Chapter One
McGrath Castle, Grathton Village, Ireland
September
Rayne McGrath and Ciara Smith stood shoulder to shoulder on the landing of the family castle, waiting for their guests to arrive. Rayne had inherited the castle in June, around the same time as her bridalwear storefront on Rodeo Drive was involved in a crime. Born in the US of A, she’d never dreamed she’d be living in Ireland, and certainly not here without her beloved dad, Conor, or her Uncle Nevin—both men dead too soon.
“They’re late.” Ciara glanced at her watch. A breeze from the fifty-five-degree weather lifted a cropped bleached-blond curl. “It’s after seven. What if something went wrong?”
Another summer shocker was the secret cousin, a year older than Rayne, she’d acquired at the reading of her uncle’s will. The legal document decreed they had one year to bring the failing castle out of the red, together, or some serious end-of-the-world repercussions would ensue, triggering the death knell for Grathton Village. The McGraths had been caretakers since the seventeen hundreds.
“They’ll be here any minute,” Rayne said in a soothing voice.
Rayne and Ciara shared gray eyes but were otherwise complete opposites. Rayne liked luxury and modern amenities, while her cousin was happy in jeans and rarely remembered her cell phone. Ciara embodied unbridled passion; Rayne channeled her Celtic energy into design.
Eight months remained until Uncle Nevin’s deadline. Rayne juggled online orders for her custom bridal gowns with overhauling the tower attached to the manor for a wedding venue, in hopes of fast cash. The cousins worked closely with the castle staff to preserve the manor for the McGraths no longer with them as well as future generations.
Heavy stuff.
Rayne heard tires as a vehicle drove slowly toward them, but it remained out of sight.
Her gaze sharpened on the stone, timber, and thatch barn in the distance, the pole and satellite dish behind it painted to blend with the landscape. Internet had been a sore spot between the cousins though necessary to drag the property into the modern age. Rayne had learned that the younger generation had moved away from Grathton for jobs and the current population whittled down to less than five hundred people. If she and Ciara didn’t succeed, the entire village risked being absorbed into neighboring Cotter Village.
The silver grill of a black town car appeared beneath an arch of trees like a movie set from Gone with the Wind. Tori Montgomery, the bride-to-be, had texted that they were all beat from their day of travel, so the new castle chef, Frances Coplan, had prepared a light buffet in the dining room rather than a big sit-down dinner.
“This is it,” Rayne whispered, her fingers crossed behind her back for luck that everything would go smoothly. July’s effort to bring in a profit had been an epic fail and she’d had to sell her designer purses to keep them afloat. “It’s do or die.”
Ciara tucked her thumb into the pocket of her blazer, fighting a nervous smile. “Aye. Yer about out of handbags.”
Rayne was down to her last two favorite purses—a Hermes bubblegum pink bag worth $30,000—she’d had no idea its value as she’d bought it at an estate sale from an aged Hollywood actress for a pittance, and the Dolce and Gabbana café design worth $10,000—that had been a gift from her mom for college graduation, and she refused to part with it.
The tower with the turret hadn’t been as simple a project as Rayne had hoped. She’d sold three days of “rustic” for a romantic getaway to an adventurous young couple which had generated 7,500 euros.
They’d promptly refunded the money when the fireplace backed up and smoked the
newlyweds out. Flames erupted, but Rayne and Ciara had stopped the fire from spreading with a fire extinguisher in the landing. Instead of an influx into the bank, Rayne had paid for a doctor’s checkup and a honeymoon suite in Dublin for two days, grateful not to have been sued.
It was now mid-September. The tower’s interior walls had been scrubbed and painted; the fireplaces all cleaned. There were four large chambers with en suite bathrooms, one per floor. Each level had three thin windows once used as arrow slits back when it had been built for fortification and they’d installed specialty glass panes. The inside steps were also new as was the railing. The best place for cell reception in the tower was still the rooftop because the rock was so blasted thick.
“Nothing can go wrong this time,” Rayne murmured. Everyone, from the Lloyd family to the new staff, had practiced their roles.
“Ye almost burned the castle down.” Ciara shifted her body toward the car as the driver parked to the right, followed by the second car. “Just don’t feck it up.”
Rayne swallowed her retort about the castle being made of stone and focused on their guests.
