Chapter Twelve

What Gwen wouldn’t give to have just ten minutes to talk with Ellie.

That was at the forefront of her mind the rest of the day, walking from event to event, holding Reilly’s hand.

She. Was holding. Reilly. O’Malley’s. Hand.

She felt as giddy, and as nervous, as a teenager. She worried that their discussion later would kill whatever this was. And the thought did cross her mind that perhaps this wasn’t real, that perhaps Reilly was swept up in the moment. But her rational side reminded her that Reilly didn’t get “swept up” in anything. He only let show what he wanted to let show, and when he gave his word, it was forever.

He hadn’t declared undying love, but she didn’t believe for a second that he would’ve kissed her to simply start a fling. In fact, he’d worked so hard and so long to do exactly the opposite, she had a suspicion that maybe he was a little bit afraid of what they could have.

She knew she was.

But the thought of forever with him made her insides jump in anticipation of it.

She wondered if that’s what everyone always talked about when they said, “Oh, you’ll just know when you’ve found the one.” Was this feeling the “just knowing” part? The feeling where she wanted to hop out of her skin and into his, then repeat it for the rest of her days and beyond?

If so, she was there.

She steadfastly refused to contemplate that her version of forever might be different than Reilly’s version of it.

She didn’t want to think about that too much.

“I wonder,” Reilly murmured to her as the crowd pushed them close for a moment, “how long you care to stay?”

“Until your mom gets tired,” Gwen said without hesitation. “I could look at this stuff all day.”

He gave her a meaningful look. “Nay, I mean how long do you want to stay.”

Oh. In the Middle Ages. “Um, well, I haven’t got a timetable, so…whenever you want to leave?”

He gestured toward the far side of the fields, and, nodding, she followed him to the edge of the festivities, out of earshot from anyone.

He looked at her gravely. “My, er, gift failed me once already. After the incident in the forest when we first arrived.”

Gwen blanched a little at the memory.

“I wonder, if I were to try again, if it would work the way it always has. I’m hopeful that my purpose here has been served.”

“We’ve been here for less than two days. You think you’ve done whatever it was you were supposed to have done in that time?”

“I certainly hope so,” he muttered.

“Did you go somewhere last night?”

He shook his head, surprised by her question. “Nay, of course not.”

“So what, exactly, do you think you’ve accomplished?”

He gave her a small smile. “Well, us.”

She laughed, right in his face. “Us? That’s your purpose here?”

“I can’t think of anything else they’d send us back for, can you?”

“Why does it have anything to do with me?”

His smile faltered. “I’ve a suspicion, is all. We are together now, aren’t we?”

“Define together.”

He sighed. “Together. Us, in a relationship. You’ll move in with me, we’ll get married. I’ll get my time traveling power back. You know. That kind of together.”

She blinked at him for a few seconds, unable to form words. She crossed her arms and put on her fiercest frown. No mention of love, or any other emotion, actually. And he didn’t even address their past.

“Once we’re settled, I’m certain everything will go back to the way it was, and I’ll have no trouble moving through time again.”

“If the only reason for this”—she motioned between them—“was so that way you could get your gift back, then you can rest assured that we are certainly not together.”

“Well,” he said with a slow smile, “’tisn’t the only reason, lass. You can’t deny, ’twas quite the kiss you gave me back there.”

Any residual happiness faded. He was using her to get his time travel back?

A wave of anger, mostly at herself, shot to the surface. When would she learn? “Not that it matters, but it was you that kissed me. And as you’re the one who stopped kissing me the last time…”

“Aye?” he prompted.

At his utterly blank, confused look, she stared at him in shock. “You are not serious, Reilly.”

He seemed completely serious, so she stopped herself from taking him up on his earlier offer to slap him. Though, perhaps it would knock some sense into him.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think now is a good time to have that chat about what happened before. When you and I almost became more than friends, at Bri’s castle.”

He remained silent, though his expression became wary. “All right, lass. Ask your questions.”

She stepped back to put a bit of distance between them, and she was jostled from behind by another villager. She refused Reilly’s ready hand and steadied herself.

“Why did you stop us?”

He frowned. “I told you then why. I didn’t care to use you that way.”

“Was that really why, though?” she prodded.

Affronted, he crossed his arms. “Aye. What other reason would there be?”

Gwen regarded him for a few seconds before stating, “Ellie told me something.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sometimes, keeping up with your conversations are powerfully difficult, lass. What has Ellie to do with us?”

“She said,” Gwen barreled on, “that Colin told her that once a Protector claims his mate, and she claims him back, he can leave his time travels behind and be released from his obligations to the Fates.”

Reilly nodded, once.

“You’ve never lied to me, right?”

“By omission I have,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “Other than not telling me who you really are. But everything else, Ry. Have you ever lied to me?”

He shook his head. “Never, lass.”

“Will you ever?”

He frowned. “Gwendolyn. Make your point.”

“If you claim your mate, and she claims you back, are you free from your life with the Fates?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She crossed her arms and stopped walking to face him fully. “Could it be that simple, though? You claim someone, and she claims you back, then Fates give you your life back?”

“’Tis never that simple with the Fates. But if it were to follow the pattern of all other Protectors, then aye, you have it aright.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “When we first arrived, you told me that you had found your mate.”

