Celtic Love Knots Volume 4 Page 3

  Maureen kicked a moss-covered stone out of her path. Striding over the pine needles wasn't as satisfying as crunching over gravel or slapping on cement would have been, but it was working. She felt some of the pent-up hostility leach from her body with each step she took.

  "Madness, that's what it is. A sort of Irish madness that's got them all in its hold. Believing in myths and fairytales and doing all kinds of silly things,” she growled. Then her brow smoothed and she began to giggle. The sound of her laughter bounced off the tall trees that surrounded her. It floated through the air, combining with the rustling leaves to form an impromptu symphony. “Sort of like talking to yourself in the woods. Yeah, that's completely realistic...."

  The scene that greeted her when she emerged from the forest never failed to take her breath away.

  Plantation Castle was a ruin, but a beautiful one. On Christmas Eve in 1641 the place had been the site of an invasion. A bloody massacre with the sunrise on Christmas morning followed. Left to crumble into the earth after being rampaged and partially destroyed, the castle had resisted the temptation to buckle and fall. Segments of the original castle still stood, and they were, perhaps, more impressive than the original structure had been. The roofless ruin was a testament to overcoming and moving forward, even after being devastated.

  Maybe that's why Maureen felt so drawn to the place.

  She folded her tall, thin frame to sit on a limestone boulder near the edge of the woods. Opening the sketchbook that was her constant companion, she tucked a long, wispy strand of blonde hair behind one ear. As she began to sketch with a magenta pencil—the only one that hadn't disappeared—she felt a calmness wash over her.

  Lost in the world of pink-tinted bawns and towering fortresses, her features relaxed. Maureen felt her breathing slow and she imagined, for a moment, how it must feel to live in a castle. Maybe one of Queen Morgana's handmaidens, clad in yards of luminous green silk.

  It was equally tragic that her own love experiences had been as unfulfilling as the long-gone queen's had been. But unlike Morgana, Maureen's beloved hadn't been eaten by a dragon. No, her fiancé had chosen, instead, to bed a bitch.

  And Maureen had witnessed the whole thing.

  * * * *

  "Good night, dear heart. Sleep well,” Aunt Tess called. “And let's hope that the pesky cluricauns don't steal any of your things while you're sleeping tonight. They do that, you know."

  In the small cottage all sounds carried easily, and Maureen smiled, shaking her head, as she stood in the hallway. Even with the last breath of the day, her aunt insisted on discussing Irish folklore.

  When the rustling sounds ceased and a gentle snore reached her ears, Maureen slipped into her own room. She turned out the lights and climbed into the huge feather bed.

  Cluricauns. Fairies. So silly. I'm probably just misplacing things, that's all. I have to get my mind off Jim and his new girlfriend ... get my head back to paying attention to what I'm doing. Then I'll know where my things are. Cluricauns, honestly!

  As she rolled over and closed her eyes, she wondered if the dream would come. She hoped it would.

  And it did. It came as surely and as swiftly as it had come every night since she had been in Ireland.

  Maureen shifted slightly, parting her legs as her breathing quickened. Her nipples rose, forming stiff, tingling peaks beneath her cotton nightgown. Hands—her own—slid over her body and palmed her breasts, releasing exquisite tremors throughout her already tingling skin.

  His broad shoulders pulled her closer to his body. Long and lean, with a wide chest and thick legs, his body was a magnet for hers. Maureen pressed against him and felt the hardness of his excitement pressing into her hip.

  She looked up into his deep brown eyes as she reached for his thick cock. Her fingers found it, circled it and held it tightly. She gave it a gentle tug—he inhaled sharply. The sound excited her and she pressed closer to his hardness ... ever closer.

  Without words he positioned himself above her aching wetness and slid into her. As they moved in the dance that needed no music save the beating of their hearts, she felt filled—and fulfilled. For the first time ever.

  His strokes grew more frenzied as he pushed her closer and closer to her climax. She felt the first glorious waves of pleasure washing over her and swallowed the sounds that threatened to escape from her lips.

  The shudders of her orgasm lingered deliciously within her as Maureen opened her eyes. She was alone in the dark room.

