The Harp and the Fiddle: Glenncailty Castle, Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

nothing.”
    “What’s back there? You must know, otherwise you wouldn’t have walled it up.”
    “You act like I did this, but I did not. Nor did anyone here, or even the O’Muircheartaigh family. That door was sealed shut with brick and mortar over one hundred years ago.”
    Tim rocked back on his heels, eyes widening.
    “So what you felt,” Sorcha continued, “must have been a draft, coming through a crack. That room, that whole part of the building, is not in the best shape. Your friend Paddy is looking for you, hoping you’ll join him in the pub for dinner.”
    Tim looked over his shoulder, through the windows at the massive west wing, then let Sorcha lead him away. 

Chapter Three
    In the Rain
    Caera dropped into a chair at a table in the middle of the pub. As much as she’d like to take one of the two snugs or a table by the window, the policy was to leave the best seats for customers, so the staff who sought their dinner in the wood-paneled pub took the center tables. She waved to some of the regulars, including a group of old men from Cailtytown who’d taken up residence at the table closest to the little stage, which was stacked with wood barrels since there were no acts billed for tonight. But it looked like there’d be music anyway. The “boys”, as they called themselves, though none was a day under sixty, all had their instruments and were always happy for a music session.
    The pub was larger than a normal country pub, taking up almost the entire ground floor of the east wing, with two bars to keep the drinks flowing when it was full. But the seating arrangements and high walls of the snugs, which she sometimes heard Americans call “secret rooms”, broke up the space and kept the atmosphere intimate. A few die-hard smokers were on the patio out the back doors, puffing away in the rain. It smelled like cooked spuds, good beer and earth, the last scent having been trailed in by a few bachelor farmers who even in their clean clothes smelled of the land. The butcher’s son John was at the bar with Séan Donnovan, who never looked entirely comfortable in the pub. 
    Rory dropped down in a chair next to her. “I’m starving-like.”
    “You worked hard, and I thank you,” Caera said. Finn’s Stable was set up, with each chair perfectly positioned and the stage ready and waiting for the musicians. “Let me buy you dinner.”
    “Ah Caera, my darling love, I thought you’d never ask.” Rory pressed his hands to his heart and fluttered his lashes at her.
    “Jaysus.” Caera pushed up. Weaving between the tables, she made her way to the bar—the crowd was large but not fast-drinking, so only one bar was manned—and flipped up the pass through. She waved at the bartender as she walked into the stock room. Locked cages protected bottles of alcohol, while the kegs were lined in neat rows, hoses disappearing into the wall.
    Against the back wall, a spiral staircase led down to an underground hallway that connected the kitchen and the pub. Building it had come at huge expense, but Mr. O’Muircheataigh wouldn’t allow any other external buildings or halls besides the kitchen itself. The hall was hard on the servers, as were the stairs, but hauling food through the rain or the long way through the restaurant and covered hall would have been worse. The rumor among the staff was that Mr. O’Muircheataigh and Elizabeth had fought bitterly over the building of the kitchen. 
    Caera, for one, was glad. With no proper kitchen of her own, she ate from the castle’s kitchen most nights, and its modern set-up had lured a wonderful French chef to Glenncailty. She said hello to one of the servers in the hall, turning sideways to make room for the tray of fish and chips, stew, burgers and brown bread he carried.
    Climbing the stairs into the kitchen, she used the terminal there to key in her usual order of soup and bread and Rory’s of steak and chips, then wandered over to wait for it. She leaned on the end