Chapter Twelve
“Secure your heart if you venture under a heady mix of stars.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Slumping down at her desk, Ivy massaged her temples. The headache had started early that morning and by noon had traveled down the back of her neck. “Too many visions,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. Instead of blocking them, she attempted to draw them forth and brought along the headaches associated with them. “Foolish, Ivy. You should have waited until after the opening of the store.” Opening her eyes, she stretched her arms over her head.
Glancing to the side, her new-found friend was curled up among the blankets Ivy had placed within a small box, purring contently. “Ahh…a nap sounds heavenly right now. Take an extra hour for me.” The cat lifted its head, yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep.
Shuffling her paperwork into a neat arrangement, Ivy ran her finger down the lists in her notebook. Everything had been ordered for the wake. Phone calls had been made, even the dreaded one to Peter Gallagher of the Glennamore Daily Dispatch. He assured her that the entire village would be there.
Standing, she peered out the window. In two days, the bookstore would be re-opened. She planned to keep the same hours as her uncle had, every day, except Sundays. Leaning her head on the cool glass, she smiled as several sheep ambled along the grassy hills. Peaceful, content—a place she longed to walk along when time permitted.
Sitting on the ledge, Ivy continued to gaze outward. A road weaved around the trees, and Ivy’s thoughts turned toward her evening ride with Conn. What had possessed her to say yes to him? Or even go out to see him off that evening? She was another person around the man. Not the shy introvert her parents often chided her for being. No, she became bold whenever he was near—drawing forth another woman.
“He was probably being nice. And now is burdened with taking me for a ride.” She laughed at the ridiculous statements. Ivy could hear her mother chastising her for thinking herself unworthy, as she often told her.
“Why are my eyes so large, Mama? And I don’t like the color,” pouted Ivy, turning her head away.
“Dear, beautiful child. They mirror those of your ancestors. You are special, my wee Ivy.”
“I don’t want to be special,” she complained, twisting her fingers together. “The other children make fun of me. The older ones said you must have put bleach on my head for my hair to be so blonde.”
Her mother walked around in front of her and knelt. “They’re jealous, because they’ve never seen a faery before.”
Ivy giggled. “I am not a faery, Mama.”
Her mother trailed her fingers over Ivy’s cheek. “Every person on this planet is special, Ivy, some are blessed with gifts—”
Ivy placed a hand over her mother’s mouth. “Shh…if Father heard you, he would be angry.”
Her mother placed a kiss in Ivy’s palm, before taking it into her own. “Do not fear him, Ivy. He may not believe in the old ways, but do not, I repeat, do not cower in front of him.” She squeezed her hand and stood. “Besides, he’s at work and not at your school.”
Ivy glanced around. “He doesn’t like me to talk about…you know.” She gazed up into her mother’s eyes.
“Do not hide from who you are, Ivy Kathleen. Ever. Now, let us go greet your teacher.”
Ivy sighed as the last remnants of her memory faded. “I so miss your wisdom, Mother.”
Rubbing her eyes, she moved away from the window, only to be startled by the pounding at the front door. Quickly moving toward the entrance, she was grateful for the two windows opposite the door. Peeking outside, she noticed two teenagers chatting and laughing.
Unbolting the door, she put on her best smile and said, “The store will be open in a few days. Please return at that time.”
Their smiles transformed into ones of shock. The girl recovered first. “Hello, I’m Nan Sullivan. We’re here to help you out.”
The boy stepped forward. “I’m Roger Griffin.”
Now it was Ivy’s turn to act stunned. “Help?”
They both nodded in unison.
“My brother, Peter, mentioned that The Celtic Knot was re-opening and I—we were hoping we could have our jobs back,” stated Nan.
“You worked for my uncle?”
“Sure did,” replied Roger. “It wasn’t much, but we enjoyed choosing a free book once a month.”
“Really,” Ivy replied with humor. Fully prepared to check out their stories, especially when one of them was kin to Peter Gallagher, she added, “Why don’t you come in and give me all the details. I’ll need to write down your available hours.”
Both followed her quietly to the counter. Ivy reached for the pad and pen and jotted down their names. Glancing up, she noticed their solemn looks. “Is this the first time you’ve been here since the death of Thomas?”
“Yes,” replied Nan. “I keep expecting to see him walking down the lane, or sweeping the front steps of the store. Never spoke ill of anyone. And he always made time to listen. He was the nicest man in the village.”
“Agreed,” stated Roger quietly.
Sorrow for a man she never knew left an ache in Ivy’s heart. “Sadly, I never knew my uncle. Thank you for sharing your view of him. You’ll have to tell me more stories when you’re working here.”
