their Grande Armee invading Ireland.
A knock suddenly sounded at the door, loud and insistent.
“Come in,” Caroline called. She half-feared—or hoped—it was Grant.
But it was Mrs. McCann, looking even sterner and more disapproving than usual after Caroline’s “escape.” She wondered how
the housekeeper came to be employed here at such a ramshackle old castle in the first place. “I hope you’re feeling quite
well, my lady, and that you have not caught a chill from the rain.”
“I am very well, thank you, Mrs. McCann,” Caroline answered. “The hot bath was a great improvement.”
“Then if you please, Sir Grant has asked that you join him for dinner in the dining room.”
Caroline sipped at her wine as she studied the room. It seemed all stone—rough stone walls, flagstone floor covered with a
faded old carpet, a carved fireplace that was big enough to roast an ox. The only furniture was the old table and x-back chairs,
and a sideboard that held only dusty bottles of wine and no silver plate. She remembered again his fashionable Dublin dining
room, with its graceful French furniture, delicate Murano glass chandeliers, and yellow satin draperies and cushions.
Oddly, she much preferred
this
room, with all its antique mystery. It had an austere elegance that suited this new Grant, the Grant who sat beside her at
the head of the massive table.
“It’s very interesting in here,” she said. “I almost expect a row of chanting monks to walk through at any moment.”
Grant laughed. “It’s not very la mode.”
“Neither am I, I’m afraid. I prefer something with more substance, more interest to it than what is fashionable. Something
that speaks of the past.”
“Muirin Inish is full of the past. It’s also cold and damp.”
“And haunted?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his eyes hooded. “So they say. But isn’t every old house and grove in Ireland said to be haunted?”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Grant?”
“Not in the spirits of the dead.” He paused to pour more wine into their glasses. “At least I don’t believe they walk the
corridors at night, moaning and clanking chains. They stay with us in ways that are far more subtle and insidious.”
Who haunted Grant like that? Caroline wanted very much to know. Who lingered in his heart and his memory,giving those terrible sad shadows to his eyes? But he said nothing more, and she didn’t know how to ask without driving him
away. She had never been as adroit with emotional matters as she wanted to be, as her sister Anna was.
“I’d like to see more of the island’s history,” she said. “I read about the monastery before I left Dublin, and I heard there
was an ancient Celtic ring fort.”
“There is, though there’s not much to see there now. The stones were used to make a new fort in Cromwell’s time, and that
was destroyed soon after. The monastery is much more extensive in its remains, but it’s not safe for you to go there alone.
I can take you tomorrow, if the rain ceases for a time.”
Caroline looked at him in surprise. “You would go with me?”
“Someone obviously has to keep you from falling into a hidden pit or stumbling over ledges,” he said. “Someone has to see
to your safety.”
Caroline laughed. She never felt less safe than when she was with him. She never felt less like herself, less in control.
“And you have appointed yourself my keeper?”
He leaned toward her over the corner of the table. His gaze was suddenly quite serious and intense. “I don’t see anyone else
here to do it. And you Blacknall women seem to bring trouble in your wake wherever you go.”
Caroline thought of how he once wanted to marry a Blacknall woman—Anna. She sat back in her chair, away from the warm lure
of his body, and took another gulp of wine. “The wine is very good.”
“Unlike the food?” Grant slumped back in his own chair and pushed away his untouched plate. “It
A knock suddenly sounded at the door, loud and insistent.
“Come in,” Caroline called. She half-feared—or hoped—it was Grant.
But it was Mrs. McCann, looking even sterner and more disapproving than usual after Caroline’s “escape.” She wondered how
the housekeeper came to be employed here at such a ramshackle old castle in the first place. “I hope you’re feeling quite
well, my lady, and that you have not caught a chill from the rain.”
“I am very well, thank you, Mrs. McCann,” Caroline answered. “The hot bath was a great improvement.”
“Then if you please, Sir Grant has asked that you join him for dinner in the dining room.”
Caroline sipped at her wine as she studied the room. It seemed all stone—rough stone walls, flagstone floor covered with a
faded old carpet, a carved fireplace that was big enough to roast an ox. The only furniture was the old table and x-back chairs,
and a sideboard that held only dusty bottles of wine and no silver plate. She remembered again his fashionable Dublin dining
room, with its graceful French furniture, delicate Murano glass chandeliers, and yellow satin draperies and cushions.
Oddly, she much preferred
this
room, with all its antique mystery. It had an austere elegance that suited this new Grant, the Grant who sat beside her at
the head of the massive table.
“It’s very interesting in here,” she said. “I almost expect a row of chanting monks to walk through at any moment.”
Grant laughed. “It’s not very la mode.”
“Neither am I, I’m afraid. I prefer something with more substance, more interest to it than what is fashionable. Something
that speaks of the past.”
“Muirin Inish is full of the past. It’s also cold and damp.”
“And haunted?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his eyes hooded. “So they say. But isn’t every old house and grove in Ireland said to be haunted?”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Grant?”
“Not in the spirits of the dead.” He paused to pour more wine into their glasses. “At least I don’t believe they walk the
corridors at night, moaning and clanking chains. They stay with us in ways that are far more subtle and insidious.”
Who haunted Grant like that? Caroline wanted very much to know. Who lingered in his heart and his memory,giving those terrible sad shadows to his eyes? But he said nothing more, and she didn’t know how to ask without driving him
away. She had never been as adroit with emotional matters as she wanted to be, as her sister Anna was.
“I’d like to see more of the island’s history,” she said. “I read about the monastery before I left Dublin, and I heard there
was an ancient Celtic ring fort.”
“There is, though there’s not much to see there now. The stones were used to make a new fort in Cromwell’s time, and that
was destroyed soon after. The monastery is much more extensive in its remains, but it’s not safe for you to go there alone.
I can take you tomorrow, if the rain ceases for a time.”
Caroline looked at him in surprise. “You would go with me?”
“Someone obviously has to keep you from falling into a hidden pit or stumbling over ledges,” he said. “Someone has to see
to your safety.”
Caroline laughed. She never felt less safe than when she was with him. She never felt less like herself, less in control.
“And you have appointed yourself my keeper?”
He leaned toward her over the corner of the table. His gaze was suddenly quite serious and intense. “I don’t see anyone else
here to do it. And you Blacknall women seem to bring trouble in your wake wherever you go.”
Caroline thought of how he once wanted to marry a Blacknall woman—Anna. She sat back in her chair, away from the warm lure
of his body, and took another gulp of wine. “The wine is very good.”
“Unlike the food?” Grant slumped back in his own chair and pushed away his untouched plate. “It
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