KISS OF BLARNEY

By

Penelope Marzec

© copyright February 2006, Penelope Marzec

Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright February 2006

ISBN 1-58608-822-x

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

For Emily, my friend

Chapter One

Shay rubbed the back of his neck as he stood at the bar in Paddy’s Pub in Green Creek, New Jersey--the town he now called home. It was a half a world away from his birthplace in Ireland, but his heritage could be felt in the prickly sensation that lingered along his shoulders. He could swear someone watched his every move.

The blame lay with his geise. His da had insisted that as a descendent of the Irish kings, Shay must be given geise--even though he happened to be living in the twenty-first century. All the legendary Irish kings had been given geise, a set of rules tailored for the individual, which must be obeyed. Otherwise misfortune or even death could result.

Most of the time, Shay considered his situation absurd. Being related to a bunch of illustrious, long gone--as well as bloodthirsty--Irish kings did not put bread on the table. Becoming a mason had been a far more lucrative career for him. Nevertheless, his father had ingrained the geise into his mind and Shay could not rid his thoughts of them. Since there was a blizzard outside and he was in a pub, one commandment in particular came to mind.

Thou shalt not drink strong liquor when snow blankets the sod. Shay wiped the cold sweat from his brow as the echo of his father’s warning kept him on edge despite the fact that he opted to drink beer.

However, his unease could also be due to the current situation at the pub. For tonight, the largest Irish pub on the Jersey shore was jammed with stranded parade marchers. Green Creek's famous St. Patrick's Day Parade had been cancelled at the last minute and while the snow continued to pile up, the marchers bided their time drinking whatever Paddy had to offer. The town’s electricity had gone off at one in the afternoon and everything had come to a standstill.

Shay had no doubt that several of the patrons would be plastered by now and a drink or two could bring out the worst in people.

…misfortune or even death could result.

Taking a small sip from his beer, he narrowed his eyes and glanced around at the tables now illuminated only by candles.

“What are you dreaming about, man?” Shay's buddies, Trevor and Liam, slapped him on the back--none too lightly, but Shay barely felt it. His muscles had been fused into steel by his years as a mason.

"I’m dreaming of my one hundred twenty chimneys," Shay lied. "Aye. I'd be out there now laying the footings if it wasn't for this rotten weather."

"You've a guaranteed fortune." Trevor brightened. "It's only fair you'll be remembering your old friends with another round of beers--we who knew you when all's you had was a shabby suitcase and a cockamamie story about being a descendent of kings."

Shay glared at his friend and hardened his tone. "You'll not be making fun of my father's tale."

Trevor looked stricken, as if he realized he had just ruined his chances for a free beer. "It's not everyday we have someone walking into this pub, getting drunk and telling us he's related to royalty."

"I was down on my luck that day and a wee bit homesick as well," Shay admitted. "I'm thinking now you didn't mean to get me drunk that day, but I hadn't had a bite to eat."

Liam shoved a bowl of pretzels right under Shay's nose. "We were only helping out a newcomer to our fair town."

Shay reached for the pretzels. His father had been an honest, hard-working man--and if he liked to tell fairytales he wasn't much different from the rest of the Devlins. They all liked to think there was magic hidden beneath every blade of grass in Ireland. There were those in his clan who even claimed to be descendents of the Tuatha De Danaan. Funny thing was, most of the old Irish families believed the same nonsense.

Still, some nights here in New Jersey, so far from Ireland, when the moon was full and the air was soft with mist, even Shay longed for a bit of that old enchantment. However, there was no mist outside tonight--just snow--tons of it. The nerves bunched up in his shoulders.

"Too much time in the pub and we'll all be seeing leprechauns," Trevor commented.

"Shay’s worked hard these past two years and a hard working man deserves to get drunk now and then. Especially, when he's got his fortune made." Liam grinned.

"You're right," Shay said to his friends. "We'll be forgetting the tough times today. Paddy, another round," he ordered.

Paddy, the owner of the pub, shoved a mug toward him. Shay glared at the green liquid inside. Squinting, he held his drink closer to the pale light coming from the battery lantern Paddy had placed on the bar. "And what are you doing giving me this evil-colored potion?"

"That, me boy, is in honor of the day," Paddy announced. “It’s green beer.”

Shay thought Paddy's eyes had a stony look to them. However, with the feeble lantern light, the flickering candles and the two beers Shay had already consumed, his eyesight could be suffering from more than simple strain.

"I'll be asking for a hearty pint of Guinness, if you want to be celebrating good St. Patrick."

"In America, green is the color for everything reminding us of the old sod." A note of annoyance came across in Paddy's words. To be sure, his reserves must be getting low.

"They'll not be knocking back such a putrid looking beverage in Ireland today."

