The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 1-4) Page 3

  Keelin carefully paged through the book. Hundreds of handwritten spells or poems covered the pages. Unfortunately much of the writing was in Gaelic and completely undecipherable to Keelin. As she paged through, she noticed small sheets tucked behind each page. She opened them and found English translations of the Gaelic words. It was evident that someone had labored with this book. This was more than a gift. It was an offering.

  Keelin began to examine the weathered handwriting that scrawled across the pages. It was almost as if they were recipes. Yet not. As she read through the ingredients, Keelin realized that most of these were not something you would eat. They were topical ointments and potions used for various ailments. There were even directions for cultivating certain plants under the light of the moon. Spooky, Keelin thought. Yet, for some reason she wasn't scared. Keelin paged through the whole book and found nothing in relation to the devil or dark arts aside from some sort of ritual for protection. From what she could see, this was a healer's book.

  Her curiosity piqued, Keelin pulled out her iPad again. She researched "Celtic healer." As Keelin scrolled through the pages of information, she focused on a few key facts.

  The Celtic healing tradition is one of the oldest paths and can deepen the connection to the divine energy, ancestors, and the endless renewal of the natural world. Healing enhances the physical body of the person receiving the energy and can resolve pains or injuries of the physical body.

  The Celts were a rural people by choice, preferring to live close to nature because of their love of the land and their view of themselves as being the caretakers of Mother Earth. The Druids were the spiritual guardians of the Celts and made sure that each Celtic citizen led a healthy holistic lifestyle.

  It is common to Irish tradition that families of healers are descended from someone who has been given access to healing knowledge. In Ireland, families of healers were often said to have obtained their knowledge from ancient books. Great legends and deep superstitions surround these infamous healing books.

  With healing comes a word of caution. The seeking of wisdom, including the wisdom of healing, is a dangerous business; death may ensue if healing is used improperly.

  Keelin shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. It appeared that there was a long and rich history of healers in Ireland. She wondered how certain people were touched with the gift while others weren't. There had to be more than just Grace O'Malley's bloodline. Was she really a healer? Was this her path? Her stomach took a small nosedive while at the same time her heart seemed to leap and sing. She shook her head. Before making any rash decisions, she needed to do more research. She padded into the kitchen and pulled out a packet of instant chicken soup. Pouring it into a cup, Keelin shook her head as she put the soup into the microwave. Some healer she was. She couldn’t even make soup on the stove. How was she to mix complex ointments and heal someone?

  Blowing on her soup, Keelin padded back into the living room and curled up with a blanket on the couch. Her mind was spinning with the possibilities, yet her science mind scoffed at this "energy healing" concept. She needed to learn more about Grace O'Malley as well as the Chalice of Ardagh.

  Quickly caught up in the rich history of Ireland, Keelin blinked hours later as her iPad battery died. She shook her head and stretched out her legs and arms. Sometimes she had a habit of becoming so engrossed in her research that the hours would slip by unnoticed. She thought about what she had learned. It appeared that Grace O'Malley was the original gangster. Not only did this woman marry twice, birth a child at sea, and murder hundreds of invaders who sought to take her lands, but she also forced political change for her country. Very little was mentioned about her healing powers, though many noted that she had an uncanny ability for anticipating potential threats and circumventing them. It was said that she disappeared when the end of her life came to a close and was never accounted for again. Keelin wondered what had happened to her.

  The Chalice of Ardagh also had an interesting history. Though many details were given to the ornamentation and design of this intricate chalice, virtually nothing was known of its true roots. Keelin noted that many of the decorations on the chalice were of animals. It seemed to tie in nicely with the Celtic history of animism. Keelin wondered if a companion piece to the chalice was buried deep in Grace's Cove. The longer she thought about it the more she itched to grab her dive gear and spend the summer treasure hunting.

  Keelin stared into space as thoughts raced through her mind. Was she a healer? What were these visions she had? Should she go to Ireland?

