Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

foamy tides swirling about her ankles, defiance in her stance. The sugary white sand that clung to limbs and body was all that clothed her.
    Who was this selkie…this woman…who challenged him with her bold nakedness, the delectable curve of hip and thigh, and dark nipples tipping her full breasts? A hallucination brought about by jet lag and Mary Conneely’s story telling?
    Tynan’s vision was clouded by a pall that overtook him and closed him in a blanket of blue mist. When the vapor cleared, the selkie was gone.

Chapter Three
    Tourists!
    God’s breath, could a woman have a bit of privacy to take a dip in the sea?
    Muireann stowed her wetsuit in the duffel she had left on the rock ledge and shimmied jeans over her wet legs and hips. She brushed sand off shoulders and breasts before pulling her sweatshirt over her head. She’d shower at Mary’s where she always kept a fresh change of clothes.
    Squinting into the early afternoon sun, she searched the shore for Cú. “Get up here, ya mangy mutt,” she called. He ignored her. The old dog was deaf as a stone.
    His large grey head peeked around a big rock covered with seaweed where he had been foraging for tasty bits. Muireann gave him a hand signal she was sure he would not dismiss.
    The wolfhound had been her brother’s constant companion. Now he was hers. Because the pup had been born deaf, Ronan had trained him to respond to subtle signals. Muireann had learned the essentials, but she had not the same, apparently telepathic, connection her brother had cultivated with this canine.
    She liked having the hound near. So far he had never lived up to his warrior name Cú Chulainn …hound of Culann, but strangers kept their distance. Locals knew the only harm he might cause was from the copious drool he was happy to slobber over anyone foolish enough to show him attention.
    “Let’s go see what Mary’s about,” she said, reached for his collar, and let him pull her up the steepest part of the path by the stone steps that had been known for centuries as Manach Dréimire, the Monk’s Ladder.
    Cú lowered his head and rumbled a growl deep in his chest.
    “Jaysus, would ya look at that now?”
    The man lay prone with his head resting on a rolled-up jacket. He appeared to be deeply asleep. She wondered if she should wake him. It wouldn’t do at all to have him get disoriented and fall off the headland. Even here, where the drop was only a few meters, he would have a nasty landing.
    But the gobshite had been watching her, and she wasn’t inclined to get into a conversation with him. She’d seen him while she swam. They had made brief eye contact when she had stripped off. Let him get an eyeful, she had thought. Good for the tourist trade.
    She took him in from the back of his head to the soles of his leather shoes. He was certainly not from around here. No North Clare man would venture out on these sheep paddocks in those shoes. Besides, she knew everyone from Tarbert to Galway City and this man would have been hard to forget. She would have known him…and she didn’t.
    “Stay close, Cú,” she warned by tapping him lightly on his nose. “We’ll not disturb him.” He whined and started to pull. He wanted to play with this sleeping form, sniff it, pounce on it. “You’ll scare the man to death,” Muireann whispered and tugged Cú along with her until he stopped objecting.
    The sun shimmered green and gold across the fields, but Muireann felt, rather than saw, clouds gathering in the west. Boats that usually fished until late in the afternoon were making their way to the shelter of the harbor. The weather was changing, and fisherman were always the first to respond.
    After a day on the water, the whole of Ballinacurragh would be ready for the craic and a song or two. Pints would flow at O’Malley’s tonight.
    Conneely’s Pub attracted the tourists. Eámon Conneely had hired a three-piece band from Ennis with no shame about how many times they would play