"Guinness, a pint and a glass please."
"On the way."
"What am I going to be drinking?" Eve demanded.
"The heart of the realm," Roarke murmured, and watched his old friend build the drinks with an admirable expertise. "It's an acquired taste. If you don't care for it, we'll get you a Harp."
Eve narrowed her eyes against the smoke. "Don't they know tobacco's been banned in public places?"
"Not in Ireland it hasn't, not in the pubs."
The bartender came back with the drinks. Eve lifted hers to sip while Roarke dug more coins from his pocket. Her brows drew together at the first sip, then she shook her head with the second. "Tastes like something I should chew."
Roarke chuckled and the bartender beamed. "You're a Yank then. Your first Guinness?"
"Yeah." Eve frowned at the glass, turning it slowly while examining the dark brown liquid with its foamy white head.
"And your last as well?''
She sipped again, holding the beer in her mouth for a moment, then swallowing. "No. I think I like it."
"That's fine then." The bartender grinned widely, and neatly nudged Roarke's coins back. "You'll have the first on me."
"That's kind of you, Brian." Roarke watched Brian turn from admiring Eve to study him.
"Do I know you? There's a familiar look about you that I'm not quite placing."
"It's been fifteen years, more or less, so your memory might be dim even after all the times we had. I recognized you right enough, Brian Kelly, though you've added a stone or two. Perhaps three." Roarke flashed a grin, and it was the grin that did it.
"Well, bloody hell, lock up your women. It's Roarke himself." Brian's lips stretched in a mile-wide grin as he rammed a fist into Roarke's face.
"Christ Jesus" was the best Roarke could do as his head snapped back. He kept his balance, shook his head to clear it.
"Sucker punch," Eve commented, and took another sip of stout. "Nice pals you've got, Roarke."
"I owed you that." Brian shook a finger. "You never did come back with the hundred pounds that was my fair share of the cargo money."
Philosophically Roarke swiped the back of his hand over his cut lip to blot the blood. After the briefest of pauses, both the music and the hum of conversation continued. "It would have cost me more than a hundred pounds to come back at that point with the guarda on the prowl." Roarke picked up his pint, sipped to soothe his mouth. "I thought I sent it to you."
"Hell you did. But what's a hundred pounds between friends." With a roaring laugh, Brian grabbed Roarke's shoulders, yanked him over the bar, and kissed him dead on his bleeding mouth. "Welcome home, you bloody bastard. You there!" He shouted to the musicians. "Play 'The Wild Rover' for me old friend here, for that's what he ever was. And I've heard he's got gold in great store all right, enough to buy a round for the house."
The patrons cheered and the music turned lively.
"I'll stand the house for a round, Bri, if you'll give me and my wife a few minutes of your time back in the snug."
"Wife, is it?" He roared again and pulled Eve forward for a hearty kiss. "Blessed Mary save us all. I'll give you a few minutes and more, for I own the place now. Michael O'Toole, you come on back and give Johnny a hand with the bar. I've got some catching up to do."
He pressed a button beneath the bar and had a narrow door at the far end swinging open.
The snug, Eve discovered, was a tiny private room fitted out with a single table and a scattering of chairs. The light was dim, but the floor gleamed like a mirror. Through the closed door, the music piped.
"You married this reprobate," Brian said, sighing as he lowered himself onto a chair that creaked beneath his weight.
"Yeah, well, he begged."
"You've got yourself a pretty one here, boyo. A long one with eyes the color of the best Irish."
"She'll do me." Roarke took out his cigarettes, offered one to Brian.