The Kilternan Legacy Read Online Free PDF Page A

not Stalwart Defender. The driver looked startled at the sight of the gun in my hands, and my loyal cohorts. “That thing of yours is making a mess of my lane. You will kindly back down this instant or I’ll have the police here immediately.”
    He was still goggling when I fumbled my way through the gate—rusty from long disuse—and onto the (
my
) lane. Maybe that’s what added to my sense of power: owning the way into my own demesne.
    “Now clear out! That thing’s a mortal nuisance!”
    He opened his mouth to protest.
    “Simon, haven’t you reached the police yet?”
    That settled the driver, for he couldn’t tell at this distance that Simon was only fourteen. A gun and two men to contend with, plus police interference, were more than he liked as odds. The bulldozer churned more mud as it rumblingly clanged its destructive way back down my lane.
    “Your timing is fantastic, Mrs. Teasey,” said the baritone voice of Stalwart Defender.
    “Yes, thanks, even if I don’t know the rest of the script,” I replied, turning to get an eyeful of beard and body. Stalwart Defender was not much taller than I, and mostly shaggy beard and hair the last foot of that, but he looked big. He wore what I soon came to recognize as uniform for a lot of Irishmen: cord britches, heavy sweater, and a knit cap. He had very bright, light-green eyes, like Snow’s, and well-shaped lips hidden in the face-fur. He also had hands!
    “You spoke your lines with true conviction and have thus foiled the enemy!” I was accorded a slight bow and a wide grin.
    “I’m the heir—heiress, I guess.”
    There was a startled blink of the green eyes.
    “I really am Irene Teasey, you know.”
    “There’s no doubt of it. I’m Kieron Thornton,” only it sounded like “T’ornton.” My hand was engulfed in one large, strong, scaly paw while the other neatly twitched the shotgun away from me. “Kerrigan may call the Garda. Swear on a stack of Bibles that I had the shotgun. You’ve no permit.”
    “Huh?”
    Snow and Simon now arrived to be presented.
    “Say, how come we can stop that thing?” Snow asked, beaming at Stalwart Thornton, who politely ignored her and turned to me.
    “You own the lane and you’ve the right to stop Kerrigan. I don’t.”
    “Who’s Kerrigan?” I asked.
    Thronton hesitated. “You’ve not seen the solicitor?” He considered his next words. “He owns the fields beyond that wall,” and Kieron pointed up the lane to its abrupt end. “He bought the property last fall, and was on to Irene to sell him the right of way through this lane. He’s got prime development property there, and the owner of the only other way in, from the Glenamuck Road, is asking five thousand pounds for a right of way.”
    Simon whistled, and Thornton grinned at him.
    “Yes, that’s a lot of money. Irene suggested that if he paid
her
the five thousand pounds he’d save on the paving costs of a much shorter road.”
    “But you said my great-aunt wouldn’t sell to him.” I was rather confused.
    Kieron Thornton grinned. “So I did. And so she wouldn’t.”
    “Oh,” I said, not much wiser.
    “Then you don’t intend to sell?”
    “Sell what? The right of way?”
    “No, the queendom?”
    “The queendom?”
    Kieron Thornton frowned, as one will at an idiot child. “This”—his gesture included the lane, the house, the cottages, and the fields beyond—“is what your Great-aunt Irene called her queendom.”
    “I didn’t know that.” Then I caught his look of exasperated disapproval—so much like that mood of Teddie’s that I quaked and hastily began to explain. “Please, I only arrived yesterday. We’ve only just now looked through the house. I haven’t a clue … And then there’s this man bothering me with an offer.”
    Simon and Snow stepped closer to me, their protectiveness registering with Thornton, who made a slight bow of acknowledgment.
    “I’m not talking out of turn by saying that this property is worth a