When Irish Eyes Are Haunting: A Krewe of Hunters Novella Read online

  Once a year, the Karney family had a cleaning company head down to sweep out the spider webs and then they would allow tour groups down. The liability for doing it more than once a year was just too high.

  Above ground, however, the tiny old chapel area was charming.

  They chose a table there.

  A friendly waitress with a white peasant blouse, ankle-length skirt, and wreath around her head came their way after tending to a group ahead of them. A lone, busy bartender stood behind the long bar pouring a number of beers at once, worthy of a reality show.

  Devin noticed that little had changed since she had been to Castle Karney when she’d been about thirteen.

  “Ah, Gary! So ye’ve tricked some new friends into dinner again!” the waitress said.

  “Indeed, but these are special friends, Siobhan!” Gary said.

  “Oh?” Siobhan asked, smiling, and waiting.

  “I’m Kelly Karney’s cousin, Devin Lyle,” Devin said. “Nice to meet you, Siobhan. And this is my husband, Craig Rockwell.”

  “Ah, very American, you keeping your name, eh?” Siobhan asked, grinning. “I’m Siobhan McFarley. A pleasure to meet you both!” She frowned. “Sorry about the latest troubles in the family, eh?”

  “You mean Collum’s death?” Devin asked.

  “Aye, that I do,” Siobhan said, and shivered visibly. “Scary, now, weren’t it? I heard it, you know, the banshee’s cry the night before. You heard it, too, right, Gary?”

  “Ah, now, luv, that’s nonsense!” Gary said. “I heard nothing—but then, I was away from the castle that night. Finished me tour and headed on home, down in the village. I heard nothing.”

  “We’d just cleaned up here—closes at ten, but we’re known to cheat a bit on the side of the patron, you know, so it’s closer to eleven when we close the door,” Siobhan said. “At twelve—it was twelve exactly—I heard the sound of her wailing away! I tell you, the goose bumps rose all over me. Creepiest sound I ever did hear.”

  “Wolves,” Gary said. “They cry from the forest sometimes, you know.” He looked at Rocky and Devin. “Beyond the road here, and away from the sea, there’s a great forest. You must have passed it on your way.”

  “We did, indeed,” Rocky said. “But, if the wolves were howling that night, wouldn’t you have heard them in the village as well?”

  “Not if you’re sleeping, which I must have been,” Gary said. He looked at Siobhan with a teasing eye. “Some of us work around here.”

  “Aye, and that would be me!” Siobhan protested. “Not running my mouth as if I’d kissed the Blarney Stone like a lover! Hauling pints here and there and what have you for hours on end!”

  “Teasing, me luv, but I must have been asleep,” Gary said. “Two weeks ago tonight; Collum has been in his grave but ten days now.”

  “Glad I am that you’re here for Kelly, for she’s a sweetheart, if ever there was one,” Siobhan told Devin. “Anyway, now, some of your last tour is here, Gary, and it’s just me and Allen at the bar, so what will you have?”

  Devin and Rocky decided to try different local beers; she ordered the shepherd’s pie and he ordered the bangers and mash. Gary decided on the fish and chips.

  “Just give the cook the order, Siobhan, I’ll bring them to meet Allen at the bar and get the beers,” Gary said.

  “Thank you!” Siobhan said, relieved. She hurried on.

  Gary rose and Devin and Rocky did the same. “Allen Fitzhugh!” Gary said, approaching the bar.

  The young man looked up briefly—he was pouring a Guinness with care, taking the time warranted of the rich, dark Irish beer.

  He smiled at them, a man with slightly unruly amber-colored hair with amber eyes to match. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as he worked. He was of medium height and build, attractive with his quick, curious, and welcoming grin.

  “Kelly’s cousin, Devin Lyle, and her husband, Rocky Rockwell.”

  Allen paused long enough to wipe his hand on a broad green apron before shaking hands across the hardwood bar.

  “Rocky Rockwell?” Allen asked.

  “Craig Rockwell. If your last name is Rockwell, you just become Rocky, I guess,” Rocky said.

  “Good to have you,” he said. “American pragmatism will be welcome!” he said. He added more somberly, “An American cousin for our Kelly will be good, too.”

