Chapter 1 #2
She blinked. Judging from that accent, he was Australian, but most unlike the tanned beach-blonde babe she was used to seeing on TV shows and film screens.
With that dark hair and blue eyes he could be the spitting image of her great grandfather, her great grandfather who was pure Irish and whose portrait stood in the family wing.
And for all this spine-tingling awareness, it didn’t change one simple fact.
What was he doing here? “Uh, this is private property.”
His other eyebrow lifted. “But these are public walking trails, aren’t they?”
She pointed to the path. “That section is public, but this part isn’t. You’re trespassing.”
“It’s a resort, right?”
“Well, yes. But for paying guests.” And given the man’s ripped jeans and Thin Lizzy t-shirt, he didn’t look the sort to say—
“I’m a guest.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m a guest,” he repeated, enunciating each word slowly, as if he was used to people misunderstanding him.
“A guest where?” Certainly not here. Handsome young man might not be a check box on their accommodation forms, but she knew no single man had booked in today.
She crossed her arms. “I’ve heard the pub in town is quite comfortable.
They do a nice pie and Guinness meal deal on weekday nights you would probably enjoy. ”
“Wow.” He muttered something and looked away, all sign of amusement long gone. “Gee Louise…” He shook his head.
“My name isn’t Louise.”
He snickered, then backed up a step, hands up in front of him. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He shook his head again, muttered something else she couldn’t hear, then turned on his heel and left.
Leaving her wondering what had just happened. Who he was. What this strangest of sensations was. And whether she’d ever see the man again.
* * *
Was it too late to cancel his booking?
Aidan Quinn peered back at the woman who still studied him, arms crossed.
The woman wearing muddied knees and what looked like half a tree in her wild red hair.
If she hadn’t looked part woodland elf he likely would have been more offended at her comments, the way she’d eyed him like she thought him delusional for insisting he was a guest at the Castle Griffin Hotel.
And okay, getting offended probably wasn’t exactly what Jesus would do—although he had serious doubts that Jesus would spend as much money as Aidan planned to in order to stay at a fancy schmancy hotel like this.
Still, he’d promised his grandmother he’d stay at the place she’d always longed to.
And the fact that he’d always hated how people misjudged him, and now took perverse delight in subverting their expectations, meant he wasn’t going to stay at the pub in town, no matter how strongly the redhead seemed to think he should.
What did it matter what she thought, anyway?
She looked like a junior member of staff, with her wild hair, dirty clothes, and snooty attitude.
She certainly wasn’t the kind of person who would have any real clout.
She probably worked in the kitchen or laundry or whatever.
Which sounded a little like he’d watched too many episodes of Downton Abbey —and thanks to Gran and his sister he’d watched more episodes than any self-respecting Aussie bloke ever should have—but it didn’t change the fact that it was unlikely he’d ever see her again. Which suited him just fine.
He reached his hire car and retrieved his bags. Two weeks in glorious Ireland, home of his forebears. And he had all the time he wanted to tracking down his ancestors and learning more of the story his grandmother had requested on her sickbed.
“For I feel it in my bones that you should learn what you can now . It’s only when we understand the past that we can be best prepared for the future.”
Wise words. Maybe Gran’s encouragement for him to leave was because she knew things were about to hit the fan at work.
Maybe time away would help him understand if it really was a him problem, and if so how much of that could be blamed on his family history.
Not that he was looking for a scapegoat.
But it would be nice to know he wasn’t the complete loser some people seemed to think.
Hefting his bag, he paused, studying the castle.
Grey stone walls three stories high, ivy climbing up the walls past arched windows and a tower, all gave solid fairy-tale vibes.
This was once somebody’s home? It felt insane.
Growing up in a small single-storey three-bedroom red brick veneer place in Sydney’s western suburbs, a place like this couldn’t be further from his reality.
Unless he was living in a Mongolian yurt.
He crunched over white gravel and ascended the three shallow stone steps then entered the main door. Paused, as the magnificence of the lobby area smacked him over the head. Was that knight in shining armour standing in the corner really real?
He glanced around. The space was quiet. Nobody was at the registration desk. “Hello?”
He was tempted to ring the bell, but doing so felt way too pretentious, like he was playing lord of the manor, when it had already been established today that clearly he wasn’t.
So instead of waiting there he moved up to a landing into a lounge area which he guessed was for guests, given its proximity to the foyer and front desk.
If it wasn’t, well, what was the point of putting great big comfy chairs positioned next to huge picture windows that overlooked the stunning coast?
He shoved his bag under the French-polished side table, and sank into the plush armchair.
From here he could see the blue-grey water, the green trees and hills in the distance, and what looked like oncoming darker blue shafts of sky that he guessed was rain.
Soon it would hit here, and the four seasons in one day his grandmother had warned him about would come true.
His eyelids closed, and he jerked them open again. But soon the weariness of a day and a half of travel poured across him, weighing him down, and his head lolled.
Fine, then. He might be nearly thirty but a little Nanna nap wouldn’t hurt. And he’d be sure to wake when the receptionist returned. Hopefully.
So he made himself comfortable, toeing off his sneakers, grabbing a jumper from his backpack he’d needed to keep warm on the plane, and using that and a blue cushion as pillows.
And he closed his eyes, sinking into slumber, and into dreams where his boss’s taunts were stopped by a knight in shining armour, whose helmet came off to reveal leaves in red hair.