"Then you can be going back there if you're not liking the customs here." Paddy's jowls had an ominous tremor to them. The storm had not quieted and the candles on the tables had melted down to small stubs that would soon burn out. Still, none of the patrons had taken the opportunity to leave. The pub remained packed to capacity, and it appeared that Paddy's nerves had frayed at the edges.

"It tastes the same as any cheap lager," Trevor commented after downing a bit of the brew. "Close your eyes and you won't be noticing any difference."

"I've got some green bagels to stave off your hunger before you'll be heading home." Paddy's meaning couldn't be missed. "I'm having a sale on the bagels. Three for a dollar."

"Must be getting stale," Liam muttered.

Shay shrugged his shoulders. His dog, Bran, would be wanting some company on this bitter evening and a hearty blaze in the fireplace would provide a great deal more warmth than the vile beer in Paddy's Pub. At any rate, he’d be keeping himself out of harm’s way.

He turned, intending to bid his buddies goodnight when the door to the pub opened, letting in a blast of wind that blew out some of the candles and sent many of the others wavering uncertainly. A cry of protest went up from some tartan-clad customers nearest the door when they were left in darkness.

Shay let out a laugh. "Maybe we have a banshee coming to haunt us for drinking such a foul brew."

Clad in a long cloak, a petite figure moved toward the bar. The face of the stranger lay in shadow under a capacious hood, and at her side she carried an odd, old-fashioned tapestry bag. Upon nearing the bar, her pale hand reached up and swept off the hood to unleash a mass of rich red, curly hair that glinted in the candlelight. It dazzled Shay's eyes so that he had to blink.

“I don’t think she’s a banshee,” Liam whispered with a note of awe in his voice.

Shay cleared his throat. “Probably just another stranded parade marcher.”

The woman heard his comment as she came up to the bar and took the place beside him. “Parade? I’ll not be marching in a parade, sir.” Her voice had a lilt to it, and while Shay couldn't quite place the unusual accent, it did intrigue him. On such a bitter night, he felt more homesick than usual and he wouldn't mind talking with someone about the lovely isle he’d left behind him.

He found he could not take his eyes off the lady and he wasn't the only man in the pub staring at the newcomer. With her ethereal eyes, and creamy skin she drew the attention of every man in the room, but she directed her gaze at him as she stated in a near whisper, “I am terribly hungry and thirsty.”

A bizarre sensation gripped Shay, an almost overwhelming and primitive lust fired through him. Taking a deep breath, he fought it off. “There’s not much left here. Except for green beer and green bagels.”

The woman frowned, marring her smooth brow with tiny furrows. Suddenly, she stepped up so close to Shay that he caught a whiff of violets as her heavy cloak swirled with her movement. She peered intensely at his face, but she did not say a word. A shock went through him, alarming him, for it felt as if he had touched a power outlet with one hundred-ten volts. He gulped, thinking there must be a logical explanation for it. Sure, and it could be a bit of static. His heart lurched. Or I've had too much beer. Shay rocked back and took in a breath to steady himself as a chill ran along his shoulder.

He saw her lower lip quiver slightly while a look of astonishment crossed her face. Whirling around, she turned to the bagpiper who stood at her other side. Shay watched her beautiful eyes narrow as she looked up into the bagpiper's face to examine his features. She had the longest lashes Shay had seen on a woman. In fact, everything about her seemed unusual, so unique that nobody else in the world could match her in any way. He found his reaction to her very peculiar--never before had he experienced such an immediate hunger for any other woman.

"I'll be asking you for a glass of that same beverage you're drinking." Her lips stretched into a wide grin as she spoke to the bagpiper, but Shay noticed her grip on the tapestry bag tightened.

"It will be my pleasure." The bagpiper motioned to Paddy. "Another glass of this festive brew for the lovely young lady here."

Shay's hand shook as he reached for his own beer and drank down the vile brew quickly. It did not help to steady his nerves. He saw the scowl break out on Paddy's face as he stared at the presumptuous woman.

"I'll be needing proof."

The young woman blinked. "And what proof is that?"

"Same as anyone else. You see the sign right there…" Paddy pointed. "I'll not be risking my liquor license. I’m carding you, lass."

“Carding?” The woman read the sign. "Proof of age?" A blank expression came over her features.

"Your ID, your license." Paddy crossed his arms over his chest.

Shay cast a sidelong glance at her. She appeared young with her delicate features and small stature. However, her curious, outmoded costume lent her a semblance of maturity. Besides, few young people would be caught dead wearing such an elaborate outfit. Her long, woolen cloak covered a green velvet dress with a wide skirt that reached to the floor. It looked like something out of a fairytale book--or something from the Dark Ages.

"Why you can see I'm fully grown." The young woman tilted her chin upward with pride.

Liam and Trevor hooted with laughter. However, Shay clenched his teeth when he noticed the lecherous sneer on the bagpiper's face.

