Page 41 of The Wandering Season

One Week Later

Westport, Ireland

Castles were built to intimidate. This was true a thousand years ago, and no less true now as I walked up the gravel path to the front door of Blackthorn. The taxi had left me off at the road, as I’d requested, and while I was glad not to have an audience for what I was about to do, I began to wonder about the wisdom of sending away my only option for a speedy getaway. The idea of waltzing up to the castle door and hoping for admittance was growing all the more ridiculous in my mind. Would I just . . . knock? Wait for someone to yell, “Hark! Who goes there?”

It was infinitely different when I’d been following Niall around like a duckling trailing its mother on our outings. I was ushered in and out and never had to think about gaining entry on my own.

Terror seized my stomach as Blackthorn grew larger in my field of view. What if there were guests? What if Niall had changed his mind about me altogether and he sent me on my merry way?

I tried, without much success, to take even breaths as I trekked the last thirty feet down the wandering walk and pushed the speech I’d been practicing in my head out of my thoughts completely. The more I tried to find reasonable words, the sillier they sounded.

Too soon, the massive oak door stood before me, and I had to decide what to do. After a few long and exceedingly awkward moments, I settled on knocking as I would have done if this were some suburban cookie-cutter house and not an ancient fortified castle. Reasonable.

Nothing.

For perhaps ten minutes I waited, knocking every minute or so, progressively louder.

He wasn’t going to answer, and I was silly not to give him a heads-up. He was probably out for a pint or out seeing to something on the grounds. Maybe he wasn’t even staying at the castle tonight, off on an errand while the low season permitted him an absence. It was growing colder and darker, and it would be a solid hour’s walk back to Westport with my luggage in tow. I’d have to pray I had enough service to call a cab and hope I’d be able to find a room and an obliging pub with a warm meal and a pint of cider. Before I fired up my phone, I decided my despair and embarrassment deserved a moment. I turned my back to the door, slid down, rested my head on my knees, and let the sobs have me.

I was dumb to come to Ireland. Even dumber for coming unannounced and unbidden. I should have at least attempted to warn him before impetuously boarding a flight. As we were at the lowest point of low season, even last-minute airfare hadn’t been exorbitant, but it turned out I wasn’t entirely opposed to using Dad’s Amex after all. At least not after some prodding from Avery. When Dad had called me personally to tell me he’d be disappointed if I didn’t spend a bit of my inheritance before he kicked the bucket, I finally acquiesced.

I was about to dust myself off and head into town when I heard rattling behind me. Before I could react, the door gave way behind me, and I fell flat on my back against Blackthorn’s cold stone floor.

“For future reference, Miss Stratton, it’s nary impossible to hear someone knocking on this beast of a door unless you’re already in the entryway. She’s nearly a foot thick. You’d do better to text.”

He offered me a hand up, which I accepted, wiping my tear-streaked face with my free hand.

I tried to giggle with some semblance of nonchalance but really only succeeded in making a strange croak like a deranged bullfrog. “Sorry, I suppose being in an environment like this makes me forget about these modern conveniences.”

“Well, thankfully your sister is in New York and not under the spell of Blackthorn. She had my number from the vacation rental site and texted a few hours ago to let me know you’d be coming. I just had my timing off by a few minutes.”

My jaw dropped involuntarily. “She did not. I will murder her later.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t. Of all the places you could choose to build a life, the jailhouse isn’t one I’d recommend.”

I unsuccessfully stifled a snort of laughter. “You’re probably right.”

He reached over and wiped an errant tear from my cheek with his thumb. I fought the urge to take his hand and keep it against my face a few moments longer. Perhaps sensing this, he lingered a few seconds, then smoothed a lock of my hair before he cleared his throat. “Come on in, Miss Stratton. I’ve got supper waiting for us.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

Even better than the greasy pub fare and pint I’d been envisioning moments before.

His eyes crinkled merrily as he smiled. I’d never noticed how their gray-blue color brightened when he was pleased. “Good. Perhaps you’ll be willing to forgive young Avery for her interference. If she hadn’t warned me, I wouldn’t have known to put the proverbial kettle on.”

I leaned into his embrace a moment before I stepped back. “You make a compelling argument. I’ll forgive her if you share the sumptuous feast you’ve no doubt prepared.”

“Sumptuous feast? I haven’t told you what I made yet.”

He wrapped an arm around me as we walked down the corridor to the kitchens. “Who’s to say I didn’t whip up a box of that macaroni with powdered cheese sauce I see on American TV all the time?”

“I can’t envision you stooping to such depths, but it doesn’t matter. If you made it, I’m sure it’s incredible.”

I leaned my head against his chest before he released me to open the kitchen door. “I’ll bet you could even find a way to make powdered cheese palatable.”

He threw his head back in a laugh. “I’m a fair cook, lass. Not a magician.”

He crossed to the kitchen table that was set for important company, rather than just an intimate dinner with me. “It’s not quite the feast you cooked up in Beynac, but it’s not half bad if you don’t mind my boasting. Roasted game hens in burgundy sauce, potatoes au gratin, salad greens from my own hothouse, and if you speak sweetly enough, I might be able to scare up some of my famous millionaire’s shortbread for dessert.”