The eight-person Montgomery-Anderson bridal wedding party consisted of bride-to-be Tori Montgomery, her parents and hotel magnates, Joan and Dylan Montgomery, and her maid of honor, starlet Amy Flores. The groom was up-and-coming heartthrob actor Jake Anderson, with his best man and brother, Josh Anderson.
Traveling with them was Jake’s righthand man, Ethan Cruz. Amy also had an assistant, Tiffany Quick. Tori had designated the rooms, choosing Josh on the main floor of the tower, then Amy, and the third and fourth levels were for the bride and groom.
Her parents would be in the largest cottage, while Ethan and Tiffany would share the second bungalow. Both had been furnished in an antique Irish style, but with modern amenities like upgraded bathrooms, televisions, and cable. New mattresses and comfy couches. Each cottage had two bedrooms and a sleeper-sofa.
Most meals would be in the manor, and there were always the village pubs and the Coco Bean Café if folks wanted something different. Tonight was Thursday, the wedding was Saturday, and the guests flew home Monday morning. Piece of cake, Rayne thought.
Jake Anderson exited the first car, followed by Tori. Jake had to be the most beautiful human being she’d ever set eyes on, and that magnetism conveyed itself on the silver screen. Tori was a lucky woman, but then he was also very fortunate to be marrying an heiress. This wedding would rake in $25,000, not including the other half of the bride’s dress, $7,500, for a total of $32,500. That would make up for some of the losses incurred in the ongoing process of getting the manor and the property ready for guests.
Tori was five foot five and thin, her beauty enhanced by cosmetic surgery. Her hair was golden, her skin tan; a walking-talking Barbie. Jake was tall and buff with dark-brown styled hair, and perfectly calculated scruff at his chiseled jaw. Dark denim jeans, silk shirt.
In August, Rayne had called Tori about a final fitting for a bridal gown the heiress had ordered in February, when Tori had a mini
meltdown over the too-big Christmas wedding and the guest list already at four hundred. Leaping on the chance to help, Rayne offered the Irish castle property as an alternate venue if Tori wanted a rustic getaway instead. Tori, a self-proclaimed control freak, had kept her designer dress with her so it hadn’t been part of Landon Short’s gown-heist in June.
Rayne’s ex Landon had done serious damage on her thirtieth birthday that she was still reeling from. A shout-out from Tori Montgomery could boost her bridalwear business reputation despite not having a storefront on Rodeo Drive. Her positive review of this unique destination might launch them in the Hollywood set, full of people with disposable income. The only hitch was that Rayne had promised to keep the wedding participants a secret, with no social media, until after they went home on Monday.
Dylan Montgomery climbed out from behind the wheel and slammed the door. He was tall and had silver tips on his dark brown hair. His wife, Joan, got out the other side. She was as blonde as Tori, their faces also plastic—but done well.
Chin up, Rayne descended the steps in her country-lady sage plaid pants with brown leather boots and a cream cashmere sweater. She’d never met the Montgomerys other than Tori, but they’d had three fittings in person to make sure that the design for the gown, one of the more expensive she had this year at $15,000, had molded to Tori’s slim frame. The last fitting had been in May before Rayne’s world had turned upside down, when her boyfriend had stolen her couture dresses and emptied their joint bank account.
The heiress hadn’t mentioned Landon or seemed alarmed that Rayne had inherited a castle. Maybe in her cosmos, that was no big deal.
“Tori! So good to see you again!” Rayne gave the heiress a half-hug and smiled warmly at everyone as they gathered around. “This is my cousin and business partner, Ciara Smith.” Ciara was at her side, and they all exchanged hellos.
“What a gorgeous place,” Joan said. Dylan nodded, his astute gaze cataloging the property as his eye paused on each mossy stone casing. The stone lions, the twenty-foot-wide landing, the fragrant flowers planted in boxes on the steps made a statement. Rayne often did that same assessment. Could be a Hollywood thing.
“Thank you,” Ciara said demurely. “It’s home.”
Cormac Lloyd, the McGrath butler, joined them, very official in his black coat, white shirt, and black pants. “Welcome to McGrath Castle.”
The Montgomerys hummed in approval.
“Are we staying inside?” Joan asked.
“No. You’ll be in a private cottage just a short walk away,” Rayne said. The cottages were a half mile down the grassy path, which wasn’t far. In the country one walked all the time, unlike LA.
