Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(32)

“You’re right. I like that.”

He took her hand again, gestured with the other as they came into the village. “There you have the ruins of Cong Abbey. It’s a fine ruin for all that, and the tourists come to wander around it, though most come to Cong for the Quiet Man.”

“Nan loves that movie. I watched it again myself before I came.”

“We’ve a festival in September to commemorate the film. It’s grand. Maureen O’Hara herself came two years back. She’s still a rare beauty. Regal and real all at once.”

“Did you get to meet her?”

“For a moment I did. Sure it was a fine moment. You didn’t get your village tour today?”

“No, but there’s plenty of time. I feel like I’ve been here. From everything Nan’s told me,” she explained. “And her photos, the guidebook. It’s just like I imagined.”

The pretty shops and pubs and restaurants, the little hotel, the flowers in pots and window boxes tipped down the road in the shadow of the ruined abbey. Though the shops were closed, the pubs were open, and a scatter of people strolled along the narrow sidewalks.

“Where’s Branna’s shop?”

“Around the corner, there, down a bit next to the tea shop. She’ll be closed now, but I’ve a key if you want to see it.”

“That’s all right. I’ll have a day off, I assume.”

“Sure you’ll have your day off. Boyle, he’ll work you hard enough, but not to the bone.”

They walked down, against the rise of the road, and she lifted her face, happy to feel the cool air on her skin. “Is that . . . Is it peat I smell?”

“Sure it is. Nothing like a peat fire on an evening, and a pint to go with it. And here, we’ll have both.”

He opened a door, nudged her in.

The yeasty smell of beer pouring from the tap, the earthy scent of peat simmering in the hearth—yes, Iona thought, there was nothing like it. People claimed stools at the hub of the bar, or sat at tables already into their meal. Their voices hummed over the clink of glassware.

A half dozen patrons hailed Connor the minute he stepped in the door. He called out greetings, sent out a wave, and steered Iona to the bar.

“Good evening to you, Sean. This is my cousin Iona Sheehan, from America. She’s granddaughter to Mary Kate O’Connor.”

“Welcome.” He had a shock of white hair shaggy around a ruddy face, and sent her a quick beam out of cheerful blue eyes. “And how’s Mary Kate faring?”

“She’s very well, thanks.”

“Iona’s working for Boyle at the stables. Had her first day.”

“Is that a fact? A horsewoman are you then?”

“I am.”

“She’s buying me a pint to celebrate. I’ll have a Guinness. What’s your pleasure, Iona?”

“Make it two.”

“Branna’s on her way, so it’s to be three. We’ll just find us a table. Well, it’s Franny.” Connor gave a pretty blonde a peck on the cheek. “Meet my cousin Iona from America.”

So it began. Iona calculated she met more people in ten minutes within feet of the bar than she normally did in a month. By the time they moved away she carried a blur of faces and names in her head.

“Do you know everybody?”

“Hereabouts, most. And there’s two you know yourself.”

She spotted Boyle and Meara at a table crowded with pints and plates. Connor snagged one beside them. “How’s it all going then?”

“Well enough. Taking in the local nightlife are you, Iona?” Meara asked her.

“Celebrating my new job. Thanks again,” she said to Boyle.

“It happens we’re working out schedules,” Meara told her, “and you’ve Thursday off if you’ve a mind to make plans.”

“I’m nothing but plans right now.”

“Iona tells me Fin sent you a new horse. Alastar, is it—and temperamental.”

“My arse.” Boyle hefted what was left of his pint. “Tried making a meal out of Kevin Leery’s arm this morning after he kicked the shit out of Mooney.”

“Take any piece of you?”

“Not yet, and not for lack of trying. Behaved like a gentleman for your cousin.”

Iona smiled into her beer. “He’s just misunderstood.”

“I understand him fine.”

“We wonder what Fin’s about with this one.” Meara spooned up some soup, kept her eyes on Connor. “Alastar’s no riding hack, that’s for certain. It may be he’ll breed well, but he never said he was after acquiring a stallion for that when off he went.”

Connor gave his easy shrug. “No one knows what’s in Fin’s mind save Fin, and plenty’s the time he doesn’t know either. And speaking of that, there’s our Branna.”

He lifted a hand, caught her eye.

“Well now, it’s a party,” she said when she walked to the table. Her hand lowered to rub on Meara’s shoulder as she sent Boyle a smile. “Are you working my girl then, right through her supper?”

“More the other way around,” Boyle claimed. “She’s relentless. I was coming to see you tomorrow. The salve you made for us is about gone.”