Anne Manning - Wooing Carly O'malley.pdf - Anne Manning - SilverWitch

Wooing Carly O'Malley

Anne Manning

Jocko O'Looney leaned on the bar and looked out at the crowd filling his pub this fine Friday evening. Some of

the folk on the floor weren't exactly the usual clientele, but only someone with the sight would be able to tell

that. Did anyone else know the Good Folk were abroad in the world? Could anyone else see them for what

they were?

He smiled. Fairies were the best customers, even if they rarely picked up a tab. Their sense of play was

infectious as the plague, spreading to all the mortal folk, encouraging them to enjoy life as well.

Even Fergus Butler seemed happier tonight, his wrinkled sun-browned face not quite so wrinkled when a

lovely fairy lass took his hand and dragged him to the floor to do a little toe dance for the crowd.

"Evenin', Jocko." An older man in a fine wool suit planted himself on a stool and rested his arms before

himself on the bar. "Give me an ale, boyo."

"Evenin' to you, Judge Costello. How's judging treatin' you these days?" Jocko set the foamy brown ale

before the judge.

"Ach, don't talk to me about work. 'Tis a fine, fair night and I intend to enjoy it." He nodded toward the

floor. "Good crowd tonight, eh?"

"Aye, indeed. Maybe you can get a lovely lass to dance wi' ye?" Jocko winked at the judge.

Judge Costello smiled. "Not me, lad. Me knees don't jig like they used to." He tipped his head, studying

Jocko. "'Tis yourself who should be dancin' wi' the lasses. Time for you to be getting spliced and making

some little O'Looney babes to grow up and keep this place running when you're too old to pour a drink."

Jocko laughed. "I will, Judge. Just as soon as the right woman walks in that door."

"Oh, lad!" The Judge waved his hand. "That's no way to find a woman. The right one rarely walks into your

life so easily. And from personal experience, laddie buck, if you take what walks through the door, you'll be

sorry."

Yes, the Judge knew about that. His own wife had walked into his life, then out again, just as easily. For

her. The judge still ached, for he had loved the silly woman. And from the look on his face, he still loved her.

But Jocko knew his woman would walk through the door of his pub one night. Someday. He just hoped

he was still young enough to make those babes the Judge had got him thinkin' about.

~*~

"I'm so tired of fairies. Maybe I'll try a mortal this time."

Carly O'Malley stared at her friend. "Neve, you know a real man would never keep you interested. They're

so, well, ordinary."

Neve Sullivan shook her long black hair behind one shoulder. "And fairy men are so superficial."

Carly laughed. "Aren't we all?" She poured Neve another mug of ambrosia and sat back with her own. "It's

our nature, after all."

"I didn't say I wanted to marry a mortal. I only want to dally with one for a bit, just to see what all the

hoo-rah is about. Finnvarra has been keen on mortal women for ages."

"And he quickly tires of them," Carly said as her eyes scanned the crowd for a likely supper partner.

Gaelen Riley was nowhere to be seen. Pity. Gaelen was the handsomest fairy male she'd ever seen with his

wheat blond hair and wide shoulders. And his wings... Carly sighed. Gaelen had been her first and was the

main feature of her sweetest memories. And far from being superficial like most fairy folk, Gaelen had some

depth to him. A most fascinating male. But he had tied himself in the mortal world and rarely came to

gatherings of the folk. The thought occurred to Carly that Gaelen might be ashamed of his fairy roots.

How could anyone be ashamed of being fairy? It was a wonderful life, one of play and song and good

drink and good friends.

"What are you thinking about?" Neve asked.

"Gaelen."

"Ah, him. He is a fine figure of a male. Such a stick in the mud though."

Carly nodded. Neve was right of course. Gaelen wasn't the male for her.

A gentle breeze brushed her cheek and she turned. To her irritation, Rory O'Brien sat down beside her,

taking her hand in his and guiding her mug to his lips. After quaffing half her ambrosia, he winked at her.

"How are you this fine day, Carly O'Malley?" he said, his brogue thick as fine ambrosia.

Carly set the mug on the table. "I was fine."

She turned away from him, hoping he'd go away.

Now, Carly, is that any way to treat ol' Rory, who just sat down to say hello and talk over old times?"

"We have nothing to talk about."

"I think we do." He leaned across her and said, "Neve, me darlin', would you give us a wee bit o'

privacy?"

Neve grinned. "Sure."

She squooshed to a pinpoint of light and flew off before Carly could stop her.

"There now." Rory rested his elbow on the arm of Carly's chair and set his hand on her wrist before she

could follow Neve's example and squoosh.

"Let me go, Rory."

"Not yet, darlin'. I need to ask you some questions, like why haven't you answered my e'mails?"

"I didn't get any e'mail. My bathroom mirror's broken."

Rory leaned closer, his lips a whisper from her ear. "If I were a sensitive sort, I might think you were

trying to avoid me."

"And you'd be right." Carly snatched her hand away from his grasp and squooshed. She needed some

air, so she flew down the long tunnel into the dark Irish night.

She materialized outside the sidhe and leaned against the rock face of the hill that covered Finnvarra's

palace. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to center herself. What was it about Rory O'Brien that so unnerved

her?

Well, sure, it was the hold he'd had on her heart. And the way he'd broken it in an act of betrayal so cruel

she knew she could never forgive him.

"The rotten bounder!" Carly smacked her hand against the rock, immediately regretting it as the sting

inched up her arm to settle just under her wing. Maybe Neve was right. Fairy males were too superficial,

caring nothing for a person's heart. Oh, there was the occasional special male, like Gaelen, who had taken

his mortal life so to heart that he made it clear from the beginning there would be no lasting relationship. But

others, most, like Rory, played the love game as fairies had played it for centuries.

