“No, of course not.” I wave his worry off, anxious to hear the rest. “Tell the rest of the story.”

“Right, so, he reached Loop Head at the mouth of the Shannon River and is said to have jumped from there to the Diarmuid and Grainne’s Rock.”

“He tried to escape by jumping onto a rock? Was that just a short-term solution or what?”

“It’s not a rock. It’s an island.”

“Oh. That makes complete sense.” I have to battle not to roll my eyes.

“Aye. But the problem is, this hag was veeerrrra determined. So she jumped too, and although she was a smaller sort, and bent over and stone-ugly as hags tend to be, the wind caught her skirts like the sail of a ship and sent her over to the island as well.”

“Oh, bad news for that warrior guy,” I say. “Talk about a Survivor episode gone really wrong.”

“I don’t folla ye.”

“Never mind. Wrong century. Continue, please.”

“Well, Cú Chulainn realizing he was trapped, made another leap, this time in the other direction.”

“Back to Ireland?”

“Yes, back to the Loop Head, over the Shannon River.”

“Did he make it?”

“Yes, he did.” Paddy beams at me.

“Did she follow?”

“Yes, she did.” He beams again.

“And?”

“And she crashed into the rocks and died. The end.”

My jaw drops open, and I look from Paddy to William. The slightly larger man has dropped his forehead into his hand.

“Och, Paddy. Ye’re hopeless when it comes to a punchline.”

“What? That was classic storytelling procedure, that was. Build em up and then let ‘em plummet back down to earth.” He pokes his finger into the table for emphasis and then he leans back in his chair, raising his hand for the bartender’s attention.

William picks up the story while Paddy focuses on getting his next pint. “He had it mostly right. The hag jumps as well, still pursuing yer man there, but the wind is going against her this time, ye see, and so her skirts fly up like a sail in the wind and she’s pulled out to sea where she’s dashed against the rocks below and shattered into a million tiny pieces.” He grins, obviously very proud of himself. “Now there’s how ye tell a punchline.”

“A million pieces?”

“A million or so. Mebbe two. And if ye look, ye can see a rock down there in the shape of her ugly face, staring out to sea. We call it Hag’s Head and it lies in Malbay, the water named for her.”

“And I could walk there from here?” My Guiness-buzzed brain is picturing it already. I could use some fresh air. It’s getting really beer-stinky in here. It could be my breath.

“The cliffs are no place to be walkin’ at night,” says a voice over my shoulder.

All of us look up in time to see a broad-shouldered mountain of a man standing behind me. He looks like he just came back from the cliffs directly to this pub, the way his hair is scattered all over his head and his clothing rough with what looks like sea salt. Hubba, bubba, he is hot.

“Oy, William, look what the cat dragged in!” Paddy whacks his friend on the upper arm. “It’s Donal, the old man o’ the sea.”

William pulls out a chair. “Take a load off. Have a pint.”

“I’ve already had one. Now it’s time to go home. Lots of work to do and not enough hours in the day to do it.”

“Ye work too hard, lad. Look, we found a pretty lass to take yer mind off all o’ that farming business.”

I stand, seeing that he doesn’t want to be lured in any more than that old warrior did. “That’s okay. I’m leaving too. It was nice meeting you and I really enjoyed the story.”

“Ye’re leavin’ too?” Paddy frowns and then looks at his friend. “Is it me or is the younger generation failing to appreciate the fine art of having a pint and a gab to settle the stomach?”

“Oh, trust me, I have mastered that whole program,” I say. “I’ve already had way too many pints as it is and all I’ve done all night is gab.” I take my purse and jacket off the back of my chair. “So, which way to the bed and breakfast called … uh … oh, crap. I forgot the name of it.” Did I ever know the name of it? At this point my brain is too fogged in to remember.

“What’s the name of the bean an ti?” asks Donal. “We’ll probably know her.”

“O’Grady? I think?

“Aye,” says Paddy, smiling as he rubs his stomach absently. “Siobhan O’Grady of Doolin. I knew her well, once.”

William rolls his eyes. “Oy, that’s enough, Paddy. You didn’t know her a’tall.”

“Yes, I did. I knew her verra well, as a matter of fact.”

William waves him off. “Donal here can take ye.”

I look at Donal and he nods.

I’m only a little concerned about the fact that he looks like he weighs about two hundred and fifty pounds of pure, solid muscle. A glance at his hands tells me he could wring my neck with just one while he drinks a pint of beer with the other. Holy shit. It takes everything I have not to let my eyes stray farther down.

“No need to worry about Donal,” says Paddy, smiling as he watches me. “He’s as big as a lion but gentle as a lamb. A newborn pink one.”

“Well, now, that’s not exactly true, is it?” asks William. When he sees my look of alarm he corrects himself. “O’ course he’s gentle. Never’d hurt a lady. Only perhaps a man who needs a bit of an attitude adjustment.” He holds up a gnarled finger and shakes it for emphasis. “But even then not without provocation.” He nods as if he’s decided for me that all will be well.

I look at Donal to see how he’s managing this review of his character. He shrugs. “On my honor I never taught a lesson to any man who didn’t ask me for it with a please.”

The three of them chuckle over some inside joke, but it does make me feel a little more safe about the idea of being alone with him, especially when Paddy adds the last little nugget of information.

“I’d trust him to walk me own sister home. And that’s the best recommendation a body can get from Paddy Horahan.”

William nods and points at his friend. “You can count on that one. His sister’s a real looker.”

Paddy whacks his friend on the shoulder. “Watch it, now. She’s a married woman.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

“No, I suppose not.”

The two go back to drinking beers and soon the talk of fairies resumes.

“Might I walk you home?” Donal asks me.

I’m struck speechless by the question. I’ve never been asked something so utterly quaint and decidedly sexy in all my life. And then he smiles and whatever ice I might have had left around my heart melts.

“Yes. Okay. That would be nice.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ERIN

THE NIGHT AIR IS MAGNIFICENT. I breathe in the salty cocktail of sea and sky and sigh.

After a stretch on the open sea we tack right and head toward the moon. Micheál slows the boat, and I can make out land. The engine dies away as we float toward another jetty.

Expertly throwing the rope up onto the concrete, he jumps up after it and secures the line before reaching down to help me out of the boat. At this point I have decided to unreservedly throw caution to the wind and just enjoy myself. Ridlee would be proud of me; she’s been telling me for ages now that I’ve become too uptight.

Oh shit! Ridlee! I hope she’s okay… Oh, well, there isn’t much I can do about that now, so here goes nothing…