10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mac

I wake up gasping, my body still humming with the remnants of the intense dream. My skin tingles, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me as I curl up under the blanket, seeking the comfort of its warmth. A soft moan escapes my lips as I try to ground myself, taking in the soft light starting to creep through the window of the cottage. The early morning glow filters in gently, casting long shadows across the floor, a stark contrast to the dark, vivid images of the dream.

I've only been here two days, and already I'm fantasizing about a random stranger? My mind lingers on Cianán—the feel of his touch, the commanding way he moved through my dreams, the strange intensity of his gaze. I can't shake the feeling of how real it all was, how the line between the dream and waking world felt blurred, as though I could still feel his breath against my skin.

Frustration wells up inside me, and I bury my face in the pillow, groaning softly. This is ridiculous , I think to myself. I came out here to get away, to clear my head, to find myself again after everything with Nathan. This was supposed to be my time to finish healing, to focus on what I want, on reclaiming my life after a relationship that had drained me dry.

But here I am, getting lost in some fantasy about a man I met for five minutes in the woods, a stranger who somehow managed to creep into my subconscious with a magnetic force I can't explain. It feels like some twisted joke, my mind latching onto the first man I come across in this new, isolated place.

I sit up, pulling the blanket tightly around my body, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the vivid sensations still haunting me. It was just a dream , I remind myself, but the heat in my cheeks and the way my heart still races betrays how affected I am by it. My fingers move to rub my wrists subconsciously, seeking some sort of comfort. It takes a moment before I realize what I'm doing, the motion absentminded, but when I glance down at my wrists, I freeze.

Slight red marks.

I frown, blinking in confusion. The skin looks tender, as if it's been chafed, the marks faint but undeniable. The images of the vines wrapping around my wrists in the dream flood back to me, vivid and all too real . My heart skips a beat as I trace the lines with my fingers. It can't be…

It's impossible. I must have rubbed them too hard without realizing it, maybe in my sleep or when I woke up thrashing. That's the only logical explanation.

Shaking my head, I dismiss the thought, pushing it aside along with the unease gnawing at me. I'm overthinking this. I've been stressed, and now I'm overwhelmed by the change of pace and isolation here. It's not surprising that my dreams have taken on a more vivid, bizarre edge. That has to be it.

Throwing off the blanket, I'm determined to shake off the remnants of the dream that clings to my skin like mist. It wasn't real, I tell myself, standing up and dressing in a long flowing dress before moving to open the window, letting the cool morning air fill my lungs. This is real. This is where I am—alone in this cottage, far away from everything that I know, from everyone that knows me.

When I told my family I was going to visit Ireland within days of moving into my new apartment, they had supported my trip wholeheartedly. They had helped me heal, protected me when Nathan came looking for me, going so far as to call the police when he wouldn't leave. My mother even rented the apartment I moved into so that my name wasn't traceable on the lease, and my father encouraged me to take some time to myself before starting my new job. My grandmother went so far as to tell me to ‘say hello to the fairies' while I'm here.

That's what I'm here to do. Take time to remake myself into the woman I want to be. An artist, someone who appreciates the beauty around her and has learned to love the life she has.

I make my way to the kitchen, determined to move forward with my day. After slicing off a large piece of the bread from Bridget and warming it up, I spread a decent amount of honey over it. I nearly moan at the flavor when I take a bite, the sticky sweetness melting on my tongue.

Once breakfast is done, I set my plate by the sink and move to the door leading outside. The day looks different from yesterday—more overcast, the sky a pale, muted gray, the sun hidden. There's a chill to the breeze that wasn't there before, the lack of sun stealing the warmth with it.

I grab my art supplies from the table and head outside, setting up my easel on the grass. My half-finished painting of the cliffs waits for me, the sweeping expanse of the Irish coast captured in soft brushstrokes. I'm hoping to capture the raw beauty of this place, the wildness of the sea as it crashes against the rocks.