Then a very odd thing happened. The young woman frowned directly at Paddy and suddenly he reached for a glass and began to fill it.

"There you go, miss," the old bartender said as he handed her the beer. When he poured her a shot of Jameson’s whiskey as well, Shay could only stare in complete amazement.

"Thank you, sir." She downed the whiskey first in one gulp. "My! What a wonderful concoction that is. I feel warm all the way to my toes."

“Then have another for your fingers.” Paddy poured her one more shot.

Shay’s mouth dropped open. Had Paddy gone mad?

The woman knocked back the second shot and proceeded to drink down half of her beer. She came up for air and sighed. "I was so thirsty." Turning again to the bagpiper, she said, "I'll be needing something substantial to accompany the drinks, sir. Some bread, a bit of cheese…."

"You're wanting a meal? If I'll be buying you dinner, I'll be expecting more than a smile." The bagpiper grabbed her about the waist and drew her up to him to plant a slobbery kiss on her lips.

The young woman cried out and gave him a resounding slap on his cheek. The entire pub grew silent.

"Why you…" The bagpiper glared at her as he felt his swollen jaw.

Shay stiffened, ready to block the bagpiper's rage and protect the foolish young woman.

"You'll not be taking liberties with me, sir." She smoothed down her dress and straightened out the clasp at the neck of her cloak. Then, lifting her chin, she glared right back at the bagpiper, her eyes like two lasers aiming for the kill.

Confusion broke out on the bagpiper's face. "Paddy, I'll be ordering up a sandwich."

"Green bagels and cream cheese is all that's left and if you're not liking it, you can go elsewhere." Paddy leaned over the bar in an intimidating manner, but it didn't seem to impress the bagpiper, who had a strange blank expression on his face.

"I've never had a green bagel, but I'm sure it would suit me just fine." The young woman's eyes lit up.

A low murmur broke out in the pub as the strange drama played out. Paddy handed over a green bagel, the bagpiper paid for it, and the young woman settled down on a barstool to enjoy her food and beverage.

Shay forced himself to tear his gaze away from the beautiful woman. Apparently, nobody could resist the charm of this particular woman. He was having a tough time of it himself, but he had no intention of throwing his cash away on some wacky female--no matter how gorgeous she was--though he had to admit she really stirred up his libido. He turned back toward his buddies.

"You'll not be leaving yet," Liam said. "We're ordering up another round. Your dog’ll be fine until you get back."

"A dog?" The high notes of the young woman's voice carried above the general din of the pub.

"A very fine dog." Trevor nodded. "Bran."

“Finn’s hound?” A touch of awe sounded in the woman’s voice as she focused her gaze at Trevor. Shay shot a furious look at his friend. The man should be keeping his mouth shut.

“Bran is a fine Irish wolfhound.” Trevor had a vacant expression on his face. “A pedigree.”

Shay studied the woman, wondering if it was her beauty that hypnotized everyone. Her eyes, paler than the blue of a robin’s egg, reminded him of shadowed ice. Apprehension knotted up in his shoulders.

"I've a need for a dog--to help me with some hunting." She slid off the barstool and planted herself firmly in front of Shay.

“Hunting is it?” Shay crossed his arms, but he avoided her gaze by studying the clasp at her neck--a golden wheel. The sight of it unnerved him. The Irish Celts used the symbol as a protective talisman against the forces of darkness. Where had she gotten it? It looked like a museum piece. He grew more suspicious of her by the moment. “I’ll not be loaning my dog out for a hunting expedition. At any rate, he hasn’t been trained for it."

"Please, sir.” Her hand rested on his arm and he felt warmth shoot to his heart. She whispered low, “It’s a matter of life or death.”

Rattled by her touch and her plea, Shay tried to put her off. “Then you should be asking the police for help.” She was more than a wee bit touched in the head. Surely, one didn’t borrow a dog when life hung in the balance.

A hush had come over the pub as the other patrons strained to listen to the woman’s words. She stepped even closer to Shay, close enough his head reeled from the haunting scent of violets hovering about her, close enough that her breasts pressed tantalizingly against his chest. For him, the room suddenly had all the steam of the tropics.

“Tis not a matter for the police,” she murmured.

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes and found himself so befuddled that all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms. He gripped the edge of the bar instead.

"I bought the young lady the beer and the bagel. She's mine for the night." The bagpiper's growl barely registered in Shay's brain for he could only see the vision of loveliness before him.

The woman whirled to face the bagpiper and Shay came back to his senses, feeling as if someone had siphoned out his wits.

"I do not belong to you, sir." Her stern expression had the bagpiper backing off. However, one of his fellow bagpipers chose to support his right of ownership.

"If a man buys a woman a meal, he deserves some of her time." By the leer on his face, there could be no doubt about his true meaning.