The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 Read Online Free Page A

land. He also kept non-pedigree suckler cows, and all their offspring were reared for beef. He, like his father before him, sold the animals to Ruins’ butcher shop, where James butchered them and sold them to local markets. He’d never planned to raise animals for meat in a more serious way, but Tristan had changed that with his request. He and Tristan had struck a bargain and he now had more beef than dairy cows. He was raising and feeding the beef cattle organically and providing the meat—butchered by James—to the castle.
    “You’ll have the first lamb in a few weeks. The ones born in January will be ready soon.”
    “And the mutton?” Tristan asked. “It will make stew.”
    At Tristan’s request, Séan now also had a small flock of sheep and two rams. He hadn’t sponged them—artificially inseminating them—so rather than having all the sheep pregnant and lambing at the same time, he’d had lambs born New Year’s Day and some born only a few weeks ago in the traditional spring lambing.
    “I won’t butcher them until the summer. There’s only a few that are too old to get pregnant again.”
    “Good, good.” Tristan wasn’t really listening. He’d taken the top off the cooler and pulled out the first of the vacuum-packed bags. There were the best cuts off two sides of beef in the cooler. The lesser cuts were back at James’s waiting to be sold if Tristan didn’t want them, though they’d dry-aged long enough that they’d be more tender than most.
    “Beautiful, beautiful.” Tristan crooned at each piece as he pulled it out. When all the packs were laid out, Tristan shook his head. “How can an animal so big make so little meat?”
    Séan raised his eyebrows. “There’d be more meat if you’d take it all.”
    “I need more steaks, not flank meat. I want to have steak on the menu, not only as a special.” Tristan sighed, picking up the porterhouse and examining it. Tristan had demanded that James hang his meat for at least two weeks, and the dry-aging time showed in the color.
    “You’ve said that before. Several times. You could get meat from one of the big—”
    “No. No.” Tristan motioned to the meat and a flurry of chefs descended and began hauling the packs away. “I’m fine with my eight steaks per cow. Steak will be a special only for now. I have roast on the menu, and that’s all you Irish people seem to want. We are not open enough to need more. Plus, what is most important is that I know where my food comes from, that I can touch the cow that I will cook if I wish.”
    Séan had no idea what was wrong with a nice roast and still didn’t understand the “local sourcing” Tristan was always going on about, but so far he’d made good money selling his beef to Glenncailty, so he hadn’t argued.
    “I have something I want you to taste,” Tristan said, herding Séan out of the way of his chefs.
    “I don’t go in for fancy—”
    “It’s not fancy, I promise you. It’s an Irish curry. You are the simplest man I know, and I want your opinion.”
    Séan looked at Tristan. The chef was a few years younger than him, and his glossy dark hair, perpetual tan and dark eyes made him seem as foreign and European as he sounded. Séan wasn’t sure if Tristan had meant to insult him or if it had been a translation issue, so he let it slide.
    “Come into the dining room and try it. If you like it, I will use the lesser beef and make it a special tomorrow.”
    Séan hadn’t eaten anything since he’d gone home for tea after the morning milking, and his stomach was letting him know that bread, butter and an extra strong two-teabag cup of Barry’s Irish Breakfast were not enough to hold him until dinner. A nice, hot curry did sound good.
    He followed Séan through the maze of the kitchen to the swinging doors that led onto the dining room.
    The Restaurant—Séan thought it was stupid that it didn’t have a proper name, but no one asked him—took up almost a third of the main