Heart of the Glen

Chapter 18

18

“Thanks for sharing your room with me,” Saoirse said as she unfolded the blankets she’d been sleeping on the last two weeks. Owen had gotten them out of the barn and shaken them out for her. He’d apologized profusely for not having more bedding things in the house to use, but Saoirse didn’t know anyone other than the very wealthy who had extras of anything. In fact, many lacked even the basic necessities for living.

Aileen laughed. “Are ya jokin’? I was chuffed he finally came around and let ya get out o’ that dank barn!”

“I really didn’t mind it,” Saoirse said as she bent down to spread out her pallet on the ground. “It was warm, quiet, and comfortable. I’d managed to make a wee little home for myself back there.” When she straightened, Aileen had pinned her with such a look of incredulity that Saoirse burst into laughter. “What?”

“Can ya hear yerself?” A mixture of humor and disbelief laced Aileen’s voice. “Ya can’t tell me ya actually liked livin’ out there?”

Saoirse pushed her lips up and bobbled her head. “Wasn’t so bad. Certainly better than the alternative.” She yawned and stretched. “Though I must say I prefer the aroma in here to the one in the barn,” she added, laughing.

Aileen joined in. “And I’ll tell ya, you can thank me fer that! If it were just my brother livin’ here, this place would reek to high heaven. It’d make the barn seem like a perfumery.”

Saoirse’s jaw fell open, and she playfully tossed a pillow at Aileen. “You’re awful!”

Aileen shrugged. “I know he seems all knight in shining armor to ye, but I assure ya, he’s just a regular man ... with all the regular man smells.” She made a face that reminded Saoirse of when her younger brother had tasted carrageen for the first time. She pulled the covers on her bed back and slipped underneath them.

But as she considered what Aileen had said, heat flashed up her neck. “I’m not sure I understand. Knight?”

Aileen raised up on her elbow and rolled her eyes, the soft lantern light accentuating the playful gleam dancing in them. “Och, please. The whole wairld can see ya think he hung the moon.”

“I do not!” Saoirse scoffed. “I’m just grateful to both o’ ye for a place to stay and a way to earn my keep.” The burning in her cheeks reminded her that, perhaps, that wasn’t all there was to it. And not for the first time, she was thankful for the low light that hid the intense blush no doubt coloring her cheeks. Her argument was weak, she knew, but she hoped her friend would buy it.

Aileen studied her for a long moment, a smirk playing on her lips. At length she said, “I don’t see how anyone could be smitten with that auld codger out there.”

Saoirse’s gut tightened. Clearly Aileen knew him better than she did. Why might she say such a thing? She efforted to keep the tone of her voice neutral when she asked, “Why’s that?”

“He makes eatin’ lemons seem like a joy.” Aileen then mimicked her older brother, rattling off some of his most oft-used phrases.

“Tsk. You’re awful,” Saoirse teased. Though she couldn’t deny the woman’s impersonation was spot-on. Aileen winked and lay back down, pulling the covers up under her chin.

Saoirse chuckled and settled herself on her own makeshift bed. She looked up at Aileen, who appeared to be halfway to Tír na Nóg already, then smiled.

“Wha’?” Aileen asked, her voice thick with fatigue.

“Nothing.” Saoirse shook her head. “Just bein’ in here with you reminds me of sharing a room with my sister back home.”

“Mm.” Aileen lifted her brows and nodded. “I always wanted a sister. Were ye close?”

Saoirse pulled in a long, slow breath and released it, the subtle scent of hay, tea, and turf comfortingly familiar. “Aye, we were.”

She let her gaze drift around the cozy space. In many ways, she felt even more at home now than she had since leaving her own home to come to Donegal. She’d never spent so much time alone until she came here. Her family had all lived in a small house, not terribly unlike Owen and Aileen’s, and she’d shared a bed with her younger sister her entire life. It had taken her several nights to adjust to the quiet and solitude of the barn. She’d missed the extra body heat terribly, but even more so, of course, the company of her sister—something she would never have the privilege to experience again.

So, lying in this tiny room now, Aileen’s breathing already slowing, and the sound of Owen’s soft snores floating under the closed door, was like having a favorite blanket wrapped around Saoirse’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being part of a family, and living in a real home, until this moment. And in this moment, she was immensely grateful to have that again. Yet it brought with it such an agonizing ache for her own family that she struggled to breathe. She remembered the time she had set out to make dinner all on her own for the first time. She’d burned the fish to the skillet so badly, more of it was left charred onto the cast iron than had ended up on their plates. That’s when her less-than-fortunate streak really became a running joke in their house. The fact that she’d done things exactly as her mother had done her whole life but ended up with disastrous results made for constant lighthearted jabs at Saoirse. A sudden and overwhelming longing washed over her, to be able to return back to that simpler time when her bad breaks only resulted in a smelly sitting room and family jokes.

Tears stung her eyes, and she rolled onto her side, her back to Aileen’s bed. Once the first tear slipped from the corner of her eye, across the bridge of her nose, and onto her pillow, a floodgate was opened. Unable to quell the tide, Saoirse let the tears flow but choked back her sobs so as not to wake Aileen. What she wouldn’t give to have her family back—Mammy, Dadaí, Grainne, Seanín, and Mícheál. And, of course, the family dog, Finn. All gone in a flash.

