Page 34 of An Irish Kiss
But it was inevitable, he supposed.With what the research Mary had dug up and what the lawyer had suggested, it looked like the Quinn family had been ripped off by the Griffins a few centuries ago.Something he could bet the current batch of Griffins and Fairalls refused to acknowledge.Which left things tricky, in a place of unsettling awkwardness, as every time he’d see Rory or her sister or mum he’d feel guilty.
Mrs.Fairall was at least pleasant, even if her daughters were less skilled in hiding their real thoughts.Mrs.Fairall had even gone so far as to assure him that he was welcome to stay at Castle Griffin, and she hoped the awkwardness wouldn’t make him feel like he should leave.He appreciated that, especially as the cold shoulder Rory kept offering seemed to have entered his room.Maybe it was just his imagination, but his room did seem a lot cooler than he recalled earlier this week.Now it was Thursday and this interaction was the most he’d spoken to Rory since.
He glanced back at her, still talking to the American, still avoiding looking at him for a second longer than she absolutely must.He had the feeling he could do cartwheels—or at least attempt them—through the foyer and up the stairs and she would still ignore him.
He sighed, and trudged up the stairs.He hated this feeling of discord.It made him feel antsy, like he needed to work out his emotions via a hard gym session or something active.And while he didn’t want to hit the gym again—his muscles were still protesting yesterday’s thorough workout—and couldn’t play tennis by himself, there was another activity the hotel offered for free that he could take advantage of.So after changing into more appropriate clothes he descended the stairs, avoiding Rory by going down the back stairs and outside and down to the small boatshed.A small jetty projected over rocks and led to the water, and he glimpsed a speedboat whose nose projected out, waiting for use.
Beside the boatshed lay a number of orange kayaks, so he grabbed one then paused at the sign.Kayaks are for guest use only.Experience and strong swimming skills essential.The use of a lifejacket a must.
Right.Well, he’d grown up in a part of Sydney that meant access to the white-water training facility used in the Sydney Olympics was really easy.He had gone there a few times on corporate retreats.He could swim fifty metres, so he checked those boxes.And sure, he’d take a lifejacket.He unhooked one from the wall and threw it inside the kayak, scuffed off his sneakers, and pushed the kayak out to deeper water then got in.
He picked up the paddle and started the stroking action that soon saw him leave the shoreline and its rocky coves.Ahead were islands, some more rocky outcrops than places one might land and have a picnic, but it was enough for him to see the goal and strike out towards it.That was how he rolled.That was why he was here.He’d seen a goal and chased it down.Even if the goal had gotten a little blurry, given the people he’d now realised had been hurt by his single-minded determination.
What would Jesus do?Surely He was about righting injustices, and seeing those in power get what was coming to them.And didn’t the Bible talk about fighting the good fight, and finishing the race set before him?This was a good fight, and had the potential to make a difference for people beyond just his family.Aristocrats and the rich had ripped off the poor for centuries, all across the world.So this was a fight for the little people, and he was justified in doing it.He just needed to keep the end goal the main thing, regardless of who got hurt in the meantime.
His heart twinged, but he ignored it, pressing on.By now his shoulders were protesting mightily, this work-out on top of yesterday’s bench presses a little much for someone who preferred to exercise his brain more than his arms.But still, a man couldn’t eat all the kinds of things he had lately without needing to work it off eventually.So he’d made an effort, perhaps tried a little too hard when he’d noticed Rory and wanted to prove that he was more than just a brain.Of course, it hadn’t taken long before he’d realised she had simply walked past the gym, and probably hadn’t seen him at all.Which made his sore muscles feel all the more pointless.
He exhaled.He shouldn’t be thinking about her.He should be thinking about how beautiful the scenery was.How clear the water was.He could see down to the seaweed and rocks below.
He got his phone from his pocket and snapped a few pictures.Then turned to take one of the hotel.It looked impressive from this angle, and he imagined what it must’ve been like for those who’d travelled by boat to stay here years ago.Lifestyles of the rich and famous, something he did not know much about, except he had more of an insight these days, thanks to his grandmother’s generosity.
That last thought propelled him into wondering what the ruins of the castle looked like from the water, so he paddled past the wooded point and around to where the golf course lay.A yellow flag tilted drunkenly in one of the holes, and he wondered how many golf balls had ever ended up in the water.The sand here was white, the beaches small, and not like those at home.But at least they had sand and weren’t just rocks or pebbles like some he’d heard about in this part of the world.
By now his arms were really tired, but he was nearing his destination.It probably would have been wiser to have packed a banana or two to give him energy, but it was too late for that now.From here he could see the ruined castle’s lichen-covered walls, the parapet with its castellations that the explosion hadn’t been able to destroy.
Imagine that.Blowing up a burned down castle rather than pay taxes on a residence one couldn’t live in anyway.But this castle wasn’t the only one.The Killarney lawyer he’d consulted had mentioned that many great country homes and castles across England and Ireland had been destroyed, and that it seemed more expedient to blow something up than to pay taxes.What a waste.
Resentment at what had gone before battled with fresh regrets.How much nicer it would be to have been able to build upon that moment earlier, when he and Rory had been stranded by the rain within one of the castle’s remaining towers, then later when he’d helped free her hair.He’d felt a sense of connection, and thought she had too.But then the truth about why he was here had come out, destroying anything.
He paddled closer, then realised the rocks were too high for him to exit easily.He took a photo instead and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
But somehow in that moment he knocked the paddle out of the kayak.“Are you kidding me?”
He stretched to reach it, but it floated persistently away.“Unbelievable.”
He tried again.Nope, it stayed firmly out of reach.
“Hey God, I’d really appreciate it if you could make a wave move it back this way,” he prayed aloud.
Seemed like God wasn’t listening, as the paddle drifted further away.Which left him in a pickle.He didn’t know how deep the water was here—he couldn’t see the bottom now, anyway.And the castle ruins had appeared empty, the golf course too.Did anyone even know he was out here?
He leaned over, tried paddling with his arms, but it didn’t take long before he realised this was in vain, and he was making no progress.Except, he was makingsomeprogress.The wrong way.
The castle was getting smaller, further away.Wait—he was drifting?
He glanced behind him.Those islands he’d thought he might hit now seemed impossibly far away, and beyond lay the cold grey depths of the North Atlantic Ocean.
“God?I couldreallydo with Your help right now!”
Panic clutched at his chest, and he slipped the life vest on.Or maybe he shouldn’t, and should swim for it instead.Except—did Ireland have sharks?Surely sharks didn’t care what country’s waters they swam in.
He glimpsed a figure on the beach near the golf course, and raised his arms.“Help!”
The person waved back.Oh no.Couldn’t they hear his yell?
He waved again, but wobbled the kayak so much he grabbed hold of the sides, willing it to cease rocking.He had to take care.The wind that had now picked up was chilling him, his wet clothes from excessive paddling freezing his skin worse than any faulty air conditioner.
This situation was getting more precarious by the second, even though it felt ridiculously stupid, and probably might look incredibly funny to someone who didn’t know how panicked he felt.He glanced at his phone.No reception.And even if he could call someone, he’d be hard pressed to know how to explain exactly where he was.
