“I think I could manage.” He held the horses’ reins as she climbed down from the low cart. He tipped his hat. “A fine good morning to you, Maeve.”
“And to you, Sean.” If he could use her Christian name, certainly she could use his. She’d gone but one step when he called out to her.
“Do you, then?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. “Do Iwhat?”
“Choose to walk past the stables when you come to market from now on?”
This was an invitation she knew herself incapable of resisting, but he needn’t know that. Not yet. “You keep a weather eye out, Sean Kirkpatrick, and see if I do.”
Chapter Five
Sean kept a weather eye out. And a sharp eye. A keen eye. And every other kind of very watchful eye. But he didn’t see Maeve Butler even once over the following days. He hadn’t the luxury of time away from his duties. The stable master allowed him only enough time away on Sundays to attend Mass. He was to prove himself a tireless and uncomplaining worker during his first week on the job, he was told. Then, and only then, would he be permitted time of his own.
Though he didn’t see Maeve, he thought of her often. For some, a head of golden hair or of fiery red is quite the end-all of beauty. Sean had always had a particular weakness for hair of the darker variety. And he’d always been unable to resist a laughing smile. Wit went a long way in capturing his attention as well. Maeve was all those things, but she was something more as well. She was . . . He had no idea what she was, which was precisely why he wanted to see her again. But the confounded colleen never showed her lovely face.
Late in the afternoon of a mild Wednesday— mild by comparison, of course, meaning rain had fallen all the day long with a fierce wind that bit through even tightly knit sweaters and thick, woolen coats— a man’s voice sounded through the castle stables.
“I’m needing to borrow one o’ your stable hands, Desmond.”
Sean leaned around the stable door, straining to catch sight of Liam Butler. Even with the comings and goings of a large staff and a great many animals, he thought he might manage to find the man. Gingers generally stand out in a crowd.
“You’ll not be convincing me that you and Kieran can’t manage your animals.” Desmond was the stable master and never let a soul forget it. “And I know perfectly well that sister of yours can keep her hounds in line.”
“’Tis the sister we’re needing help with,” Liam answered.
Worries for Maeve flooded over Sean as he stood in that stall, his task forgotten, dirtied straw stuck to the end of his abandoned pitchfork.
“Nonsense,” Desmond grumbled. “That lass is tougher than the both of you combined.”
“Don’t I know it.” Liam looked about the place. He didn’t appear at all like a brother worried over the welfare of his sister, but rather one plotting very nearly against her. “Have you a place where we might talk without being overheard?”
Desmond gave a silent nod. Before stepping away, he looked over the stalls and the many hands working there. “Back to your chores, lads,” he barked out. “You’re not bein’ paid to stand about.”
Sean set back to his task on the instant. He knew better than to ignore a dictate from Desmond. The man ruled with an iron fist right up until the work was done for the day, when he turned into precisely the sort of fellow one liked to run into at the pub. Days were long and grueling at the castle stables, butthe evenings were a regular romp. Still, Sean couldn’t quite lose himself in the merriment. His thoughts were a quarter of an hour down the road.
All those things considered, when Desmond relieved Sean of his duties a full hour before usual and even went so far as to give him the evening off, he didn’t utter so much as a word of complaint. “I’m much obliged to you.”
“Don’t be.” Desmond was a tough old bird. “I’m letting you go on an assignment, not as any kind of favor to you.”
“An assignment?”
“There’s family just outside Kilkenny in need of a bit of help.”
Ah, yes. Liam’s visit. “The Butlers?”
Desmond’s eyes narrowed. “And how is it you knew that?”
“I understand there are a great many Butlers hereabout. I figured ’twas a likely guess.” A wee falsehood could be excused when one doesn’t wish to play one’s hand where a woman is concerned.
Desmond didn’t seem terribly impressed with Sean’s logic. But then, Desmond wasn’t often impressed. “They do happen to be Butlers, in fact. Fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes along this road. You’re looking for the six-boulders Butlers. If you reach the up-road Butlers, you’ve gone too far.”
It’s identifiers such as these, “six-boulders” and “up-road” and such, that contribute to Ireland’s reputation for bein’ a bit adorably simple. What we’re not given credit for is how very ingenious such a system truly is when nearly everyone for miles around has the same surname.
“What sort of work am I to do there?” Sean had overheard enough of Desmond and Liam’s conversation to be fully curious.
“It’s not for you to turn it down, so there’s little point in asking. On your way, lad.”
