Wild Irish Roots (The Mystic Cove Series) Read online

  "So, it's just you and your ma, huh?" Sean asked as he shoved a chip in his mouth. Margaret jumped as she realized that she had gotten a little engrossed in Sean's emotions and had stopped listening to him. She took a sip of the crisp cider and nodded, hoping to deter any more questions.

  "What happened to your dad?"

  "He died when I was young. My mother never remarried," Margaret said with a shrug. She remembered that time of her life in colors and emotions more than anything. The grief that Fiona had felt had almost dragged her sensitive soul under. Only when Fiona had realized that her emotions were harming her empathic daughter did Fiona close that part of herself off to Margaret.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Sean said with a gentle smile. Margaret could tell that he meant it and she shrugged her shoulders at him.

  "Just something that can't be changed, I guess," Margaret said.

  "Is it true...what the say about your mum?" Sean asked.

  Margaret stiffened and leaned back in her chair. She knew this was going to happen. It always did. People invariable questioned her about her "witch" of a mother.

  "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Sean said and reached across the table to catch Margaret's hand. She jumped as a shiver of heat ran up her arm from where he traced his thumb over the sensitive skin of her palm.

  "Um, yeah, it's okay, I get it." Margaret blew out a breath. "No, she's not a witch. She's not even Wiccan or anything like that. She just practices the centuries-old tradition of Celtic healing. You know, herbs and ointments...all made the old way is all. I can't knock it either, to be honest. She seems to really help people."

  "That's kind of cool. My mum just raised us kids while my dad worked. Nothing special. It must be neat to see your mom help people," Sean said eagerly.

  Margaret tilted her head and considered his words.

  "I suppose that it is pretty cool that she helps a lot of people. She certainly bucks traditional medicine," Margaret said.

  "Do you want to learn to heal, like her?" Sean asked.

  "No, I really have no interest. I..." Margaret let her voice trail away. She'd almost let out her secret dream.

  "Tell me. What do you want to do?" Sean asked, excitement lighting his eyes.

  "I want to move to the city and work in real estate. I know that may seem crazy...a small-town girl like me...but I really think that I'd love it. The hunt for the best properties, helping to match people with their new homes. I think that I'd love that," Margaret said softly. She'd never told anyone this as she didn't think it would happen for her.

  Sean leaned over and grabbed her other hand. Margaret stared longingly into his handsome face as he brushed a kiss across her hand.

  "I want to move back to the city too, after I learn all that I need to know about running a fishing business here. We..." Sean stopped abruptly.

  "Yes?" Margaret said, her voice husky with need.

  "We could go there together. You know, start a new life, away from here," Sean suggested, his heart in his eyes.

  Margaret gulped against the emotion that clogged her throat. She simply nodded, drowning in her love for him. She'd known. From the minute that she'd seen Sean, she'd known he was her destiny.

  Chapter Five

  Sean pulled Margaret from the restaurant, her hand all but disappearing in his wide palm. Turning his head, he looked up and down the street and groaned.

  "I want to kiss you so badly right now," Sean whispered down at her.

  Margaret, her heart knowing what she wanted, smiled up at him and tugged his hand to have him follow her down the street. Looking both ways down the street, she waited until it was clear before ducking behind the teashop and pulling Sean into the small, sheltered courtyard that was tucked behind the shop.

  Sean smiled as he saw the private yard and in one motion he backed Margaret against the wall, his tall frame making Margaret feel dainty.

  Margaret gasped as he pressed his body against hers and slid his muscular leg between her thighs. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he looked at her, his eyes heavy with lust. Without a word, he lowered his mouth to hers, laying a whisper of a kiss across her lips.

  Margaret's heart, quite simply, sang. The touch of his lips on hers shot lust straight through her and she moaned into his mouth. Liquid heat pooled low in her stomach and she jerked against the hardness of his leg pressed to her. He still didn't touch her with his hands, and led the kiss with his lips only. Softly, slowly, he opened her mouth with his tongue, tasting her heat.

