Chapter Fourteen
Fáelán paced and gesticulated before the fae king. Lir’s throne was positioned at one end of a grand courtyard surrounded by cloisters and crowded with curious courtiers. Avid interest pulsed from the Tuatha Dé Danann nobles, becoming a palpable force pressing in around him. Fionn stood nearby, and so did his captain’s fae relation, lending Fáelán courage.
He couldn’t help but get caught up in the retelling of all that had befallen him at Morrigan’s hand. He poured all the emotional turmoil he’d suffered into his words. “I was deceived, tormented and held captive for nigh on two millennia by one of your own,” he called out, meeting the eyes of several of the spectators. “My mate risked her life, coming back through the ages to warn me. Because of Regan’s bravery, I evaded Morrigan’s curse this time ’round, but still the fae princess continues to hound my every step.”
He turned back to the king. “I am beside myself with worry for Regan, Your Majesty. Your daughter choked the life from poor, innocent Nóra the night I was cursed. I’ve no doubt Morrigan means to—”
“Think you I do not know my own daughter?” Lir pointed at the fae sword at Fáelán’s waist. “How come you by the Tuatha weapon?”
The fae king’s unnatural gaze lasered through Fáelán, and he lowered his eyes to Fragarach. “’Twas loaned to Regan, so that when she came through time to warn me of Morrigan’s curse—and Nóra’s impending murder—I’d believe her. How she came by it, I cannot say, Your Majesty. When we parted, Regan was upset, and she left the sword behind.” He placed his palm over the hilt. “I don’t believe she meant to leave it, but ’tis glad I am that she did.”
Lir’s frown deepened. “Mananán,” he shouted, “explain.”
The fae prince stepped forward and bowed. “Your future granddaughter Boann brought Fáelán’s mate to me in the mortal’s twenty-first century, Father. They shared with me the tale you just heard and asked for my help. ’Twas I who suggested Regan travel back to this point in time to prevent the curse from ever happening. Doing so seemed the most expedient way to set things aright.” He shrugged. “Boann asked for one of my swords as a token of proof, and ’twas she who guaranteed its return.” He strode toward Fáelán. “I’ll have it back now.” He held out his hand.
“Not so fast,” Lir boomed. “Did you know of Morrigan’s curse when first she laid it upon this mortal?”
“Aye, Father, and I—”
“Why did you not come to me with all of this from the start?”
“I tried to talk Morrigan into freeing him many times, but she refused.” Mananán dropped his hand. “I didn’t wish to trouble you with an altercation involving a mere mortal. When Boann brought Regan to me, I offered the perfect solution, and bringing it to your attention didn’t seem necessary. I dismissed the entire affair from my mind. I did not anticipate my sister’s obstinate persistence in her pursuit of this mortal.” He cut Fáelán a scathing look. “Nor did I anticipate the Fiann’s appearance before you, bearing my sword and pleading for your intercession.”
“In other words, you did not wish to implicate yourself in your sister’s crimes.” Lir sighed heavily.
“I had naught to do with her crimes.” Mananán gazed around at the courtiers, who listened with rapt attention. “I did try to reason with her many times, sire, but she refused to heed my advice.”
“Morrigan,” Lir shouted, tracing a rune in the air with his hand. “I summon thee to my court. Now.”
Morrigan appeared out of thin air before Lir’s dais. She went down on bended knee and bowed her head, her hands folded gracefully in front of her. Fáelán’s stomach curdled at the sight of her.
“Father,” she said, her head still bowed. “What is your wish?”
“Upon one strand in the weft of time’s tapestry, you will have murdered a human, given the Elixir of Life to a mortal without sanction and kept him unlawfully for nearly two thousand of their years. You also reneged on your oath to set him free once he’d met the conditions you yourself set forth. And let us not forget your deception when you came to him at the very first.” His scowl deepened. “What have you to say for yourself, daughter?”
“She cannot lie to her father,” Fionn whispered beside Fáelán. “He’ll know if she tries, and then ’twill go worse for her.”
Fáelán nodded slightly, his attention fixed upon the scene playing out in front of him.
“Everything this mortal told you is the truth.” She lifted her head to meet her father’s gaze, her expression pleading. “But, Father, I have conceived a child with him,” Morrigan cried, turning her wrath toward Fáelán for an instant. “I am bound to him, and I . . . I only wished to make him my consort, so that we could raise our child together. He refused me,” she said, her tone that of a spoiled child.
