Chapter Twenty-One

Ronan

“Look what yer done, woman! Savie’s gone off to town on Mateo, and she’s not a competent rider! Are yer some kind of geebag!”

Mary rears back, and her eyes flash fire at me. “Oh, so ‘tis Savie now, is it? Well, I hope Savie falls on her fat arse!”

Fury boils from my every pore. “How dare yer say that about a guest in me home? Who do yer think yer are? Yer not me wifey or me lack. Yer not even the woman I’m ridin’. Yer nothin’ to me, and yer need to get out while I’m still inclined to let yer.”

If my ma were here, she wouldn’t be proud of the harsh words I’m firing at a woman I’ve known since the day she entered this world. But the loosebit’s pushed me too far. If Savie gets hurt, I’ll never forgive Mary for her part in it.

Worse yet, I have to walk to town on foot. Even if I run, I’ll be unable to close the gap between Savie and myself. Mateo’s stride is three times as long as mine.

While I’m trotting along the gravel road as fast as my leather boots will take me, I think about Mary sleeping inside her car last night, just so she could ambush me again before breakfast. I guess I should be happy she didn’t decide to break in and crawl into bed with me last night.

The long journey gives my mind plenty of time to concoct horror stories of what could have happened to Savie on her solo ride to Wintervale. I half expect Mateo to come trotting toward me sans his impudent and stubborn female rider. When he doesn’t, I breathe a slight sigh of relief. The pampered princess would never stray from the beaten path, and unless Mateo became seriously spooked by something, he’d never deliberately burst into the trees. Horses like a routine and tend to stay on the road, heading in a familiar direction.

Once I reach the courtyard, I head straight toward the inn. If she’s in town, she’ll be there, bickering with Caris, their two beautiful heads stuck together like old friends. Stepping inside, I glance around. The only people in the pub are regulars, drinking a pint and tucking in to Caris’ beef stew. And Cos, wearing a shite-eating grin. He’s deep in his cups, he is. The aroma of the succulent stew assails my senses, and I realize I haven’t had any food yet. My stomach rumbles in protest, but I can’t eat until I know Savie made it here in one piece.

My sister bustles out from the kitchen carrying a steaming plate of homemade cornbread. She slaps it down in front of the customers and then spears me with a glare unlike any I’ve ever seen from her—and she’s been mighty irked with me plenty of times. I’m the one who used to pull her pigtails and make fun of her boyfriends. But this is different. It looks more like disappointment.

I scrub a hand down my face, pissed that I shaved off my beard. It’ll grow back, I tell myself. Not soon enough. It’s like a mask I once hid behind, but now I’ve been laid bare to a cruel world.

“Is she all right?” I ask, not specifying who I’m talking about because she already knows.

“Yeah, nay thanks to yer. And feckin’ Mary. Why on earth was that slapper beddin’ down at yer cottage last night, Ronan? The last night yer had with Savie. ‘av yer gone daft?”

“Mayhap,” I admit, sliding onto a bar stool and hanging my head. If my beloved sister is about to give me a severe dressing down, it’s nothing worse than the one I’ve already given myself on the way over here.

“Oh, so we’re turnin’ into a man of few words again, eh?” She slaps me with a dish rag and I stare at it as I welcome the sting.

“Where is she? I need to talk to her, so I do.”

Caris huffs out a long-suffering breath and juts a hip out. “She’s gone, Ronan. Yer blew it. She was the one, and yer just let her go.”

I narrow my eyes at her, wishing I could grab one of the bottles of whiskey from behind the bar and chug it. Only the blessed relief of being fecking steamboats is going to make a dent in the agony-guilt-regret I feel right now.

“I didn’t let her go,” I argue, but it sounds more pathetic than confident. “She climbed on Mateo when I wasn’t lookin’ and rode into town on horseback like some American Lady Godiva.”

Caris gives a fake laugh and a snort. “She had clothes on, lunkhead. Yer should ‘av seen her, Ronan. Mel was already inside, and they couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Didn’t even finish their pints. As usual, Cos couldn’t keep his big yap shut. Once Declan popped his head in and said the bus was runnin’, they left. The only thing Savie said was goodbye and good riddance.”

Caris slaps her hand down on the worn mahogany in front of me.

“What’s that?” I ask of the white paper under her palm.

She looks at me as if I’m addled. “That’s her card. She asked me to ship her things at her expense, a’course. She left me a thousand dollars cash for my trouble. A thousand American dollars, eejit!”

My heart drops to my knees. The only reason Savie would have left money like that for shipping is because she felt as if she’d been used and she had to pay us for our troubles. I feel like a first-class shitehawk.

If my sister were a plant, she’d be a prickly pear. And her bristling at me is nothing less than what I deserve. For a long moment, I search her face for any sign that she’ll ever forgive me, weighing the option of pushing the issue with her to my own detriment.

“I’ll ship her things, and damn well pay for it meself,” I say, offering an olive branch. “We won’t be acceptin’ any of her coin here.”

