Page 38 of Wild Irish

Her mood changes instantly, her expression clouding over. And I see it again, the heaviness she carries around with her. A burden so heavy it looks ready to crush her small shoulders. She draws back, hands falling to her sides.

“We should keep going,” she says, turning away from me.

I want to pull her back against me. The need to know more about her just as strong as the need to touch her. But I let her walk away, because I have no business demanding she open up to me. Not when it’s clear she doesn’t want to.

I don’t know who Maeve is, but it’s not lost on me that we’re visiting the cairn of an ancient queen of the same name.

Something stirs in my chest as I watch Delaney limp the rest of the way up the steep path. There’s a strength to her, a stubbornness that pushes her forward, but it’s becoming obvious that every item on that damn list of hers is more of a chore than the adventure it should be.

Which means only one thing –the list isn’t hers.

So why is she so set on completing it?

Chapter 15

Delaney

Isuckin a breath when I take the last steps up the path and the tomb comes into view. The top of the mountain is flat, and in the center is a large stone structure that seems to replicate the mountain’s oblong shape.

“Wow,” I breathe out.

The panoramic view is stunning. There’s so much color. From the green valleys below the emerald hills, to the dark blue ocean as it crashes in white waves along the sandy beach. Everything is vibrant and alive.

But it’s Maeve’s grave that draws my attention. It’s not one large stone structure like I assumed it would be, carved into the landscape itself. Instead, it appears to be made of a million rocks, large and small, all piled on top of each other.

There are a few sheep scattered around the base of the structure, and the family we’d run into earlier is on the far side taking pictures. But other than that, we’re alone.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe some of the stories my grandmother used to tell us influenced me more than I realized, because I want to feel so much more than the hollowness inside my chest when I walk to the base of the structure.

“What do ye think?” Cillian is behind me, so close I can feel the heat of his body. A contrast to the coldness that settles across my skin.

I want to fall back into him, have him wrap his arms around me, and use his heat to take away the misery that catches me unaware.

“It’s…” A reminder of everything I’ve lost. The structure may be thousands of years old, but it’s still a tomb. Maeve’s tomb. And unlike the magic my sister believed surrounded it, all I feel is the harsh reality of what it represents –death.

“Here.” Cillian places the rock he took from the bottom of the hill in my hand, then places his own at the foot of the cairn. When he turns back to me, there’s something knowing in his gaze. He gives me a small, sad smile. “I’ll give ye a few minutes.”

He walks away, hands in his pockets, the wind whipping at his hair.

Part of me wishes he’d stay, but this is something I need to do by myself. The reason I came here in the first place.

“Maeve,” I say softly, squeezing the rock in my hand, wishing she was right, that there really is magic here. At least enough to let me feel her presence, to give me some sign that she’s not gone completely.

But all I’m answered with is the harsh wailing of the wind, the bleating of sheep, and a cold shadow as the sun disappears again behind the clouds.

I sigh and crouch down, placing the rock at the base of the structure.

“It should be you here, not me,” I say softly, closing my eyes. I swallow the lump lodged in my throat, but I still choke over the words. “This was your adventure. Not mine. I don’t even know why I’m here. It’s just another reminder that you’re gone.”

A bird cries out, and when I open my eyes, it’s perched on a rock a few feet away from me, head tilting to the side as if it’s studying me.

Pulling out Maeve’s list, I unfold it, and I can’t help the tears that sting my eyes when I read through it. It means so much more now that I’m here. But it’s not my list. And I wish more than anything else in the world that she’d had the chance to come here.

I don’t know how long I stay there, gaze unfocused, thoughts blurred by emotion, but it’s long enough for my muscles to cramp, and for Cillian to return.

“Whose list is it?” His voice is soft as he crouches down beside me.

I sigh and close my eyes. “My sister’s.”

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