Page 77 of The Scald Crow

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Colm

Convincing her to spend the day with me was one thing. But what of every other day and the nights in between? A woman of many talents, she enchanted those around her. Underestimating her wiles could prove foolhardy.

My intentions remained unchanged. Eamon tasked me with her safety, but he didn’t have to. I was already there.

I sifted through the Chief’s account, compartmentalizing pieces of information. The object of his investigation—an extremist with self-serving motives—a man who had amassed a cult following. Eamon said he had a source inside, but how deep had he infiltrated the man’s organization? I chastised myself for not demanding more from the older man.

I had never considered the resurgence of paganism outside of Ireland. I reflected on the family rituals and festivals—key pagan gatherings: Yule, Samhain, Bealtaine, and many others. Those celebrations were a way of life. I considered the witch Saoirse, a practicing Wiccan, and many others like her. The problem lay not with the pagans but with one madman.

I imagined what such a man could do. And what of the missing lad in Malin Head? I considered the fantastic—what if the Faeries had stolen the lad and Hamstead’s people abducted the changeling? It wasn’t beyond consideration.

Talking about the Other Crowd was one thing; believing was another altogether. I stopped in my tracks, considering another facet of myth and lore, and followed Calla’s gaze toward O’Donnell’s castle. I could not deny my ancestors.

I accepted one thing. I was in too deep, and my judgment was impaired. Had I disclosed the true nature of my relationship with Calla, would that have changed the Chief’s directive? One thing I could accept—I relied on another to safeguard the most crucial package in the world—the woman I love.

“Do you have plans this afternoon?” I cupped her elbow in my palm. My motives were utterly self-serving, which I wouldn’t deny—the time for second-guessing had long passed. I made the only sane choice, the only one I could live with.

Her brazen confidence stirred my arousal, and yet our last encounter revealed her genuine innocence. I lost my breath along with her and focused on one thought and one thought only. I would be the man who made that vixen sing.

“What did you have in mind?” The corners of her lips lifted into a winning smile.

“How about a walk on the strand?” I offered my hand, yet she wavered, considering my offer.

“Sex on the beach? Is that where this is going?” Her gaze left the castle and returned to me.

“Do you know how to ride a horse?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. Snippets of Calla’s younger life resurfaced in my mind. The deeper I dug, the more I learned. Calla’s adoptive parents were well off and indulged their one and only child in every way possible. Raised on a rolling property in Ontario’s Caledon Hills, Calla’s love for horses blossomed into more than a passing fancy.

“The four-legged kind?” Her face bloomed like a rose.

“Yes.” I hooked my hand around her elbow, escorting her toward my rental car.

“I love horses.” She chewed her bottom lip.

“How about horseback riding on the strand?” My heart stirred. Pounding hooves over hard-packed sand? Her image flowed into my mind, her dark hair flying with the wind, her laughter ringing over the land.

“A pony ride on the beach?” Her voice sounded far away.

“Aye.” I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the castle gates.

“Um, I don’t know, Colm. I should grab my car. I could meet you.” She stared at the castle, her eyes shining.

“I promise to return you to your vehicle.” I glanced at the castle and the tourists swarming the gates, unsure what the cause of her distress might be. I held the passenger door open.

“Are you going to have your way with me, Colm O’Donnell? I’ve heard a lot about those dunes and the strand.” She lifted her chin, inhaling the lavender-scented air freshener dangling from the mirror.

“I can’t promise you won’t meet my mam,” I smirked, turning the key in the ignition.

“You’re taking me to meet your mam? It’s kind of soon, isn’t it?” She twisted a dark curl behind her ear.

“You met her at the pub, Calla. Don’t pretend you didn’t.” I grinned, my gaze finding hers.

“I met many people at the pub. Your family has horses?” She regarded me with an appraising eye. I found her enchanting.

“Aye. Irish Draught Horses. We keep a good breeding stock and offer stud services.” My father’s horses gave the family a sense of pride.

“Stud services?” Her eyes widened, and her interest peaked.

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