“Oh!” Joan conveyed disappointment in that single word.
“The rooms in the tower are the only rental spaces attached to the manor,” Rayne quickly
explained. It was a solution that allowed them all privacy while earning money. “The wedding party has four suites, and the rooftop is accessible from the outer staircase, with terrific views of the lake and gazebo.”
“We get to tour the whole thing, yes?” Dylan’s tone was that of a man used to getting his way or else.
“Cormac will escort you around the public rooms if you set a time when he’s available,” Ciara said. She nudged Rayne.
Amos Lowell appeared with a wave striding down the gravel path toward them. The grounds manager was ruggedly handsome with his dark-blond waves and broad shoulders. Blarney, Rayne’s Irish Setter, trotted at Amos’s heels. They’d discussed keeping the pup contained in the barn while the guests arrived, but Blarney had a mind of his own.
Aine Lloyd, Rayne’s bridalwear protégé as well as maid for the castle, stood at the top step of the landing, pristine in a crisp black shirt and pants. She was joined by her mother, Maeve, in a similar uniform. “I’ll take those folks to the blue parlor who’d like a refreshment before dinner,” Aine said.
Tori raised a perfect brow at Rayne. They knew each other but weren’t friends, per se. It was awkward to find footing between stranger and guest. Rayne hoped it would get easier with time. It had to be even more odd for Ciara and the others who had lived in the manor longer. “I’d prefer to see my room first,” the heiress said.
The second car had emptied of its occupants. Jake’s brother, Josh, couldn’t compare in sheer gorgeousness and didn’t try, his hair dyed black and gelled into a mohawk. Ripped jeans, Converse. Josh had a guitar slung over his shoulder as he slowly exited the vehicle.
“Liquid refreshment sounds good to me. I’m Amy Flores, Tori’s BFF.” The petite redhead held out her hand, flashing silver and gold rings on her fingers. Her fitted thigh-length floral-patterned dress was paired with purple stilettos—beautiful without Botox. Then again, she probably wasn’t even twenty-five and didn’t need fillers.
“Hello!” Rayne clasped her hand and shook lightly.
“Tori’s bragged about this dress since February when she approved your design,” Amy said with a sweet nose scrunch. Rayne had seen the actress in several recent films as well as TV sitcoms. “That gown is stunning but weighs a ton. I know because it’s packed in the trunk. We were low riding, right Tiff?” Amy had been shotgun in the second car, driven by Ethan. Tiffany shut the door of the back seat with her hip as her hands juggled a notebook and her cellphone.
“Right,” Tiffany agreed.
Ethan and Tiffany were bookends in the looks department—dark hair and eyes, with a competent demeanor that assured anyone that they could handle anything—an important skill when dealing with rich people and movie stars.
“Tiff and I were going over the notes for the ceremony Saturday. Tori had a few last-minute tweaks to the vows—along with the last-minute wedding. Did you have a cancellation or something?” Amy gestured to the castle. “This place must be booked solid.”
Rayne prayed that someday it would be so, but if she knew one thing about appearing successful it was to never show desperation. “We’re just happy to
help Tori out.”
“Nice to meet you all.” Tiffany’s hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore a nude palette of makeup. Stylish black glasses perched on her nose.
“Hey.” Ethan pocketed the keys with a mock-shudder. “Haven’t driven on that side of the road since I was at university.” His accent hinted at English.
“I’m not used to it yet. Welcome.” Rayne, slightly overwhelmed, took in a discreet calming breath, glancing at Ciara. Her cousin strode toward the back of the second car, speaking softly with Joan. A natural.
Rayne exhaled. “All right … who’s ready to join Aine and Maeve for that drink?” She’d bring Tori’s gown to the studio. Nothing could happen to that dress—it had over one thousand Swarovski heart-shaped crystals.
Jake and Josh exchanged a look and answered in unison, “Drinks!”
“I’ll show the Montgomerys their cottage,” her cousin offered. Joan had hooked her arm through Ciara’s.
“I’ll take the first car. There’s limited room to park by the cabins. If you drive, please be careful,” Cormac said. “We have dogs on the property. Ducks. Sheep.”
“This place rocks.” Josh slung the strap of his guitar bag over his shoulder. His fauxhawk didn’t budge.