“You’ll let us keep our jobs?” asked a stunned Roger.
“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t do this alone and welcome any and all assistance.” Pushing the pad and pen toward them, she added, “If you write down your availability and what my uncle paid you—besides letting you have a monthly free book, I would be grateful.”
Nan reached for the offered items. “You’re wrong, Ivy Kathleen, we’re the grateful ones. We feared you wouldn’t want to hire anyone.”
“Or worse, close the bookstore,” added Roger.
“Nonsense. I happen to love books, so owning a bookstore is perfect. I’ve also noticed how important this place is for the village of Glennamore, too.”
“Who’s the furry sham?” Roger nodded to Ivy’s new friend perched on one of the chairs.
“Sham?”
Nan laughed. “Your friend, Ivy Kathleen.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “I must order a dictionary of Irish slang.” Strolling over to the cat, she picked up the purring animal. “Rescued her from one of the trees by the cottage. One of her paws was tangled in a fisherman’s netting.”
“She’s a beauty,” commented Nan, stroking her head. “A perfect mascot for the store. Have you named her?”
“Not yet.”
“Give her a name soon, or she’ll return to the forest,” teased Roger. “I’ve written down my information. I hear there’s a wake tomorrow, so if you need any help, I can come in the afternoon.”
Ivy placed the cat back on the chair. “Perfect, Roger. I’m going to open the store at five for the wake. It’s more a celebration of my uncle’s life in the village. The Seven Swans is catering.”
“Ooo…great food,” stated Nan. “Do you need help setting up the place?”
“I would love some. Thank you both for stopping by.”
“Good. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Walking them to the door, she watched as they made their way across the street. Grateful for her unexpected visitors, Ivy realized just how important this wake was going to be—not only to honor her uncle’s memory, but for the people. In only a short time, she was finding that Thomas O’Callaghan had been a central part of this village.
****
When the clock in the office chimed five-thirty, Ivy couldn’t believe the hour. She’d spent all afternoon organizing and familiarizing herself with the Celtic Knot. Her new part-time helpers were true to their word, since she found records of their hours and pay; including the books that each would choose. Her uncle was a kind and generous man, and Ivy was determined to keep the tradition ongoing.
“Well, Miss Ivy Kathleen, you’ve got the food, drinks, music, invites, and help all done. In addition, the store is in perfect order and ready to open. Are you ready to face an entire village?” She chuckled softly and scooped up the cat into her arms. Holding the animal in front of her face, she asked, “What are we going to name you?”
The furry feline batted playfully at her nose.
“Ahh…but it must be a noble name. For you were brave to not only face me, but the giant man.”
Suddenly, Ivy recalled her evening ride with Conn and bit her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t pester him for a ride. He’s most likely exhausted from everything.” She tucked the cat against her body. “We’ll send him on his way. In truth, I don’t have time for silliness. Or men.”
Bolting the door to the Celtic Knot, Ivy made her way slowly to her cottage. Perhaps the man had already left for the day. For a brief moment, sadness engulfed her thinking he would have gone. When she turned the corner and saw his motorcycle parked to the left of the cottage, Ivy’s heart started to beat faster.
The light by the cottage door was illuminated, basking the place in a soft, welcoming glow. She noticed the new window panes had been installed and smiled. Tossing her worries aside, she entered the place. A candle burned on the hearth.
Placing the cat on the floor, she continued to move throughout her cottage. Everything was tidied and the place cleaned from Conn’s work in the kitchen, but his looming presence was missing.
Frowning, Ivy went out the back kitchen door in search of the mysterious man. There in the fading sunlight, Conn sat in silence on a fallen log. The man appeared in a trance with his head lifted toward the last light of the day and his eyes closed. A magnificent male specimen.
Ivy remained motionless where she stood. Caught in the same mesmerizing spell of the early evening.
A breeze brushed her cheek, and Conn opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. With that one look, Ivy believed he knew everything about her.
Who are you Conn MacRoich?
“Are you ready for your ride?” The soft burr of his voice caressed her, and Ivy shivered as if he touched her with his words.
Tossing aside her worries, the bookstore, and all else, Ivy nodded. “Let me go change out of my dress. I’ll be right back.”
Without giving him time to respond, Ivy dashed back into the cottage. Rummaging through her closet, she yanked out jeans and a pink T-shirt. Hastily changing into the clothing, she quickly stole a glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair had a mind of its own, so there was nothing she could do about the wavy, wispy mass. Pinching her cheeks to bring out some color, she dabbed some gloss on her lips. Satisfied, Ivy grabbed a brown velvet jacket from the closet as well as her boots.
