overload of common sense trying to prevail in her scientific mind,
she couldn’t deny the situation was without precedent for her. Never before had
she been enveloped in the incredible feeling that had settled over her like a
soft warm blanket.
She was in
love.
Chapter Six
The sign posts on the edge
of town had said there was a carnival that weekend, but wandering
around the village, Ellen
grew steadily disappointed. It had taken over an hour to walk there from the
estate, and in that time she’d conjured up all manner of quaint and cozy sights
she might experience in the old Irish village fair.
Red and
white striped tents offering cotton candy, kids enthralled by puppet shows, and
timeless Celtic music. Instead she was greeted with electronic sideshows, noisy
rides and blasting rock n’ roll.
Deciding to
avoid the bustle, she wandered into a local inn, hoping to indulge in a little authentic
Irish pub food and, perhaps, gain some information about the manor. So far, the
manor’s library had yielded very little, and no one in the village seemed to
know anything about Banth’s history prior to the Second World War.
A little
bell tinkled as she opened the door and entered the dimly lit room. Decked out
in a white shirt and dark green vest, a barman looked up from the counter and
smiled.
“Good day
to you, miss. What can I get you?”
She smiled
back. A group of young men sat at a table in the corner, watching her. Staring,
really. Trying to ignore the unwanted attention, she sat up to the bar. God,
anyone would think they’d never seen a woman before. Maybe they didn’t like
tourists. “G’day. I’ll have a beer, please.”
The barman
smiled as he poured her a pint. “G’day? An Aussie, are you?”
“Yes. How
did you know?”
Conversation
with a local. Nice.
“I have a
sister who lives in Perth. Been there five years this Christmas. Hoping to go
there myself next year.”
She nodded
and sipped at the thick, foamy head of her beer. “Oh, that is a good drop.”
“Aye, you
can’t beat Irish beer.”
“That’s for
sure. Hey, I was wondering. Could I get something to eat here? Didn’t feel like
carnival hotdogs.”
“Don’t
blame you. Lot of nasty rubbish, that stuff. Of course we can get you
something, miss. We always have a pot of stew on the go--if nothing else.” He
called over to a woman cleaning glasses at the other end of the counter. “One
serving of stew, Sinead, and some soda bread. There should be a fresh loaf on
the sideboard.”
Taking
another sip of her drink, she leaned forward a little across the bar and
lowered her voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are those three blokes
sitting in the corner? They’ve been watching me since I came in. I get the
feeling they don’t like me being here.”
The barman
glanced over her shoulder, grimaced and shook his head. “Now, miss. Don’t you go
mindin’ them louts. Always up to no good. Think they own the town, they do. I
only let them in here when they’re quiet. But, soon as they’ve had a few too
many, I send them on their way.”
“I see.”
The barmaid placed a steaming plate of hot Irish stew in front of her. God, it
smelled good. She broke off a piece of the crusty soda bread, dipped it in the
gravy and ate. Oh, that was delicious. If only she could cook like that… Did
Rowan cook?
“So, miss,
where are you staying while in town? At the Ivy Inn?”
“No,” she
replied through a mouthful of hot stew. “I’m staying at Banth Manor.” A chair crashed
to the floor, startling her and she glanced around. The three men had risen
from the table and were walking toward the exit. Pausing at the door, the last
man shot her a caustic look then slammed the door behind him.
A sigh
escaped her. Bastards.
“And good
riddance to them,” muttered the barman. “Now. You were saying that you’re staying
at the manor?”
“Yes. The
lord who owns it is a distant cousin of mine.”
“I see.”
His brow
she couldn’t deny the situation was without precedent for her. Never before had
she been enveloped in the incredible feeling that had settled over her like a
soft warm blanket.
She was in
love.
Chapter Six
The sign posts on the edge
of town had said there was a carnival that weekend, but wandering
around the village, Ellen
grew steadily disappointed. It had taken over an hour to walk there from the
estate, and in that time she’d conjured up all manner of quaint and cozy sights
she might experience in the old Irish village fair.
Red and
white striped tents offering cotton candy, kids enthralled by puppet shows, and
timeless Celtic music. Instead she was greeted with electronic sideshows, noisy
rides and blasting rock n’ roll.
Deciding to
avoid the bustle, she wandered into a local inn, hoping to indulge in a little authentic
Irish pub food and, perhaps, gain some information about the manor. So far, the
manor’s library had yielded very little, and no one in the village seemed to
know anything about Banth’s history prior to the Second World War.
A little
bell tinkled as she opened the door and entered the dimly lit room. Decked out
in a white shirt and dark green vest, a barman looked up from the counter and
smiled.
“Good day
to you, miss. What can I get you?”
She smiled
back. A group of young men sat at a table in the corner, watching her. Staring,
really. Trying to ignore the unwanted attention, she sat up to the bar. God,
anyone would think they’d never seen a woman before. Maybe they didn’t like
tourists. “G’day. I’ll have a beer, please.”
The barman
smiled as he poured her a pint. “G’day? An Aussie, are you?”
“Yes. How
did you know?”
Conversation
with a local. Nice.
“I have a
sister who lives in Perth. Been there five years this Christmas. Hoping to go
there myself next year.”
She nodded
and sipped at the thick, foamy head of her beer. “Oh, that is a good drop.”
“Aye, you
can’t beat Irish beer.”
“That’s for
sure. Hey, I was wondering. Could I get something to eat here? Didn’t feel like
carnival hotdogs.”
“Don’t
blame you. Lot of nasty rubbish, that stuff. Of course we can get you
something, miss. We always have a pot of stew on the go--if nothing else.” He
called over to a woman cleaning glasses at the other end of the counter. “One
serving of stew, Sinead, and some soda bread. There should be a fresh loaf on
the sideboard.”
Taking
another sip of her drink, she leaned forward a little across the bar and
lowered her voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are those three blokes
sitting in the corner? They’ve been watching me since I came in. I get the
feeling they don’t like me being here.”
The barman
glanced over her shoulder, grimaced and shook his head. “Now, miss. Don’t you go
mindin’ them louts. Always up to no good. Think they own the town, they do. I
only let them in here when they’re quiet. But, soon as they’ve had a few too
many, I send them on their way.”
“I see.”
The barmaid placed a steaming plate of hot Irish stew in front of her. God, it
smelled good. She broke off a piece of the crusty soda bread, dipped it in the
gravy and ate. Oh, that was delicious. If only she could cook like that… Did
Rowan cook?
“So, miss,
where are you staying while in town? At the Ivy Inn?”
“No,” she
replied through a mouthful of hot stew. “I’m staying at Banth Manor.” A chair crashed
to the floor, startling her and she glanced around. The three men had risen
from the table and were walking toward the exit. Pausing at the door, the last
man shot her a caustic look then slammed the door behind him.
A sigh
escaped her. Bastards.
“And good
riddance to them,” muttered the barman. “Now. You were saying that you’re staying
at the manor?”
“Yes. The
lord who owns it is a distant cousin of mine.”
“I see.”
His brow
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