Mulligan Stew Read Online Free PDF Page A

his finger against the badly smudged window. His full face print was smeared onto the glass in several places.
    Bridget saw sheer cliffs along the coast. "I remember reading about those." She'd done her homework before leaving Tennessee. The local library had contained more information about Ireland than she ever would have guessed. "Those are the Cliffs of Moher," she said, hoping she had the pronunciation right.
    The man with the aisle seat next to them broke his silence and cleared his throat. "Aye, and what a grand place 'tis, too."
    Bridget met his gentle gaze. His blue eyes twinkled amid a web of wrinkles and bushy white brows. "You've been there?"
    "Aye, many times." The man sighed.
    Bridget settled back and re-fastened her seat belt. "You're Irish, aren't you?" The man's accent was enchanting, reminding her of Culley. That persistent pang of guilt returned. If only she could undo the years of believing the worst of her poor dead husband.
    "Aye, though I've been in the States with my daughter's family these past eleven years." He smiled, his face glowing. "But 'tis what I'm needing now, this homecoming." He held out his right hand. "I'm Brady, and I grew up right down the coast from the Cliffs in Ballybronagh."
    Bridget shook the man's hand. "I'm Bridget, and this is my son, Jacob. Mr., uh...?"
    "Just call me Brady, lass."
    Brady had kept his nose buried in a book. Now that he felt like talking, she decided to pick his brain for information. "So you're from County Clare?"
    "Aye, and proud of it I am."
    Jacob withdrew himself from the window and turned his attention to the man. "Have you seen our castle?"
    "A castle is it now?" Brady's eyes twinkled. "There be many castles in Ireland, though I fear most are crumbling away."
    Bridget had explained to her son that she'd learned his father—no, his daddy —was dead, and that they were going to Ireland to meet Jacob's grandmother. She patted her son's hand now, grateful she'd found the guts to tell him the truth.
    "Momma, how do you say our castle's name again?" Jacob asked, studying her intently.
    "It isn't ours, Jacob. It belongs to your daddy's kin." Her cheeks warmed and she feared she would butcher the pronunciation. "I believe it's Caisleán Dubh ," she said carefully, glancing at Brady for approval.
    The old man's eyes widened and his lips parted in obvious surprise. " Dubh , you say?" He shook his head. "That one's a sight to be sure." He looked at Bridget curiously.
    "What kinda sight, sir?" Jacob asked the way only a child could. Directly, without subterfuge. "Is it really black?"
    "Aye, 'tis very dark, and there isn't another anywhere I've heard tell of with its design." He gave them a sheepish grin. "At least, not in Ireland."
    "Unique how?" Bridget asked, tickled to meet someone who knew about Caisleán Dubh . Maybe he even knew the family....
    " Caisleán Dubh is a square castle with a round tower keep to one side." Brady stroked his chin and squinted, obviously trying to remember. "Most castles are one or t'other—not both."
    "It sounds interesting." Bridget chewed her lower lip. "It's very large, then?"
    "Aye." He half-turned toward her, obviously warming to his subject. " Caisleán Dubh is built on a cliff, overlooking the Atlantic."
    "A cliff?" Jacob leaned forward. "Way high, like the ones we just seen?"
    "Saw," Bridget corrected, smiling at her son.
    "Saw." Jacob made a face at her that warmed her heart.
    Brady chuckled and nodded his approval. "As a teacher, lad, I can tell you how fortunate you are to have a mum who cares enough to make sure you learn to use proper grammar." He winked at Bridget. "Even if 'tis American grammar."
    Bridget liked this man, and she smiled. "So there's a large castle and a tower. The stones are black." She sighed, trying to picture it. "Does it have a drawbridge?"
    "No," Brady said. "They positioned the castle close enough to the sea not to need one. The windows are high enough to prevent attackers from scaling the walls.