Page 72 of The Scald Crow
I was drawn to the spiral staircase climbing the corner turret, a series of uneven steps the brochure referred to as a trip staircase. My knees buckled as I envisioned the mighty O’Donnell, sword in hand, vanquishing the enemy foe on these same uneven steps. The arrow slits deep in the stones told of archers defending these lands. I left the castle breathless, yearning for more.
The expansive green lawn was crowded with tourists—I paid close attention to the schoolchildren’s guide. Following the Battle of Kinsale, Red Hugh O’Donnell II, the young prince, set fire to his home lest the stronghold fall to the English.
I stumbled, landing on one knee, my hand resting on the manicured grass. Beneath the soft layer, something sharp jabbed into my palm.
A uniformed attendant who witnessed my mishap made his way toward me. I reached into the soil, closing my fingers around the culprit. A triangular spike the length of my palm glimmered in the soft light. My stomach flip-flopped, and an icy wave enveloped me. The whirring sound faded into nothingness, and time slipped away.
Black smoke drifted from the windows while flames licked the tower walls. Soldiers of war surged into the castle keep.
My throat closed, and my eyes stung. I witnessed the revenge of a young man, copper-haired and battle-scarred. Filled with blood lust, he shouted orders to those under his command while the tower house burned.
Draped over his broad shoulder, a thickly woven Irish Brat, a fringe of silk threads layering the bottom edge. The hard-wearing cloak would keep a man alive on a frosty night or a woman warm beneath him. Through the heavy folds, the hilt of a short sword poked from a leather sheath, revealing his warrior status. He turned his head and looked into my eyes. When the smoke dissipated, he had vanished.
“Miss? Miss? Are you okay?” The attendant looked at me with worried eyes.
“I’m fine. Just fine. Thanks.” I walked backward, away from his concerned gaze.
I had no memory of departing the castle grounds. Car horns honked, and brakes screeched as I ran across the busy road. I zigzagged through traffic with Red Hugh O’Donnell’s ghostly image burned into the back of my eyelids.
I stood in the arched doorway of O’Donnell’s Lair, a pub boasting gastronomic delights. I breathed through my nose, savoring the ancient scent of stone, beer, and hearty Irish fare. The pub provided a refuge for my unhinged mind. I navigated the dimly lit maze of aisles, pressing myself against the uneven stones as servers rushed past with platters held high overhead, oblivious to my searching gaze.
“Are you looking for me?” He rose from a wood-lined booth, his head grazing the lantern hanging from the timbered ceiling—a gentleman of noble ilk.
“I was.” The bees hummed, and the butterflies danced. My mouth dried as I considered my present circumstance—a date with Colm O’Donnell, an actual date.
He ushered me into the dimly lit booth yet looked beyond me, casting his gaze into the dark corners of the long passageway.
“You look nice.” I admired his cable-knit crew neck and dark tapered jeans. His copper locks shone in the yellow light.
“So do you.” He grinned.
“Thanks. This belonged to Dermot. I thought I’d make use of it.” I played with the caramel canvas.
“What’s that?” He pointed at the spike clenched in my hand.
I dropped the pointed dagger onto the table, particles of dirt flying in every direction.
“I think it’s an arrowhead. I, uh, found it at the castle. Well, I tripped and fell on it.” The smile froze on my face. All I could see was the ghost of the bloodied young man.
“You went to the castle? Alone?” His gaze darted sideways, following a server down the aisle.
“I did. Why?” I brushed my hands together and let out an exasperated huff, swallowing the bitter aftertaste of fire and soot.
His expression softened as he picked up the arrowhead, brushing embedded dirt from the tapered shaft. “You’re right. This is a bodkin arrowhead. It would punch through mail armor or the hide of an elk with no problem. I haven’t seen an iron one in years.”
“Huh, you can have it. It’s giving me a headache.” I pressed my hands against my temples, stilling the pulsing throb.
A serene silence filled the space between us when he moved his hand across the table and touched my fingertips. “I called you three times.”
“Hmm…only one bar.” I lifted my phone, gazing at the lack of data. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“I could have picked you up and saved you the drive.” He drew his thumb over mine.
“That’s true.” I moistened my lower lip. “But then, you would have to drive me home, allowing me to have my way with you.” I batted my eyelashes. Pretending to be a regular person on a date with someone who wasn’t a ghost was fun.
“Valid.” He lifted my fingers, bending my knuckles to his lips. “And something I’m okay with.”
“Hmm…I thought you were bent on driving me crazy.” I referred to how he tantalized me. My thighs heated on the spot.