The familiar rage and frustration unfurled within Fáelán. Not only had the fae princess cursed him, but she’d kept any knowledge of his daughter’s existence a secret. Regan had been the one to tell him, and he’d accused her of lying. Had his daughter longed for a father’s love and guidance as she grew up? Did Boann hate him for what must seem to her like abandonment on his part? Morrigan had also kept his daughter from his family, and they would have showered her with love and kindness. His jaw tightened to the point of pain.
“The mortal declined your offer, daughter, which is within his rights.” Lir’s tone hardened. “Having kept your true identity from him from the start, you could not have expected the outcome to be any different. Punishing him for not wanting you, subjecting him to a curse he did naught to deserve, is unacceptable. From this moment forward, you will leave this man in peace.”
“But, Father, I—”
“There is no excuse for your behavior. Bonded or not, you know the law. Be grateful Fáelán’s mate had the bravery to undo the worst of your crimes upon this place in time, else your penance would be far greater.” He rose from his throne. “Do not make things worse with petty excuses. You have shamed me. You have shamed the goddess.”
Lir stepped down from the dais and stood before his daughter. “You are sentenced to reside here with me under supervision for the span of this mortal’s life, so that I can be sure he remains unmolested.”
King Lir pounded the end of his trident against the floor, and a wave of power surged through the hall, nearly knocking Fáelán off his feet. “And do not think for an instant I will not know if you coerce others to do your bidding against him. I will assign a companion to you, someone I trust who will remain by your side every moment, until all of Fáelán’s days are spent. Do you understand?”
Morrigan nodded, her expression closer to cunning than contrition.
“As for you.” Lir turned to Fáelán. “Your life is restored to you as it was before my daughter’s interference. You no longer need concern yourself with the Tuatha. Go in peace.”
Where was the relief he should be feeling? Instead, sorrow engulfed him. Not only had he been denied the chance to know his daughter; now he was to lose the only woman he would ever love, and he’d never know his child—his second child. Fáelán knew what he wanted. More than anything, he longed to be with Regan. Morrigan had stolen so much from him. After eons of deprivation, he refused to give up his one chance at happiness.
He glanced at Fionn, not even attempting to hide the misery stealing his breath. “My lord . . . I . . .” He cleared his throat. “Please release me from my vows to the Fianna. I need to be with Regan. I cannot forsake her or my unborn child.”
Fionn studied him in that deep way he had and nodded slightly, his expression grave. “I release ye, my friend, and I wish ye naught but contentment and peace all the rest of your days. Ye’ve earned them, aye?”
Warmth seeped through him, and gratitude. “I am proud to have served ye, and I am grateful for everything ye’ve done for me.” Drawing in a long breath, Fáelán stepped forward. “King Lir, I beg your indulgence for a moment longer.”
“Aye?” The fae king cast him a look of annoyance. “What is it now?”
“I wish to be sent back to my life in the twenty-first century. I want to be with my mate. She carries my child, and I want to be a good husband to her and a father to our babe.” And any other children they might be blessed with in the future. “I never knew my daughter, Boann. Do not force me to forsake another. After all I have suffered, am I not owed this one favor?” He glanced at Morrigan with all the loathing he held for her. “If not from you, then from her?”
“Hmph.” Lir’s brow lowered. “Owed a favor? You came asking me to settle the matter betwixt the two of you. Did I not do as you asked? Was that not favor enough?”
“Ye did, and ’tis grateful I am, but—”
“You were born in this place and time, and here is where you were meant to live out your short life. If I were to grant you another favor, ’twould alter the fate of many in what your kind call the third century.” The king climbed the stairs of his dais. “Favor denied. Return to the earthly realm.” Lir glanced at Fáelán, his eyes glowing an unnatural bright blue. “’Tis where you belong.”
His heart pounding, and a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body, Fáelán squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’ve been told that what has already occurred in the past, present or the future cannot be erased.” He waved a hand in the air. “I know naught of strands or the weaving of time, but Morrigan has already altered time’s tapestry. Has she not? If I am not sent back to my life in the twenty-first century, will that not affect the fate for many as well, including my progeny? That is unacceptable to me. What I am asking is reasonable and just.” Fáelán swallowed convulsively, praying the demigod would not squash him like a bug where he stood.