  Margaret shuddered against his mouth and brought her arms up to wind them around his neck, threading her fingers through his thick hair. Sean's kiss was demanding, a question and an answer.

  Finally, finally...he touched her, running his hands down her waist and pulling her tight against his body. His heat burned into her, and Margaret's skin felt sensitized to his touch as he drew a hand up her waist and cupped a breast in his hand. Shock popped Margaret's eyes open and she arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm as his finger toyed with her nipple through her dress. Sensations pounded through Margaret and with no shields up, Sean's lust washed through her, doubling her own pleasure. Unable to help herself, she writhed against Sean's leg, and gasped as he caught her mouth in a heady kiss. The combination of his hand on her breast and the heat of his mouth proved to be too much for Margaret and much to her embarrassment, she found herself shattering over the edge into a blissful wave of pleasure.

  Sean's hand stilled against her breast and he pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. His breathing was heavy against her neck and Margaret was glad that he couldn't see the heat that stained her cheeks. Uncertain of what to do, how to handle this, she stayed still.

  "We can't do this here. You deserve more," Sean said gruffly against her neck. Margaret shuddered at the movement of his lips against her sensitive skin.

  "Sorry about that," Margaret whispered in embarrassment.

  Sean drew back and met her eyes. He brought his lips to hers ever-so-gently and Margaret almost fainted from the kiss.

  "Never. Don't be sorry. You want me as much as I want you. But, not here. Not like this. Saturday? Can I see you Saturday?" Sean breathed against her mouth.

  Margaret did a quick mental calculation. It was only two days away. She could wait two days to start the rest of her life. Nodding happily, she smiled up at him.

  "Saturday it is."

  Chapter Six

  Margaret awoke to Fiona singing softly in the kitchen. At nineteen, Margaret supposed that living with her mother was probably frowned upon, but she'd just never found the right time...or enough money to move out on her own.

  Until now. A little thrill shot through Margaret as she thought about Sean and life in Dublin. Mentally, she built them a little apartment with a window overlooking the water. Being away from this world where she hid a part of herself and dealt with people constantly questioning her about Fiona would be perfect for her. A new start.

  Stretching, Margaret pulled her hair into one long braid before throwing on an old robe that hung behind the door. She had today off to daydream and plan the perfect date with Sean tomorrow. Her stomach dipped a bit as she thought about Sean. She knew that her date with Sean tomorrow would change everything. Finally, she would step into womanhood.

  Daydreaming, Margaret went into the kitchen to greet Fiona. Fiona stood at the counter, kneading dough for brown bread that Margaret knew would taste moist and perfect. Fiona's skills in the kitchen were almost as legendary as her healing remedies were. Margaret supposed that they were one and the same...essentially just a mixing of ingredients.

  "Good morning, love. Want some oatmeal?" Fiona asked with a smile.

  "Sure, thanks," Margaret said and dropped down at the long table that dominated the main room of the cottage. Behind her, shelves lined the walls and were cluttered with hundreds of glass bottles and jars, all meticulously labeled. Margaret almost didn't see them anymore, so used to Fiona tinkering with
ointments that she barely glanced at the wall.

  Fiona stopped and sent a measured look at Margaret.

  "So, you're in love then," Fiona said quietly.

  Margaret's mouth dropped open and her spoon stilled on the way to her mouth. A fluttering of nervousness hit her stomach and she squirmed in her seat. It had always been like this. She could never hide anything from Fiona. If she had been bullied at school, Fiona knew. If she lied, Fiona called her out on it. If she was in love...well, Fiona could see it. Hating how different her little family was from the rest of the world, Margaret glared at Fiona.

  "God, have you ever thought about giving my emotions some privacy? I don't have to share everything with you, you know," Margaret said sullenly, turning away so she didn’t see the hurt in Fiona's eyes.

  "I'm sorry. I suppose that you do have a right to your privacy," Fiona said stiffly and went back to the sink, carrying a plate with her. Margaret watched her mom's rigid shoulders and felt bad. Hoping to make amends, she sighed.

