Chapter Fifteen
“Celt or Fae? A question often asked by the elders.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
“Faerytale mush,” muttered Ivy, opening a box of books. “Impossible. Ludicrous. Does the man make up stories as he goes along?” Checking off the items from her list on her clipboard, she continued her rant. “Do I look like a fool, Conn MacRoich? The Fae language was never written down. Some would say that the race never existed.” Her voice continued to rise as she spoke.
Removing the books, Ivy placed them on the worktable. “I believe the next time I see you I’ll ask you to spell out some of those fabricated words.”
She tossed the empty box onto the floor. “You say you don’t jest, but isn’t that what you were doing earlier this morning? Ha! I’ll find out the truth.”
Pausing, her face heated. “Do I really want to know the truth about you? Perhaps you’re from another time and place and will disappear when all the work is done.”
When she called him a friend earlier, Ivy almost gagged on the word. Yes, the man had become a friend, but she ached for so much more. She refused to throw herself at Conn, since it was her rash decision to remain only friends. Although, when he approached her in the garden, Ivy knew her hero had arrived. He brought the golden light, along with his strength and comfort. “I’m just having a crush on my Celtic fantasy. You’ll leave like they all do in my dreams.”
“Who are you speaking to, Ivy?” Nan’s eyes were wide as she glanced around the workroom.
Ivy waved her off. “Don’t worry. No ghosts in here, only the ramblings of a frustrated bookstore owner. And thanks for coming in early. I didn’t want to be alone in here.”
The girl moved inside the room. “You should be at home, Ivy. I can manage the store.”
“I’m fine. Really. My grief has taken on the stage of anger.” Ivy gathered some of the books into her arms.
“It was horrible what they did to your place.” Nan retrieved the rest of the books and followed Ivy out of the room.
“You’ve got that right, but we don’t know if it was a random act of violence by one or others.” Ivy walked over to the history section and began placing the books on the shelf.
“Did you call the Garda?”
“Police? Yes. They’ll be out later this afternoon.” Turning around, she retrieved the books from Nan and started to arrange them neatly in their place. “Though, I don’t think they’ll find anything. It’s a complete mess. I just want to clean it up, and soon.”
“Thomas loved the garden,” the girl replied sadly.
Ivy leaned against the bookcase. “Tell me what he liked about it the most.”
Nan closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a smile lit her face. “He called them his friends. Loved seeing the growth burst forth with new foliage in the spring. Thomas had a true green thumb.” Her eyes glowed with delight. “Do you know what his secret was to getting them to grow, especially his vegetables?” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“You must share,” urged Ivy. “Remember, I’m an O’Callaghan.”
The girl laughed. Looking around, she leaned closer, and Ivy was drawn in by the secret she was going to confess. “He would talk to them—once in the morn and again in the evening.”
Ivy shook her head and smiled. “That’s no secret to me, Nan. I’ve been speaking to plants my entire life. My mother taught me everything about nature. You should have seen the looks people have given me over the years when they’ve come upon me speaking to a flower, or greeting a tree.”
Nan clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter.
Ivy peeled her hand away. “It’s all right to burst out in glee inside the store. It’s not a library.”
“Oh, Ivy. I’m happy you’ve decided to stay in Glennamore.” The girl surprised her by embracing her in a hug.
Sighing, Ivy whispered, “I am, too.”
The bell at the front signaled an incoming customer. Both looked around the bookcase. “It’s Mrs. Fraser. I’ll go see if I can help her with anything,” stated Nan.
“She loves paranormal romance, right?”
Nan rolled her eyes. “Definitely. Hey, you’re good. Only a month here and you already know their likes.”
Ivy winked. “I have a marvelous staff to help me.”
Nan placed a hand over her heart. “Thanks.”
Stepping out of the history section, Ivy meandered over to the mythology section of the store. The shelves were filled with Celtic legends, Gods and Goddesses, tales of heroes, battles, and their deeds. Her fingers trailed along the spines until she came upon the history of Ireland. More specifically, the different invasions. Pulling out the large tome, she wandered over to a back chair and opened the book. Skipping to the contents, one chapter caught her gaze. The one on the Tuatha De Danann. Flipping to the chapter, she read the opening line.
