to English, and it was called “Poisoned Glen” instead.
“The Irish word for heaven is ‘neamh,’ and the word for poison is ‘neimhe,’” he said.
“Heaven and hell,” I said. “Separated by two simple vowels.”
“It doesn’t even take two. One misstep can lead you to one place or the other.”
“Give me the story about this place,” I said, staring at his face in the darkness.
“There might not be one.”
I smiled. “They always have one.”
His laugh was low. “Balor, the King of Tory, had a gorgeous daughter who he locked up in a tower so no man could see her. Legend has it that she had fiery red hair, blue eyes the color of heaven, five freckles over her nose, and the wickedest tongue in the land.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said, smiling even wider.
“She was a wild ting,” he said, emphasizing “thing.” “And as wild things go, her beauty couldn’t be caged, so news of it spread throughout the land. She was kidnapped—”
I put a hand to my heart, acting a fool. “Stolen? Who would do such a thing?”
“A marauding bastard,” he said. “Someone like myself.”
“Definitely someone like yourself,” I said. “Continue.”
He glanced at me. “Yes, boss.” Then he cleared his throat. “So she was kidnapped and brought to Magheroarty, but her father was on her scent from the start. Balor killed the marauder with a giant stone. One giant stone still stands at the entrance of Poisoned Glen, and it’s said that it’s the poisonous eye of the King of Tory.”
“That’s it? The marauder was defeated by a stone?”
“A giant stone.”
“Where’s the action? I mean, where’s the story? Did the kidnapper love this woman? How did she feel about all of this? Did she fall for the kidnapper? Did she want to stay with him instead of going with her Da?”
“Not a fairytale type of woman, wasn’t that what you said?” He gave me a pointed look.
“What?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“I’m not the hero,” he said. “I’m the villain in this story. Since all of a sudden we’re into fairytales.”
“Who said I’m attracted to heroes?” I lifted my brow at him. “The villain, I find, is sexy as hell. Apparently.”
“You wanted me to come after you,” he said. “After you left for Italy.”
I twisted my hair up into a messy bun, letting some of my curls fall around my face. “I did. I thought you would—I hoped you would.”
“When I didn’t?”
“It hurt,” I said, being honest. “But I really don’t want the fairytale, Kelly.”
“Tell me what you want then.”
I opened and closed my hands. “I guess what most women desire deep down. To be wanted. To be needed. To be protected.”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes turned more serious and he became quiet. The drive stayed that way as we bumped over rough terrain, going through an area so dark that not even shapes were visible to the eye alone. The lights from the car moved up and down, exposing glimpses of an old village, rundown cottages included.
I looked down at the map, and then back at Kelly. “Are we lost?”
His eyes were narrowed on the road and it took him a moment to answer. “You don’t get lost in Ireland,” he said. “You discover.”
“Have we discovered then? Because—”
At the last minute, he took a hard right on a rudimentary lane made of rocks. The Land Rover ate them up, the stones cracking against the teeth of the tires, as we continued along what seemed like a lost road.
It wasn’t even on the fucking map.
A jagged electric line forked across the sky before another one shocked it and everything around us. From the momentary brightness of the lightning, I caught a wide glimpse of the land. Water stretched to the horizon on the left. On the right, a great expanse of patchwork land that would probably be shades of unreal green come morning, cottages placed here and there. A few bigger places were set in between. Maybe farmhouses. But all of the houses were acres away from each other. An inlet created from the water sat behind the village, separating it from another stretch of land.
After a minute or so, Kelly turned on to a driveway made from dirt and followed it all the way to the front of a farmhouse.
“Is this where you grew up?” I leaned forward, trying to get a good look at it in the glow of the headlights. It was rundown but in a this is Ireland’s charm way.
“I was born in Derry,” he said. “After