The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1 by Lila Dubois Page A

sang of their parting. 
    “‘And in the seven years since, I’ve longed to hold her. Away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri.’”
    For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Caera felt a tear escape her watery eyes, sliding down her cheek. 
    The intensity of the emotion he drew forth with his instrument, his voice, his gaze, frightened her even as it delighted her. The song ended and before she thought better of it, Caera clapped wildly. Tim smiled. He put his fiddle aside, standing. Caera knew, with a certainty that frightened her, that the song had affected him the way it had her. They were connected now, bound by the power of the music, of the shared experience.
    He jumped from the stage, striding down the aisle towards her. His face was intense, as if there was nothing in the world but her. As if he had to touch her, now.  
    On the stage, the other musician started playing again, stopping to check in with the tech. They were moving on as if nothing had happed, and is the world hadn’t just been set back on its heels.
    “Tim.” He was only five feet away. Some part of her wanted to run, to avoid his touch when she was so raw. She backed up, into the storage room where she couldn’t be seen. He followed her.
    They were alone, the sounds from the stable now muffled.
    “Caera.” His touch was gentle, as if he knew she couldn’t have borne more than the touch of his hand to her cheek. 
    “That was beautiful.”
    “You inspired me.”
    Caera smiled, his silly compliment helping her center herself. 
    “I’m going to kiss you.”
    Caera pressed a finger to his lips. “No.”
    “Woman, you’re killing me.” His lips caressed her finger as he spoke. 
    “Later.” The moment she’d heard him sing she knew she wanted him to kiss her again. The caution of the previous night was forgotten.
    Tim touched her cheek, wiping away the track of the tear.
    “Later,” he agreed. 
    “Go back to sound check,” she told him, before hurrying away from Finn’s Stable. 
     
     
    “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to this very special event. Tonight we can look forward to an evening of traditional music from some of Ireland’s best young musicians, and a few special guests from America and Australia. Traditional music has seen a rise in popularity since…”
    Caera stood in the back, hands folded before her as she surveyed the audience. The camera platform had been rolled halfway down the aisle, obscuring the view of some of the attendees in the back rows. The plan had been to have the camera in the back, where she now stood. The last-minute change in setup had left Caera with few options to rearrange the seating. She was sure she’d hear about it from those guests who could now only see half the stage. 
    As the TV personality from the national broadcaster continued the introduction, Caera assessed the rest of the room with a practiced eye. Everyone was seated, the side aisles provided guests with a way to exit and the lighting was good. Trees on the other side of the windows were beautifully lit against the night sky, providing a black, gold and green backdrop for the stage.
    “Please welcome Mr. Paddy Fish.”
    The crowd clapped as Paddy, who’d been standing to the side of the stage in the shadows, stepped up. He nodded to the crowd, his guitar hooked over his back with an Irish flag strap. He plugged in his guitar, took his place before the mic.
    The room fell silent, as if everyone were holding their breath, waiting, hoping. Paddy stared at his guitar, fingers positioned on the strings, holding the attention of the crowd for a long, silent beat. Strum. He started simple, the chords vibrating in the still air. The room let go their collective breath, giving themselves over to the catharsis of the music. 
    He sang “ Ar Éireann Ní Neosfainn Cé Hí ”, his Irish strong and pure. Caera saw heads nodding in approval. As he switched to English, a woman slipped out of the storage