He swallowed hard, but she barreled on.

“Reilly. Did she not claim you back?”

He took almost a full minute to reply. “She has not yet claimed me, no.”

Gwen blinked. That answer made it seem like the woman could still claim him.

What?

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Gwen’s eyes nearly fell out of her head, and she had to count to ten before she spoke again, lest she wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. “I’m not simple-minded, Reilly. I can understand lots of complex things. Try me.”

He folded his arms and the all-too-familiar look of stubbornness descended upon his face. “Nay.”

She almost stomped her foot in frustration. She took a deep breath. “Fine. You don’t want to talk, don’t. But if you’re serious about us, if you’re serious about wanting us to work, you need to answer this.” She took a deep breath. “Who is your soul mate?”

He swallowed hard before looking away. “I cannot tell you that.”

“Oh, you look as though you could skin a chicken with your teeth,” Mary interrupted, materializing beside them.

Gwen gave her a tight smile. “Oh, I’m okay. Truly. I’m fine.”

“Ah,” Mary replied, understanding in her voice. She looped her arm through Gwen’s. “’Tis like that. I also am fine. Darragh announced to the clan elders that I’ve agreed to marry him, and they decided—without me, mind you—that the wedding is three days hence!”

“What?” Reilly exclaimed.

Mary nodded indignantly. “Aye! He took away my right to refuse.”

“Would you have refused?” Reilly demanded.

Mary shrugged. “Does it matter? I deserved the chance to, if I so wished it. But now that he’s told the world, I’m beholden to the marriage.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen murmured. “Having your future taken away is a terrible thing.”

Reilly’s expression was tortured, and Gwen refused to meet his eyes as his mother continued, “Don’t worry yourself over it, lass. I probably wouldn’t have refused. But three days! We can’t have a wedding in three days! It takes weeks to plan, to ensure there’s enough food for everyone, that all family is notified. And I thought we’d have a proper hand fasting ceremony! A year and a day, to get me used to the idea of becoming Lady O’Malley!” She sniffed, thoroughly put out, and patted Gwen’s hand. “So, let’s walk for a while longer, then go back home, where I’ve a warm fire, many knitting supplies, and a tasty meal for our supper.”

“Go on, and I’ll meet you in a moment.” She resisted Mary’s tug for a moment more, then watched as the woman waved down another clanswoman. Gwen turned to the man staring at her.

“Reilly.” She gathered every last bit of her courage around her, sent a prayer flying, and asked quietly, “Am I your soul mate?”

Say aye. Tell me I’m the one, that I haven’t waited in vain.

He swallowed hard. “No more questions, Gwendolyn.”

And her poor heart shattered.

• • •

Reilly had enough.

After a bowl of cold soup, a silent dinner, and being glared from the room, he was done with being the bad guy.

He told Gwen that a Protector could have no influence on his mate’s claiming. She either didn’t remember, or didn’t want to know. But he wasn’t sure if he could speak openly with her about it; the Fates were, again, horrendously vague with their details. What would happen if he told Gwen that she was his? Would that be an influence on her decision in claiming him back?

He was tired of the gray areas; his life had been very black-and-white until recently, and he longed for it to return to that.

After Gwen was asleep, Reilly stood in front of his mother, placed his foot on the rocking chair to halt its movement, and assumed his most intimidating position. He took a deep breath, expanded his chest outward, and crossed his arms. He stared down at her, his face a stony mask.

“Your da used to give me that same look,” she informed him without looking up from her sewing. “I remain as unimpressed with you as I did him. And believe me when I tell you, I was quite unimpressed with him. It takes more than brawn to intimidate me, lad. If anything, I should be giving you a talking-to!”

“About what?” he exclaimed.

“Honestly, what were you thinking, kissing the lass in full view of everyone like that?! Now the entire village thinks you’re to be married!”

“That is the point of all this,” he snapped back. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Though I’m not quite sure that Gwen wants to marry.”

His mother’s face didn’t change. “And why not? She’d be lucky to be married to a strong warrior such as yourself!”

“Aye!” he agreed.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve too much pride, Reilly O’Malley. She has her choice of many men. What have you done to earn her attention? Simply be you?”

He wrinkled his forehead. “Ouch, Mam.”

“Think on it. Have you wooed her?”

Ah! There it was. Illumination. “Nay, I suppose I haven’t. But she’s my mate. My more pressing need is to obtain her claim on me.”

Mary shook her head in disgust. “Reilly O’Malley, you are an Irishman.”

“I’m aware, Mam.”

“Then how can you be so thick-headed? If you want her to claim you, she must be in love with you first. And more than the kissing-in-the-field kind of love,” she chided. “Were I in her position, after all she did to show you her affections during all of your acquaintance…Oh! Your first language should be romance! Gaelic second, of course.”

He massaged his temples. “Aye, that is sensible. But Gwen doesn’t like all that romantic drivel. She’s said so, many times. So, do I simply tell her I’ve claimed her?”

Mary snorted. “Oh, aye, because ’tis every lass’s dream to be told she now belongs to you.”

Reilly conceded the point. Perhaps he’d taken her for granted a bit. He could remedy that, though; it was a blunder, but she would forgive him for it. Maybe.

His throat had closed, and a feeling of extreme uncertainty had almost overcome him. If he were a lesser man, he would’ve said he panicked.

