Love and Blarney (7 page)

Jayme caught his eye. “Are you sure? If you’ve got other plans…”

“No,” he replied quickly. “I’d be delighted. I’ll collect you from Mrs. Keogh’s after breakfast tomorrow. Say about nine o’clock?”

Anticipation turned her stomach into a dance recital. She grinned at her kinda-sorta-still-husband. “That sounds perfect.”

AT NINE O’CLOCK the following morning, Ruairí collected a bouncing Jayme from outside Mrs. Keogh’s bed-and-breakfast. She’d swapped her high heels for sensible flats and wore a bright orange windbreaker.

“I went shopping,” she explained breathlessly when she slid into the passenger seat. “I didn’t think my feet could cope with a day of wandering around tourist sights if I didn’t buy new shoes. And I’m so over Mrs. Keogh’s raincoat.”

He smiled at her. “I certainly won’t lose you in that ensemble.”

She laughed and pulled a tourist guide from her coat pocket. “The choice in Ballybeg is somewhat limited. I took the only one I could find that was small enough to fit me. I drew the line at venturing into the children’s department.”

Ruairí flipped the indicator and pulled out into the sparse traffic. “So where would you like to go today? Has your guidebook given you any ideas?”

“Well,” she said, flipping through the book thoughtfully, “we’d talked about visiting Blarney Castle. Is it far from here?”

“Not at all. It’s about an hour’s drive, give or take.”

“Could we go there today?” Her tone was plaintive.

He laughed. “Sure. Why are you so keen on Blarney Castle?”

“It looks gorgeous in the photos. The nearest thing I’ve ever seen to a medieval castle was at Disney World.”

Ruairí snorted with laughter. “I think we can find you something a little more authentic, but I will warn you that there’s not much to see of the castle itself. It’s mostly a ruin, but you can visit the dungeon, the battlements, and explore the structure.”

“And it has the Blarney Stone.” Jayme gave a dreamy sigh. “It sounds so romantic. I can’t wait to kiss it.”

Frankly, he’d far prefer she kissed him than a filthy stone. “You must be joking. That’s only for tourists.”

“Ruairí, I am a tourist.”

Yes, she was… and one who was set to return to America in a few days time. His gut twisted at the thought of her leaving. Apart from skirting around the topic, they’d avoided discussing the divorce. With the date of her departure looming, they couldn’t put it off much longer.

“All right,” he said with a smile. “Let’s find you a dirty stone to kiss. Just don’t expect me to follow suit.”

She teased him with her eyebrow. “Come on. Live a little. I promise I won’t tell anyone in Ballybeg that one of their own deigned to kiss the Blarney Stone.”

“That thing is probably diseased.”

“Coward.”

“I am not.” He slid her a look and caught her grinning at him like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, all right. If you kiss the damn thing, I will, too. To be honest, the stone’s not my favorite part of the castle. It’s a great way to attract tourists, to be sure, but the legend’s a crock of shite in my opinion.”

“What is your favorite part of the castle?”

They’d left Ballybeg behind them now and were winding their way toward the N71. “Rock Close. It’s part of the grounds of Blarney Castle. The whole area’s gorgeous, but I particularly like the Blarney Dolmen.”

Jayme flicked through her guidebook. “What’s that?”

“A megalithic portal tomb. Great slabs of rock positioned in the shape of a door. The Celts built them all over the British Isles and beyond.”

“It sounds magical.”

She was magical. “It is.”

“This is so exciting. I can’t wait to tell my friends I saw a real castle. And kissed the Blarney Stone!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. He recalled the same bouncing enthusiasm when they’d visited Mexico on their honeymoon. “Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned. “It’s really not all that.”

“Oh, you’re only saying that because you’re Irish. You take such a national treasure for granted.”

He chuckled. “The stone is rumored to be a fake, you know.”

“Even if it is, it’s an historical fake.”

“I don’t follow your logic, but okay. Let’s go see your historical fake.”