Flash . Saoirse flinched at the word. It was an all-too-accurate description of her family’s last moments. And, as was the case every day since, suffocating guilt accompanied the memories of her beloved family. But the heaviness was joined by a new addition—paralyzing fear that the McCreadys would rescind their welcome once they knew the truth of it all. As far as she knew, the gardaí weren’t after her for payment of her crimes, but with the looming involvement of the law enforcement to bring justice to Haggerty and his men came the fear that her own justice might be awaiting her as well. The thought sickened her, though she knew she wasn’t deserving of arrest and didn’t even know if anyone was looking for her. Just the thought that perhaps someone might be was enough to set her heart racing and gut churning.

She didn’t know what Owen would do if he ever learned the truth. A vision of his face floated into her mind. His piercing blue eyes saw right through her facade and into her heart. She could deny her feelings to Aileen all she wanted, but there was no more denying to herself that her friend was right. Saoirse was, indeed, besotted with Owen McCready. No, it was more than that. She cared for him deeply—more than she had anyone outside of her family. And if he found out what she’d done ... no, she couldn’t bear the disappointment she’d see in his eyes. But more than that, if she was no longer welcome in the McCready home, Saoirse didn’t know what she would do. The thought itself was suffocating, and she determined, once again, to do whatever she needed to ensure he never found out.

Swallowing the new tinge of guilt at the idea of keeping secrets from Owen, she rolled to her other side, closed her eyes, and prayed for the sweet release of sleep.

****

Owen unlocked the weaving shed and took a deep breath, letting the heady, earthy scent of the wool yarn, the wood from the loom, and the tangy scent of the oil in the lantern wash over him. It was his favorite place to be, outside of being on the hills with his flock.

Saoirse would be joining him any minute to get back to the weaving. It felt like ages since they’d worked the loom side by side even though it’d only been a day. At any rate, they were already dreadfully behind. As he lit the lanterns and checked the warp and stock of spools, he went over that morning’s conversation with Sweeney. They’d gone out and walked the field and found the tracks leading off in the direction Haggerty had taken the stock, but there was little to be done. Sweeney said two other farms had been hit last night as well, and while they were working to track the bandits down, the chance of recovering the sheep was slim to none. The real hope was capturing Haggerty and his men, putting them in jail, and bringing this thieving nonsense to an end. When Owen shared the news, Aileen had been livid, insisting there had to be something more the gardaí could do. Saoirse had been strangely quiet the entire time and almost seemed to shrink into the background as soon as Sweeney had arrived.

Owen couldn’t say he wasn’t frustrated himself, but what else could he do? There wasn’t enough time to get the weaving done and chase down a mob of sheep bandits, so he had no choice but to let Sweeney and his men do their job while he did his. His jaw tensed.

Let Saoirse do yer job for ya, more like.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Saoirse’s frame darkened the doorway. “Sorry. I’d have been here sooner, but Aileen needed my help in the barn.”

Owen shook his head. “Not a bother. Ye’re here now.”

She crossed the small space and began inspecting the threads on the loom. “Will she not be joining us?”

Owen sighed. “ Níl . I tried to convince her it’s best if she learns too, but you know Aileen.”

Saoirse chuckled as she scanned the dim interior. “All set here?”

“Aye.”

She straightened and her gaze met his. “I’m sorry things didn’t go better this morning.”

He shrugged. “They went about as well as they could have. Nothin’ more to do but let the guards do what they do best.”

She rounded the front of the loom and grabbed the shuttle. “I suppose. I’d just hoped they’d be able to get your sheep back.”

Owen took a spool of dark-red yarn from a shelf and handed it to her. She loaded it onto the shuttle like a seasoned weaver. “They may yet, but I figured it was a long shot. I’ll be happy if they can get Haggerty and his ilk off the hills.”

Saoirse secured the new yarn to the first strand of warp and got the shuttle set for the first throw.

“Anyhow,” Owen said, “I’d trust Sweeney with my life, so I know he’ll do all he can.”

Saoirse tensed slightly and she blinked, keeping her eyes fixed on her work. “Ye’re good friends?”

“Well.” Owen gestured to the pedal she needed to start with. “He was there for me more than anyone else when my da died—other than Aileen, of course.”

She looked at him, sadness in her eyes. “I’m glad you had someone to lean on.”

Owen offered a small smile in return, unsure how to re spond. He fought to keep his memories—and anger—at bay. If he let himself, Owen could still feel the grief and anger as fresh as it was the day of the accident. The fact that someone could be so careless—

“Okay,” she said, her lighter tone jolting him back to the present, “am I all set to start?”

The weaving. Right. He took a steadying breath and nodded. “Think ye’re ready to go solo?” he asked, ignoring the disappointment swelling in his chest at the thought of not weaving together as they’d done the day before.

She blew out a breath. “I’d like to try. I’d hate for you to have to hold my hand forever.” Her cheeks pinked, and she averted her eyes. “I mean ... if I’m going to learn to weave, I should learn it properly, y’know?”

He nodded. “Ya remember the song?”

She grimaced slightly, her nose crinkling around her freckles in the most delightful way. “I think so.”

He started the first verse, keeping the pace a mite slower than he would’ve for himself, and watched as she pulled the handle, pressed the pedal, and threw the shuttle for the first pass.