The colors feel different today, though. The sky isn't as bright as it was in my original vision—its softness dulled by the thick clouds rolling in from the horizon. The sea looks colder, too, the waves choppier, darker. I mix my paints, adjusting the palette to match the mood of the day. Grays and blues take over the paper as I lose myself in the rhythm of painting, the feel of the brush in my hand steadying me.

As I work, I sing, and I find my thoughts drifting back to Cianán, despite my best efforts to push him out of my mind. His face flashes behind my eyelids, the way he looked at me—possessive, almost hungry. His vivid green eyes that seem to glow.

I force my attention back to the painting, determined to finish it. The brush glides over the paper, adding texture to the waves, giving shape and shadows to the cliffs. My voice picks up just as the wind picks up, rustling the trees behind me and sending a shiver down my spine. I can't shake this odd feeling, one I have feared ever since running from Nathan. It feels almost as though something, or someone, is watching me from the edge of the woods.

I glance over my shoulder, my heart skipping a beat, but there's nothing there. Just the stillness of the forest and the faint murmur of the sea.

Shaking off the eerie sensation, I return to my painting. Once again, time slips away as I get lost in the process, each stroke of the brush pulling me further into the scene. The cliffs are nearly finished now, the darkened sky above them lending an air of brooding mystery to the landscape. When I step back to admire the final touches, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

The smile that stretches across my face is the reason I came here. This is who I am. Painting is grounding, but the art also helps me discover myself. Once a piece is finished, I'm proud of what I created. And that has been a rare feeling for me lately.

As I clean my brushes, I think about my next project, already chasing the high of another accomplishment. I pack up my brushes and palette, wiping the paint from my hands before retreating inside for a late lunch. A simple meal of fresh fruit is enough to satisfy me, though my mind is already on my next project.

The forest.

After taking a moment to think about it, I resolve to start on the forest painting tomorrow. There's something about it that feels too intense right now, the thought of the trees and vines making my heart race. Perhaps a bit of distance, some time to clear my head, will help. Besides, I can't shake this restless energy that has settled under my skin, like I need to do something, go somewhere.

A walk into Ennisvarra seems like the perfect distraction.

I tidy up the easel and brushes, cleaning off the last bits of paint and organizing my supplies for tomorrow's work. As I slip on a light jacket and head out the door, the crisp breeze greets me, carrying the faint scent of sea salt and damp earth. The sky is still heavy with clouds, though the muted light somehow makes the world feel more intimate, quieter.

The path through the trees seems darker with the dull sky barely offering light between the swaying branches. Thankfully it isn't long, and soon I can see the cluster of stone cottages and shops. There's something about this village that feels timeless, as if it has remained untouched by the outside world for centuries.

Finally, I arrive at Bridget's bakery, the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries wafting out as I open the door. The warmth inside is welcoming, and I smile as I see Bridget behind the counter, busy arranging a tray of scones.

"Ah, there you are!" She greets me with a wide grin. "Come in, love. You must try one of my new creations today—apple tarts with a dash of cinnamon. They're fresh from the oven."

My stomach growls in response, and I nod eagerly. "That sounds perfect."

Bridget packs one up for me, slipping it into a small bag with a wink. "On the house, for my favorite foreigner."

I laugh softly, feeling a warmth in my chest at her kindness. "Thank you, Bridget."

"You're welcome, dear. Will I be seeing you at the pub later then?"

I take a bite of the apple tart, savoring the sweet and spicy flavor. "Yes, I'll be there. I'm planning to explore the rest of the village first, but I'll definitely come by the pub later."

"Great!" Bridget says, her eyes twinkling. "I'll keep an eye out for you then. Enjoy your exploration, and let me know if you need any recommendations for where to go."

"Will do. Thanks again for the tart!" I wave as I head out of the bakery, the warm pastry in my hand making me smile.

I spend the next few hours wandering through the village, stopping in various shops and chatting with locals. Each store has its own charm, from the antique shop filled with curious trinkets to the small bookstore with its cozy reading nook. Ennisvarra's atmosphere is enchanting, and I find myself losing track of time as I explore.