  Exhausted, her eyes drooped and she fell into a deep sleep on the sofa. A man stepped into her dreams. With dark, unruly hair and blindingly blue eyes, he stared at her through the flames of a bonfire that shot up around them. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. Dark water rose up and covered her as she swam towards a glint of gold. Helpless, she couldn't reach it and was swept away, only to awake bathed in a cold sweat. Her heart hammered against her chest and she wiped her sweat-soaked hair from her face.

  Keelin forced herself to take deep breaths and to calm the hammering of her heart. It was just a dream. It had been a weird day, she reminded herself. The book caught her eye. It was open where it had once been closed. She leaned over to look at the page that it had fallen open to. Written on it was a mixture of herbs to nurture true love.

  "Cute. Real cute," she said.

  With a sigh, Keelin reached for the phone. It was time to convince her professor that her thesis subject matter could be found on the Emerald Isle.

  Chapter 5

  The plane touched down with a little bounce that rattled the cabin. Keelin clenched her armrest and continued to say a "Hail Mary." She loved to travel but she very specifically hated when planes landed. Not the take-off and not the flight – but always the landing. As the smaller plane that she had taken from Dublin to Shannon taxied to a stop, Keelin exhaled a long breath before she gathered her purse and backpack. She thought about all that had transpired in the last few weeks. She was unsure if she was about to meet her destiny or if she was chasing a foolish superstition. It had taken some convincing on her part, but with enough research and the fact that her professor was half-Irish, her school had agreed to a summer in Ireland and a topic change of her thesis. She could only hope that the dark waters of the cove would provide enough information for her to write a thesis. Her mother had been more difficult to convince. While she had been initially supportive, when Keelin had made the decision to go, Margaret had lost it.

  Keelin reviewed the difficult scene in her head. Margaret had stubbornly offered to pay for the rest of Keelin's graduate school as well as her rent for the next five years if she didn't go to Ireland. With a promise of twice-weekly phone calls and many emails, her mother had finally agreed to her decision. Keelin shuddered a bit as she thought about Margaret's tears. She had rarely seen her mother cry. Keelin thought that some of the emotion had to come from the passing of Margaret's mother. Although, Margaret hadn't flown out for the funeral or mentioned anything of the sort, Keelin thought now. She wondered if much of Margaret's emotion came from her being scared of being alone in Boston, or of what secrets of Margaret's Keelin might find when she arrived in Ireland.

  "Are you alright there?" A lilting voice startled Keelin from her thoughts. A young woman waited for her in the aisle. Tiny in stature, with dark curling hair and greenish-yellow eyes, she smiled kindly at Keelin.

  "Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Keelin stood up and immediately felt like a giant. She towered over this slip of a girl. Keelin mentally kicked herself. At 5'9" and with generous hips, she knew that she was a larger girl, but she always had to work at not feeling like a giant when she was around tiny women.

  "Not a problem. Looks like you were daydreaming a wee bit." The girl snagged a huge bag one-handed from the overhead bin and swung it over her shoulder. "American, I see. Here for a holiday?"

  "No, I am going to Grace's Cove for the summer to write my thesis."

/>   "No kidding. I thought you looked familiar. You must be an O'Brien. I can tell by the eyes." The girl stared into Keelin's distinct, brandy-toned eyes. "That would make us cousins of sorts. I’m Caitriona."

  At Keelin's blank stare, she laughed. "That's Irish for Katherine. Call me Cait."

  "Hi, Cait. I'm Keelin O'Brien. And how are we cousins? Do you live in Grace's Cove?" Keelin asked as they walked towards baggage claim together.

  "Yes, ma'am, I certainly do. I own Gallagher's Pub. It's the best stop for a pint and live music in town. Or so I say." Cait laughed up at Keelin with her dancing eyes. "I know all the gossip in town. So if you have any questions about anything, stop in and see me. You should stop in anyway and get accustomed to village life. You'll do well to have a few friends on your side." With those enigmatic words, Cait strode away to pick up her bag.

  "Wait. Why wouldn't I have friends?" Keelin hurried to keep up with her. Cait moved fast.

