Chapter Five
Regan sat at a small table in the dining area of the B&B in Tralee, sipping strong coffee and watching the other guests. One couple spoke German, and another group, a boisterous family of five, had American accents. She set her mug down and studied the two round patties left on her plate. They’d been described as puddings, one white, one black. Both smelled strongly of sage and onion sausage, but she had no idea what might be in them.
Black and white puddings were part of a full Irish breakfast experience, and she was on an adventure. She cut off a sliver of the black pudding with the edge of her fork, and Fáelán appeared in the chair opposite hers. “Augh!” she cried, dropping the fork on the plate with a clatter.
A few of the other guests looked her way, and she pretended she’d dropped something on the floor. She leaned over to pick up her imaginary dropped item and grabbed her phone from her purse as she straightened. “Hello,” she said, her phone pressed to her ear. “Aren’t you supposed to meet me at my car?” She kept her voice low and glanced at her watch. “In twenty minutes?”
“I couldn’t wait,” he said with a sexy, wicked grin.
Her pulse still pounded from his sudden appearance, and the intensity of his heated look added a belly flutter to her inner chaos. “It’s just as well. I’m finished.” She’d try the puddings another day. Pushing her plate away, she rose from her chair. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. I have to get my things and check out.”
“I’ll come with ye.” He stood and followed her out of the dining area.
Her ghost, if he was one, wended his way around the tables and chairs, while most would walk right through them without even noticing they were there. Once again, her mind worked on the puzzle of what he might be, and after yesterday’s experiments with the boundary separating them, she was more confused than ever. “I’d prefer you meet me at my car,” she said into her phone. “It’s not like you can help me carry anything.”
“Ye’ve a sharp tongue, mo a míorúilt lómhar,” he said, his tone teasing. “I find I must invoke Newgrange, for though ye did not say the word ghost, the implication was clear.”
“Invoke whatever you wish.” She flashed him a look of annoyance. “So long as you go wait by the car.” Honestly, having him crowd her in the tiny room with nothing but a bed and a small dresser was more than she could handle. The smoldering once-over he gave her only confirmed she’d made the right decision. “Go.”
He made that rumbly, purring sound from deep in his chest. “Not long now, Regan MacCarthy, and I’ll be able to hold ye in my arms.” He winked and disappeared.
“And again . . . augh.” She slid her phone into her purse and headed for her room to gather her things. How embarrassing. She wanted Fáelán in the worst way and hoped like hell his claims of a solstice furlough might actually happen. What was wrong with her? Sick in the head or hormones run amok, either way, this desire to tangle between the sheets with an apparition of unknown origin was not normal or healthy. It could only lead to the worst kind of trouble.
Shaking her head at her own insanity, she returned the key to her room and collected her receipt from the proprietor. By the time she got to her car, Fáelán had already made himself at home in the passenger side. Her heart leaped at the sight of him, and he grinned as if he knew exactly how he affected her.
Regan groaned under her breath and forced herself to look away. She should be doing genealogy searches in musty old churches, or finding magic she could access, not drooling over Fáelán.
The sun was shining, and fat white clouds drifted across the blue sky. A sheen of wetness glazed the narrow lane in the village where she’d spent the night. It must have rained earlier, though there wasn’t a hint of rain or mist in sight now. Regan opened the trunk of her car and stowed her things. Then she slid in behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Gorgeous day for this,” she said, pulling out of the parking space. “I looked up some places of interest. I want to see the Beehive Huts and Dunbeg Fort.”
“Aye, they’re not to be missed. We’ll be wantin’ to take Slí Cheann Sleibhe for the best views.” He gestured toward a large green sign with Slea Head Drive written above the Irish name he’d just spoken. “Follow the signs.”
Soon they were on the road that would take them around the peninsula, and Regan rolled down her window a bit. The air was so clear, and the sky so blue, it took her breath. The rugged, rocky cliffs against the sparkling ocean were awe inspiring. “Wow.”
“Aye, wow.” He nodded. “This is a place I traveled oft with my fellow Fenians. One of our responsibilities was to protect our island from foreign invaders. We worried about the Romans, for they’d already taken England by that time. The peninsulas offered a grand vantage point to keep watch.”
Regan glanced at him, and her heart skipped a beat. He looked so happy and relaxed as he gazed out at the passing scenery. “Tell me what your life was like back then.”
