The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

Away from the coast, and still distant from the mountains, the land rolled wet and green. Lines of gray from stone walls, deeper green from rough trees, ran through the fields and turned function into charm. He spotted a cottage, much like the one on Faerie Hill, with its creamy walls and thatched roof. A scatter of sheep, little white blobs wandering over the postcard.
    And above it all, those three smears of color on a pale sky.
    He opened the sunroof, chuckling when Darcy cursed as the water that had pooled on the glass showered in. It smelled fresh, gloriously clean, and added something elemental to the scent of her skin.
    Then, as the road climbed, he saw it. Dull and gray and forbidding against the seashell sky. Only three walls of the structure were standing, the fourth long fallen into a tumble of stones. But what was left was defiant,spearing up out of the quiet country field as a monument to blood, to power, to vision.
    He swung off the road, stopped the car. “Let’s go see it.”
    “See what? Trevor, it’s only a ruin. You can find one by doing hardly more than turning a corner in Ireland. There are far better ones than this if such things interest
    you. You’ve the oratory or the cathedral in Ardmore, for that matter.”
    “This one’s here, and so are we.” He reached across her to open her door. “This is just the sort of thing that draws people to an area.”
    “Those who haven’t the sense to take holiday where there’s a nice pool and a collection of five-star restaurants.” Grumbling a bit, she climbed out, then sighed and followed after him. “Just one of the many ruined castles or forts, probably sacked by the Cromwellians— they seemed to like nothing so much as sacking and burning.”
    The grass was damp, which made her glad she’d thought to wear boots. Knowing just what sheep and cows did in fields, she watched her step.
    “No sign, no marker, nothing. It just stands here.”
    Darcy cocked her head, deciding it was more productive to be amused than annoyed. “And what do you think it should do but stand here?”
    He only laid a hand on the stone and looked up. “How many men, I wonder, did it take to build this? How long? Who ordered it built here, and why? Shelter and defense.”
    He stepped inside and, humoring him, Darcy followed.
    Grass had grown up, wild and tough, through fallen stones. The walls, open to the elements, dripped with wet from the recent storms. His builder’s eyes could make out where the separate stories had been, and he marveled at the sheer size of the broken wooden beams.
    “It would’ve been drafty, smelly as well,” Darcy commented.
    The light was shifting again, growing, and he could still see the rainbows overhead. “Where’s your romance?”
    “Ha. I doubt many of the women who had to cook and clean between having their babies thought it was very romantic. Survival would have been the point.”
    “Then they made their point. This survived. The people survived. The country survived. That’s the magic that draws people here, the magic you miss because it’s all around you.”
    “It’s history, not magic.”
    “It’s both. That’s what I’m building here, that’s why I came.”
    “That’s a large ambition.”
    “Why have small ones?”
    “Now that’s a sentiment I can agree with. And as that ambition includes Gallagher’s, I’ll do my best to help you realize it.”
    “That’s something else I want to talk to you about. Another time.”
    “What’s wrong with now?”
    “Because now I need a little more luck.”
    He took her hands, threading his fingers through hers. This time instead of drawing her toward him, he stepped to her. “In an ancient castle, under a trio of rainbows, I think this ought to be worth big pots of luck.”
    “You’ve your myths confused. The pot’s at the end of the rainbow.”
    “I’ll take my chances right here.” He touched his lips to hers, light and friendly, as she had to his. He liked the glint of amusement it brought to her eyes and did it again, a little firmer this time, a little warmer.
    “I’ve also heard it said, third time’s the charm,” he murmured, and took her mouth again. Fast and deep and hot. The change deliberately abrupt to test both of them.
    She answered as if she’d known, as if she’d only waited. Her lips parted for his. No surrender, but demand. Equal to equal, hunger to hunger. Together their fingers curled until they formed taut fists, held as if it was