Bruar's Rest

Morning brought bright sunshine, flooding rays of its welcome light into the bedroom.
    Through the open curtains she saw what Michael had tried to describe; miles and stretching miles of beautiful fields. Although it was still winter, in her mind’s eye she pictured a summer scene of luscious green, with wild clover and tiny daisies.
    Over a satin-backed chair hung a red silk robe which Mrs Sullivan had hurriedly prepared for her the previous night; she slipped it on hastily, tying the soft belt around her waist. Running fingers through her tousled hair, she almost floated downstairs, feeling every inch a lady of the manor. Michael was already up and about seeing to his precious horses. As she set her feet on the paisley-patterned carpet of red and green in the hallway, he came in and filled his gaze with the vision of loveliness standing before him. At once she was in his arms being kissed and embraced. Pushing him gently away she reminded him of their agreement.
    ‘If you had my eyes and saw this beautiful filly standing in front of you—well, need I say more?’
    ‘If I were a filly, I’m certain Mrs Sullivan would have something to say about my hooves on her carpets.’
    ‘Carpets can easily be replaced, but the look of you all fresh and blooming cannot. And that red robe goes with your black hair like a crimson sky on a shimmering ocean at the setting of the sun.’
    ‘My, oh my, what a charmer you are this fine day, Michael of the Irish.’ She wondered what title this fine gentleman held and asked, ‘What is your other name? Though to me, forever the tinker, names matter little.’
    ‘Why is that?’ he asked.
    ‘Because we seldom stayed long enough in any place to care what people were called.’
    ‘Riley is my name. Now, will we annoy Mrs Sullivan by demanding a cup of her special tea?’
    Morning tea, he insisted, was part of Mrs Sullivan’s breakfast chores (and hell mend anyone who got in the way of her duties) so while they waited for the housekeeper to prepare breakfast, Megan dressed and went for a walk around his stables. These were several more in number than his sister had, and because of this more men were needed. Already Paddy was up and about and eager to introduce her to Johnno and Terry, both stable hands who’d worked many years with Michael and his father before him.
    ‘Ah, she’s the picture of a princess she is,’ said Terry, smiling with approval. ‘Tell me now, colleen, why have you come here wit this piece of useless flesh when I’m free?’ He laughed, pointing at Michael.
    Johnno joined in the laughter, displaying a toothless grin. Shoving his mate aside he said, ‘Niver mind him, Megan, and I’m the one wit the looks.’
    Paddy, haltering a fine stallion, laughed at his two mates’ fanciful shenanigans and said, ‘Would you listen to the two of you? One would think you’d never set eyes on a woman before, and the both of you with fine wives.’
    ‘Less of the fine there now, Paddy me lad, me old bird is as broad as that barn door there and as bald as the church roof.’
    ‘Terry, the nixt time I sees your good lady, for sure I’m telling her what you said.’
    ‘I’ll flog the life from ye, Johnno, if ye do. And who are you to speak, wit that skeleton wit flesh wrapped around its bones that you have for a wife.’
    Both men playfully tapped each other with horsewhips.
    ‘I’ll have to be speaking with these men of mine,’ joked Michael, ‘for they are as mad as hatters.’
    She enjoyed the light-heartedness. She didn’t usually stir grown men to such frolics, so she flicked back her head and smiled broadly, almost flirting. Then, realising what she was doing, she blushed red.
    Michael held her hand, already signalling to all that his visitor was spoken for. It made her feel important. Strangely, she felt a sense of belonging there in such a lovely place; but was she fooling herself yet again?
    Later that day, after a breakfast served to perfection, Michael took her on a tour of his kingdom. ‘This is Ballyshan, my home,’ he told her proudly, indicating the land for as far as she could see. ‘To the front of the house and stables is where we graze and exercise the horses. To the rear of my property there is a vast area of moorland.’ He went on, ‘It would be best if you kept yourself within the miles of flat land to the front of the house and don’t go near the moor, because it has bogs so deep I’ve lost horses in them. Sank, they did, into