The Tuatha De Danann, the people of the Goddess Danu, were one of the great ancient tribes of Ireland. They were also known as the Shining Ones, or the Fae. According to a significant manuscript, The Annals of the Four Masters, it states that they ruled Ireland from 1897 B.C. to 1700 B.C. Although, many believe they dwelled within the land thousands of years before the first recorded evidence was documented.
Over time, the race vanished. Many believe they descended within the hills, streams, and mountains of Ireland.
“Fascinating,” whispered Ivy. “But this is nothing new.”
She settled back in the chair and spent the next hour poring through the book. There was no mention of a written language, only a footnote comparing it to a complex melody of words. Flipping to the back section of the chapter, she let out a gasp. An image of the Fae, painted by the renowned artist, Bradon Finnegan in 1460 was a look she had seen often on someone. There were three men in the picture—each standing near the hill of Tara and gazing outward. Yet, it was the man standing off to the side that captivated Ivy. Hair as silver as the moon and eyes that flashed with the brilliance of many crystals. His stance spoke volumes—power and wisdom. Ivy brushed a hand over the picture. The painting was titled, Meeting of the Warriors.
“Conn?” The resemblance was uncanny. Goosebumps prickled across her skin.
She quickly turned the page, only to find out there were no more. “No,” she uttered with conviction and slammed the book closed. But one name remained in her mind. Who was this Bradon Finnegan?
Shelving the book, she checked on the store and found Nan chatting with several customers. Ivy wandered over to the art section. Scanning the shelves, she pulled out one on Irish painters. When she opened the book, her senses began to tingle. Not bothering to look up, she asked, “Has the Garda arrived?”
“Yes. I gave them an account, but they wish to speak with you.”
“Thanks, Conn.” She turned to face the man. Yep. Not only a Celt but also a Fae? Nah, only Irish superstition. She waved to get Nan’s attention. “I have to speak to those visitors.”
Nan nodded and gave her a knowing smile.
Conn kept pace with her as she headed out the door and down the steps. “Are you following me?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
Ivy slanted a sharp glance at him. “I’m intrigued. Anything to do with the garden?”
Pausing, he grabbed her elbow. “It has to do with your parents. Sean believes there is someone outside the village that could help you understand the rift between your uncle and parents. I thought we could take a ride to visit this person.”
Ivy gaped at the man in confusion. “Excuse me, but why would Sean speak to you about my family?”
Releasing his grip on her, he replied, “Because I asked him. Did you not say we were friends?”
I’m beginning to hate that word. “Yes.” She jabbed a finger into his rock solid chest. “But friends ask before poking around the sensitive subjects of others. You could have asked me first. It’s been frustrating from the moment I found out everyone in this village knew so much about me and my life in the States.”
His gentle laughter rippled through the air. “True. Am I forgiven?”
Ivy bit her lip to hide the mirth. By the saints, the man was sinfully gorgeous when he smiled. She turned away from his stare and walked toward the cottage. “It will have to wait until tomorrow.” Ivy halted, recalling the recent weather report. “Rain is expected for the next several days.”
“Not to worry, I have fixed your uncle’s car,” he shouted over his shoulder as he made his way ahead of her.
“Conn MacRoich, you’re a miracle worker. Or blessed by the Fae.” She stifled the laughter and quickly made her way to the waiting police officer.
****
A soft rain greeted Ivy as she glanced out the front window waiting for Conn. All arrangements had been made at the store. Nan and Roger’s shifts would overlap for coverage—both thrilled that she was taking some time off. Furthermore, Ivy assured them there would be a hearty meal at the end of their shift at the Seven Swans. Erin had insisted when she found out Ivy’s plans, though Mac frowned when he heard Conn was escorting her to Kindale. Apparently, he had misgivings about the Viking, as he consistently and arguably called Conn.
“At least there will be distance between us on our journey.” She gazed outward. Her face heated recalling the image of Conn without his shirt that night under a full moon weeks ago. She touched her lips, his touch invading her dreams and consuming her thoughts. “Friend or lover, Ivy? What do you want?”
She wasn’t ready to answer her own question. Not yet.