Everyone knew fairies loved with more fervor, played with more gusto, enjoyed with more joy than mortal

folk did. But mortal men, maybe because they were so short-lived, were also capable of staying in love and

not flitting along to the next interlude.

Maybe Neve was right. Maybe she should try a mortal for a change. Carly glanced back into the tunnel

that led to the sidhe and made her decision.

She flew in a leisurely path down the dark streets of Killis, County Roscommon, a town proud of its

proximity to Finnvarra's sidhe of real Irish fairy folk. Maybe, Carly thought, that was what she needed, not a

fairy, not a mortal, but maybe here in Killis she could find a man who had the best features of both races. It

was worth a try anyway.

She paused before a brightly lit tavern, O'Looney's. It was packed with people, both her own and mortals.

Here she might find a man worth loving with all the fervor of her fairy heart.

Anticipation tingling to the tips of her immaterial toes, she scooted down a dark alleyway before stopping

and unsquooshing. With a check of her hair and a pinch to her cheeks, she smiled at her reflection in the

front window and pulled open the door to O'Looney's Pub.

~*~

"So, lad, what do you say to that?" the Judge asked, as he reached across the bar and punched Jocko's

arm.

"Sorry, Judge. What's that?" Jocko asked as he wiped up the ale he'd spilled when the slightly tipsy

Judge had knocked him.

"This woman you're a waitin' for. Tell me about her."

"'Tis a fancy only, I fear."

"No. Tell me."

Jocko drew himself an ale and sat on the stool he kept on his side of the bar. "You'll think I'm as looney

as my name."

The Judge smiled and nodded. "Most likely. Your pa was looney as well."

Jocko laughed. "All right. If you're certain you wish to hear. I have seen her. Her hair is as the sun settin'

over the western horizon. Her skin as pale as milk. Her eyes--"

"Blue! Son, that's Nicole Kidman. She's married already and divorced. No good woman for a good Irish

lad like yourself."

"No, her eyes are brown, Judge. Not like a doe or a puppy though. Red-brown like a good dark ale, warm,

deep. Eyes a man can drown in."

A draft of air from the door opening swept over them. The Judge looked toward the door. "Hmmm. Is that

her?"

"What?" Jocko asked.

"She just came in the door, Jocko."

Jocko's gaze jumped toward the door. "Begorrah," he breathed in disbelief.

The Judge was right. She'd just walked through the door of Jocko's pub and into his life.

At last.

Just like the woman in his dreams, her flaming hair swept across her perfect breasts and curled down her

lithe back. Her long legs covered the little space between the door and the bar and left his heart beatin' fast.

She approached the bar and took the stool beside the Judge.

When she raised her eyes to meet Jocko's he lost his breath.

Her eyes were red-brown. He drowned.

"Good evening," she said, her accent betraying her Yank roots. "Can a lady get an ale here, sir?"

Jocko's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could only nod. As he drew the ale for her, he tried to

regain control of his speech.

He set the ale before her. "Here you are, Miss."

What could he say next? Damn, he'd never had trouble talking to customers before. But this woman was

different. She was the one he'd waited for all these years. Desperation to get to know her burned in him,

making his tongue even more difficult to control.

The Judge took matters in hand, turning to the woman. "I'm Judge Costello, my dear. What is your

name?"

"Carly O'Malley," she said, offering her hand.

The Judge held her hand, patting the back. "Welcome to Ireland, Carly O'Malley. This young tongue-tied

buck is the owner of this fine establishment, Jocko O'Looney. He'll take very good care of you." He reached

across the bar and grabbed Jocko's sleeve and pulled his arm over. Then he placed Carly's hand in Jocko's.

A near-visible arc shot up his arm, spearing him in his heart. And some other parts as well.

With a wink, the Judge took his ale and moved to the other end of the bar.

A sweet, champagne flow of laughter ran over Jocko's senses. Then she tipped her head, sending a wild

lock of Irish red hair sweeping over her shoulder.

"You're the first tongue-tied Irishman I've ever met," she said, grinning at him, squeezing his hand again

sending that flash of lust-packed electricity shooting through his body.

"I'm not normally tongue-tied, Miss."

"Carly, please."

"Carly." Her name flowed from his tongue, sweet as honey.

His reward was her smile.

She fingered the edge of the mug, and Jocko almost felt her velvet fingertips touching him. Was she

using magic on him? Magic, for certain, but only the magic women had used on men since the foundation of

the world.

"What are you thinking, Jocko?"

Should he tell her? Could he tell her the one part of the dream he'd withheld from the Judge? That the

woman he would love for the rest of his life was not of the mortal realm?

"Jocko! We need another round here, boyo!"

Resenting the interruption, he said to her, "I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here," she answered.

~*~

What was it about this mortal that had grabbed her attention from the first?

Oh, he was handsome, with his shiny ebony hair and cobalt blue eyes marking him as black Irish. And

broad strong shoulders and fine hands. She peered at him over the edge of her mug. His other parts were fine

as well.

But there was something else, a feyness, setting him apart from the rest of the mortals here. When he

came back to her, she heard herself ask him, "Can you sit with me for a while and talk?"

He didn't hesitate, tapping himself a pint and then waving another man over from the other end of the bar.

"Keep a watch for me, Evan lad. I'm going to spend some time with Miss Carly, here."

When they were sitting at a table in the corner's dim light, Carly reached over and lay her fingers against

Anne Manning - Wooing Carly O'malley.pdf

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