“I’m a bit lost here, Mam,” he whispered.

Mary placed a gentle, weathered hand on his head. “You’ve got much work ahead of you to convince her that you’re serious in your pursuit of her. Kissing her senseless is a good start, but as you know, that won’t be enough. Not for someone like her. She demands truth, Reilly.”

“Then I’ll tell her,” he decided, though his heart was beating entirely too fast and his palms were as damp as a lad’s. “And I’ll hope for a miracle.”

Mary laughed and stood, stretching her back. “A miracle ’tis hardly necessary. The lass loved you once; she can love you again. Use what the good Lord gave you, and what the Fates taught you.”

He banked the fire. “I’m beginning to realize that I don’t quite know how to do that. And, of late, I find myself wishing that I’d never agreed to any of it. I want to forget so much of what I’ve seen.” He hung his head. “Whom I’ve killed. What I’ve done.”

Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have shed any less blood as an O’Malley warrior. You may even had shed it for a less noble purpose.”

“I’m not worthy of her love, Mam. I’ve never been. She is all good, and—”

She held up her hand. “Stop right there, lad. None of this nonsense. You know you’re deserving of the same love all those other Protectors found. You’ve waited more years than any human should. If there is anyone who deserves the love of a good woman, ’tis you, and not because you’re my son. Because you have a bigger purpose, and love is the only way to fully achieve it.”

“Do you know what my purpose is?” he asked. He stood, rising to his full height. “Did they ever tell you?” Angrily, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. There were moments he hated his life; always in the service of someone else was indeed noble, but when would he get some happiness of his own?

Mary immediately stepped onto the stool he’d been sitting on, so that they were eye level, and put her hands on her hips. “If you’re wanting an argument, you’d best choose another to spar with, because if you think I would willingly hand over my only son to a trio of women with dubious intent, you know me not at all.” She huffed out a breath. “Of course I know your purpose. You’re Ireland’s savior!”

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “What? Nay, I’m an O’Rourke Protector.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms. “Perhaps you ought to explain what you think you’ve been doing since they took you all those years ago?”

“I’ve been learning, and teaching others what I know of ancient, medieval, and modern warfare. That knowledge will aid me, and the other Protectors, when the descendant of Brianagh and Nick, who has yet to be born, rises up to save Ireland. All the legend and lore, stories, families and clans—they’ll all be destroyed in an act of war if we don’t band together and fight with our collective knowledge.”

“And you are their leader.”

“Well…aye,” he agreed. “But—”

“You are the laird of the O’Rourke Protectors. You are the savior, Reilly. You are the one who has been taught to lead, to understand, and to rally those who are able, to travel to the time and place where you’ll all be needed the most, to save your land and your people. You’ve been building a clan of the best warriors from all times, Reilly.”

Shocked, he stared at her. He couldn’t draw a full breath; she couldn’t be right. He was the chosen bodyguard, not the chosen one. The Fates had told him…

Nothing. They never actually told him what his purpose was; they allowed him to tell them, but they never really told him if he was correct in his assumptions.

He dragged his eyes to his mother’s, his world tilting on its axis. “Nay.”

She held him steady with her gaze. “Aye, Reilly.”

He sat down heavily, all the anger fleeing his body. How could that be? He’d spent almost two hundred years grooming one O’Rourke from each generation to protect their line. They were to give up their own life to ensure the next Protector would reach adulthood, so that the next could begin his training. And throughout it all, each man swore his loyalty to…

Him.

“This is what they told you?”

She nodded cautiously. “Aye, ’twas. And they warned me not to tell you until you asked me directly. Think about your men, Reilly. Your clan. All direct descendants of yours.”

His men. All those he’d trained, befriended, saved. They swore their loyalty to Reilly, and to the O’Rourke clan. Of which, of course, Reilly was one, thanks to his father’s blood. But it didn’t matter to the Protectors that Reilly’s last name wasn’t O’Rourke, and he’d never told any of them about his connection. Only James figured it out.

But they swore loyalty to him all the same.

“That’s why I was to protect Brianagh,” he realized out loud. “So she could begin the line of time travelers, whom I would train, and those Protectors would come when Ireland needed them most?”

“Aye.”

“This changes…everything.”

“How?” Mary asked, climbing down from the stool.

He dragged in a breath. “I knew I was protecting the O’Rourkes for some greater purpose. My entire life has been to serve them—”

“Us. Use us, Reilly, for as much as I love that you bear the O’Reilly name, your father’s clan was—is—the O’Rourke clan.”

“My entire life has been to serve us,” he amended. “I’d hoped, now that I claimed my mate, that I too would be able to finish my time with them. That I could live as a normal man. Die as a normal man. How can I be with Gwen, knowing that I’ve no end date? I can do many things, but I can’t watch her die, too, Mam.”

“’Twas vowed to me, as your mother,” Mary replied, “that your soul mate would make you stronger. That your obligation to the Fates ended with her.”

“I’ve claimed her, yet I’ve not had to battle for Ireland, as is my purpose. So how is my obligation to the Fates complete?”

“Do you think she will claim you?”

Reilly heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. But I’m running out of time.”