I know that Caris could really use the money. The inn runs at a profit but not by much. It’s far more expensive to get supplies way out in the rural area like this and her patrons are few and far between outside of feeding our friends and family.

“Yer be doing nay such thing. Savie has entrusted me with her beautiful things and as a fellow woman, I will make sure that they get to Los Angeles safe and sound. Yer be a big oaf who canna be trusted with anythin’ that is fragile and valuable. Including her.”

“I—”

Caris sighs again and I take it, because I deserve her annoyance and anything else she decides to throw at me today. “How about yer just keep yer trap shut and try to mount nair a defense. Just so yer know, there isn’t one I’ll accept as feasible.”

Even through her ire, she slides a piece of chocolate cake in front of me and I tuck in, swallowing the melt in your mouth goodness. After slopping down the concoctions that Caris bakes, I feel almost normal. Almost.

After a few minutes, Caris and I sit in the pub alone, all the customers having eaten and left for their cottages. Some nights, she gets a customer depressed or down in their cups, drinking their pain away. Not tonight. I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. Better to get this uncomfortable conversation with my only sibling over or she’ll just think about it all day, gaining steam with every passing minute. If that happens, I’ll be dead meat like a skunk ground into the gravel after she’s done with the upbraiding.

This is one lass that I overindulge, and I don’t regret doing it. I think my sister hung the moon and stars. I wish she thought the same about me.

“Yer could do it, yer know.”

Apparently, she’s going to turn this into a guessing game, so she is. I’ll play. “Do what?”

“Go after her.”

I scoff and tip back my Guinness, taking a long draught. The liquor slides down the back of my throat, but it doesn’t ease my anxiety. Nothing short of a horse tranquilizer could do that. I’m standing in the eye of the sisterly storm and all I can do is strap myself to the nearest pole and ride it out.

“Nay, Caris. ‘Tis not possible. I’m young and fit, but not even I would travel to Dublin on horseback. ‘Tis nearly three hundred kilos. Yer do the math. It would take over a week.”

She makes a clucking noise with her tongue and something’s on the way that I’m not going to like. Something logical. Because when it comes to Savie and my strange feelings toward her, nothing makes sense.

“’Tis,” she presses. “Anything is possible if yer put yer mind to it.”

“Yer tell me exactly how a man without any mode of transport outside an old horse and his own legs can get himself to a modern metropolis?” I ask the question mainly because I want to keep her occupied before she starts making even more sense. I can’t go after Savie. Well, I could go after her, but not without losing my pride in the process. What’s she going to say when I get there? Gee, Ronan. ‘Tis great to see yer. Where’s yer horse? And guess what, I’m with child.

Someone else’s.

It would look ridiculous. It would be ridiculous. And I’m not a man who plays himself for a fool under any circumstances.

“If yer care about her like I think yer do, yer find a way. I kept her here far past the day when she wanted to leave. ‘Cause she’s the one from the prophecy. Yer know it and I know it. Yer the only stubborn mule who’s still tryin’ to deny it.”

“Deny what?”

The door to the kitchen swings open and Mary pokes her head through. I stare at Caris and narrow my eyes. Haven’t I gone through enough for one day? Why my meddling and over-bearing sister ever hired her as the inn’s lone server escapes me. She knows that we have a connection that’s now been relegated to the past. She knows Mary wants more than I’m willing to give. And yet, Caris took pity on the younger woman and offered her one of the only paying jobs in Wintervale.

And now, here Mary is sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong for the third time in the sun’s cycle.

“Deny he needs someone to come by his cottage at least once a week and clean it, he does. Why, ‘tis a manky hovel. I don’t know how he can stand to live there.”

Mary smiles, bright and easy, like we’ve not exchanged words already today, and I can almost see the wheels turning in side her head. A day exists not so long ago when I would have welcomed that twinkle in her eye. Not anymore.

“I know a perfect solution for that problem.”

“Yer do?” Caris asks the loaded question in an offhand way as she wipes down the bar top in front of me. I clear my throat, trying to tell her not to give Mary any further ammunition in her war against my physical defenses, but Caris has already focused her mind elsewhere. Probably plotting in her head how she can get me to Dublin.

“A’course,” Mary says, nodding her head. “I’ll clean it. I could come by every Monday after work. I could even take yer laundry with me and then bring it back. What do yer think, Ronan?”

I put up a hand, a physical barrier between her and me. It’s futile because her expression doesn’t change. “Nay. I can take care of meself. Caris takes gross liberties with the state of me household.”

Mary stomps her foot and returns to the kitchen, her lower lip protruding in another pout.

“I’ll thank yer to keep yerself from meddlin’ in me affairs,” I say to my sister, blistering her ears. “Especially, the ones of the female persuasion.”

She puts her palm over mine, and in a moment of weakness, I let her comfort flow through me. But instead of comfort, she returns my verbal punch. “As long as I’m yer sister, ‘tis my prerogative.”