  Chapter 2

  "These buttermilk scones are very good, dear heart,” said Aunt Tess, spreading another dollop of wild brambleberry jam on the hot biscuit. She took a bite and looked as if she had just discovered the joys of chocolate or the delicious richness of a well-made canoli. “Tastes as good as the ones my sainted mother used to make when I was a wee girl."

  "It's good to see you eating again. Keep that up and you'll be back to feeling like your old self before long,” said Maureen. She upended her coffee mug before she rose and set it in the sink. “Are you certain I can't get you anything else before I go?"

  "Not a thing, thank you.” Licking a blob of jam from her fingertip, Aunt Tess looked like a schoolgirl. “You just enjoy yourself, dearie. I'll be fine."

  After rinsing her mug and setting it in the drainboard, Maureen dashed down the hallway but a quick look into her bedroom brought her no satisfaction. A neatly made bed, handmade throw pillows all lined up by the ancient headboard, a spindly legged night table with an elderly lamp and the newest Stephen King thriller on its polished surface and a long, low dresser with its crocheted runner was all that met her eyes. Lace panels billowing over braided rugs completed the humble room.

  No sign of the CD anywhere. And she had been sure she'd seen it only last night!

  With a sigh, Maureen grabbed the Discman and shoved in an alternate selection before returning to the tiny kitchen. Her aunt had finished the scone and was working her way through a second cup of coffee.

  "What is it you're looking for this morning, dear? Not those newfangled trainers of yours, is it? Those are right over there. By the umbrella stand."

  Maureen retrieved her running shoes, brought them back to the kitchen and sat in the empty chair. As she shoved her feet into them, she said, “No, not my sneakers. Thanks anyway, but that's not what I've been looking for.” She laced the laces tightly enough that the heels of the shoes wouldn't rub against her skin as she ran.

  "What then?"

  "Oh, just my running CD ... the one I use when I jog. Dance tunes, fast and edgy, you know? Keeps my feet moving.” She gave her laces a final tug before she stood up.

  "Ah, I understand. Keeps your feet moving and your mind still, is that it?"

  "Something like that."

  Aunt Tess smiled as she reached for the plate that held the scones. She chose one carefully from the pile before she split it and smeared it with jam.

  "So, where was the music, then? Where did you leave it?"

  "Beside the door, or at least that's what I thought. By the umbrella stand. But it's not there, so I must have put it somewhere else yesterday. Are you sure you don't need anything before I go?"

  The elderly woman shook her head, her curls bouncing in the rays of sunshine that filtered through the delicate lace curtains. A smile played around her lips as she spoke.

  "No, I'm fine. You go on and have a good run. You do know what happened to your music, don't you?"

  Maureen kissed her aunt on the forehead and headed for the door. She shook her head and adjusted the earphones as she clipped the Discman to her waistband.

  "Yeah, I know ... fairies and cluricauns. And lions and tigers and bears..."

  * * * *

  Twenty minutes of trying to run to the sounds of Relaxing Bedtime Melodies was enough time for Maureen to realize that she'd either have to find Club Mix or visit the local music shop. She slowed to a walk. Her feet took a route they had become familiar with.

  Damn. What did I
do with that CD? I can't keep losing my things like this ... I'll be bare-assed and asset-free in a month!

  She heard the rustling of the leaves in the trees above her. The sounds soothed her frustration.

  I've got to get over the Jim and Kendra thing—that's it. I need to find something else to fill my mind before I can focus again—on anything, apparently. Maybe a job? No, Aunt Tess is my job, even if she seems to be relying on me less and less. Drawing more? All of my damn pencils are gone! Except for the pink one. And how many things in this green place are pink, anyway?

  When Maureen reached the edge of the forest, she climbed onto an enormous limestone boulder. It felt cool and smooth beneath her. She pulled her legs up onto it and wrapped her arms around her knees. Staring at the ruins was never boring. As she stared at them she could almost hear the sounds of clanging swords, voices raised in battle as well as laughter drifting to her from long-past festivals. All manner of adventure, mystery and romance had taken place in this very spot, both before the massacre and in the long years since the tragedy.