Steeling my courage, I met him at the table where he’d pulled out a chair for me. Instead of sitting, I placed a hand on his cheek and raised myself up on tiptoes to kiss the other.

I searched his eyes to gauge his response, hoping I’d not been too bold. He stared into mine just long enough I felt a tingling at the base of my knees. I saw the barest hint of color reach his cheeks.

“You can have two portions of dessert, then.”

My confidence mounted a degree or two from his reaction. “That sweet?”

“If you stay around much longer, I’ll be able to forgo beekeeping.”

I took my seat, unable to suppress a groan. “With honeyed lines like that, I’m not sure you needed their help to begin with. But it would be a shame; bees are lovely.”

“I wouldn’t do without them.”

He took his own place. “There is something truly grand in keeping chickens and bees and tending a garden.”

He served the meal that smelled of ambrosia itself. We made small talk about the village as we tucked in, but it wasn’t long before weightier questions began to niggle at me.

“You’re really glad I’m here?”

I managed to ask.

He reached over and put his hand on mine. “Veronica, you flew back over an ocean to see me. Or at least that’s what Avery said, at which point I refused the payment she offered for your room. I think that gesture alone is enough to compel me to accept your decision.”

A smile pulled at my lips. “I was scared before I left for Italy. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see you again . . . I was so concerned with protecting my feelings, I never stopped to ask myself what I really wanted.”

“An astute observation. And, since we’re in the business of confessing our innermost thoughts, I’ve been the worst sort of mope for the past few weeks. If I kept it up, Caitlin threatened to have Da fashion me a man-size brooding box like we use for our hens.”

I smiled despite myself. “I’m glad. Not that you were mopey . . .”

“But that I cared enough to mope. I understand.”

He took his hand, the one not covering mine, and tucked another strand of hair behind my ear. “At the risk of being too direct, is there any way I’ll be able to persuade you to stay, Veronica? You could stay here at Blackthorn and be the loveliest chatelaine since Aoife’s mother. We’d have a raucous good time making lavish breakfasts for the tourists and all. Stay as long as you like without any obligation or expectation, but I’d like you to think on it.”

“I have been thinking on it. More than you know. About you, Blackthorn, my future.”

I took a sip of the crisp white wine he’d poured to accompany the game hens, grateful for the refreshment and for something to steady my hands.

“You’ve had a lot to mull over the past few weeks. When you come to any conclusions, I hope you’ll share them with me.”

I angled my hand so I was holding his. “Of course. And the one thing I’m absolutely certain about is that I want you to be a part of whatever plans I make.”

His face brightened and his hand squeezed mine. “You’ll stay then? Here at Blackthorn and run it with me?”

“Yes . . . I mean no. Not exactly.”

I stammered. “It’s just—you’re destined to be the keeper here, and I want to help you with that. But not yet. I don’t think you’re ready for this life just yet, nor is your dad ready for this part of his life to be over.”

Niall leaned back in his chair. “Be that as it may, he’s retired now.”

“So he can un-retire. It’s not the Olympics. It’s not like he’s now ineligible to be the steward here because he went professional.”

“A messy metaphor, but I see what you’re saying. Ma always dreamed of travel. And not having the burden of this place on her shoulders all the time.”

“Have they taken any trips?”

Based on some of Caitlin’s remarks, I could guess the answer.

He was pensive for a few long moments. “They went to go visit Ma’s cousin Elsie out near Kilkenny last autumn.”

“Quite the bold expedition from what I remember. Four hours away?”

He smiled. “Not quite that even. Maybe three and a half hours by car.”

“And they were gone . . . ?”

“Four days. Da couldn’t bear to be away much longer.”

“Exactly. He isn’t ready to hand things over to you, and your mom isn’t exactly dragging him off to the Mediterranean for a two-month vacation. I think she misses it too.”

“Perhaps so,”

he conceded.

“Definitely so. Taking a leave of absence made sense, but he’s recovered now and miserable without this place. Your parents can ease out of the job over the next decade or three, rather than feeling foisted out after the heart attack.”

Niall gazed out the window at the darkening sky as he considered my words. “You may have a solid case here, but you’ve sidestepped the real question with your usual grace. What is it you want?”

I took in a deep breath. “I want to go to culinary school. A good one. And I want you to come with me. Apparently my surplus college fund will cover the pair of us. When we graduate, I want to open a restaurant based on the same principles you adhere to in this very kitchen and the ones I used with The Kitchen Muse. Centered around the best ingredients we can source, solid techniques, and a generous dash of creativity.”

I had rattled that laundry list out in the space of one breath as if I were confessing to some evil misdeed. It didn’t feel all that different, really. Owning up to what I wanted, really and truly, was just as difficult as admitting to a felony because I’d become so unused to the sensation.

“You have given it thought, haven’t you?”

“I have. And I want Caitlin to come with us wherever we go so she can get her degree too. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her behind. Your parents can take on the help they need so neither of them has to exhaust themselves. And we’ll come back as often as we can. We’ll test out your Christmas feast ideas if your dad will let us. And when the time comes for your dad to really retire, we’ll be here to take over the reins.”

He lifted my hand to his lips and let them brush softly against my skin. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out, Miss Stratton.”

I took my free hand and caressed the side of his face before leaning in for a kiss. “Not really, but I think I’m finally wandering in the right direction.”