  Cait stopped and turned. Shock was apparent on her face. "Why, because of your family reputation for being witches. Have you heard about your grandmother? A lovely lady, but I made sure never to cross her."

  "Oh, stop. Do witches even exist? I heard that my grandma was a bit off and a good healer – but a witch? No."

  "Hey, listen. Fiona half-raised me. I never saw anything that indicated she was a witch. That being said – her healing abilities are famous. Perhaps a touch of the fae. I simply stayed on her good side and I had no problems. Don't worry, most of the people in town are nice and you shouldn't run into too many problems. I've got to run. Come see me for a pint. I'm serious. I could use some girl time and would love to hear about America."

  With that, Cait strolled off and hefted two huge duffle bags as if they were nothing.

  "Witches. Lovely." Keelin blew off the Irish mysticism and collected her luggage. She had forgotten to ask Cait about where her grandmother was buried. She wondered if the village had turned out for the funeral or not.

  Keelin pulled out a folded piece of paper with printed instructions and headed for the remote lot. Keelin prayed that she hadn't been taken for a ride and that the car that she had purchased prior to the trip was in its spot. As she approached what could loosely be called a truck, she groaned. This rust bucket looked as if it would fall apart the first time she shifted into third gear. A dull red, with paint peeling and rust creeping up the frame, the car looked like it would run on a wing and a prayer. Keelin felt under the front bumper for the key in the magnet box and climbed onto the front seat.

  She stared at the empty dashboard and looked to her right at the steering wheel.

  "Duh." Sliding across the front bench seat, Keelin hoped that nobody had noticed her mistake.

  "Steering wheel on the right, drive on the left," she muttered to herself as she turned the key and prayed as the truck shuddered to life.

  "There we go, girl. You got this. Come on, baby." Sweet-talking the truck, Keelin eased out into traffic and began the drive to Grace's Cove.

  After several near mishaps, and cheerful waves to the cars she almost hit, Keelin felt like she was getting in the groove of driving on the left side of the road. Irish roads were notorious for their narrow passes, twisty curves, and precarious blind spots. The route to Grace's Cove boasted all of these. Keelin decided to go slow and soak it in. Well, her truck made the decision for her as anything over 45 miles per hour (Kilometers! she thought to herself) made the truck rattle dangerously. Keelin hoped that it would hold together long enough for her to make it to the village.

  Several almost misses later, Keelin shuddered the truck over a large hill and gasped. The village spread out before her, quaintly perched at the base of the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. If she were to send a postcard of Ireland, it would bear this picture. Rolling green hills met harsher ridges and tapered down into the colorful cottages that clustered around the curved harbor. A sense of home rose within her and she smiled. This just looked like a place where everyone would be happy.

  Looking forward to her first pot of tea and scones with real cream on the side, Keelin made her way to the parking spots that lined the harbor. She shut the car off and breathed a sigh of relief. The rust bucket had held up surprisingly well.

  Smiling, Keelin hefted a backpack over her shoulder and looked around for a grocer. She had no idea what sort of supplies were left after her grandmother had passed and was reluctant to be stuck in the hills with no food and unreliable transportation. Keelin stopped and breathed deeply. There was something about the scent of ocean air that made her blood sing. She always knew when she was close to water. Keelin watched several fishermen pull their boats in and unload the day's catch. They would go back out again before sunset. Tiny, colorful boats bobbed farther out on the water, and gulls swooped around the fishermen's boats. The sun was shining, a slight breeze tickled her neck, and Keelin fought to keep a smile off her face. This was going to be the best summer ever. Except for that witches thing Cait had mentioned. She'd have to look into that.

  Keelin headed towards the middle of the village and looked for a grocer. Shops clustered together and hugged the narrow, curved road that wandered up a hill into the village. Keelin admired all of the vibrant colors used on the storefronts and wished that America didn't always make their shops so steely and gray. There was something that just worked with the mishmash of colors and building materials that made up these little shops. Keelin stopped to admire some lacework in a weaver's shop. Two women walked out and the older one stopped and gasped, staring right at her. She grabbed her companion's arm, pointed, and hustled across the street.