“’Twas a good life. If we wanted to eat, we hunted, fished and foraged, always sharing our bounty. We camped under the stars, making our beds of pine boughs, overlaid with the softest moss and topped with rushes. Quite comfortable. If we should ever get the chance, I’ll take ye camping beneath the stars, and ye can see for yourself.” He grinned.
“For safety’s sake, we traveled in groups, and in the evenings, we told stories, composed verse and sang around the fire,” he continued. “Did ye know we were called ‘Fenians’ after the way our campfires appeared to twinkle like stars in the night sky all across the land?”
“No, I didn’t. I remember you told me you spent the winters lodging with families who took you in, but what about summer storms?” She loved hearing him talk about his life as a Fiann. He visibly relaxed, and his tone held pride, and when he shared his past, she caught glimpses of a much happier man. She saw no harm in encouraging him to remember better times.
“There were always those willing to give us a place beneath their roofs. We were welcomed by all, for ’twas our sworn duty to protect our people from those who would commit violence or theft. We also settled disputes and conflicts between clans.”
“I read about your stringent code of conduct and ethics. With the army’s mission to serve and protect, it sounds like the Fianna were the original knights of the realm.”
“Aye, without the cumbersome weight of the metal armor.” He slid her a brief look, his expression determined. “’Tis the fourth of June, Regan. A mere fifteen days away from the time I will bide in the earthly realm.”
“So you keep reminding me.” She squirmed in her seat.
“So much hinges upon those five days. I . . . ah . . . ye did agree to spend that span of days with me, and . . .”
Puzzled, she peeked at him. One of his knees was bouncing, and his face had turned red. “Oh, my God. The brave Fiann is blushing.” She laughed, turning her attention back to the road. “What’s on your mind, I wonder?” she teased.
“What is on my mind is the suffering for want of ye, Álainn. I desire ye with a fierceness ye cannot fathom.”
The way he looked at her, like he might expire if they couldn’t do the deed, nearly sent her into oncoming traffic. “Oh.” Now her cheeks were burning.
“Do ye want me, my beauty? Am I alone in feeling thus, or—”
“Oh, I want you, Fáelán, but I’m still really confused. Put yourself in my place. I’m used to dealing with spirits, and though it’s becoming more and more obvious you aren’t a ghost, I still can’t say for certain what you are. I can’t deny my attraction, but until I know for sure your tale of faeries and curses is for real, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go with whatever this is, or a really, really bad idea.”
The tense way he held himself eased, and his knee quit bouncing. “’Tis a good idea to go with it—a really, really good idea. All I ask is that ye believe in me. Ye have my word I’ll not let ye down. I swear I’ve told naught but the truth.” His chin came up in what was becoming a familiar gesture. “We Fianna are honor bound to be truthful at all times.”
Her insides melted, and she wanted so badly to have faith in him. “You’re asking a lot of a twenty-first-century gal. Your tale of being cursed, not dead . . . how am I supposed to believe such a thing?” She glanced at him, and his expression of abject disappointment broke her resolve. “I’ll try. I am trying. For your sake, I’ll do my best to suspend disbelief.”
“Nay, Regan. Not for my sake.” His proud chin remained lifted. “Suspend disbelief for our sake, mo a grá.”
Grá. Now there was a word she’d have to look up when she got home. “OK. For our sake. There’s the sign for the Beehive Huts. Can we lighten the mood here and talk about something else?” Could he be telling the truth about being cursed? She was perilously close to crossing the line from wanting to help him pass over to desperately hoping his story was true.
“Let us consider the matter settled. I’ll not bring it up again. I want ye; ye want me, and ’tis a very good thing for us both.”
He winked, and wasn’t she a sucker for his winks and hot looks? What the hell had she gotten herself into?
“I thought tomorrow we could visit the Clonmacnoise ruins?”
“How about the day after tomorrow. I need to do laundry and stuff.” Honestly, she needed a break from the intensity of being with him. She needed time to process everything she’d learned about him, examine the evidence and come to a new conclusion.
“Hmm. I’d prefer to be with ye as oft as possible.”
The curse, of course. She almost cried Newgrange, but technically speaking he hadn’t mentioned falling in love with her or the word cursed. “I need a day, Fáelán.”
“I’ll settle for the eve then.”
She pulled in to the car park for the Beehive Huts. “You are annoyingly persistent.”
“’Tis one of my finer qualities.”
Again, he lifted his hand as if to touch her, recalled himself and dropped it to his lap. Her poor heart lurched, and she capitulated. “The evening then.”
“In your dwelling, if ye please. I enjoy watching the television.”