  “We’re delighted to be here,” Devin said.

  “It was strange, the night old Collum died,” Allen said, still surveying them solemnly. “I’ve never heard anything like that wail—the banshee’s wail. Never. I’d heard that expression about the hair standing up on the back of the neck—never had it happen before that night!”

  “It must have been very eerie,” Devin said.

  “Banshee, banshee, banshee,” Gary said, shaking his head. “We’ve come up so our American cousins could meet you—and to help our Siobhan. So, sir, if you don’t mind?”

  “What’s your pleasure?” Allen asked him.

  Gary rolled off their beer orders and Allen, with a delightful brogue as well, described each in a manner to equal that of the best wine steward or sommelier to be found.

  They thanked him and returned to the table.

  Gary leaned toward them across the booth. “Everyone here is unnerved. Doc Kirkland says it’s just the way a man looks when he’s died of a heart attack. But—as you realize from the tales I weave—we are a fanciful people. The housekeeping staff, pub staff—all are certain now that the banshee wailed and that the death ghost came and met old Collum face to face. And thus he died—staring out in horror, as if he’d seen some beastie. Collum was a good man; they need to honor him and let him rest in peace.”

  As he spoke, Devin looked toward the door.

  Kelly was back.

  Her cousin was a beautiful young woman with rich, flowing, red hair, and fine, delicate features. She was tiny—a mere five-two. A slight spattering of freckles across her nose added to something of her gamine-like appeal. She and Devin didn’t look much like cousins—Devin stood over Kelly a solid seven inches, her hair was nearly black to Kelly’s true red, and her eyes were blue while Kelly’s were a lovely, gold-studded hazel.

  “Devin!” she cried with delight, finding her seated in the booth. She rushed over, speaking as she did so. “I’m so sorry, but our business here is with friends, and meetings and all can go to all hours. I never thought that we’d be so late! But Uncle Brendan said he’d sent you out on the tour.”

  Devin was out of the booth to hug her before she reached the table.

  “We’re fine—just fine,” Devin said.

  Kelly glanced affectionately at Gary with a quick smile. “I figured you’d be entertained, but I was sure we’d be back before it ended.”

  Devin thought that she felt her cousin trembling, despite her words and manner.

  Rocky slid from the booth to meet Kelly, and Gary rose as well.

  “I hope you were good!” Kelly teased Gary.

  “Luv, I did my best!” Gary told her.

  “We have been in excellent hands—Brendan was completely welcoming and Gary is a great guide,” Devin said quickly. “And, of course, Kelly, this is Rocky—or Craig Rockwell, my husband.”

  “Wonderful to meet you, wonderful, and thank you—thank you so much for coming!” Kelly said.

  “Of course. It’s beautiful and quite historic, and Gary is full of fascinating information,” Rocky assured her. “Join us, can you? Or should we be joining you, Kelly, and saying hello to your father?”

  “Yes! Should I say hello to Uncle Seamus?” Devin asked.

  “He’s headed on to bed,” Kelly told her. She smiled. “He thought you two would be in bed already for the night—you are newlyweds. But, I knew you’d wait up to see me,” she added, smiling at first and then growing a little anxious. “Are you all right? Are you sure you’re all right—in that suite? Collum did die there,” she added softly.

  “Kelly, I’m sure many people have died th
ere through the centuries,” Rocky said pleasantly. “We’ll be okay. From everything I’ve heard, Collum was a fine man, and I’m honored to be staying in his chambers.”

  “Of course—they’re ghost hunters!” Gary said cheerfully. “So you want them in that room specifically, don’t you?”

  Kelly flushed a bright red color. “I don’t…I mean…I wish I did know the truth. There’s so much rumor going around.”

  “Kelly,” Gary said softly. Watching him, Devin thought that the man really cared about her cousin. “It’s rumor—just rumor. People have to talk when someone like Collum dies. It’s sad—because he was a great guy. But, there’s no conspiracy, no curse, no reason other than that his heart had taken a beating.”