“Who told you nothing can be erased?” King Lir’s gaze settled upon his son Mananán.
The prince stepped forward again. “Boann shared that with Regan, whilst trying to convince the mortal woman to aid her sire. Regan feared if she undid Fáelán’s curse, she’d lose her unborn child, and Boann wished only to put her mind at ease.”
Warmth spread through Fáelán. His daughter had wanted to help him, and that gave him hope. Mayhap she didn’t hate him after all. “Regan told the same to me when she came to the past. Changes have already been wrought, and it matters not whether I remain in the third century or return to the twenty-first.” He’d grieved the loss of his third-century family eons ago.
“Your Majesty, I long to be where my heart resides, which is in the future with Regan and our child.” In a last-ditch effort, he added, “Do you and I not share a bond of kinship through my daughter, Boann? Upon that tie, I beg ye, grant me this request.”
Lir sat upon his throne, canted his head and scratched at his beard. “You are brave, Fiann . . . and foolish. Still . . .” He leaned back and rapped his fingers against the armrests. “Long have I been intrigued with the Fianna.” He shot Fionn a challenging look. “Have you not claimed over and over the skill of your warriors is peerless, even greater than that of a Tuatha warrior?”
“I have, Your Majesty, and this lad is one of my finest.” Fionn rested his hand upon Fáelán’s shoulder.
“Hmmm.” The king scrutinized Fáelán.
The thumping of his heart echoed inside his head, and Fáelán gripped Fragarach’s hilt so tightly, his palm would surely carry the imprint of its runes for the remainder of his life.
Lir leaned forward. “I propose a tournament. This Fiann”—he pointed his trident at Fáelán—“against a champion of my choosing. Since the fae sword still hangs at your waist, I’ll grant you Fragarach’s use for this contest,” Lir said, his tone mocking. “If my champion draws first blood, you remain in the century of your birth. If you draw first blood, then I shall consider your request. What say you?”
The king would consider his request? “Ah, feck,” Fáelán muttered under his breath, and Fionn’s grasp upon his shoulder tightened.
Fáelán caught movement from the corner of his eye. He bowed his head as if in thought and cast a sideways glance. Morrigan slipped away through the crowd.
“Well?” King Lir’s voice boomed. “What is it to be?”
Fáelán knew Morrigan well enough to suspect the worst and to be on guard. Yet no matter what she schemed, what choice did he have but to accept? Though his innards had turned to watery porridge, he thrust out his chest and widened his stance. “Your Majesty, once I’ve drawn first blood, the battle will cease, aye?”
“Aye, Fiann.” King Lir laughed. “You have my word as a direct descendant of the goddess Danu, my champion will not use fae magic to defeat you. Múiros, come forth,” he called.
One of the guards standing along the wall sauntered forward, smirking as he met Fáelán’s gaze. The fae warrior carried a shield and a lance, along with the sword at his back.
“This must be a fair fight,” Fionn said, moving to stand in front of Fáelán. “Either grant my Fiann a lance and a shield, or have your champion set his aside.”
“Agreed.” Lir nodded to Múiros, and another guard came forward to take the lance and shield from him.
Fáelán rolled his shoulders before removing the scabbard and belt from his waist. The sword had always been his favorite weapon, and he excelled at the skill. He drew Fragarach from its scabbard, tossed the belt aside and held the flat of the blade to his forehead. He sent a prayer to whatever helpful spirits or gods might be listening. “For Regan, our child, my daughter, Boann, my clan and kin,” he muttered under his breath. “Lend me strength, speed and the wits needed to defeat my foe.”
“Regan,” one of her sisters said, jostling her by the shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“I doubt that. I’m pretty sure I could sleep for a week.” Regan rolled to her back and stretched, taking inventory of all her aches and pains. “How long have I been out?”
“All morning,” Meredith said, peering down at her. “We’ve made lunch. Grayce and I want to know what’s been going on since we got your text telling us you might not be here when we arrived.”
“OK. I’m hungry anyway.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “I look like hell, don’t I?”
“Yes. Two black eyes, a nasty lump and cut on your forehead, and a swollen nose. You look like you might’ve been in a car accident.” Meredith studied her. “How do you feel?”
“Beat up. Sad.” She headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be right down.”
“I’ll wait, in case you’re unsteady on your feet.”