Mary paused. “Perhaps you tell Gwen directly, after all. You won’t be holding a sword at her throat, demanding she return the sentiment. She can refuse or receive you at will, but she needs to know what’s in your heart. Don’t be a fool. Claim her properly, Reilly. The Fates assured me, those many years ago, that your mate would give you everything she had, and more. She would love you with every breath in her body. But, after you said such cruel words to her in her moment of vulnerability, how can you expect her to claim you? Especially if you haven’t told her that you love her? No matter how strong the woman,” she added softly, “there are only so many times one can expose one’s heart. She may have used up all her bravery, Reilly. Perhaps it’s your turn to be brave enough for the both of you.”

He dropped his head. “Aye. But with all she knows of me…all she’s seen me do…” He flashed back to the moment she realized he’d killed the man in the woods, and his stomach roiled. “Mam, she needs to decide her future. If I tell her she’s my soul mate, she knows that means I would never find happiness if she didn’t claim me back. She’d give up her own happiness to ensure mine.”

Mary’s face softened. “Och, lad, you have much to learn about love.”

“I’d be taking her future from her, much as what was done to you.”

Mary lifted his face up, forcing him to meet her eyes. “These are but excuses, Reilly. Love requires so much blind faith. You are worthy of her love, and she yours.”

He closed his eyes. “I need her to be happy above all else, no matter how that comes about. I don’t think she loves me the same way she once did, and even if she does, she may not be able to forgive me for all I’ve put her through.”

“Her love. Your transgressions.” Mary kissed his cheek. “You will make her remember one, and she will make you forget the other.”

• • •

Gwen fumed.

The morning before Mary’s wedding, she sat in a medieval chair, in a medieval cottage, during a medieval rainstorm, and she seethed at herself.

She had done just what every other woman of his acquaintance did when presented with his affection: she swooned. Swooned!

And, to make matters even worse, then she went ahead and did exactly what she swore to herself she wouldn’t do: tumble head over heels for him. All it took was one kiss, and she was braiding rainbow ribbons into the manes of unicorns.

And nothing had changed. She still was not the woman for him.

She dashed a tear from her cheek and took a deep breath. She was made of sterner stuff than this. She was better than this. Yet, as he stood outside and chopped wood (in the rain, for crying out loud!), she couldn’t help but watch. His tunic was plastered against his chest, his dark chest hair easily visible through the wet fabric. The damn thing had the gall to stick to his abs, too, giving her a perfectly good outline of what she knew was a ridiculously sculpted torso.

She didn’t want to think about his ridiculously sculpted anything, but alas, Mother Nature didn’t care about what she wanted.

Hell, no one cared about what she wanted.

And her chest hurt.

The physical pain was almost too much to bear. She alternated between close to tears and spitting fire.

The tiny part of her that wasn’t angry was disappointed. She always harbored a small spark of hope that Reilly would one day wake up and realize they were meant to be together. He would show up at her door with chocolates in hand (because really, what good are flowers if they’re just going to die? At least chocolates taste good as they disappear.). He’d tell her he’d been so blind, and to please allow him to spend all of eternity showing her how much he loved and appreciated her.

That they were soul mates, destined to each other before time began, and would last after time ended.

She snorted at that image. That wasn’t Reilly. It never would be.

The crack of the axe drew her attention back to the man in question, and she looked out the open door at him again. He claimed he’d needed something to do, so Mary suggested he make himself useful with the axe. It did seem to be depleting the excess energy he’d held around himself all morning.

The village games were postponed until “later,” though Mary admitted that could mean days or weeks from now. With nothing else to do, Mary began to teach Gwen how to knit.

Surprisingly, she enjoyed the rhythmic clacking of Mary’s needles. Unsurprisingly, her needles didn’t clack rhythmically or otherwise. She kept dropping them.

After a while, Mary showed her instead how to finger-knit, and Gwen found that to be much easier. Boring, but easier.

“What do you do when you don’t have any games to attend?” she asked, trying to loosen one of the yarn loops that had tightened around her forefinger.

“Sew, mostly. Sometimes I’ll visit a friend in the village.”

Gwen smiled, but inside, a piece of her began to wither and die. She couldn’t stay in this tiny cottage and finger-knit until the rain stopped. She’d lose her mind.

“Can I cook something for you?” she offered, placing the yarn tangles aside.

Clack, clack, clack. “Nay, lass, you just enjoy your yarn.”

Gwen forced a smile again, then looked with despair at the tangled mess. “Okay, well, I guess I can—”

Thankfully, Reilly chose that moment to enter the house. “’Tis a deluge out there. Mam, you’re set with wood, though you’ll have to dry it out longer than normal.”

She thanked him, though they all knew she wouldn’t be using the wood he split, as she’d be moving into the castle well before it dried out.

Clack clack clack.

Did Gwen ever think she enjoyed that sound? Because suddenly, it felt like the sound of death chimes.

Gwen stared morosely at the fire.

“Gwendolyn?”

She snapped to attention, then realized it was Reilly talking. Her expression turned cool. “Yes?”

“Would you care to join me?”

Huh? Clearly, she missed something, though admittedly she hadn’t paid any attention to their conversation. She glanced out the small window and raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to swim somewhere?”

“Nay,” he replied off-handedly. “I’d planned to row us there.”

Mary snorted out a laugh, and Gwen clenched her teeth. “No, thank you.”