  I wonder what that was all about? Keelin thought. The village certainly had a large amount of B&Bs; people shouldn't have reacted to a tourist like that. Keelin continued up the hill past a weathered old man. He stared at her eyes and spit at her – making the sign of the cross.

  What was going on here? Her idyllic picture of a perfect summer vacation was beginning to unravel if this was the way that people in the village acted.

  Keelin found the grocer tucked around the corner and wandered the aisles. How was she going to cook? She didn't even know if this hut had a microwave. Maybe it would be best if she just went with the basics, as she had no idea what she was walking into. In fact, what if there was no refrigerator? She laughed at herself. Of course there was. She hoped so. Keelin gingerly put the deli meat back and headed for non-refrigerator type food. She stocked up on bread, apples, peanut butter & jelly, and some almonds. It was enough food for a little while and she would be sure to come back to town for more once she got the lay of the land.

  Keelin approached the middle-aged woman with a hairnet at the checkout line. The woman sized her up and said, "You must be Fiona O'Brien's granddaughter. I can see it in your eyes. We've always wondered when Margaret would let you come back."

  "Oh, do you know my mother?" Keelin asked. Finally, a friend.

  "Aye, I did at that. We used to work together. She should have stayed here to see if it would work out with Sean, though I guess that I understood her need to go. I'm assuming you are heading up to the cottage? You'll need to get on the road then before dark or you'll never find it."

  "Um, okay. What is your name? Can you tell me more about why people are being weird to me?" Keelin asked in a rush of breath. She needed to know what she was walking into.

  "The name is Sarah Gallagher. We're related in an odd sort of way. As I'm sure you know, your family doesn't have the best reputation in town. Yet, at the same time, you have the best reputation that you can have. You'll have to sort this out for yourself." Sarah quickly finished her bagging and dismissed Keelin to help her next customer.

  Keelin felt out of sorts and fairly nervous. What was she doing walking into a situation like this? And nobody would give her answers. She trudged down the hill to her car, ignoring the curious looks cast her way. She would just figure this out for herself then. Keelin tossed her bags in the bed of the truck and got in the passenger side of the truck, sl
ammed her hand on the dashboard in annoyance, and scooted over to the driver's side. She would get the hang of this, she swore to herself.

  Turning the key in the ignition, she prayed. "Come on, baby, we've got a ways to go. Let's do this. Come on." The car chugged and rattled but the engine never caught.

  "Damn it. You have got to be kidding me." Frustrated, Keelin opened the door and went around to the hood. Unable to locate the latch to open the hood, she slammed her fist on the top and let loose with a few of her more colorful curses.

  Laughter interrupted her tantrum. "Need help, miss?" A lilting Irish brogue with a deep tenor broke through her tirade. Keelin turned to meet the owner of the voice, grateful for someone who would be nice to her.

  The sun blinded her momentarily and all Keelin could see were piercing blue eyes. The deep blue of the ocean, these were the eyes in her dream. A shiver ran through her and she went a little lightheaded. Stumbling, Keelin grasped the rusted edge of the hood for support. As the man moved towards her, she made out the rest of him and drew in a deep breath. She was in trouble if all of the men in Ireland looked like this. Dark curly hair framed a chiseled face that Armani would have paid millions for to advertise their clothes in their catalog. Broad shoulders tapered to slim hips, and he walked with the ease of a man confident both on land and at sea. A day's growth of beard marred his tanned skin, and his thick lips drew into a tight line as he saw her face. His smile disappeared and he stopped, his confidence gone. Annoyance crossed his face and he cursed. Keelin got the distinct impression that he would have walked away had he not already spoken to her. Duty bound, he moved forward.

  "Yes, thank you. My car won't start and I don't know how to open the hood. Or what is under the hood for that matter." Keelin smiled, hoping to wipe the annoyance from his face.

  He stopped close to her. With one long gaze he took her in from head to toe and dismissed her as he turned to the truck and popped the hood.