“Of course you do.” She huffed out a nervous laugh. “We can watch a movie.” She’d gone and made another date with him. What if all his illusions came crashing down around him when the solstice finally arrived? It would also crash down around her.
“It was the oddest thing I’ve ever experienced.” Regan paced around her living room while venting to her sisters that Monday afternoon. “No matter how hard either of us pushed or how we moved, the gap between us remained exactly the same width. Not only that, but I watched him eat.” Fáelán’s leather sack had held a hunk of cheese, brown bread, slices of some kind of roasted fowl and a leather container full of something to drink.
“Astral projection,” Grayce cried. “He’s a modern-day wizard or warlock who’s really into history and likes to dress the part. He’s projecting himself to you while he’s asleep or in a trance.”
“OK.” Regan rolled her eyes. Leave it to Grayce to come up with the most outlandish possibilities. “But that doesn’t explain the boundary; it only explains his presence.” Did it explain the boundary? What did she know about astral projection? Nothing. “And if that’s the case, why me? Wouldn’t we have had to meet at some point in order for him to project himself to me specifically?”
“Not if your meeting at Newgrange was a random event, and he decided on the spot you were the one he wanted to stalk.”
“That’s—”
“Crazy?” Grayce laughed. “Yeah, I know. Really, I have no idea. I’m just throwing noodles against the wall, hoping one will stick.”
“What do you think, Meredith?” Regan raked her fingers through her hair.
“There are two weeks until the summer solstice, and all you can do is wait until then. Either he’ll prove he’s telling the truth, or he’ll have to admit he made it all up. If he made it up, my guess is he’ll disappear from your life altogether.”
Regan didn’t like the sound of the disappearing altogether part. She chewed on the possibilities. “We both know there are ghosts and other beings who gain strength at certain times during the year.” Come to think of it, those certain times coincided with solstices and equinoxes. The Celts believed the veil between the worlds lifted during those times—could they have been right all along? She’d read about all sorts of rituals performed during those times. The Celts wanted to protect themselves from whatever might walk the earth when the veil between the realms lifted.
“I’ve read about powerful spirits able to manifest as corporeal for short periods of time, or at least they give the appearance of doing so.” Regan glanced out her window and stopped pacing. The day had turned blustery and wet, a good day to stay in. A perfect evening for a movie with a hunky Irish . . . ghost. She missed him, and no matter what he turned out to be, she loved spending time with the proud Fiann. “What about spirit possessions?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Meredith said. “Your guesses are as good as ours. None of us can say for certain what you’re dealing with. We just have to wait and see.”
“She’s right,” Grayce added. “I’m a little jealous I won’t be able to see him the way you and Meredith can.”
“If he really does materialize, I’ll take pictures for you, and we can all do a Google Hangout chat together, so you can meet him.” She’d take those pictures for herself, as proof of her sanity. Regan continued to stare out the window, her mind drifting to her past, puzzling over how it had led to her current predicament. Here she was, twenty-eight years old, and still alone. “I’d be perfectly happy if I didn’t see ghosts or catch glimpses of other things that go bump in the night. Part of the reason I came to Ireland is to find a way to leave my giftedness behind when I head home.”
“Regan,” Meredith said in her stern sister voice. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” Her chest tightened, and a flare of resentment burst to life. She hadn’t asked to be different. Who in their right mind would want to see the things she saw, or feel the things she felt when dealing with the dead? “Enough about my ghostly adventures. You two get to walk across a stage and pick up your diplomas next week. What are your plans?”
“We’re going out to dinner with Mom, Dad and the grandparents, and after that, we have parties to go to.” Grayce sighed. “I can’t believe I finally finished my undergrad degree.”
Meredith made a noise halfway between a choke and a snort. “And it only took you six and a half years.”
“Hey, I had other things to learn first,” Grayce said, her tone laced with feigned lightness. “There were things I needed to experience before I could do justice to earning a college degree.”
“Like partying your brain cells away, you mean?”
“I prefer to think of it as my life-lessons-learned period.”
“The past is the past, and I’m proud of both of you,” Regan interjected. “Are you two still OK with my not being there to see you graduate?”
“We’re fine,” Meredith said. “Besides, even if we weren’t OK with it, our trip to Ireland on your dime will more than make up for your absence.”
“True,” Grayce agreed. “And for the record, I know exactly what you mean about wishing you could stamp ‘Return to Sender’ on your giftedness, Rae. Sometimes I feel the same. It’s not easy getting flashes of terrible things that are going to happen. And always knowing what someone is feeling about you while you’re talking to them is no fun either.”
