Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
T he wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt that shook Aisling from the kind of half-sleep that felt more like a medically induced coma than actual rest. Her neck cracked, her mouth was dry, and her brain was somewhere over the Atlantic, possibly still filling book orders.
Flying never got easier, and sleeping on a plane was something she’d yet to conquer.
Outside the window, Ireland greeted her with a heavy, rolling fog that swallowed the runway whole. Everything was damp, gray, and vaguely moss-colored. It looked like the set of a BBC mystery drama, just waiting for a murder.
She stepped off the plane and immediately regretted not grabbing her heavier coat. The air smelled like wet stone and early spring. It seeped into her bones, made her want to crawl back into bed—or at least into a well-insulated pub.
Aisling rubbed her eyes and yawned, fighting the jet lag. The flight had been brutal; her seatmate had snored like a dying bear, and the free wine had tasted like fermented raisins and missed opportunities.
Still, she was here. At home, it was the middle of the night, and her body was reminding her she’d not had enough sleep.
Shannon Airport was tiny, sleepy, and so quiet, she half-expected someone to announce her arrival with a bell and a goat parade. Instead, a bored customs officer stamped her passport, barely glanced at her, and waved her through.
The lawyer was working on making her a citizen of Ireland. At least for now.
An hour later, she found herself wedged into a small regional bus headed toward Killaloe, her suitcase rattling beside her like a caffeinated toddler. The bus driver had muttered something about transfers and tight schedules. Aisling had nodded, pretending she understood. In truth, she barely remembered her own name at this point.
The landscape outside the window was absurdly green. Not just green, aggressively green. It was the kind of lush, dripping countryside poets probably wept over. Low stone walls snaked through hills. Sheep grazed like fluffy punctuation marks. Ruins popped up without warning as if someone had casually left a castle lying around.
Aisling wanted to be impressed. She really did. But she was jetlagged, queasy, and deeply suspicious of the fact that the bus heater only had two settings: inferno or iceberg. All she needed was a couple of hours of sleep, a good meal, and some time without the sound of engines roaring in her ears.
By the time she arrived in Killaloe, she’d sweated through her shirt, lost feeling in one foot, and managed to drop her phone under the seat twice.
Nothing like crawling on your knees in the tight confines of the bus seating. Awkward didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt.
The taxi stand consisted of a covered bench and a hand-painted sign that read “TAXIS Ring John.” Next to it, a laminated card listed a number and a name: John O’Shea.
She dialed, hoping to God this wasn’t a setup for a horror film.
“Mountshannon,” a voice answered on the second ring, Irish lilt thick and warm like whiskey on cold nights.
“Yes, this is Aisling O’Byrne, and I need a ride from Killaloe out to the O’Byrne Estate.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Holy Mother of God. Are you Noreen’s granddaughter?”
Aisling blinked. “Sorry—what?”
“You’re Maeve’s daughter. Knew it soon as I heard the name. Be there in ten. Don’t move.”
He hung up before she could ask how he knew any of that. She knew Mountshannon was a small town, but was it small enough that they knew strangers’ names?
Ten minutes later, a silver Peugeot rolled up to the curb. The driver was in his sixties, round in the middle, all smiles and crinkled eyes beneath a tweed flat cap.
“You’d be Aisling, then,” he said, popping the trunk. “Welcome home.”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“Still home,” he said with a shrug. “Climb in, love. We’ve been waiting for this day for years.”
She did as instructed, unsure if this was hospitality or a kidnapping in disguise.
The interior smelled like sheepdog and mint. A small hula girl danced on the dashboard.
As they pulled out of town, Aisling tried not to feel like she’d just been dropped into a folklore podcast.
“So,” he said, glancing at her through the mirror. “You’ll be staying at the old O’Byrne place?”
“Yes. Temporarily. I’m just...figuring things out.”
“Aren’t we all?” He chuckled. “I’m John O’Shea. Drive everyone in town, like it or not. And don’t worry—I already called ahead.”
She turned her head sharply. “What do you mean called ahead ?”
“Well, news travels, doesn’t it?” he said cheerfully. “Bríd Ní Riain will want to see you. She was close with your mum back when Maeve was still here. Before she left.”
“You knew my mother?”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence was thick, but not unkind.
“Maeve was lovely,” he said finally. “Had fire in her belly. She and Noreen... well. They didn’t see eye to eye on much. Still, your gran kept a candle burning in the church for her every year. We were all sad to hear of her death, especially her mother, who always hoped she would return and bring you back with her.”
Aisling stared out the window, throat tight. Her mother had never told her about living in Ireland. Never said her mother even cared. Never told her what had sent her fleeing to America.
She felt like she was stepping back in time, alone without the women in her family. One she’d never known.
“Mother never told me about living here,” Aisling said softly.
“Maeve dropped all of us. Wanted nothing to do with the people in this town. I hope you won’t feel the same.”
Why would her mother feel that way?
“I don’t plan on being like my mother.”
“Well, you’re the spittin’ image of her,” he said. “She was such a beauty.”
They rode in silence for a moment. Fields rolled past like endless waves. A cow stared judgmentally at the car.
“You’re braver than you think, you know,” John added. “Coming here. Taking the estate on. We were all so worried that no good Ronan would snatch it away.”
“I haven’t taken anything yet. I’m still deciding,” she said. “Who is Ronan?”
“Oh, you’ll meet him soon enough. I shouldn’t be bad-mouthin’ him. He’s a good bloke, and we wanted Noreen’s family to keep the estate. We were hoping for you to come to the rescue.”
“I don’t know if I’ll stay past my six months,” she said.
He snorted. “That house chose you. You’ll see. Now that you’re here, you’re going to fall in love with our beautiful land.”
It was gorgeous in a primitive kind of way compared to New York. But she’d been tired of the noise, the people, and then the implosion of her job. She needed a fresh start.
They crested a hill, and suddenly, Mountshannon came into view: a village pressed gently against the shore of Lough Derg, clustered like a secret kept too long. Whitewashed cottages, narrow lanes, ivy-covered stone walls, and a single pub with a crooked sign that read The Last Drop.
At least they had a bar.
And then beyond the village, nestled between old trees and half-hidden by wild hedgerows, sat the O’Byrne Estate.
Her breath caught.
Even through the glass, even choked by bramble and weather and time, the house pulled at her.
It was grand once. She could see it in the bones. The tall chimneys. The arched windows. The long, curved drive now cracked with moss and age.
It wasn’t just a house.
It was a challenge. A challenge that intrigued her. And it was huge.
“That’s it,” John said, voice reverent. “Still standing.”
They turned onto the gravel path. The car jostled violently. A bird startled from the gable.
Aisling stepped out into the mist and stared up at the looming facade. The wind whispered through the trees, tugging at her hair, cold and insistent.
The front door was heavy oak, weathered but proud. The brass handle gleamed beneath a layer of grime.
John hauled her suitcase up the steps and placed it beside her.
“Welcome home, Miss O’Byrne.”
She swallowed hard.
“Does it come with ghosts?”
He winked. “Only the good kind. We’ll be talking soon. The townsfolk are going to want to meet you.”
As the taxi rolled away, Aisling stood there for a long moment, the keys from Liam Walsh heavy in her pocket, the future whispering through the trees like a dare.
She was here.
She had no plan. No job. No idea how to fix a crumbling estate.
But for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
“Welcome home,” she said softly as she entered the estate.