She was examining her guidebook. “It says here the castle was built in 1446 by Dermot MacCarthy, King of Munster. Are you really descended from a king?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah… me and everyone else around here named MacCarthy. Trust me, there are quite a few of us.”

Jayme flipped to the map. “Where’s Munster? I don’t see it on the map.”

“You’re in Munster. Historically, Ireland was divided into four provinces: Ulster in the north, Leinster to the east, Connacht to the west, and Munster to the southwest. For a time, the MacCarthy clan ruled Munster. The provinces still exist, but they have no political significance anymore.”

“That’s fascinating. Despite what my mother would have you believe, our ancestors hardly came over on the Mayflower. My father’s family was English and my mother is a Swiss-Irish-Welsh hybrid. Neither of my parents have any interest in visiting Europe.” She shook her head. “I can’t understand why.”

“They like sailing in hot climates,” Ruairí said. “For that sort of vacation, the Caribbean is far more suitable.”

“Ruairí?” Her tone was hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“I owe you an apology.”

He glanced at her, noting her suddenly serious visage. “What for?”

“For not standing up for you when my parents were rude to you. I should have told them not to speak to you like that instead of making excuses for them and simply trying to keep you guys apart.”

“It’s okay. Really.” He traced the grooves of her palm with his fingertips. “Frankly, I don’t care what they think of me. I only ever cared what you thought of me.”

“But you stood up for me to your father.”

He grimaced. “To be fair, your parents’ snide comments and icy disdain are a little easier to tolerate than my father’s obnoxious behavior. All I can say is that it’s not personal. He’s like that with everyone. He’s a deeply unhappy man who takes pleasure in bullying others.”

She digested this a moment. “Was he in prison a lot?”

“He did two spells when I was a kid. Five years for armed robbery and another three for assault and battery.”

“Wow. He was away for eight years of your childhood?”

“Yeah. I didn’t miss him. Those were the happiest years. After a time, I got to hoping he’d never come back. But he always did.”
Back like the proverbial bad penny.

“Why didn’t your mother leave him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she knows either. It wasn’t done in her generation, and she had so many kids. By the time Sharon graduated school, Ma was sick.”

“I don’t ever want to feel I’m living my life for someone else, not even for my children.”

“Neither do I. But you’re not Ma. You’re well educated and independent. You’re not reliant on anyone.”

Ruairí drummed the steering wheel. Was that part of their problem? Did he feel she was so self-contained that he was afraid to admit his own insecurities to her, to lay his soul bare, warts and all? Or was he just thinking of piss-poor excuses for not having tracked her down months ago and forced her to listen to him?

They passed the rest of the journey with small talk and historical vignettes. There was little traffic, and made they good time. Shortly before ten, he pulled into the car park at Blarney Castle.

Jayme, spying the castle in the distance, was in raptures. “Look at its little turrets. Aren’t they darling?”

He regarded the castle’s facade critically. “You’ll be glad of those flat shoes by the end of today. If I recall correctly, the castle itself is around a ten-minute walk from the entrance, and it takes a couple of hours to walk around the grounds.”

She slipped her hand into his. The heat from her small hand sent shock waves of awareness through his veins. He’d missed this. He’d missed her. And unless he got his act together and told her how he felt, he’d be missing her permanently. “Come on,” he said, tugging her forward. “Let’s go exploring.”

Blarney Castle surpassed Jayme’s expectations. As Ruairí had said, there wasn’t much left of the interior, but the keep and the outer walls were still intact.

They’d ascended to the top of the castle. To reach the Blarney Stone, one had to lean backwards over the parapet. According to Jayme’s guidebook, many people had died trying to kiss the stone before metal railings were fitted to break any potential falls.

Ruairí was staring at the stone with an expression of terror written across his face. “I’m not leaning back over that… precipice… and kissing a filthy stone.”

“Come on, honey,” she teased. “Just one little kiss.”