As evening approaches, the sky grows darker and the temperature drops slightly. I'm grateful for the jacket I've brought along. With the last of the daylight fading, I make my way back to the pub, eager for a nice meal and good company.

The sound of laughter and music drifts out the door before I even enter, and I can see the warm glow of the interior through the windows.

The pub is just as lively as the previous night; the air is filled with the clinking of glasses and cheerful conversation. I spot Bridget at the same table again, surrounded by a group of friendly faces. She waves me over with enthusiasm.

"Here she is!" Bridget announces as I approach, her voice rising above the din. "Come join us!"

I take a seat and am immediately greeted by the other occupants. The locals are friendly and welcoming, their easy camaraderie making me feel at home and it's not long before I'm drawn into their discussions.

As the evening progresses, I start to relax, and I find myself laughing, chatting, and enjoying myself. I'm comfortably engrossed in conversation when one of Bridget's friends, Sean, turns to me with a grin. "So, are you planning to explore more of Ireland while you're here? There are plenty of touristy spots you might enjoy. I could be your personal chauffeur if you like," he adds with a wink.

Before I can respond, Bridget playfully smacks the back of Sean's hand. "Leave the poor girl alone, will you? She didn't come here for you to flirt with her," she says, giving me a knowing look.

I smile softly at Sean, feeling that his intentions are simply kind. "Thank you, Sean, but I really did come here to unwind and find some quiet."

Sean gives a mock sigh of resignation. "Alright, alright. Just offering. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Dinner arrives, a simple cottage pie that smells wonderful. The flavors are rich and I savor each bite, as conversation continues to flow around the table.

Nora, one of Bridget's friends, suddenly leans toward me with a grin. "You know," she says, eyeing my hair with playful curiosity, "your hair reminds me a bit of Red Mary's. Ever heard of her?"

Before I can answer, Bridget rolls her eyes, swatting at Nora's arm. "Oh, don't be filling her head with ghost stories."

But now, my curiosity is piqued. "Who's Red Mary?" I ask, intrigued.

Nora's smile widens, leaning in closer to tell me the tale. "Red Mary, or Máire Rua, was known for her fiery red hair, like yours. She lived in Leamaneh Castle, not too far from here, and let's just say she wasn't a woman you'd want to cross. She married… oh, so many men, and rumors say some didn't live to tell the tale."

Bridget sighs. "She was a woman who had to make tough choices in hard times. She did what she had to, especially during the Cromwellian wars."

Nora's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Oh, but the stories, Bridget! They say she hung servants by their hair, and her husbands—well, some of them mysteriously disappeared. They even say her ghost haunts the castle to this day, her red hair flowing in the wind. A right banshee, some say!"

Bridget shakes her head, smiling. "The truth is always a little less exciting, but there's no denying Máire Rua was a force of nature."

Nora leans back, satisfied. "Careful walking home, now," she adds with a wink, her words playful but sending a shiver down my spine.

Soon after, deciding to have an early night, I bid farewell to everyone, promising to return the next evening. The pub's warmth lingers with me as I step out into the chill of the night. The sky has cleared slightly, revealing a smattering of stars, and the village is bathed in a serene, silvery glow.

The walk back feels longer than before, the darkness of the forest seemingly more pronounced. I quicken my pace, eager to return to the safety and warmth of the cottage. Once inside I remove my jacket and stand there for a moment with a sigh, simply taking a moment to appreciate where I am.

I glance at the painting of the cliffs I brought into the bedroom. Despite the unsettling feelings of the day, I find solace in the beauty I've captured on the paper. The vivid colors and sweeping forms remind me of why I came here—to reconnect with myself and find inspiration in the world around me.

I make tea using the herbal mix Bridget left, taking the cup into the bathroom to indulge in a hot bath. The warm water is soothing, and I let the steam envelop me, my body relaxing.

After I finish, I turn off the lights and slip under the warm covers. As sleep begins to claim me, my thoughts drift to green eyes again. And I try to convince myself that I want dreamless sleep.