Irish Lady by Jeanette Baker

that.”
    â€œIt will mean professional suicide. You could drag the Thames for clients and no one would hire you. Everything you’ve worked for will be gone.”
    â€œThank you for the vote of confidence. The next time I organize a prison break it will be for someone who appreciates me.”
    Michael swore weakly and stared out the window at the gray skies of Donegal. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Oh, Christ, maybe he had. The best he could hope for was that she would give up on him before anyone found out about her involvement. No one could win this one, not even Meggie.
    He was so very tired. It didn’t really matter what they did to him. All he wanted was to sleep. Lord, she was blethering on again. The woman had a mouth that wouldn’t quit. Odd that he didn’t remember Meggie as a talker. She had been a quiet little girl and a serious young woman. It must be the British influence. All Brits were thick as champs because they never listened. Michael believed in listening. He had never learned anything new by talking. Pity. Meggie was a taking little thing. Too thin, but still appealing. Her kissing needed improving, but that was to be expected. After all, she’d married a Brit. He wouldn’t mind having a go-round with her again, but then it wouldn’t bother him if it never happened. Nothing bothered him much anymore. All he wanted was sleep, sweet, uninterrupted sleep.
    Meghann drove past the town center and into the castle car park. She turned off the motor and waited. Michael was asleep again. He slept a great deal, but then it was probably good for him. If only he would eat.
    The River Eske pooled into a small lough that had once served as the castle moat. The landscape was lovely in a wild, remote sort of way. The castle itself had been remodeled by an Englishman, but if Meghann remembered her history correctly, Donegal had originally been the ancestral home of Rory O’Donnell, one of the last Catholic earls of Ulster. Rather than have an Englishman inhabit his castle, he’d gutted and burned it before leaving for Italy. She had an overwhelming desire to see inside the walls.
    Through the rearview mirror, she saw a young woman with black, short-cropped hair cross the street and enter the park. Her long, denim-clad legs covered the distance to the car in smooth, efficient strides. After a cursory glance at Michael, she motioned for Meghann to roll down the window. “Step outside,” she ordered in a curt, authoritative voice. “Bring your bag with you.”
    Meghann did as she was told. The woman climbed into the car and turned the key, gunning the engine. It sputtered, hesitated, and caught. “There’s a blue Saab waiting for you by the monastery,” she said. “Leave it in the dropoff lot at Shannon.”
    â€œHow will I know where to find you?”
    â€œThat’s not my problem.”
    â€œWait.” Meghann called after the moving car. “Will you be the one caring for him?”
    Without answering, the woman rolled up the window and drove out of the park, leaving Meghann staring helplessly down the road after the disappearing car.
    She stood there for a long time, reliving the events of the past six hours, unable to muster the energy to move. Fatigue washed over her. Her hand reached for her brooch. The smooth gold felt unusually warm. A solitary curlew circled and called overhead. The wind rose and lifted the hair from her cheeks. Just ahead loomed the castle walls. Soft insistent whispers urged her toward the portcullis gate.
    Summoning the last reserves of her strength, she walked to the entrance, paid her fee, and passed through the gate of Donegal Castle. The pamphlet was brief. The castle had originally belonged to the O’Donnells. After the Flight of the Earls in 1607 it had fallen into the hands of an English family, the Burkes.
    The gardens were completely empty. To the right, a twisting staircase beckoned. Ducking