“I’ll carry the luggage to the tower,” Amos suggested.
What a well-oiled machine, Rayne thought with appreciation. As if this wasn’t their first rodeo.
“Jake, I’d like it if you’d help with the bags.” Tori pouted. “Before you run off drinking with your brother. This isn’t a hotel.”
Tori had said she’d wanted to see her room. Maybe Amos could escort the heiress and Jake when he brought the bags. Josh stacked his guitar on top of his black suitcase, and Amy rolled her pink bags next to Josh’s.
“Fine, fine,” Jake said. He didn’t lose his boyish charm at Tori’s high-pitched complaint, no doubt used to it. He hefted three large suitcases from the trunk. Coach, of course, in light gold. The black suede was probably Jake’s.
“Rayne, didn’t you mention a buffet?” Tori asked, fingers to her temple. “I’d sooner skip the drinks, get something to eat, and deal with life in the morning. I’m exhausted.”
Rayne looked around at the group—everyone agreed with the bride. Smart. “Sure. Aine and Maeve, please escort our guests to the dining room instead. We’ll join you as soon as the luggage is sorted.”
Tori’s mouth pinched. “Rayne, you’ll take the dress?”
“Of course.” The problem with heiresses was that sometimes they acted like heiresses.
Tori, Amy, and Dylan
walked up the stone steps to meet Aine and go inside the foyer. Tori’s father appeared more interested in refreshments than unpacking. Rayne knew Cormac and Ciara would help Joan.
Amos and the Anderson brothers grabbed the luggage for all four guests, then trudged around the property to the left and the brand-new exterior entrance to the tower. The inside could also be locked, making it private.
Amy paused at the top near the front door where Maeve waited and snapped her fingers. “Tiffany!”
Tiffany, next to Ethan at the second town car, looked up, then at Ethan who murmured, “You’ve been summoned. I’ll unload your bags and then find you.”
“Thanks,” Tiffany said. She was the most demurely dressed of them all in a soft black pantsuit. “I owe you one.”
Ethan tugged his trim goatee. “Noted.”
Tiffany crossed the gravel and hurried up the stairs without a smile; she reached Maeve as the rest had moved on ahead and stepped inside.
What caused the tension between the starlet and her assistant? Blarney nuzzled Rayne’s fingers to get her attention, so she patted his silky head.
Ethan opened the trunk of the town car. “The gown is really heavy,” the assistant warned. “Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it. You be sure to join everyone for a bite to eat.” Rayne balanced the garment bag protecting the dress in her arms.
“I will, after I park. Thanks!” Ethan closed the trunk and got behind the wheel.
Rayne carefully walked to the steps, calculating that the dress weighed about thirty pounds due to the crystals. Ethan drove slowly down the path that showed fresh tracks from the previous car. By the time she reached the landing, he was out of sight.
It felt surreal to have paying guests at last. Rayne hurried from the foyer up the stairs to the sewing studio and hung the garment bag in the closet. She’d wait to steam the gown until after a fitting with Tori tomorrow morning.
She returned to the dining room. A sideboard along the wall held porcelain plates, cloth napkins, crystal glasses, and sterling silver utensils as well as a variety of food.
Frances had provided tarts, both savory and sweet. Homemade bread to make sandwiches filled with ham or thinly sliced beef. Dylan palmed a tumbler of amber whiskey. Tori nibbled at a plate of raw vegetables fresh from the garden and stuck to water. Amy drank a fragrant lemongrass tea and scowled with disapproval when Tiffany chose whiskey. “Hidden calories in alcohol,” Amy said primly. Tiffany sipped in defiance. Her long almond-shaped manicure was in perfect yin- yang swirls, hinting at subdued personality.
Ciara and Joan walked into the dining room, laughing over something. Jake and Josh arrived, followed by Ethan. Amos stayed clear, and Rayne didn’t blame him. He was probably commiserating at the barn with Dafydd Norman, Ciara’s fiancé. Dafydd’s part in this weekend’s festivities was to lead horse rides or guide trail hikes. As the manor shepherd, he knew every last rolling hill.
Rayne remained on the fringes of what was going on, in case she was needed, but to her relief most of the Montgomery-Anderson wedding party was ready for their beds by nine-ish.
“Any bars open?”
Josh asked.
Amy tilted her head, red hair spilling over her shoulder. “Aren’t you tired?”