  “I know, I know,” Kelly said. “Still.” She gave herself a physical shake and smiled brightly. “So, here’s hoping you like St. Patrick’s Day. Did you know that the Americans were the ones who really turned it from a solemn holy day into a big celebration? Here, there was always a procession. A church procession. And music, and wailing, and all that. But, now, we have the dancers from the church, Ren fest vendors, parades, and all. It will be great.”

  Kelly greeted Siobhan when the waitress came with their food, ordered a beer, and talked as they ate. When it was time to go, she insisted it was all on the house—or the castle, as it was—but Rocky insisted on paying. After all, they’d invited Gary to dinner.

  Gary bid them good-bye and headed out to the car park in the courtyard, leaving Kelly standing with Devin and Rocky in the great hall.

  “I’m so scared!” she admitted.

  “Kelly, why?” Devin asked. “Rocky and I haven’t had much time yet to ask any questions, see the M.E., or look around, but it truly sounds as if your uncle died of natural causes. Gary certainly seems to think so.”

  “There’s just something, something different,” Kelly said. “All I can say is I feel it, Devin.”

  “What do you feel?” Rocky asked her.

  Kelly looked from Rocky to Devin.

  “Something menacing…something dark and terrible and evil. Like the prophecy,” she said.

  “What prophecy?” Rocky demanded.

  “You’re kidding!” Devin said.

  “What prophecy?” Rocky repeated.

  Devin sighed and explained. “Castle Karney in Karney hands shall lie, ’til the moon goes dark by night and the banshee wails her last lament,” she quoted.

  “And what is that from?” Rocky demanded. “It’s what Gary the Ghost quoted during the tour, right?”

  “Declan Karney,” Devin said, still looking at her cousin with sympathy. “He supposedly said those words before impaling himself on Sir Barry Martin’s sword after his wife, Brianna, was slain. Kelly! He meant that he’d die—which he did—before letting any man take Karney Castle from the Karney family. There’s nothing about the family dying out in that prophecy. He meant it as a battle cry—a cry of revenge, a promise that he’d kill his enemy—which he also did.”

  “I’m just glad that you’re here,” Kelly said. She studied Devin anxiously. “I know you have had trouble…but you’re the strong cousin and you’re…” she paused to look at Rocky, “…you’re tough! And something is going on here. I know it. I’ve—I’ve seen…”

  “Seen what?” Devin prodded her.

  “The black shadows,” Kelly said.

  “What?” Devin asked. Her voice came out sharp. Too sharp.

  But, Kelly hadn’t noticed.

  “Strange black shadows. They seem to watch us from corners when the light is dim, as if they’re waiting for the right moment, ready to encompass us…devour us. I think that they’re the death ghosts. The banshees!” she said, her eyes solemnly on Devin’s. “You’ll see. Wait, watch, and listen. Death is here,” she whispered. And then she added, “Oh, Devin! I believe that death itself now resides here! You’ll know—you’ll know when you hear the banshee wail!”

  Chapter 3

  Rocky lay awake in the massive bed in the old master’s room.

  The mattress was new, brand new. Apparently, Kelly had tried her best with just a few days in which to work to make the room fresh and new without compromising the integrity of the history to be found within it. The bed itself was circa 1400 with four massive carved posters, a headboard with the family crest deeply etched into it, and tapestry for the canopy and drapes. A hearth—not as long as that to be found in the great hall downstairs but a good seven feet or so—was on the opposite wall while a standing mirror, wardrobes, and a hardwood table and chair set on the rug before the hearth completed the room. It was intriguing to lie on the bed and wonder about the battle plans made at the table, the compromises wrangled out, and the regular day-to-day business of running such an estate.

  The chairs at the table were large and antique—upholstered in red velvet. Collum Karney had died in one, Rocky knew. There were four of them—two at the table, two drawn up on either side of the hearth. He believed that Collum had been sitting in the chair at the left of the hearth, perhaps watching a fire burn as it swept away the continual chill of such a castle. Even in the midst of summer, Devin had told him, the rain could come strong and hard and the wind, picking up off the coast, could blow fiercely.

  Fires were welcome.

  One burned gently now. He speculated on the chair and the hearth for a moment, wondering about Collum and what might have come into the room to scare such a strong and stalwart giant of a man.