  So many lives touched by one point on the globe ... And now Plantation Castle is touching my life, too. But how?

  I need a man, that's what I need. And not just some elusive nighttime lover, either. A real flesh-and-blood man—that's the thing.

  Standing, she turned and walked calmly toward the path in the woods. The castle had done for her what the aborted jog hadn't been able to do. Maureen stared into the branches of the ancient trees around her and grinned at a red squirrel that scampered fearlessly above her.

  "If you find a man growing up there, send him down to me, all right?"

  * * * *

  His tongue traced a line down her body. Down her neck, nipping gently at her delicate collarbone as he passed it and headed for her tingling breasts. He tugged her erect nipple between his lips, suckling her gently as he stroked the other one with large, strong fingers. No part of her body was neglected as he loved her in the darkness.

  With a groan, he dragged his mouth from her breasts and traveled downward ... lower, to the spot between her legs that screamed for his touch. When he kissed her wet center a low, guttural moan escaped from her throat. Even the vibration of her own moan made her body tremble.

  As the first spasms of release began within her body she felt his hard, hot cock separate her swollen lips and slide into her pussy. She gripped him as she came, holding his length against her throbbing clit as her body arched against him.

  Maureen's eyes opened while the last of her climax held her in its embrace. She wasn't surprised to find no one else in the room with her.

  Chapter 3

  "Lose anything today, dear heart?"

  Maureen shrugged. She had given up being angry about the misplaced items. Anger was futile and it didn't help her find her lost things. She wondered, not for the first time, whether or not she was suffering from some kind of early-onset dementia, one whose first symptom was the inability to keep from misplacing possessions.

  Blarney-stone blackouts, maybe. Or Irish irrationality. Or how about Meath Madness? Maybe that's the ticket—I'm simply losing my mind.

  "Just some dental floss. I had the package last night when I brushed my teeth and I can't find it this morning. Maybe I knocked it down the drain.” Maureen checked the kitchen table one last time to make certain that all was in order for the day's lunch. “I'll just pick up a new roll."

  "Down the drain? Isn't dental floss a fairly big thing to fit down the drain?"

  "Not really. This was one of those tiny traveling canisters, small and round. I could have knocked it in, I guess,” she said. “We'll know for sure if we have to phone the plumber in a few days. Anyhow, I've got everything set for your luncheon with your friend. There's potato soup simmering on the stove. Salad's in the fridge. Chocolate cake is on the counter, and the table's all set. Is there anything else you can think of?"

  Aunt Tess shook her head. She looked decidedly improved, with a rosy tinge to her cheeks and a newfound sparkle in her cornflower blue eyes. Her aunt's increased vigor pleased her.

  "No, thank you. Are you sure you won't stay and take lunch with Nell and me? She's a dear woman and I know you'd like her and she'd love to meet you, too. What about it? Lunch with a couple of old women?” Aunt Tess looked up from the intricate needlework she was working on. Maureen couldn't tell what it was going to be yet. It looked like a bit of scenery but her aunt was being very secretive about her new project.

  "Thanks, Aunt Tess, but I think it'll be good for you to have some time with your friend. You two ladies haven't had a chance to catch up since before you got sick. No, it'll be nice to have a long, chatty lunch. And I wanted to go to town and poke around in the shops for a while. Pick up some new dental floss, maybe a jogging CD. Then I'm going to go sketching this afternoon, so don't expect me back before dinnertime, all right?"

  Maureen leaned down and kissed her aunt on the forehead. She surreptitiously checked the old woman's temperature with her lips. Cool as a slab of Connemara marble.

  "You know, don't you, dear heart, that the ‘lost items’ aren't really lost, but stolen? You do realize that, don't you?” Arthritic fingers laid the bit of linen on the quilt-covered lap. Her aunt waited patiently for Maureen's response.

  "Stolen? You really believe that? By what? Under-the-floor fairies? Sprites wearing birthday hats?"