“I’ve much sewing to be done,” Mary said helpfully. “Is your needlework better than your knitting?”

“You know it’s not,” Gwen sighed. She glared at Reilly. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

Mary handed her a shawl, which Gwen wrapped around herself, and she and Reilly stepped outside.

Reilly grimaced as he pulled his shirt away from the back of his body. “Let’s go to the barn.” They walked around the house, and, as promised, there was a small outbuilding. “I need a favor.”

Intrigued despite herself, she followed him in.

He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing…

Well, Gwen lost all train of thought at the perfection staring back at her.

He smirked, then flexed a little. She blinked, then gave him a dirty look. “What’s the favor?” she barked.

He turned around, his muscled back on full display. “I’m afraid I’ve—”

“Jesus, Reilly, what happened to your back?” she cried out, rushing to him. An angry red line slashed across his shoulder. “It looks painful!”

He admitted it was slightly painful before handing her a small jar. “When we first arrived, the arse who tried to rob us tossed his blade in my direction. My back was turned, so he caught me unawares.”

She carefully opened the jar and wrinkled her nose. “That’s pretty strong stuff.”

“Aye. Organic, too.”

She couldn’t contain a small laugh, then gently spread the ointment over the wound. It looked a little bit angry, as it was red and warm to the touch. His muscles jumped as she smoothed her fingers over it.

She finished her ministrations, then handed the jar back to him.

“Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Anything else?”

“Aye. There’s a wedding to attend, and I find myself in need of a date.”

“Have you tried asking anyone?” she replied evenly.

He stepped close to her, and rational thought fled. All she could comprehend was, in order: a) Reilly O’Malley; b) Reilly O’Malley without a shirt; and c) Reilly O’Malley, looking as though she was his most favorite meal, and he’d been fasting for weeks.

“Gwendolyn Allen.” He stepped closer, their bodies almost touching, his voice gravelly and his breathing as uneven as hers. “Will you do me the very great honor of standing by my side at my mother’s wedding tomorrow morning?”

She gritted her teeth against her initial reaction and stepped away from him. “No.”

He nodded. “I deserved that. And what I don’t deserve is an answer to my next question, but I pray you might find it in your sweet soul to provide me one.”

She remained silent, waiting.

“I’ve made mistakes with you, Gwen. Big mistakes—”

She held up her hands, her traitorous eyes filling with tears. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Please, Gwendolyn. Can you forgive me?”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Reilly.” He stepped towards her, but she matched it with a step backward. She shook her head. “No. I can’t do this. Not again.”

“I will have my words with you, lass. And they will be soon.”

She heard his words trail after her as she fled from the outbuilding, back to the house.

• • •

Watching his mother depart with the laird’s messenger, Reilly wondered at the changes that were happening. History as he’d known it was being rewritten, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked where ’twas going.

While he was glad that his sister had found love, and he was relieved that his mother would be secure in her marriage to the laird, the unsettling feeling in his gut gave him pause.

The feeling was similar to the first time he rode in an airplane. His stomach felt as though it was floating uncomfortably in his body, alternating between shooting up to his throat, then hovering somewhere under his ribs, then dropping to his knees.

Reilly turned and caught sight of Gwen in front of the mirror.

He had the same kind of feeling now, though he suspected his stomach wasn’t the only organ that danced about.

He watched her wind her plaited hair around her head and was reminded of the first time he watched her do the same. He still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to fly to a country she’d never been to, to see a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was her sense of adventure, or the folly of her youth. But he was grateful she’d taken the chance all the same.

When she’d been staying at his cottage for a pair of days, during that first trip out to see him, he recognized that her attraction to him made her a little nervous. It didn’t put her at ease that he ensured he gave off no reciprocal response; after all, she was but twenty-one, a mere child in the modern world. To pursue her would end in disaster; he had just handed over Brianagh to Nioclas and didn’t know if he was to have another assignment, or if he’d be sent back to the past to live out the rest of his days. Gwen hadn’t seen anything of the world, and she was eager to get out there and conquer it.

The first night she was in town, they’d planned to go into Dublin city center. Twenty minutes after she said she’d “be just a minute,” Reilly went looking for her to see if she’d perhaps forgotten the way out of her room. When he came to her open door, he’d halted, struck witless at the sight in front of him.

Gwen had been seated at the small vanity he’d placed in the room before she arrived. Masses of red curls tumbled over her hands as she struggled to grasp it all, her eyes closed as she wrestled with it. Her elegant neck was fully exposed from the back, and Reilly stared at it, unable to comprehend why the sight of it was more alluring than any of the pretty faces he’d seen in all his years.

She had let out a frustrated sigh and her eyes popped open, immediately catching sight of him in the mirror. “I know I’m taking a long time. I’m sorry. I just can’t get all my hair up. I banged my wrist this morning, and it’s really sore,” she rushed to explain. “If I leave my hair down, I’ll get really hot while dancing.”

“May I assist?” he asked.

She nodded and explained to him how to gather it all and pull it through the hair tie. He gently gathered the silky strands, the feel of each one branding his skin. The fruity smell wafted to him, enveloping his senses fully, and he was rendered immobile for a long moment.

“Reilly?” she had asked uncertainly.

