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

room, which Caera had set up as a green room, and made her way silently down the side aisle.
    “‘It’s for Ireland I’d not tell her name.’” Paddy’s voice rose, strong and pure, as the woman—another of the Irish musicians—joined him on the stage, a tin whistle already to her lips. Paddy fell silent as she took over the melody, the coppery bright notes of the whistle strong but delicate.
    Caera wanted to be on that stage with them more than she could say. Swallowing down her desire she watched the crowd as Paddy took up a livelier tune, “The Black Velvet Band”. 
    As the crowd sang along to the chorus, she slipped out the main door, closing it quickly and silently. The cold air bit through the black blazer she wore, her nametag on the lapel, and Caera wished for a jumper. 
    A line of torches lit the path between the stable and the hotel, their flames casting pools of orange light every five feet. As a figure hurried down the path, Caera put her hand on the door, ready to hustle the latecomer into a seat. When they were closer, Caera recognized Sorcha. She stepped away from the door so their voices wouldn’t be heard.
    “Is it started?” Sorcha rubbed her upper arms. A breeze whipped the cold air around them, cutting through their clothes. 
    “Just. The RTE crew moved the camera at the last minute and the back rows can’t see all the stage.”
    “Feck.”
    “Exactly. What about you? How’re things in the castle?”
    Socha frowned. “We had a few people arrive looking for a room. We’re full except for two rooms.”
    “Full? You didn’t put people in the west wing second floor.”
    “I did.” Sorcha looked worried. “I can only hope that nothing happens, or that everyone goes from here to the pub and is too drunk to notice.”
    Caera winced. 
    “I know,” Socha said, seeing her face. “But Elizabeth insisted. I would have turned them away before putting them there.”
    “And how was the reception?”
    They’d hosted a reception prior to the event for all guests, musicians and RTE crew. Caera hadn’t had time to run over and check on it because of the relocated camera.
    “It was grand. I only wish we’d been able to have it in the ballroom instead of the restaurant, but it’s nowhere near done.”
    “I’m sure it was beautiful.” Caera knew Sorcha wouldn’t have let anyone into the room if it weren’t perfect. Though receptions and events were outside Sorcha’s list of job duties, she was brilliant at them.
    “It was, but it was to Elizabeth’s credit, not mine. If she doesn’t slow down or hire the additional staff we need, she’s going to do herself harm.”
    Caera nodded. Glenncailty lacked catering and banquet sales reps, bell captains and dedicated event crews. She’d worked in hotel catering and events departments all across Europe and could do any job. That didn’t mean she wanted to. Caera was happy with Finn’s Stable and the few music-related events they hosted in the main hotel. She didn’t want to be in charge of meetings, weddings and catered ladies’ luncheons, but as the hotel’s business grew, she’d have to oversee those things too unless Elizabeth brought in other staff.
    “Can we go in?” Sorcha asked, rubbing her arms.
    Shaking herself from her brown study, Caera eased the door open, pushing aside the black fabric she’d hung inside the doorway to protect the back row from gusts of cold and to keep out the torchlight.
    The show had progressed, and there were now four musicians on stage. As Caera eased the door shut behind them, she heard the first strains of a familiar tune, one that every good Irishman knew.
    By the time the singer reached the chorus, the entire room was singing “The Fields of Athenry” with much better results than the crowds at rugby and Gaelic football matches ever managed. “The Fields of Athenry” was Ireland’s rally song, a sad tale that reminded them of tragedies in the past but not forgotten, as a husband was