  Naturally, he’d fully inspected the master’s chambers. There was a door to the nursery, now set up as a dressing room. Another door led to a library which had a door to the hallway as well. He hadn’t found any tunnels or chambers from which someone hidden might have jumped out. As yet.

  Of course, someone could have entered freely from the hallway. There were massive bolts on the doors, but that didn’t mean that Collum had bolted the door to the hallway on the night he had died. Since a housekeeper had found him in the morning, he apparently had not bolted his door.

  When they first arrived, he’d stood silently in the center of the room and waited, listening, feeling.

  But, he’d sensed no presence of the dead.

  Devin, doing the same, had shaken her head. Then she’d smiled. “It’s never that easy, is it? Can’t just say, ‘Hey! Collum, what happened to you?’”

  “Maybe—but looks like we’ll have to ask questions to get answers,” Rocky had told her.

  She’d grinned. “Well at least it’s nice to be alone. Really alone!”

  “For now, yes,” he’d said softly, grinning as well.

  And then she’d been in his arms.

  It was their honeymoon.

  There was the tub as well. The wonderful claw-foot tub just behind the dividing wall in the bath where plumbing had finally been added in the 1950s. Thankfully, they had built and “plumbed” around the original, with its elegant racks and the big iron grates for heating water. They were no longer needed to heat the water, but they remained—charming with their tie to the medieval past.

  Yes, it had been wonderful…

  And it was still wonderful to lie beside his wife. Wife. He loved the word, and loved it because he could use it now—and because Devin was his wife. He remembered the first time he had seen her, standing in the center of the road at night, raven’s hair flying around her head and beautiful face, as if she were a mystical goddess sent down to rule the earth. Of course, the circumstances hadn’t been that good—she’d just found a dead girl. And in getting to know Devin—in falling in love with her—he’d nearly lost her. The case had been one, however, that had extended over years, plagued him and haunted him since he’d been in high school. But they’d found the truth, survived the truth—and set the past to rest. Afterward, Devin had decided that she didn’t want to sit on the sidelines, that she had everything that it took to join in their ranks—and she’d done so.

  They hadn’t wanted a big wedding. Just their closest associates—Krewe members—and their
families up from the warm climes where they’d retired. Devin’s folks believed she was just visiting Ireland to support Kelly—and that it was a lovely honeymoon option. That was best.

  And almost true.

  Up on an elbow, he studied Devin. Her back was to him—long and sleek and provocative. The covers came just below her hip at an angle and it was almost as if he were looking at an artist’s rendering of a stunning woman in an elegant repose. She was sleeping soundly. He really shouldn’t wake her. It was nearing midnight.

  They’d already had an incredible time playing in the massive claw-foot tub. He could close his eyes and smile and picture her sitting across from him in a swell of bubbles, laughing as they used their toes to investigate and stroke one another, until she’d come into his arms and they’d slid and laughed and made love in the heat and the bubbles and the steam rising around them.

  But now, the clock hadn’t quite struck midnight yet.

  Still, cruel to wake her…

  Maybe he’d just touch. With a feather-light touch, he drew his fingertip down the sleek and sensual line of her back and spine, just to the place where the sheet hid the rise of her hip. Once…and twice…

  And then she turned to him with her brilliant blue eyes, a smile curving her lips, and he knew that she had only been drowsing and that she’d felt his first touch and was laughing inside until she’d decided on mercy.

  She rolled into his arms, burying her head against his chest and delivering kisses against his flesh. He was instantly aroused, aware that his every muscle seemed to twitch, that she could awake a fire in him instantly, and that she could tear at his heart with a whisper or a word. He felt her move low against him, felt her hair fall upon him like caresses in silk and his arms wrapped around her as he groaned and then pulled her up to him, meeting her mouth with his own with desire and hunger and love. He meant to play, to tease, to worship the pure beauty of her form, and yet the fire burned so quickly that she smiled as she straddled and set atop him, until they rolled again, entwined, and lay side by side, then rolled again, moving, writhing, making love, laughing breathlessly at awkward positions, their laughter fading as urgency prevailed until they climaxed almost simultaneously and fell beside one another—panting for breath.