Murder at an Irish Wedding

As the sun rose over Kilbane Castle, it struck the stained-glass window in the highest turret, casting the grounds below in an unearthly glow. A breeze whispered through the grass, rippling the wedding tents, making them shiver down to their stakes. Neighboring hills shook off the morning mist, and wooly apparitions began to dot their peaks, grazing and bleating into the damp fall air. From a room high up in the castle, Kevin Gallagher lay in bed, battling the terrors. Pre-wedding celebrations were in full swing and a bit of drink the night before had loosened his tongue.
Upon his stumbling return to the castle, he may have upset a few heads in the Cahill/Donnelly wedding party. He blinked at the ceiling and tried for the life of him to remember the carnage. He’d told Paul Donnelly, the groom-to-be, that only an eejit would marry a beautiful woman. And Alice Cahill wasn’t just beautiful, she was downright gorgeous. A proper fashion model to boot.
She was way out of Paul Donnelly’s league, and if his best man couldn’t tell him, then who could?