“I can imagine.” Regan’s heart wrenched for her sister. In her search for an escape from her visions, Grayce had turned to alcohol and drugs. The chemicals hadn’t worked, and Regan gave thanks every day that her sister had come through that dark time intact. “If I find a way, Grayce, I’ll be sure to pass it along to you.”
“Time to go,” Meredith said.
“OK. I’ve kept you both long enough. Thanks for listening to me rant about my boasty ghosty.” She had things to do too. Like vacuuming, dusting and laundry. She had a chicken stew going in a slow cooker, and the town house smelled delicious, which gave it a cozy, homey feel. “Later.”
She ended the call and busied herself in domestic chores, the best thing she could do to keep her nerves at bay. How strange was her life? A man she found extremely attractive was coming over tonight, and there was no possibility of anything happening between them other than watching a movie. Not fair, dammit.
Fáelán picked at his supper, too worked up to eat. Finally, he pushed it away and poured the fae wine into his wineskin. Bathed, shaved and dressed in a clean tunic and trews, he’d done as much as he could to make himself presentable. ’Twas time to go. He’d never before left his island prison at night. What if the fae servant coming to take away the remains of his meal reported him missing? Worry dampened his excitement to be with Regan.
He strode to his lean-to, where he’d stashed the brush and boughs he’d gathered earlier. He bundled and tied everything into the rough shape of a sleeping man. Or that was what he hoped the result to be. Next he wrapped his cloak around the form and stuffed the hood with rolled cloth to look like his head. For the final touch, he threw his woolen blanket over the whole mess. Surveying the results, he grunted. “’Twill have to do.” By the time he finished his preparations, his insides were churning. He couldn’t let Regan down, but every instinct he possessed cried a warning that he shouldn’t go.
The way he saw it, there were three possibilities: Morrigan no longer cared about him, and he had naught to fear; Morrigan would want him to fall in love with Regan, so the fae princess could incite more mischief; or Morrigan would put a stop to his wanderings for the sole purpose of continuing to keep him a prisoner out of sheer meanness. No matter which case might be true, his best course was to use caution whilst wooing Regan.
Should he wait until after the servant came? Nay. There was no telling when that might be. His food always arrived on a schedule, but the gathering up of the remains? On that the fae were unpredictable, and ofttimes the servant who brought his breakfast also took the supper tray away.
Moving to the shadows beneath the pines, he listened and watched for several long minutes. Certain he was alone, he focused his thoughts and his will upon Regan’s home, which she’d allowed him to enter when they had returned from their travels. The whoosh and pull took him, and he appeared in her kitchen. She stood in the living room, staring out the front window. She shifted and fidgeted with the curtains. Regan watched for his arrival, and knowing so caused his breath to catch.
Could he hope ’twas anticipation that caused her to be so nervous? She’d admitted to wanting him, but wanting lived a far pace away from caring, and ’twas her caring he longed for. “What be ye looking for outside, Regan?”
She gasped and whirled around, her cheeks turning a most attractive pink. “God, Fáelán, you startled me.” She put a hand over her heart. “Whew, I’ll never get used to the way you pop in and out.”
“’Tis sorry I am to have startled ye, but I cannot knock, and ye did invite me in when last we were together. ’Twas this room I fixed my mind upon when leaving my island. Would it not seem odd to open your door to no one should one of your neighbors happen to be about?”
“I guess.” She gestured to the couch. “Have a seat. What kind of movies do you like? I suppose you’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch TV when visiting your family.”
He approached, and her eyes widened, and she twisted her hands together. “There’s no need to be so nervous, lassie. We’ve spent entire days together, have we not?”
“I know, and yet I am nervous.” She took another deep breath. “This is so strange. You’re here, and I can’t touch you.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “I mean—”
“Come to me, Regan. Let us see if the veil has thinned since last we tested the boundaries.” She walked to him, her expression one of hope and vulnerability. His blood rushed, and longing for her nearly scorched him to ash.
“OK,” she said, leaning into him.
Without thought he encircled her with his arms and tilted his forehead toward hers. “I have ye in my arms at last, but we’re a world apart all the same.”
She nodded, a half smile lifting the corners of her kissable lips. “Having your arms around me is like being surrounded with Bubble Wrap.”
“I do believe the boundary has diminished a wee bit.” Their gazes locked. Her eyes darkened with desire, and his heart pounded in response. “Can ye hear it, mo a grá?”