He’d shaken himself out of his reverie. “Just trying to figure out how not to snap this,” he covered, testing the elasticity of the hair tie. He managed to do as she asked, and though it was far from perfect, she gave him a beatific smile and didn’t touch it for the rest of the night.

Pulling himself back to the present, Reilly reminded himself to breathe. He was a seasoned warrior. Battle-hardened. He’d stared death in the face and laughed outright.

Looking at Gwen’s profile now, he didn’t feel much like laughing. In fact, he felt as though he might cast up his accounts all over her beautiful red dress.

Dealing with a feisty redhead who was presumably still angry with him was a battle he was ill-prepared to fight.

He needed to apologize to her, ask for her forgiveness, tell her he was hers for as long as she’d have him (which, he hoped, was for eternity). And then, perhaps, he could dust off his chivalry and woo the lass the way she deserved to be wooed.

She caught sight of him watching her and rolled her eyes as she slid the last pin in place. “I won’t make us late for your mother’s wedding. Come on.”

He held out his arm.

“I don’t need you to pull some Neanderthal move to let everyone know I’m yours,” she sniffed. “I am quite capable of walking myself to the castle.”

He merely continued to hold it out.

He watched her struggle with herself before she sighed lightly.

She frowned at his arm, but finally took it. “Fine.”

She tried to charge toward the open door, but he slowed her. “We need speech, Gwen.”

She set her jaw. “So this is why you sent your mother ahead? You want to do this now?”

“Aye. I need your forgiveness.”

She kept her eyes on the sodden ground as they trudged forward, almost ambling, toward the village. “Can we just pretend like this never happened?”

“That what never happened? My feelings for you? Our kiss? The attraction we’ve fought for years?”

“All of it?”

“If there’s one thing we’ve always had, Gwen, it’s our trust in each other. Trust that we’d always be honest with each other. It’s what makes us work.” He let her think on that for a moment. “Ready for the hard questions, Gwen?”

“No,” she grumbled.

He paused. She could be stubborn, but once she forgave, she didn’t hold a grudge.

She seemed to be holding a grudge at the moment.

He focused on the real point of their conversation. “What happened in Venezuela?”

She gasped, her hand fluttering in an entirely un-Gwen-like movement, to her throat. “What makes you think anything happened there?”

“It was on the news, you know. I know about the deaths. And you haven’t been quite yourself.”

She looked away. “I’ve been fine.”

He drew them to a halt. He gently grasped her chin and drew her face toward his again. “Have you, Gwen?”

She took a step back, out of his reach. “Well, I’ve had some tough moments, I guess. But overall, I’d say I’m the same as I ever was.” She held her hands out and gave him a false, bright smile. “See? Still me.”

“Don’t jest about this, Gwen. I know you. You know I know you. So perhaps you can do as you always have, and be honest with me. What was your real reason for coming to, and staying in, Ireland?”

Her entire body went still.

“You could have easily had your dress for Colin’s wedding sent to America,” he pointed out. “You could have stayed in your lovely house by the sea, during your most favorite time of year, and fiddled with your investments, as you love to do. You could’ve gone to Georgia, and spent time enjoying the pleasures to be found in its cities. But you didn’t. And even when Ellie went back to the States with Colin for who knows what—”

“Investors,” she supplied.

He arched a brow. “Not that it matters, but all right, when they went back for the investors, you stayed. So, I’ll ask again. Why did you come, then stay, in Ireland?”

Her shoulders dropped, as though a hundred-pound sack had fallen onto them, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Stop,” came the muffled reply.

“Have I ever told you that you frighten the daylights out of me?” he asked. She kept her hands on her face, but she shook her head, so he continued. “Aye. I’ve felt no fear when a sword’s come at my neck. Actually, I rather look forward to those moments, as they make me feel alive. The moments that follow make me feel grateful to be alive. But it’s the moments well after, once the swords have been put away and ’tis just me and my cup in front of a fire, that make me feel the most. You know what I feel, Gwen?”

She peeked at him from between her fingers.

“I feel so damn lucky. I’ve my head atop my shoulders, my feet warm by a fire, and you in my life. And though you may not be sitting next to me at that moment, you are always foremost in my mind.”

She shuddered, and he took that as a good sign.

“You and me, Gwendolyn. You’re a part of me, a part of my soul.”

“Not all of it, though.”

“All of what?”

She didn’t bother to clarify. “Anthony asked me not to go to Ireland. He demanded it, even. But I had to. I needed to feel like the world couldn’t get me. A safe place, you know? And I went to the safest place I knew.”

“Where?” he demanded. He needed her to say the words, to realize what she was saying. A primitive, visceral need that wouldn’t be fulfilled unless she understood what she was saying to him. How she was claiming him.

She dropped her hands and looked up. Her eyes, the exact color of the lichens he’d always associated with home, held an emotion he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Where’s the safest place you know, Gwendolyn?”

She gulped. “In your arms.”

An enormous burst of elation engulfed Reilly, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to crush her into him.

She continued, “I just…needed that. Everything was so bad, Ry…I was helpless to stop the panic, because those were my friends, and I watched them die. And I was almost in that van.”

His heart ached for her. He knew the pain she felt, the survivor’s guilt she experienced. He told her he understood it because he’d lived it, time and again.

She nodded, but the shadows in her eyes didn’t vanish, so he pulled her close.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she murmured softly. “I like it, sometimes. But I don’t need it.”

