Page 4 of The Scald Crow

“I found myself at odds. It was better to make a change.” He tilted his head, his voice so soft I craned to hear. “And now, I own a wee farm in Nova Scotia.”

“You’re serious? You farm trees?” A nurturing horticulturist? A spear-throwing warrior or an axe-wielding combatant, given his Viking size frame.

“Aye.” He refused to meet my gaze, but the smile on his lips confirmed my suspicions.

“Are you a dangerous man, Colm O’Donnell?” I studied him, looking for a reaction. He gave nothing away.

“No,mo grhá.” He cut left at the upcoming roundabout. The welcoming sign showed a castle and read Donegal, Historic Town.

“I hope you don’t mind. I need to make a stop.” Colm braked the car and pulled off the road into an automotive parts depot. Behind a high chain-link fence, the metal roof of an industrial building showed.

“I don’t mind.” I settled deeper into the seat.

He climbed from the car, his long strides taking him across the parking lot. Moments later, he returned, carrying a small cardboard box.

“Would you like a coffee or perhaps tea? The toilet?” He placed his hands on the car door, leaned in, and killed it with a brash smile.

“I’m fine, but thanks.” I couldn’t imagine stripping out of and back into my soiled undergarments. I wanted a hot shower and a bar of soap.

He returned to his seat, filling the vehicle with homey goodness even my bog-soaked stench couldn’t squash.

He shifted gears and followed the slow-moving traffic along the river's winding banks. I hung my head out the window, following the flight of a great egret swooping low over the gentle banks.

“One of many fairs in Ireland.” He nodded toward the intersection, a cobblestone diamond bordered by three merging lanes of traffic, where a gathering was underway.

Medieval tents, with flags billowing atop pointed spires, gave the market fair a pagan atmosphere. The salty sea breeze mingled with the lilt of so many voices.

“Aye, ye best have your wits about ye. ’Tis a sharp crowd.” I grinned, giving my best imitation of my very only best friend in all of Ireland.

“Not bad.” He locked eyes with me, his smile warm and welcoming.

I looked away, my gaze following a clown on stilts juggling red balls high into the air. A woman gestured wildly toward a fishmonger, filleting a large fish with a bloodied knife while his helper scooped blue-shelled mussels into clear plastic bags.

“Donegal Castle up ahead.” His melodic lilt was a constant distraction, capturing more than my gaze.

“A real castle?” My desires wandered with the winding road. I wondered what it would be like to play in the castle dungeons with a man like him. I kept that thought to myself.

“There’s not much left of O’Donnell’s castle—the trip staircase, the ground floor. But the restoration keeps many of the original features.” His rumbling voice caressed my heart.

I stayed there a moment too long.

“A relative, I take it?” We sat in backed-up traffic, the stone walls of Donegal Castle looming ahead.

“It’s complicated, but yes. From way, way back.” His eyes filled with shadows, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The car inched forward, passing dimly lit pubs overflowing with patrons. Cafe tables sat opposite lace-covered windows—restaurants served all-day breakfasts, scones, and tea. Shop windows stared back, showcasing everything leprechaun and everything green. A Gypsy woman sat on a three-legged stool on the wide sidewalk, working a little girl’s hair into delicate braids.

“You’re lucky.” I envied him. Grounded in this land, his lineage ran deep from one century to the next. “I have no one,” I murmured under my breath. My ancestry remained a mystery, one I hoped to discover. My adoptive parents’ faces flashed before my eyes. I missed them. They were all I had.

“Are ye hungry? Would you like to stop?” The hearty aroma of braised stew and the comfort of crispy beer-battered fish and chips floated through the open window.

“Maybe a rain check, huh?” I plucked the stretchy spandex, showing off the brown stain climbing the length of my leggings. Microbes of E. coli crawled over my skin. I gazed at the muck beneath my fingernails.

“You’re traveling alone,mo grhá? No partner? No husband?” His glance expressed more than a passing interest.

I hesitated, unwilling to divulge my current status. If he looked, my secrets were there for all to see, but why would he bother?

“So, what do you do for fun, Colm? When you’re not busy chopping down trees?” I chuckled under my breath.

“There’s more to tree farming than that.” The slight muscle tick in his jaw told me all I needed to know.

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