Regan nodded and closed the bathroom door behind her. She avoided looking in the mirror. At least she was clean and had access to a bathroom. Quickly taking care of her needs, she then washed her hands and her face, brushed her teeth and headed downstairs, with her sister standing close by. Meredith and Grayce had already set the table. Regan’s stomach gurgled with hunger. “Smells like chicken noodle soup.”
“Yep, homemade, and we have currant scones from the bakery in the village,” Grayce said, setting two steaming bowls on the table.
Meredith brought the third bowl, along with a plate holding the scones. Regan’s mouth watered. “Yesterday I was convinced I was going to die in a cavern beneath the Hill of Tara. Today I get to feast on scones and homemade soup.” She smiled, even though it hurt to do so.
“Are you ready to talk about what happened, Rae?” Grayce asked, taking a seat and placing a scone on her bread plate.
“I managed to end Fáelán’s curse by traveling back through time to the third century, and then—”
“Hold up.” Meredith’s eyes saucered. “You what?”
“I’d better start at the beginning.” Regan leaned back in her chair and sighed. “It’s . . . the entire story is bizarre, and has been since I first met Fáelán at Newgrange.” Regan launched into her story while they ate, and it took until the dishes were done before she finished.
“Let’s move to the living room,” Meredith said, her brow creased. “I have questions.”
Regan huffed out a breath and raked her fingers through her hair. She never had gotten around to brushing out the tangles. “I can imagine.” The teakettle whistled on the stove, and she fixed a pot of tea while Meredith took three mugs to the coffee table.
“OK.” Meredith took a seat on the same chair where Boann had been a few days ago. “Here’s what I don’t get. If you prevented Fáelán from being cursed, then you would’ve also prevented the two of you from ever meeting. So . . . how is it you think you’re pregnant?”
“I don’t think I am; I know I am. Boann and her uncle explained it all to me. They said we don’t understand how time works, and—”
“Think about it, Meredith,” Grayce interjected. “I have visions about the future. The. Future. I’m not the only one. There are volumes of documented cases where someone foretold an event or a disaster. I see things that haven’t happened yet—things that either will or will not occur, depending upon the choices made by every single person involved. If time is a single moment we call the present, and the future hasn’t already happened, then visions and premonitions wouldn’t be possible. Right?”
“I see your point, but like you say, things change according to the choices made by the individuals involved. Regan changed the past, so that has to have affected the future.”
“Affect, yes but . . .” Grayce’s brow furrowed. “Because of what I’ve experienced with my visions, I’ve often wondered if the future, the present and the past aren’t all”—she whirled a hand in the air—“going on at the same time. I’ve read stuff, like the possibility of a multiverse, string theory, parallel universes where we live different lives. Did you know physicists at the University of Queensland in Australia have proven time travel is possible by sending light particles to the past?”
“No, I didn’t, but leave it to you to look for the most outlandish explanation.” Meredith snorted. “I don’t think—”
“What I did in the past did alter the present.” Regan sighed. “Because I went back to the third century and prevented the curse, Fáelán is no longer here. But that doesn’t change the fact that he was with me a week ago. He and I were together. You’ve seen the pictures, and I have my memories. I know it’s confusing, and I don’t pretend to understand any of it either, but there’s proof.” She placed her hand over her abdomen for a second. “Speaking of visions, Grayce, have you had any concerning Fáelán? The last glimpse I had of him, he was at King Lir’s court, and I’m assuming he was there because, even though he avoided being cursed, Morrigan still wants to own him.”
Grayce shook her head. “You know how it is, Rae. I’ve tried, but I don’t have any control over what comes to me. In fact, I haven’t had any visions about anything for several weeks. I think I’m in remission.”
“Remission?” Meredith’s brow rose. “Having visions isn’t a disease, Grayce.”
“If you say so.” Grayce shrugged. “Then I’m on a vision sabbatical. For whatever reason, nothing has come to me, and I’m glad. I hope they’re gone for good.”
“Grayce . . .” Meredith’s expression filled with sympathy. “You—”
“Oh!” A tugging sensation hit Regan, and she sucked in a breath. It happened again, only stronger this time, and her mouth went dry.
“What is it, Rae?” Meredith asked, and both sisters stared at her, their expressions questioning.