He stepped back and gently grasped her hands. He searched her troubled, wet eyes, noting that he’d seen her tears more in the last few days than all their time together. “Aye, Gwendolyn. I know.”

He watched her throat work to swallow and her eyes attempt to look anywhere but in his. She started to speak, stopped, started again, then stopped again, stuck in an endless loop of silence.

“Whatever you need to say, say. But give me the truth, Gwendolyn.”

She looked at him with clouded eyes, and a small frown formed around her mouth. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of us.”

He rubbed circles on her palms and remained silent.

“If I let myself love you the way I stupidly seem to need to, then…don’t you get it? I won’t survive it, Reilly.”

“Would loving me be so bad?”

“Maybe.” She pulled away from him, and he let her go. “Since the day I met you, I’ve been living half a life. I gave you my heart over and over, but you kept on rejecting it. Do you even know what that does to a woman?”

He absently rubbed his heart. “I was a fool.”

“Yeah, you were! But I could handle that, because you didn’t make me any promises. When you give your word, O’Malley, you keep it. So if you make me a promise, I believe it with my whole heart. But if you break that promise, I won’t be able to survive it.” A sheen of tears blurred her eyes. “Moving on from you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. And now here you are, twisting everything up. I’m not sure I can give you my heart again. And I don’t think I’m willing to take that risk.”

His chest constricted with such force, Reilly almost lost his breath.

“I want to be someone’s everything,” she whispered, her eyes luminous and open. “I want to find happiness where I can, because I know now that life can end at any second. I came to Ireland because I told myself I needed to restore my soul. But I stayed because, as it turns out, I didn’t really need to restore it. I just needed the other half of it.”

His constricted chest loosened, and he felt a swift, staggering sense of relief. “Gwen—”

She waved him off. “So I have to ask, and you have to be honest with me, Reilly.” She searched his eyes. “Do you know who your soul mate is?”

“Aye.”

“Did you know immediately that she was the one?”

He swallowed hard. “Aye, I did.”

“And did you claim her?”

He closed the distance between them. “I did. But—”

She shook her head quickly, halting his next words, her expression tortured. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”

He frowned. “But—”

“No,” she said, her voice clear. “Please. Not right now. Let’s go see your mother married, then see if we can get home. I need some space to think.”

“But Gwen—”

“Please, Ry.” Her face held such emotion, it rooted him to the spot, and he was filled with the need to ensure she had whatever she asked for, no matter what it was. The chapel bells chimed in the distance, signaling the start of the wedding procession, and she started jogging towards the sound. Over her shoulder, she said clearly, “I know we’re not soul mates. I just have to figure out if I’m willing to be anything less.”

He’d never known true pain until this moment, and he had to admit, it wasn’t anything he’d ever desired to experience in the first place.

• • •

Reilly watched, his arms folded and his face expressionless, as his mother promised to honor and obey Laird O’Malley for the rest of her days.

If he were to give into any sort of expression, he wasn’t sure what would win out: one of relief that his mother and sister were settled, protected, and very possibly loved, or one of laughter that the laird seemed to believe Mary would obey him within the castle walls.

The priest droned on, and Gwen began to fidget. Reilly smiled inwardly; she was terrible at sitting still. He doubted that would ever change, and he wanted, with a desire bordering on desperate, to be by her side forever, so that he may enjoy that energy for all his days.

Not soul mates. What utter rubbish. He should’ve claimed her the first night they met while they sat at the bar drinking their whiskey.

He leaned closer to her. “Careful, lass. You don’t want to bring attention to yourself. Did Emma ever tell you how she ended up married to that toothless beggar of hers?”

“Aidan’s not toothless,” she whispered back, her lips barely moving. “And he’s definitely not a beggar.”

“I’ve yet to determine why all the womenfolk find him so pleasing.”

“Perhaps it’s due to his smiles and charm,” she replied. “You ought to try it, see where it gets you.”

He snorted. “Emma was an unwed lass at the MacWilliam castle. From what I was told, her beauty caught the eye of a MacWilliam ally, and he wanted to have her. Needless to say, she found herself engaged and married in the same day.”

“Was it what she wanted at the time?”

He kept his eyes forward and murmured, “Who would want to marry such a one as Aidan MacWilliam?”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“Nothing he hasn’t heard before, I assure you.”

“I’m trying to pay attention to the wedding. So cut bait already. Why are you telling me all this?” she whispered, exasperated.

Meaningfully, he dragged his gaze to the other side of her. Against the chapel wall, an older clansman was openly ogling Gwen. When she caught sight of him, he gave her a nearly toothless smile and a waggle of his bushy brows. Then he blew her a kiss, pointed to her, then himself, then the priest.

“Toothless beggar,” Reilly whispered, laughter lacing his words.

Gwen’s head snapped forward. “Did you put him up to that?” she whispered furiously.

Reilly chuckled softly. “Nay, lass. ’Tis Niall, and he’s a clan elder. If he goes to the laird to demand you become his wife, I’ll be forced to either hand you over or wed you myself.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said faintly.

“There, now. Niall’s a nice enough lad.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me. He’s old enough to be my grandfather!”

Reilly fought a smile. “Age is but a number…”

“Shut up, O’Malley,” she hissed.

