Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SELENE
The interior air of the castle wrapped around me immediately, cooler and thicker, damp and mineral, and faintly laced with soot from a hearth that hadn’t been properly cleaned in years.
The great hall stretched before me, long and shadowed, with tarps covering the tables and benches in pale, formless shapes.
Overhead light filtered through warped glass in narrow, uneven strips that fractured across the stone floor.
The state of the room might have intimidated others. Not me. It felt wounded instead of ruined. Neglected, but not beyond saving. That, I understood.
One section near the far wall had been cordoned off with rope and temporary supports. The ceiling beams arched overhead in dark, deliberate lines, one bowing slightly near the center, and I noted I’d need to measure it properly before I let anyone work beneath it.
Somewhere above us, the hammering continued, dull and steady, reminding me we weren’t alone. I lifted my gaze. “What are they working on?”
“Core structural reinforcement,” Bren said. “I will assist them when needed.”
I answered with a nod and continued to move forward, reading the room the way I always did. Bren remained close to me, but not too close.
My stomach tightened with excitement as my gaze drifted across the old stones, eyeing load lines while I estimated weight distribution, mortar fatigue, and lime composition.
I jotted quick notes regarding the damp intrusion creeping along the lower east wall, that the hearth had been sealed at some point and partially reopened, and the faint salt bloom ghosting the plaster near the stairs.
Something unseen beneath it all caught my attention, and I stopped and tilted my head. A pressure shift?
That was the only way I could explain the feeling. It was as if a seam in the air pulled just a fraction too tight. “That’s not right.”
Bren turned to me, his dark eyes giving away nothing, though his stance noted concern. “What isn’t?”
I scanned the hall again, reviewing the intact symmetry and the minimal structural sag, common for a building of its age. I couldn’t pinpoint what had disturbed me. “I can’t say for sure. Pressure differential, maybe.”
He grunted his agreement. “You’ll find many thin places in Ireland,” he said in an even tone.
His use of Maeve’s phrase caused me to jerk my gaze to him. He’d said it so casually, as if it was an everyday thing. “So you believe in such things? Thin places?”
Bren’s dark gaze landed on me, leaving me deeply unsettled. “Don’t you?”
That was not an answer.
I swallowed and gave him a noncommittal shrug in return. “My guess is things will settle once ventilation improves.”
He shifted his gaze and glanced about the great hall. “I would truly love to see this place settle. She deserves it.”
His reply touched my heart. I’d never encountered another who felt spaces as I did, and I longed to ask him more. But I reminded myself I wasn’t here to connect with the man. I was here to bring an old castle back to life.
I took another step forward, my boots tapping against stone that echoed less than it should have, the sound dulling before it reached the walls as if absorbed.
“This place has been closed too long,” I said, more to myself than to him, which explained some things I sensed, but not all of them.
I added more notes I’d review later. “We’ll need a full interior condition survey before anything cosmetic is touched, and a damp survey.
I want to see what’s happening behind that north wall before anyone starts stripping plaster. ”
My pulse had steadied. This was familiar, measured ground.
He stepped closer, his attention shifting from the wall to me. “I have archival drawings, surveys, and notes on prior alterations if that would be of help to you.”
I raised my brows in surprise. “Yes, I absolutely would love to see them. That will help me better understand the entire project.” They might save me hours, possibly days.
His tone was all business, which I appreciated. “Do you have a business card with your email address? I can forward them.”
Without thinking, I slipped one from inside my bag and handed it to him. I could review those documents that evening.
He tucked my card into his pocket. “I do need to inform you that I may have one additional person to assist you. I’ve already notified Cillian.
If you recall from the meeting yesterday, Liam Doherty wanted to have his nephew oversee the project.
He’s still pushing, asking that we allow the young man to gain experience working under you. ”
I tensed. “Is that written in the contract? Can I object?” Because I would. “I don’t need someone who might try to undermine me because he’s mad that he didn’t get the job.”
Bren lifted a calming hand. “I’ve already voiced that objection on your behalf. But know he’s nothing like his uncle, and I suspect he genuinely would like to learn from you. If they insist, it will be conditional. If you’re unable to work with him, he will be dismissed immediately.”
I eased out a breath, appreciating Bren’s foresight. I’d once been that person, aching for experience, and it wasn’t lost on me that if I worked easily with the council, they might consider me for future work.
The hearth drew my attention, and I moved toward it. I lightly brushed my fingers across the edge of a tarp, and dust lifted into the angled light in soft spirals.
An image of what the great hall could become formed in my mind. I could already see it whole. Air could move freely through these windows again, light would reach the floor without resistance, and the hall finally would be allowed to breathe after too many years of waiting.
“Do you realize what this could be?” I asked, turning toward him without thinking. “If it’s done properly? It could be a room people actually use again.”
The intensity of his gaze caused my heart to stutter. For a fraction of a second, I’d forgotten to be cautious and had allowed my level of excitement to exceed professionalism.
Something in his expression shifted at the comment, growing softer, almost amused, and I filed the observation away and refocused on my work before I said something else I couldn’t take back.
We moved toward the central portion of the hall, where a circular inlay of darker stone marked the floor in a Celtic knot design.
It was beautifully made, stunning in fact.
