his quest feel so real, adding urgency to this, his next task that he’d promised Gran he’d do.
So he trudged on along the muddied path, across a wooden bridge that traversed a stream, past giant oaks and rocky inlets.The hotel advertised wild swimming, but while it might not have the headline-grabbing sharks of home, it still seemed a little too wild for him.
He passed another damp bush, rounded a corner, and one of the greens of the golf course came into view.Another hedge of fuchsias, then—
The castle.The broken-down remains of the castle his family had once owned.Well, his family back half a dozen generations, until fire had destroyed it, during the anti-English uprisings of the early 1900s, and the remaining ruins had been blown apart in the 1960s.
From this vantage point he could see the scale of it.Weathered dark grey stones precisely fitted together constituted a long castellated ivy-covered section that led to square towers either end.Arched windows that must have once been part of the family’s living area overlooking the seascape now looked out over tumbled down rocks, also covered in ivy.He peered more closely.Saw the rocks matched the rest of the wall.So this was where the house had tumbled to.
It was quiet, except for the slap of the sea and the burr of the wind that caused ivy to scrape against the stones.It was eerie too, to think that this place had once been a family residence and hosted balls and known laughter.Now it seemed so desolate, empty, entertaining ghosts and birds and memories.
His heart curled a little at the edges, and he was suddenly glad Gran wasn’t here to see this.Wasn’t here to know just how much this part of history had faded into nonentity.How their family legacy had fallen into obscurity.
He took a few photos, doing his best to make the place seem nicer than it was, but it was nothing like the castle he’d left twenty minutes ago.Nothing like the castles he’d passed on his way from Cork airport to here.Resentment at how things had turned out begged to be unpacked and played with.
His sigh clouded the air.“I hate to say it, but you’re a bit of a disappointment.”A crunch of gravel behind him swung his attention around.His chest tightened.“Miss Rory.”
Her smile was hesitant.“Sorry if I’m intruding.”
He shrugged.“It’s a free world.”But what was she doing here?
His question must have shown on his face for her expression turned sheepish, and she handed over an umbrella.“Ash mentioned you’d come this way, and might not be prepared for wet weather, so I thought I’d give you this.”
“But you don’t have one.”
“I suspect that I’m likely more used to these conditions.”Her voice held tease.
“I suspect you’re right.”
Her smile grew, and he was tempted to stare all day, but a grumble of thunder prefaced a near immediate downpour.And these raindrops weren’t polite like the misting rain of before, which held more suggestion than true purpose.No, this rain seemed determined to soak whoever was so foolhardy to stand outside.
Rory might be more used to such conditions, but it seemed even she wasn’t immune to wanting to stay dry.“Quick, come in here.”
She hurried to the nearby tower, and he followed her into murky darkness, the only light seeping into the space mostly shrouded by the swathes of ivy cloaking the small square windows.
Outside the rain’s intensity soon softened to a steady patter.He glanced at her.“I guess this is why everything is so green, huh?”
“We get a lot of rain, it’s true.”
“I’m not used to it.We get a lot of baking hot summers where I live, have had a few days topping forty-four degrees Celsius.”
“I can’t imagine ever being that warm.”