Jake’s brother and best man shrugged. “Just askin’.”
“Our bodies don’t adjust just because the clock is different,” Tiffany said, sounding like she was in agreement with Josh. It would be six hours earlier, so three in the afternoon.
“We have two pubs on the main street you turned off of to come here,” Rayne said. “And a third that is farther to the left, past the gas station, and a little behind it. About a mile tops.”
“We have a car,” Ethan reminded them. “But that seems walkable.”
“I want to go to bed,” Tori said again, raising her brow at her fiancé, Jake. “I’ve been up since four.”
“Guess that means that I also want to go to bed.” Jake stroked his finger sensually down Tori’s arm.
“Get a room!” Amy laughed. “That’s right, you have one. I suppose I’ll catch up on my script. What’s up for tomorrow?”
“Horseback riding or hiking,” Ciara said. “We have gorgeous hills. Churches. Ruins galore.”
Tiffany and Ethan exchanged a smile. Were they friends? More than friends? “Ruins sound awesome,” Tiff said.
“The path around the lake is two miles,” Rayne said. “You can see the beginnings of a maze my uncle planned to uncover, but we’re leaving that project for later.”
“I didn’t bring running shoes,” Joan said.
“I saw your boots, Mom, those will be fine,” Tori said.
“The level of activity is up to you, but I suggest working on your appetite for our chef’s unique takes on a traditional Irish meal tomorrow night. Afterward, we can do a bonfire by the gazebo.”
“I’d like to see the local stores,” Joan said. Dylan groaned good-naturedly.
“We have some quaint shops,” Ciara assured her.
“I could listen to your accent forever,” Joan told Ciara. “My mother was from Cork. I am very interested in the special Irish features you’ve added to the wedding.”
Tori had asked for
a light touch, no shamrocks or leprechauns, and it had been fun to research Irish customs that ran the gamut from handfasting to a wishing ring.
By nine-thirty, the Montgomerys, Tiffany, and Ethan had gone to their cottages. Rayne escorted Tori, Jake, Amy, and Josh past the downstairs rooms to the interior tower entrance she’d created and slid back the pocket door.
Jake kept his hand on Tori’s hip, as if he couldn’t not touch his love. So sweet. It was often a thing where the bridesmaid and the best man hooked up at a wedding, but Rayne didn’t sense any flirty vibes between Amy and Josh. Josh was cute, but no Jake.
Rayne wished them all a good night.
“Night,” Tori replied in an exhausted tone. “Bet I won’t need any melatonin to crash.”
“Three glasses of that amazing whiskey will knock me out too.” Jake followed Tori up the stone steps. “Sleep tight!”
Amy waved as she hurried toward the staircase to the second level. Rayne and Ciara had found an old suit of armor in the attic, bigger than the one on the second floor, and placed it in the corner. “This tower better not be haunted,” the starlet murmured as she glared at the metal figure. “I’m queen of the rom-coms, not cheesy horror flicks.”
Josh whirled on his heel and grinned. “I’d pay extra to see a ghost, Rayne. Can you hook me up?”
Rayne figured the castle just might be populated with all kinds of spirits, including her cousin Padraig, who’d died here as a teen, and now her Uncle Nevin, killed on the property while mowing the lawn. Her Aunt Amalie, who’d died of a broken heart.
“No promises. See you all in the morning.” Laughing, Rayne walked from the interior entrance to a set of backstairs that enabled them to traverse the manor without returning to the central staircase. She’d had battery operated sconces installed for motion-activated LED lights.
Blarney met her at her bedroom door, tail wagging, and she patted his russet head, then led the way inside. The wall where she’d kept her collectible purses was almost bare, down to two. “This could be the success we need, pup.”
Rayne kissed the picture of her and her dad on the fireplace mantel, and another of her, her mom, and her dad, taken in LA before his death. Her mom, Lauren, and best friend, Jenn, had pushed their visit to December because her mother was filming a special Christmas holiday for her sitcom, Family Forever, which wasn’t going to be renewed after twenty years.
Things were tight financially, so a part of her was glad to wait. Lauren had sent the wedding dresses recovered from Landon’s theft for her brides—but oh, she deserved a big win.
Rayne snuggled beneath the covers, Blarney’s warmth at the foot of the bed better than a heating pad. ...
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