Dangerous Joy by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page A

slipped some guineas into Mick Flaherty's hand. "Thank you. A job well done."
    "Oh, 'twas nothing anyone couldn't do, your honor." But the guineas disappeared into his pocket.
    "Some people just have the gift. I hope you'll continue Argonaut's care while I'm here. And if you're ever looking for work, come to Clonnagh."
    "God bless you, sir, and it's an honor to be asked, Clonnagh being famous the width and breadth of blessed Ireland! But I'm set to live my life in Foy Village, as my father did, and his father before him, if the Good Lord and the English devils permit. There's no place equal to the one where a man has lived all his days."
    "True enough." Miles returned Argonaut to Flaherty's care, thinking that was one of many reasons he wished his uncle, the Earl of Kilgoran, a long life. He had no wish to leave Clonnagh and take over the earl's great estate near Kilkenny. He even wished the old man would take a wife and sire an heir, though since the earl was past sixty and bedridden, it seemed unlikely.
    Miles's affection for Clonnagh was another reason he encouraged his mother and stepfather to live there—to keep the house alive for the good half-a-year he tended to spend in England, first hunting, then enjoying London or house parties in the country.
    It was the hunting which mainly drew him, however, and he was reminded that a willful Irish witch seemed likely to keep him away from it.
    Miles left Mick putting a new dressing on Argonaut's leg and headed for the inn, hoping to enjoy some free talk which would help him handle his problem.
    The rotund young innkeeper hurried forward. "Horse well, my lord?"
    "I'm no lord," Miles said with a smile, taking in the man's genuine anxiety. He, along with many others, must be wondering whether Miles was going to bring trouble on them. He switched to the Gaelic. With his casual clothes, he hoped the people here would begin to think of him as one of their own.
    "I'm Miles Cavanagh of Clonnagh, grandson-by-marriage to old Leonard Monahan of Foy Hall."
    The innkeeper shook his hand warmly. "Brian Rourke, sir, and honored we are to have you here."
    "Thank you, Mr. Rourke. Argonaut is healing. I've arranged for your stable boy to care for him during my stay. He seems skilled."
    "Indeed, sir, Mick is a rare hand with horses. Old Mr. Leonard would have him up to the hall if ever a serious problem came up. It's a gift, you know. A fairy gift."
    "I have no doubt of it."
    "And can I get you something for your thirst, sir? I've good ale, or some smooth whiskey."
    "Ale will be welcome."
    When the foaming mug was set before him, Miles took a draught and complimented the innkeeper. Then he glanced around the low-ceilinged, smoke-darkened room. This early in the day, there was only one other person there, an ancient man hunched by the peat fire.
    "My father," the innkeeper said. "Hardly ever budges from the spot."
    "He's fortunate to have his spot, here in the place he's lived all his life." It was a guess, but a safe one.
    "True enough, sir, and I'll feel blessed to be the same in time, if the Good Lord and the English devils permit it."
    It seemed a common enough phrase in these parts, but the fact they used it in front of Miles showed they were willing to trust him.
    "Have you had much trouble with the English here?" he asked.
    "Not much, sir, not much. We've kept pretty quiet, Saint Patrick be praised."
    "A quiet life is a blessing, that's for sure." Miles took another deep draught of the rich ale. "If I were you, though, I'd not want last night's trouble-making on the doorstep."
    The innkeeper became very interested in polishing a pewter pot. "Sure an` no one wants that kind of thing, sir! Terrible, terrible. And not men of these parts."
    Then how did Miss Felicity Monahan come to be embroiled? Miles wondered. "I'm sure not," he said out loud. "But they must have had a reason for singling out Mr. Dunsmore."
    The innkeeper shook his head. "Truth to tell, sir, Mr. Dunsmore has been singling