“Something is . . . I feel like I’m being pulled.” She looked from one twin to the other as the pull grew stronger. She gripped the armrest of the couch. “Oh no. I—”
The next thing Regan knew, the world was rushing past, and she was flying through space. And time? She landed on her hands and knees by the shore of a lake with water so clear, she could see the colors of the smooth pebbles at the bottom. A wooden bridge spanned the shore to an island, where a columned palace stood. The air had a familiar rarity to it, and the sky an unearthly hue of blue and pink. She’d been taken to Summerland, and she had no doubt who was responsible. Regan rose slowly from the ground, apprehension knotting her insides.
“We meet at last,” an ethereal, feminine voice said from behind her.
Goose bumps prickled at the back of her neck and along her forearms. Terrified, Regan whipped around to face the fae princess. Defenseless, with nowhere to run, she was the rabbit cornered by the coyote. Morrigan was incredibly beautiful, but malice had hardened her features into a mask of twisted cruelty. “Morrigan.”
The fae princess sneered. “Regan.”
“Why have you brought me here?” Not sure she really wanted to hear the answer, Regan swiped her sweaty palms against her jeans. If only she could get air into her lungs, she might be able to think well enough to muster some kind of defense.
“Why, to watch Fáelán die, of course.” Morrigan waved a hand, and a faint rune appeared in midair and then dissipated just as quickly.
“No!” Regan was propelled toward the bridge, whether she wanted to go there or not, and not was uppermost on her list of choices. Trying like hell to stop didn’t change a thing. “Isn’t murdering mortals against your laws? You . . . you’re going to kill him?”
“Oh no. Not me.” Morrigan walked beside Regan, her expression arctic. “You see, my father has forbidden me from molesting Fáelán in any manner. Because of you, I have been sentenced to remain under my father’s thumb for the span of Fáelán’s earthly life. I intend to make that a very short sentence.” The faerie turned her hate-filled gaze toward Regan. “You, however, were not mentioned—an unfortunate oversight on my father’s part.”
“King Lir will know you’re up to no good again.”
Morrigan shrugged. “For the moment he’s distracted with the ridiculous tournament he’s arranged between Fáelán and our most renowned warrior. ’Twas to be a fight lasting only until one or the other drew blood, but fae warriors can be enchanted or bribed. Fáelán doesn’t know it, but ’twill be a fight to his death. Your job will be to distract him, making it easier for my champion to fell him. You see, in the heat of a fight, accidents happen, and mortal blows occur whether intended or not.”
“Oh, God.” Regan’s heart clawed its way up to her throat. A fine sheen of sweat beaded her forehead. “But . . . the fae have the means to heal mortal wounds. Won’t your—”
“Healing humans only works if it’s a wound caused by a mortal weapon. Unfortunately for you and Fáelán, a wound inflicted to a mortal with a Tuatha Dé Danann blade cannot be healed.”
Regan’s soul bled at the thought of Fáelán’s death. Had he been right after all? Would they have been better off if he’d remained cursed? They could’ve been together, though worlds apart. How long would this creature beside her have allowed them to continue on that way before she put an end to their relationship? Regan’s eyes filled, and a fist-size lump clogged her throat. She and her boasty Fiann never really had a ghost of a chance of happily-ever-after after all.
They’d reached the island, and Regan was forced to climb a short flight of stairs and enter the palace through double doors thrown wide. Morrigan compelled Regan through a large hall with walls covered in murals of life beneath the sea. The beauty of the scenes came into sharper focus, and the colors were so lifelike, Regan couldn’t tear her eyes away.
She shook her head and forced herself to avert her gaze. She was walking to an execution, knowing full well hers would be next, and she was caught up in the aqua blue, coral and green of the murals? They must hold an enchantment.
They left the hall and entered a courtyard crowded with fae standing in a circle, watching something going on in the center. Regan lifted her gaze toward King Lir, who sat upon his throne. His attention was riveted to the spectacle in the center. Morrigan forced her to move through the masses toward the front.
Regan lost her breath, and her heart pounded so hard she feared it might rupture. Fáelán and a fae warrior were circling each other, swords drawn. Sweat dripped from Fáelán, and he was breathing hard, while his opponent didn’t show any sign of tiring.
Morrigan shoved Regan forward. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees on the ground a few feet from the two combatants stalking each other. The spectators cried out as Fáelán’s gaze met and held hers. His adversary’s sword arced through the air, aiming straight for Fáelán’s exposed neck. “Look out,” she shouted, knowing it was too late. Her heart shattering, Regan shut her eyes. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t bear seeing the man she loved lose his life because of her.