  "What are you doing today? Do you need help?" Margaret asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from Sean.

  "Yes, I need to collect some plants and moss from the cove. I'd love an extra set of hands," Fiona said.

  "Sure, it's a nice day to go down there. Let me change," Margaret said quickly and, leaving her half-finished oatmeal on the table, she moved to her bedroom. She hummed softly to herself as she thought about tomorrow, pulling on a simple tank suit under a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. With no need for makeup, she grabbed a beach towel from the hook behind her door and went into the main room.

  Fiona stood at the door with her customary foraging clothes on. Khaki shorts to her knees, a loose button-down shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat made for easy hiking clothes. She handed Margaret a burlap bag that Margaret knew would have smaller mesh bags, twine, and scissors in it. Margaret slipped the bag over her shoulder and both women pulled on ragged hiking boots.

  Leaving the cottage, Margaret took a deep breath of the sea air that washed over her face on a wave of sunshine. Silently, the two women followed a well-worn path across green hills that ended abruptly at the edge of a steep cliff. Beyond the cliff, water as blue as the sky melted into the horizon. It was as picturesque Ireland as one could get, and Margaret often wondered why more people didn't set up vacation homes along this coast.

  In short order, Margaret and Fiona reached the end of the path that stopped at the top of the trail down into Grace's Cove. Margaret stood at the edge for a moment as Fiona gathered a handful of flowers nearby. Her mother always did this, Margaret thought. Some sort of weird gift ritual. Sighing, she turned her back on Fiona and gazed into the center of the cove.

  The cove was a perfect half-circle of water surrounded by towering cliffs that guarded the long beach from sight. The cliffs protected a private, and singularly perfect, beach. The cove should have had hundreds of people plastered on its shores, playing with their children in the shallows, and picnicking on the beach. Yet, the long stretch of sand remained empty. Margaret knew that it was because of the rumors that the cove was cursed.

  Remembering her mother's insistence that Grace O'Malley rested here, Margaret shivered as she felt the hum of power kiss her skin. It was always like this when she came to the cove. It was as if the air was thicker here. Margaret felt sensitized, alive, and...right when she was in the cove. Which was why she never came here alone. Margaret feared that she would answer its siren song and find herself swimming madly into the deep water.

  "Ready?" Fiona asked behind her and Margaret jerked her eyes back to her mother.

  "Yes."

  Together, they navigated the path that switch backed down the cliff walls before spilling out onto the beach. Margaret fought the wave of dizziness that always came over her as she wound her way down the rocky walls. It was as if all of her carefully crafted boundaries dropped away from her in the cove. She could literally feel everything...from the pulse of the water to the humming of the sun. It was almost hypnotic and Margaret always had to fight to keep a cool head here.

  She stopped at the bottom of the path and bent to take her boots off as Fiona began her ritual.

  Every time, without fail, Margaret thought as she watched her mother draw a circle in the sand with a stick that she had picked up along the way. Sighing, she stepped into the circle with her mother.

  "We ask for your protection while we are in the cove today. We come here with purity of purpose and nothing but the utmost respect for those that rest here," Fiona said before throwing the flowers she held clutched in her hand into the air. Margaret watched as they separated in mid-air and scattered across the water. The waves seemed to rise up and swallow them and Margaret shivered.

  "Good?" Margaret asked her mother sarcastically.

  Fiona just raised an eyebrow at her and nodded.

  "You must always do this if you come here, Margaret. I know you think that it is silly, but people have died."

  Margaret sighed. She knew that people had died here. But she suspected it was more from the wicked currents that ran along the outside of the cove than it was from some mystical power that sucked people underneath. Shrugging her shoulders, she simply nodded at her mom before striding across the sand to the first tidal pool that her mom always collected seaweed from.

  They worked together, in rhythm, for almost an hour. Fiona chattered happily as she repeated, for the gazillionth time, the uses for the different plants that they collected. Margaret knew that Fiona hoped that one of these days she would take an interest in her practice. And, Margaret also suspected that she would break Fiona's heart when she left for Dublin. A part of her already ached for Fiona. She loved her mother but they were just too different. Margaret wanted a normal, respectable life.