Its edges were slightly uneven with age, and the center stone was worn smooth in a way that didn’t match the surrounding floor stones.
I slowed as we approached it, and I tried to imagine the centuries of people who’d stood there before me.
When I reached the perimeter of the inlay, the air tightened, much stronger this time, compressing faintly against my skin, and I murmured in response. “That’s definitely not right.”
Bren remained back several steps as I crouched and ran my fingertips along the edge of the inlay. I expected to notice textures only, but the difference in temperature between the stones surprised me. “That’s weird. The stones in the design are noticeably colder than the surrounding floor.”
I glanced up, expecting him to inspect it for himself, but he didn’t approach. I urged him forward with a wave of my hand. “Come see. There’s a vast difference.”
He remained rooted in place. “I’m aware of the differences.”
Of course he was.
The hammering above us paused and then resumed. A distant bird called outside, and the light shifted as a cloud moved across the sun. An odd sensation rippled across me, and I wondered if there was a reason he wouldn’t approach. “Do you purposefully avoid this area?”
It took him another moment to respond. “I don’t cross the center unless necessary.”
His declaration baffled me, but then I wondered if it might have something to do with a superstition.
Bren had mentioned thin places already, which led me to consider he might believe Irish lore as strongly as Maeve. I couldn’t say why I felt the need to move, but if he was avoiding the area, perhaps I should, too, until I learned more.
I quickly stood, stepping back as I pressed him for an answer. “Because?”
His jaw tightened briefly before relaxing. “The inlay serves a purpose.”
I brushed the dust off my hands. “What kind of purpose?”
He held my gaze for a moment too long. “One that I prefer remains intact.”
The man was blatantly avoiding my questions, and I yearned to know why. But since we were practically strangers, I let it go.
I turned, intending to examine a hairline crack along one of the supporting beams near the hearth, and Bren moved at the same moment. We came within an inch of colliding, and suddenly, we were standing much nearer than either of us had planned.
I glanced up to find his face angled slightly down toward mine, his dark gray eyes steady and difficult to read.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
The memory of my experience in the grove barged in like an unwanted guest, and the man in front of me became the one from my dreams. Moonlight silvered on the water.
His hand on my waist. The press of his mouth against mine, warm and devastating.
The way I had leaned into him without hesitation, without the self-preserving caution that governed everything else in my life.
Heat moved through me instantly, low and deep and entirely unwelcome in a professional setting, and my gaze dropped to his mouth before I’d thought to stop it.
For half a heartbeat, the hall disappeared.
Then I blinked.
I forced my gaze back to Bren’s eyes, squared myself against whatever was showing on my face, and pretended what I’d just experienced hadn’t happened.
He watched me with something unguarded, something that seemed dangerously close to desire. But that couldn’t be. I already knew this man wasn’t interested in me. He’d made that clear at the pub.
The look in his eyes vanished almost immediately behind a composure so clean that I wondered if I’d imagined it.
I stepped back first. “We’ll need temporary supports along that beam before we do anything else,” I said, my voice admirably level. “I don’t want additional strain on the structure while we’re still assessing it.”
He replied in a calm voice. “Of course.”
His tone was steadier than the air between us. It had shifted again, along with a barely perceptible tremor beneath my boots and a draft along my arms that hadn’t been there a moment before.
The source of the faint disturbance came to me without thinking. I made my way to an old wooden chair leaning awkwardly against the rope barrier and nudged it into alignment with the table, adjusting it so the legs settled evenly on the stone.
The pressure eased like a released breath. I nearly exhaled with it until I realized the change had been instant, not gradual as expected.
I froze, confused.
That was not a normal response to furniture placement. I’d always had a way with rooms, but that minor movement hadn’t resulted in a slight change. Something bigger, something inexplicable, had changed.
I glanced at Bren, who was very still. Very aware.
I cocked my head as I erased any concern from my expression. “What?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing.” The look on his face argued otherwise.
I turned away, uncomfortable with my thoughts and his attention. “The floor is uneven near the inlay. We’ll need to address that before reopening this space to foot traffic.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “We will.”
I knew I was repeating myself in some matters, but talking seemed safer than silence.
The hammering above us stopped entirely.
An eerie quiet settled over the hall, as if the building itself had paused to listen to us.
I crossed to one of the tall windows and pressed it open slightly, letting the damp air move inward, carrying the scent of moss and distant water.
The light shifted, brighter now, the dust motes turning gold instead of gray.
“It has good bones,” I said softly, running my fingers along the cold stone sill. “It just needs air, movement, and attention.” And someone to listen to it. “It’s not broken.”
His answer came after a moment, quieter than the rest. “No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
A strange awareness threaded through me. The great hall, the light, and the air all felt less compressed than when we’d first walked through the door. I felt buildings often. Sometimes strongly, but never like this.
I swallowed. “We’ll start with inventory before removal,” I said, turning toward the corridor with the brisk purposefulness of someone who had a great many things to do and intended to focus on all of them. “Nothing will be disturbed without documentation.”
Bren lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Whatever you need.”
He’d returned to professional, measured, and controlled. I had as well.
But as I walked ahead into the adjacent corridor, I could feel the faint hum behind me, rising from beneath the stone. For reasons I couldn’t explain and wasn’t ready to examine, it felt as though it had shifted with me.