“If I do this, it’s because I’m insane or insanely in love,” he muttered underneath his breath.

Jayme’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m kind of hoping it’s the latter.”

His warm brown eyes met hers. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Do I?” Their shared look lingered. She took a deep breath. “We need to talk. About us. About our future.”

“I know we do. I’ve brought a picnic basket for our lunch, but why don’t we go to a restaurant for dinner? We can enjoy our day, then talk in peace over a meal.”

“Sounds good.” The moment of tension passed. “But you’re not getting out of kissing that stone.”

He groaned. “You’re relentless.”

She grinned at him. “Tell you what. You kiss the stone now, and later, I’ll kiss you. Deal?”

Sexual awareness flared in his dark eyes. His gaze trailed down her body, then back to her face. The corners of his mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain Dr. King.”

When he leaned back, his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of rock hard abs. Her pulse quickened. His lips touched the stone for the briefest second, before he pulled himself back into a sitting position. “Ugh. That was gross.”

“Chicken,” she said, laughing. “Your lips barely touched it.”

He shuddered. “The barest contact was sufficient to confirm my suspicion that the stone is disease-ridden.”

He stood, yanking his shirt back into place. A shame. She’d missed seeing that taut stomach.

“Want to explore the grounds?” He extended his arm, and she slipped her hand back into his.

“Sure,” she said. “I want to see that dolmen you mentioned.”

He led her down stone steps and through the ruined courtyard toward the gardens. The guidebook hadn’t done them justice. They were gorgeous, several little sections just beginning to bloom. Jayme peered at one of the plants. “What a beautiful flower.” She leaned closer. “What a sec… that almost looks like—”

“Wolfsbane,” Ruairí said, pointing to the sign.

“Aconite?” She drew back in alarm. “Wow. They weren’t joking when they named this part of the grounds Poison Garden.”

“No, they weren’t. Hey, if you want to save money on the divorce, mandrake’s over there.” His teasing smile warmed her in spite of the February chill.

She quirked an eyebrow, wavering between annoyance and amusement that he could joke about their marital issues. “I’m a doctor. If I was planning to kill you, I’m pretty sure I could come up with a more subtle poison than mandrake.”

Her tone must have tipped him off that he’d irritated her. He frowned, then said: “I’m sorry, Jayme. It slipped out.”

“Lead me toward this famous portal tomb and I might forgive you.”

“We’re nearly there. Rock Close is up ahead.”

They wandered through the rest of the gardens, eventually reaching the area Ruairí had pointed to.

“Seeing as we kissed the stone,” he said, “we’d better continue our day of superstitions and descend the Wishing Steps backward.”

“The Wishing Steps? How charming.”

“There’s a catch, though.”

She laughed. “Isn’t there always?”

“You have to do it with your eyes shut.”

“In other words, if we manage to get down the steps without falling and breaking our necks, all our wishes will come true?”

He flashed her a wolfish grin. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Come on then. Let’s do it.”

“You have to think of a wish first, but don’t tell me.”

Her wish didn’t require a second’s consideration. Rewinding the clock and changing the choices they’d made a year ago wasn’t feasible, but if the past few days were any indication, rekindling their marriage was still within the realm of the possible. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m ready.”

He took her hand in his and they slowly maneuvered themselves down the steps.

“Oh,” she said, losing her footing. His strong arm broke her fall. Finally, after a couple more near misses, they made it to the bottom of the steps intact.

She sagged against the wall, laughing. “So what did you wish for?”

He smiled. “It’s bad luck to tell you. You going to tell me your wish?”

“I’m superstitious enough not to want to tempt fate.” Their eyes met and time froze.

“Jayme.” His voice was hoarse and thick with longing. He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. His mouth parted, revealing very white, very even teeth. Her breath caught when he leaned in again. This time, she matched him movement for movement, their tongues meshing in an erotic dance. She slipped her hands inside his jacket, kneading the taut muscles beneath his shirt.