  "Posh, dear! Don't tease an old woman. You know full well that it's the cluricauns, as I've been telling you. They come in the night, the mischievous creatures, and steal from those who need a push—they're pushing you, Maureen. Pushing you toward something they think you need,” the old woman said. She picked up her handwork and poked the threaded needle into the fabric with renewed enthusiasm. “And about the fairies and sprites? Of course they're not living under the floor, for goodness sake. Fairies and sprites live in the woods, near glens and bogs, you know. They like it there best. Must be the climate or some such."

  Time to go. Bad enough that I can't floss this morning. I'm not in the mood for a fairy-sprite-housing discussion. Just not up for that.

  "All right, I'm off. Nell will be by within an hour. You ladies have fun,” called Maureen.

  As she closed the front door behind her she heard her aunt muttering over her handwork. The words made Maureen smile.

  "Birthday hats, indeed! Why everyone knows that sprites would rather be dipped in oil than be seen wearing birthday hats. Now a nice bowler or derby ... that's more their style..."

  * * * *

  By the time Maureen reached Plantation Castle the sun hung low in the cloudless blue sky. It had taken longer than she anticipated to round up her items. She'd settled for plain dental floss, having learned that the small village didn't harbor even a scant inch of flavored floss and a jogging CD. Finding colored drawing pencils had also been a futile endeavor. She'd been offered crayons and pens, along with an occasional wide-tipped marker, but there was a shortage of artist supplies in Tully as well.

  Settling herself on the sun-kissed grass, she leaned against the limestone boulder and pulled her sketchbook out of her tote bag. Though she grabbed the magenta pencil, Maureen didn't begin to sketch immediately. Instead, she let her mind wander as she searched the ruins for inspiration.

  Last night was the most intense dream yet. When I woke up I could have sworn that I felt—actually felt—a hard cock inside me. I felt the tingling in my body, the spasms as I ... well, as I had one of the best orgasms of my life! Why can't I find a man who's not in my dreams to make me feel like that?

  The grin on her face wasn't something that required any effort. Neither was the prickling feeling in her nipples nor the tightening between her legs. Warmth spread through her, beginning in her center and radiating outward, consuming her whole body. Maureen placed a hand against her suddenly hot cheek and laughed out loud.

  I'd better get to work on my drawing. Another pink castle, that's the ticket. Otherwise, I'm going to be moaning and groaning right here in th
e grass like a sex-starved lunatic.

  * * * *

  Both women turned in early that night. Nell's visit, although welcome, had tired dear Aunt Tess out more than she was willing to admit. And Maureen ... well, she had her own reasons for wanting sleep to come swiftly to her. Reasons that kept her from wearing anything to bed except a long, loose cotton nightgown.

  His erection slid into her as naturally as a raindrop finds a puddle. A fleeting moment of solid meeting liquid then the two become one and begin a fluid motion that needs no interpretation.

  When his voice touched her ears it was as if she had heard it a thousand times before.

  "I want you ... I want all of you, all the time. I want you to hold me—like this, in your hot wet pussy—forever. Don't let go. Don't let go..."

  His thrusts brought her closer and closer to her shuddering release. As she fell forward over the edge and into the swirling abyss of delicious sensation, his voice filled her head.

  "Don't let go, don't let go, don't ... let ... go..."

  Chapter 4

  "So what did they take last night, dear heart?” Aunt Tess looked up from her stitching to favor her niece with a grin, a twinkle in her eyes as she sat in an armchair beside the front window. It was heartwarming to see her off the sofa finally. “Anything you're going to be needing anytime soon?"

  "Nothing. They—the gringochs or sprites or boogey men—took nothing,” Maureen said. She had a sparkle in her own eyes as she sat in the chair opposite her aunt. “Guess that disputes the whole leprechaun-as-pushy-pest theory, doesn't it?"

  "Cluricauns, dear heart."

  "Whatever. You're just sore because I'm not missing anything today. Maybe I've learned to pay attention to where I'm putting my things, that's all. Don't feel badly, Aunt Tess. Not every Irish myth can be true. Ah! There's the kettle—the water's ready. I'll pour your tea before I go for a walk."