Sean shook his head. “Can’t let that happen, lads. The cart’s not mine. It belongs to the castle, as the horses do.”
“Fortunately,they’renot stuck,” Liam said. “We can take them to the barn to warm up and get a bit to eat. Then I suppose we had better send for Donaghue and the up-road Butlers and dig out the Marquess’s cart.” He looked at Sean. “Did you know that the owner of the castle was recently made a fine Marquess? I’d wager he’d be none too happy to hear that his new stable hand went and broke a cart.”
Sean’s day hadn’t been a great one; that declaration didn’t help. “The cart and animals have to be to Kilkenny stables by tomorrow at nightfall. I’d hoped to arrive early to impress a few important people. You see, I need this job the way crops need the sun: desperately.”
Much of the humor in the brothers’ faces eased into an optimism tempered with concern, an expression one often sees on faces in Ireland. Even when we know there’s little reason to expect a happy ending, we expect it anyway. Some might blame that on the Guinness. But truth be known, ’tis nothing more or less than being raised to believe in better things to come. We’ve had to make that way of seeing the world a choice, as there’s been precious little these past centuries to be hopeful about.
Yet hope arrived for Sean Kirkpatrick in the form of a burly farmer by the name of Finley Donaghue and another pair of brothers with the surname of Butler, though with the added distinction of being “up-road” Butlers. It was the custom in days gone by for people to adopt the same surname as the nearest family of distinction. That, in Kilkenny, was the Butler family of Kilkenny Castle. And, thus, the countryside for many miles in all directions was littered with Butlers who had no more claim on the imposing structure than they did on Dublin Castle. But Butlers they were just the same.
The six of them were digging out Sean’s cart until past nightfall, a time that comes early in winter, long before anyone is truly ready to retire to his bed. Sean’s cart emerged a bit worse for the experience, but in the course of that muddy undertaking, he’d made his first friends in this new county. Liam and Kieran invited the lot of them to take supper up at the cottage.
“Won’t your sister have something to say about that?” Sean had learned from his own sainted mother that a man who valued his continued existence didn’t spring guests upon a woman without warning.
“Oh, Maeve’ll be expecting us,” Kieran insisted.
“Give the lass our regrets,” one of the up-road Butlers said. “We’ve a few chores yet to see to, and we mean to do them before the night grows too cold.”
Sean shook their hands firmly, hoping to communicate that he wasn’t an utter idiot despite the predicament they’d found him in upon first meeting. “I thank you again for your help.”
“You’re in Kilkenny now,” up-road Butler the second said. “We look after one another.”
“I’m appreciative.”
A few more firm nods split the group. Sean, Liam, Kieran, and Finley Donaghue made their way to the cottage.
“You’re certain Miss Maeve’ll not mind us dropping in for supper?” Sean asked again.
“She’ll not mind,” Liam said.
“And how is it you’re so confident of that? Have you the second sight?”
“If I had, I’d’ve locked the gate this morning to keep troublesome lads from Mayo off our land, now wouldn’t I?”
They’d only just reached the door of the cottage, precisely like every other cottage one generally sees in the countryside, from its thatched roof and white walls to its red door and small windows. It isn’t that we aren’t a creative people; we’re simply limited by the materials on hand and by the somewhat crushing weight of not ever having any money.
Irish cuisine is about as varied as Irish country architecture. Had Sean been asked to hazard a guess as to the menu Miss Maeve Butler had concocted, he’d likely’ve hit quite close to the mark. He knew in an instant, as does every Irishman, the aroma of colcannon and soda bread, and that was precisely what he smelled the moment they stepped inside.
“You’re late, lads,” came the greeting from just out of sight around a corner. “I’ve kept your meal warm, but if I hear a word of complaint about it bein’ overcooked, I’ll skin the lot of you and serve you to my hounds for breakfast.” Maeve stepped into sight, offered them all a brilliant smile, and added, “Dinner’s on, then.”
There’s hardly a soul who’s not heard of love at first sight. Yet, more often than not, ’tis a good dozen or so sights before a heart begins to realize it’s in danger of never being quite whole again. Sean needed neither one nor twelve sightings of Maeve Butler to begin falling rather irretrievably into the first stages of love with her, the first stage being something along the lines of “that fine lass has caught my attention, and I’m wishing to know her better.” Sean needed only two sightings to reach that starting place.
The first sighting had mostly been about her dogs and his horses. But the second one,thismoment, with Maeve standing there, her apron dirtied with dinner, her hair hanging every which way, her large wooden spoon aimed at them all like a queen making a royal accusation— that moment did it for him.
He was well and truly gone, or at least pointed in that direction.
Chapter Four
Different lands have their own unique ideas about those things that make a man attractive to a woman. In Scotland, they put a great deal of importance on kilts and tossing tree-sized logs about. In England ’tis of great importance for a man to sport particularly clean clothes and fine manners. No one quite knows what to make of the Americans’ approach to almost anything.
But in Ireland, a man coming in from the fields, smelling of earth and fresh air, invigorated with the satisfaction of a job well done, and glowing with pride of ownership is . . . not terribly realistic. Most men newly returned from the fields smell of things far less pleasant and shine with nothing so much as a heavy sheen of sweat. I’d not saythatis the key to an Irishwoman’s heart. But a man who won’t work hard or is too dainty to dirty his hands won’t get far in the countryside.
Sean arrived in Maeve’s home, smelling and looking like he’d been rolling about in a mixture of mud and wet horse hair. Sheought to have been entirely put off by the man, yet something about the filthy smelliness of him had quite the opposite effect. Seeing proof of his hard work, and a smile on his face despite the struggle he’d had that afternoon, couldn’t help but inspire admiration. And if a man can earn a woman’s admiration, the task of earning her affection becomes far more feasible.
“You were planning to wash before sitting at my table, weren’t you?” she asked him.
He took up her dry tone of teasing. “Indeed. But I couldn’t imagine your brothers’ having any idea where I might accomplish that, so thought I’d best ask you.”
“Sorted them out straight off, did you?” She laughed at her brothers’ looks of feigned offense. “There’s a well a few yards back of the house. You can wash up there. And the rest of you, as well. I’ll not have you turning my kitchen into a muddy field.”