The priest placed Mary’s hand in Darragh’s, then began winding a rope around their wrists.

Reilly kept his face neutral and his voice low. “I’d like to point out that I still have all my teeth. That should put me at least a bit ahead to win your affections?”

“You’re so funny,” she managed.

He took pity on her. “The other option, of course, is a bit of travel. New destination, new time.”

She stiffened. “Because your purpose has been realized?”

“Aye. And it wasn’t the one I thought originally, so put your hackles down.”

Mary repeated her vows in a crisp voice. They turned to sign the dower papers which, Reilly saw his mother realize, had been taken care of by him.

There was no way she would be giving up everything of hers to Darragh, no matter that he was laird. The woman had been through enough, having lost her husband to an early death and her son to otherworldly activities. She could keep her cottage, her land, and her gold.

Mary looked at him, and she gave him the tiniest of smiles. He winked.

“What’s happening?” Gwen asked, noticing their exchange.

He leaned down to her ear. “When a widow marries a second time, she gives over everything she has to her new husband. That includes all her land and gold. But I had speech with Laird Darragh to ensure my mother is well taken care of.”

Gwen smiled softly. “That was kind of you.”

He cleared his throat. “Well. She’s my mam.”

Gwen fell blessedly silent, and they watched the rest of the ceremony in companionable silence.

Later, when the festivities were well underway, Reilly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he knew it was time.

He looked down at Gwen and found her looking up at him. “Do you feel it, too?”

“I do,” she replied quietly. “It’s an odd feeling. What’s it mean?”

“’Tis time to take our leave,” he concluded. “’Tis my experience that we have just enough time to say our goodbyes, then find a secluded spot.”

He made his way to his mother, who, despite complaining loudly about having little time to plan a wedding, looked quite happy.

Her smile turned a bit wobbly upon his approach. She turned quickly and murmured something to her new husband, who waved her off toward Gwen and him.

Mary calmly took Reilly’s other arm, and he maneuvered both women outside the castle. As soon as they rounded the corner, Mary teared up.

“Oh, Mam, no,” he exclaimed, aghast. He’d seen his mother cry exactly three times in his life, and each time was worse than the last.

Gwen pulled Mary into her arms. “Why are you crying?” she asked tenderly. “You know he’ll come back to see you.”

Mary shook her head, her voice catching. “N-no he won’t.” She wiped her tears, though they continued to fall. “Reilly, my love, I saw them. The Mother, she came to me, and she told me you’d be saying your final goodbye.”

“Seems a bit overdramatic,” he soothed. “Mam, you’ve no reason to be so upset. I’m taking Gwen home. I’ll be back when I can.”

Mary sniffled; then, in Gaelic, she said, “Nay, Reilly, you won’t. This is it. We’ve new paths now. I’m not sure how I was when you saw me in my other future, but the Fate visited me before I walked into the chapel today. She told me that changes have begun. I know not what your future holds, but I know that for mine, this will be the last I see of you.”

Speechless, he looked at her tear-stained face. What was this madness? Why were things changing? How were they changing?

She tugged him down to her and cradled his face in her hands. “Love her well, son. She’s a good woman. I fear that she, as your mate, has many trials in front of her. Have patience. But mostly, just love her. Marry her, give her bairns. They’ll keep her company on the cold nights when you might not be able to warm her bed.”

He looked at her in alarm. “Are you trying to tell me that my life is in danger?”

“It’s always been in danger,” she confessed. “But you’ve had the guiding hands of the Fates to help you along. I fear that time has also come to an end.” She swallowed hard. “Be safe, Reilly.” She turned to Gwen, and in English, she managed, “I’m so happy to have met you, Gwendolyn. Love him.”

Gwen nodded wordlessly, sadness etched into her features. While he knew she didn’t understand the exchange he and his mother had, she seemed to understand the gravity of it.

Mary hugged Gwen, then she hugged Reilly. And if he held her a bit tighter, a bit longer, than he ever had previously, and if perhaps the dust from the ground at their feet made his eyes water fiercely, he rather thought no one could blame him.

“Go,” Mary rasped, slipping from his arms. “Be off. Be safe.” She kissed him on the cheek, her tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I am grateful, you know. Many mothers do not see their sons to manhood. Most mothers do not see their sons happy in life. I’m blessed to have had both visions.”

With that, she turned and fled back to the castle, leaving Reilly staring helplessly after her.

Gwen tugged gently on his arm. “Come on, Ry. It’s time to go.”

He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak past the lump in his throat, and allowed her to lead him away from the small but safe pile of stones where his mother would live out the rest of her days.

After ensuring no one had followed, Reilly tucked them against a copse of trees. Gwen placed her arms around his waist, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He easily lifted her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he explained hoarsely.

She smiled gently. “Nor I, you.”

The iron fist that had locked itself around his heart eased slightly. He drew a breath, then tightened his hold on Gwen with his left arm. He extended his right arm, held out his right hand, fingers splayed, and murmured the ancient words and sounds that would take them home. He quickly turned his fingers inward to his palm, and the air began to shimmer around them. He clasped Gwen to him with both arms a half-second before shards of light began pelting their bodies. The trees spun away, the currents lifting Gwen’s hair to encircle them both in its radiance, and a dizzying moment later, the air settled.