When she saw him approach on his motorcycle, she dashed to retrieve her boots and give Neala one more scratch behind her ears. “Watch over hearth and home, my lady.”
Neala purred loudly, rubbing against Ivy’s hand.
Quickly putting on her boots, she grabbed her purse and hastily made her way to the garage. Ivy halted. Gone were the black jeans. Today, they were blue and a white shirt under the leather jacket. His hair hung in soft waves around his shoulders, instead of being tied back. Why did he make her mouth go dry? She blinked. “Good morning.”
He nodded and smiled. “Good morn, Ivy.” He lifted his hand into the air. “Should I call upon the Gods to clear the rain away?”
Ivy glared at him. “Are you jesting again?”
He walked to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. “I told you, I don’t jest, especially with you.”
“Then, yes. Today I would enjoy sunshine on our trip,” she challenged.
Conn closed his eyes. The air warmed around them, and Ivy became spellbound by the silence that followed. Slowly, he opened his eyes. “Done.” He gestured for her to take her seat inside the car.
Bemused, Ivy complied. Snapping the seatbelt in place, she waited.
Her mysterious Celt entered and secured himself. Starting the engine, he smiled.
“What was wrong with the car?” she asked, determined to bring her focus to a rational conversation.
He patted the dashboard. “It only required a new battery. An easy solution.”
Ivy looked away. “I do hope you’re saving all the receipts. You haven’t shown me any since you started working on the cottage.”
As he maneuvered the vehicle out of the garage and onto the main road, Ivy frowned when he remained quiet. She knew he must have already spent a great deal with the repairs.
“Conn?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “There are none.”
Ivy shook her head disapprovingly. “I will not be indebted to you. I can’t believe—”
“Not a single person would give me a receipt. They informed me that it was their parting gift for Thomas,” he interrupted.
“Seriously? You’re kidding.”
His hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Can you not accept a gift, Ivy? Must you always deem I’m teasing or speaking untruths?”
Shocked by Conn’s tone and formal words, she stared at him. “Is this you losing control?”
His mouth twitched in humor. “I find myself doing so many times around you.”
“Oh…” Ivy quickly averted her gaze when he glanced her way.
“Does this offend you?”
“No,” she blurted out, regretting saying anything. Silence should have been her choice.
His laughter filled the car—warm and sexy, like hot chocolate. Or honey smothered on hot male buns. Your mind is positively wicked, Ivy. Change the subject now!
“When I spoke with Sean last evening, he said Anne Fahey left Glennamore not long after my parents left for the States.”
“Apparently, her attentions toward your uncle were not reciprocated, so she left the village.”
“Hmm…there’s more to this story. Sean was hesitant with his facts. Yet, he did say he would send her an email to alert her we’re coming.”
“Why would you believe there was more?” he asked softly.
Ivy turned her gaze back toward Conn. “Gut instinct.”
“Has it always been thus? Do you rely on your intuition?”
“Yes. But what about you?” Ivy could see a muscle twitch in his jaw. What secrets did this man hide?
“It is in each of us—this ability to sense the truth. Although at times, I have been wrong. My gut,” he glanced sharply at her, “has steered me in an erroneous direction. I have recently faced consequences I’ve made from those rash choices.”
Ivy shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re not perfect, Conn. We’re flawed as humans.”
“Some more than others,” he added with mock severity.
“True,” she uttered softly. Sweeping her gaze outward, she almost shouted in glee. “Your gods heard you. Look at the sun shining over the ocean!”
“Always,” he responded with a smile.
“The view is stunning. I’ve missed the ocean.” She sighed, leaning back against the seat.
“It’s only a few kilometers from your cottage. You could walk there,” suggested Conn.
“I’ve been busy lately,” she replied dryly. “But I plan on getting some walks in when I return.” Ivy cracked open the window and breathed deeply of the salty sea breeze.
“Tell me about your life. Was it a happy one? Were your parents content living in America?”
Ivy snorted. “Only if you share yours.”
“Nothing much to tell.”
She kept her focus on the waves. “Conn MacRoich, I believe you have a lifetime of stories to share.”
Once again, his laughter filled her. “And it would take more than a lifetime to tell you, Ivy O’Callaghan.”