She blinked. “Hear what?”
“My heart beating so strongly. I fear ’twill burst.” He tried to tighten his arms around her, tried like hell to get closer, but it only caused a shifting that nearly unbalanced the both of them. He let go of her. “Ye’ve no idea how badly I wish to kiss ye.”
She groaned and walked into her kitchen. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea. I don’t think I’ve ever been this frustrated or this . . . Gah, I don’t even have the words for everything I’m feeling right this minute, but it’s a shit storm, believe me.”
Her shoulders bunched as she opened the bottle of wine sitting on the counter and poured a glass for herself. She placed a pouch of popcorn in the microwave and started it, watching the bag expand through the glass, her back still turned to him.
He wished he could smell the popcorn. Hell, he wished he could fill his lungs with Regan’s unique scent. What might she smell like? Sweet? Spicy? Did she have a favorite perfume? “Faith, Regan. Ye have my word, I’ll not let ye down.”
“You don’t owe me anything, so there’s no possibility of letting me down,” she said to the microwave. “Don’t feel . . . obligated.”
“Obligated?” He frowned.
“You know what I mean.” Finally, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “I just can’t see anything coming from all of this. No future, you know?”
The sadness and skepticism clouding her features nearly broke him. “How can ye think such a thing? We’ve not yet begun. We’ve the whole of our lives afore us, and if—”
“Newgrange,” she whispered. “Let’s watch a movie. A romantic comedy. How about Leap Year with Amy Adams?” Regan took her popcorn from the microwave and dumped it into a plastic bowl.
“Whatever pleases ye would be fine.” Never afore had his chest ached with this heaviness pressing upon him as it did now. He couldn’t tolerate seeing her unhappy, and his helplessness to do aught to ease her doubts smote him. Frustration surged, and hatred for Morrigan ignited.
Fáelán forced himself into a calmer state and took a seat beside Regan on the couch. She fiddled with the remote control until she found the movie she’d mentioned and pushed “Play.”
“I used to watch the Irish version of the movie The Secret of Roan Inish all the time just to listen to the Gaeilge,” she said.
“Did ye now,” he said, unstopping his wineskin and taking a long pull.
She nodded. “And I have an Irish radio app on my phone that I listen to all the time while I’m driving.”
“Ah.” He hadn’t realized how painful falling in love could be. Had that been the reason why he’d never given his heart? Was he a coward after all? While Regan watched the ridiculous movie, he sank deep into his own dark thoughts. Fáelán huffed out a breath, eliciting a curious smile from Regan. “’Tis a silly movie,” he muttered.
“Do you want me to put something else on?” she asked, one delicate brow raised. “Something with exploding cars and fight scenes?”
“Nay. This will do, but the next time we watch a movie together, ’twill be my choice.”
“Deal.” She smiled, her eyes filled with amusement.
By God, her smiles and frowns could pierce through the toughest leather armor to find their mark—his heart. What if he gave her his love, and she refused to love him back? His curse would be broken, aye, but he would break as well.
Regan yawned and leaned into him, or into the Bubble Wrap border separating them anyway. His insides tumbled, and more than anything he longed to stroke her silken hair and kiss her brow. This tenderness filling him had naught to do with lust and everything to do with an overpowering desire to enfold her into his keeping, and to see her happy, safe and protected. “Clonmacnoise tomorrow?”
“Sure, and I read about a pub in Athlone that has been in existence for nine hundred years. Sean’s Bar.” She raised her head to peer at him, her expression hopeful. “There’s a castle in the middle of town too. Can we visit both?”
“We can.”
She yawned and settled back to resume watching the movie. Occasionally she sipped her wine, but the bowl of popcorn sat untouched. Fáelán lifted his legs and set his feet atop the table, his entire being focused upon the woman sitting beside him. It wasn’t long before Regan’s breathing steadied and slowed. She’d fallen asleep. He looked his fill, memorizing the peacefulness suffusing her beautiful features and the way her lashes fanned against the smoothness of her cheeks. A lump rose to his throat, and a wave of possessiveness overtook him.
He leaned close, trying like hell to catch even a hint of the heat and the scent radiating from her skin. Unable to sense anything, he had to content himself with watching her sleep.
That she existed at all truly was a miracle, and this nagging worry plaguing him was naught but anxiety about his cursed state. All he had to do was give his heart fully in order to be free. As Regan had pointed out, could it really be that simple? Why not? Morrigan had more to occupy her time than fretting over a mortal lover from ages past.