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“Taking a quick detour to show you the Hill of Tara.”
“We don’t have time, Oliver.”
“We have fifteen minutes for a quick stop. You said you’d wanted to see it. It’s right on the way.”
“It’s raining.”
“It’s always raining.”
They had to be in Dublin as soon as possible. “Can’t we just keep—”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I need a break.”
His face had gone pale and tense, deep brackets framing his mouth. A headache. Of course. They barely got any sleep last night, and she rushed him out without breakfast. A fifteen-minute stop wouldn’t hurt. Maybe they could eat there, too.
“I have always wanted to see it,” she murmured.
“I know.”
The gray mist gathering around them couldn’t obscure the green—nothing could—and it made her understand the mystical quality the place had always carried. All roads in Ireland once led to the Hill of Tara, seat of the High Kings. Although none of its ancient halls and palaces survived, the Stone of Destiny still stood at the Inauguration Mound.
Oliver pulled up into a parking lot in front of a small cluster of shops, one of which served food. That was where he led the way first. He suggested they take their meals to go, but seeing his drawn features, she insisted they dine in.
His shoulders relaxed at the offer. Over an early lunch—his burger, her stew—the tension in his face eased. The headache must have lessened.
From there, they found the metal gate that would take them toward the Stone of Destiny. There were no paved paths here, just endless rain-soaked grass. In the distance, a couple of dogs ran happily ahead of their owner.
The mist thickened into a dense fog, and the socks inside her suede booties were soaked. Addison didn’t care. Out here, with nothing but grass and fog and clouds, it was easy to set aside her problems and feel like she was walking through time.
Oliver peppered her with historical facts along the way. Apparently, Greece wasn’t his only area of expertise. His entire face glowed as he shared interesting tidbits about the earthworks around them.
At five feet tall, the Stone of Destiny was smaller and rougher than she’d expected. It looked downright… well, phallic. Used as a coronation stone for the High Kings of Ireland, legend said it would roar when the rightful king touched it.
“You know what you have to do here, right?” Oliver asked, turning away from the herd of sheep that grazed nearby.
“What?”
“Close your eyes, make a wish, and walk around it three times.”
“That’s silly. You’re making that up.”
Mist dewed his skin. “Okay. Maybe a little. Technically, we’re supposed to walk around a spring or well, but we’re short on time. It’ll work.”
“What’ll work?”
“The magic.”
Drawn to the humor shimmering in his baby blues, she couldn’t help but play along. “You believe in magic now?”
“Only in Ireland. Close your eyes and take a spin around it.”
She shook her head at the silliness of what she was about to do, but closed her eyes and took a step forward.
“Wait.”
She paused to look at him. “What?”
“You’re supposed to walk backward.”