  Daydreaming about her new career in real estate, Margaret dipped her toes in the water and watched as the waves pushed sand over her toes. Standing here, she felt so small, cupped by the cliffs, hidden from the world. If she admitted it to herself, she knew that she would leave a piece of herself behind in Grace's Cove. No matter what, this place would always call to her.

  Almost fondly, she blew a soft kiss to the water and walked to where Fiona called to her from the bottom of the path.

  Impulsively, she threw an arm around Fiona's shoulders and kissed her cheek. There was no reason not to enjoy this time with her mother since she was leaving soon anyway. Fiona gave her a surprised look and then a bright smile. Together, they chatted over the local gossip that Margaret had picked up in the café as they climbed their way out of the cove, the sounds of the waves crashing against the rock walls of the cliffs slowly receding behind them.

  Back at the house, Margaret could hear the phone ringing through the open windows of the cottage. Fiona broke into a jog and swung through the door of the main room, running to the corner where the phone sat.

  "Hello?" Fiona said as she leaned against the arm of the rocking chair that stood next to the phone. Margaret eyed her as she pulled the strap of the burlap bag over her shoulder and deposited it on the table. Margaret listened to Fiona as she began to pull the small bags out and laid them on the smooth wood of the table. Fiona would later transfer them to her drying board.

  "What's wrong? Pneumonia? In the summer? Why didn't you call me sooner?" Fiona said sternly as she peppered the caller with questions.

  "Aye, we'll be there shortly," Fiona said and hung up.

  Margaret jolted at the "we."

  "We?"

  "I'd like for you to come with me today. I think that you're ready to learn how I heal," Fiona said briskly as she moved to the shelves of bottles. Margaret's heartbeat picked up in speed and she watched Fiona for a moment.

  "Um, I know how you heal. With your ointments and whatnot. Do you really need me to go?" Margaret said, whining a little.

  Fiona turned and met her eyes.

  "It's time," she said simply and Margaret felt a cold wash of fear slice through her. Taking a deep breath, Margaret le
ctured herself. Her mother was asking for her help. Soon, she wouldn't be here to help her, so why not go now?

  Coming to a decision, Margaret nodded. "Yes, I'll go with you. Just let me change out of my suit."

  With a grateful smile, Fiona nodded and continued to pull bottles from the shelf.

  "We'll leave in ten minutes."

  Chapter Seven

  Moments later, Margaret got in the front seat of Fiona's dark green station wagon. She kept quiet as Fiona backed the car from the driveway and waited until they were on the curvy road that wound along the cliffs and into the harbor where the town of Grace's Cove nestled.

  Staring out over the water, Margaret broke the silence.

  "Who is sick?"

  "The Brady's' child. Ainsley. She's but three years old and, apparently, is very sick. I only wish that they had called me sooner," Fiona said distractedly.

  "Is it harder when it is a child?" Margaret wondered out loud.

  "Aye, it is. Always harder. Children deserve a chance at life," Fiona said.

  Margaret hoped that Fiona would remember those words when she left for Dublin. She was taking her chance.

  "So, what do you do for pneumonia? How do you know what to do?" Margaret asked.

  Fiona looked at her in surprise. Margaret never expressed interest in Fiona's practice and she could see a wave of happiness ripple over her mother's beautiful face. A stab of guilt crept through Margaret. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so selfish all this time and taken more interest in her mother's work.

  "Well, I won't really know until I am there. I will have to feel it, sense what is going on," Fiona said and Margaret felt annoyance pass through her. She hated when Fiona referenced their gifts, though she suspected that Fiona had many more gifts than she did.

  "So, how do you know what medicine to give?" Margaret said, deliberately steering the conversation away from their empathic powers.

  "Ah, well, my book, you know. It has remedies that have been passed down for generations," Fiona said as her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Margaret knew that her cautious mother was trying to speed without endangering them.