Stepping into the kitchen, she narrowed her eyes at the cat sitting on one of the chairs. “Yes, it’s dinnertime, but you’re not allowed on the chairs.” Scooping the animal into her arms, she placed a kiss on her head and set her on the ground. “Until I can get to the market, you’ll have to be content with some left-over chicken and rice from the Seven Swans.”
The cat’s response was a deep purring. Ivy chuckled softly as she prepared the meal. Placing the food in a bowl, she set it next to the animal. “Don’t get used to all these fancy meals. Cat food is on the list for tomorrow.”
The happy feline rubbed against her leg.
“You’re so welcome.” Giving one final scratch behind its ear, Ivy put on her boots and jacket. Making sure to blow out the candles, she reached for her keys out of her purse, and locked the back door.
Making her way around to the front, her steps slowed. Conn stood leaning against his bike. Excitement flared within her as she moved toward him. “You won’t go too fast?”
Conn held out his hand to her. “Never with you, Ivy.”
She slipped her fingers within his—warm, strong—filling her with peacefulness and a promise of something else. He squeezed her hand and then smiled.
Releasing her, Conn got on the motorcycle and gestured for Ivy to sit behind him.
As Ivy settled in, he turned partway. “Wrap your arms around me. Tight.”
Nodding, she complied. Conn was a massive muscular rock. She snuggled against his back, inhaling his scent. Oh my goodness! The man smelled divine—woodsy mixed with leather. She was too close. Her senses were spinning. Lights danced before her eyes.
“Ivy?”
“Yes,” she mumbled in a strangled voice.
“Breathe.”
Grateful he couldn’t see the embarrassment on her face, she let out a long breath.
The rumble of his laughter made her want to smack him. “Stop,” she chided, though started to giggle over her own behavior.
Conn started the engine and leisurely maneuvered the bike down the path and onto the main road. Slow and steady, he drove toward the fading light glinting off the hills. Ivy inhaled the crisp air, relishing the sensation. Glancing upward, she could see the first star of the evening. Smiling, she hugged him more tightly. Joy infused her spirit.
The ride was exhilarating—a quite tranquil journey on an Irish road.
True to his word, Conn made no attempt to speed up. Instead, his pace slowed as they weaved their way around the hills, taking them farther away from the village. The only time she’d experienced the same rush of adrenaline was on a horse. Yet, someone else was guiding her now, and she treasured the brush of the wind on her face and the heat of the man in front of her.
Onward they traveled, the sun finally sinking in the west behind them, leaving the glow of the motorcycle’s light in front of them. She had no idea where they were headed, but in truth, she had no worries. Being with Conn felt safe—a new concept for Ivy to ponder later. Why him? Why now? Perhaps it all had to do with the magic of the land. Ireland was steeped in myths and legends. Her mother had told her the stories often—a ritual at bedtimes. She could recite them all to this day.
Sadness weighed on her heart. You should have shared more, Mama.
Approaching a stone bridge over the river, Conn slowed the vehicle and brought them slowly to the top of the bridge. Turning off the engine, he turned his gaze eastward. “She rises to greet the evening. Would you like to get off and watch?”
Ivy leaned her head to the side. She gasped and got off the motorcycle. Clutching her hand to her chest, she gazed at the glorious sight in front of her. The moon was slowly rising over the tops of the trees—big and full. “I’ve never witnessed it so close,” she uttered softly. “It’s huge.” Lifting her hand, she could almost touch the light coming forth from the giant mass.
“Truly a magnificent sight when you are away from the city lights,” stated Conn.
“My mother and I would always watch the full moon rise each month. It was our quiet habit.” Ivy smiled at him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He leaned his arms on the stone wall, but his gaze stared outward. “There is magic everywhere, Ivy. On the dew of a flower, in the scent of a rain shower, even in the gifts we all possess.”
She stepped closer to him, startled by his declaration. Could he be unique? “Yes, but one must be careful, too.”
“Why?” he asked.
“People can be ignorant and naïve. Hate is generated for those that are different.”
Conn stood fully. His eyes blazed with that of the moon, but Ivy did not fear this man. “You cannot let others dictate who and what you are.”
“It’s difficult.” She swallowed, wanting to blurt out everything to him about herself. She was tired of hiding in the background, frightened what others would think of her gift.
However, her body swayed to a different rhythm. One as old as time. She didn’t care if they’d only met. All she could think of was the man in front of her. He oozed raw masculinity, even when he walked. Powerful. Intense. And Ivy desired him—to taste his full lips. Her only fear would be, if one kiss were not enough.
In the soft moonlight, Ivy reached up and touched his face.