Chapter Twenty
“A well fed garden will not only honor the Fae, but reward your soul.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Dark clouds loomed overhead as Ivy scurried from the Celtic Knot in the lingering twilight. Quickly entering her home, she dumped her purse on the table. Greeting a sleeping Neala curled up in the corner of the sofa, the feline rewarded Ivy with loud purring.
“Another day filled with surprises, my furry friend. I’ve learned I had a relative who was a famous artist. Imagine that?” After giving her another scratch behind the ears, Ivy made her way into the kitchen.
Frowning, she gazed out the window. Candlelight spilled forth from the garden area. “Conn,” she whispered on a sigh.
Uncertainty had filled Ivy as she approached the cottage earlier, fearing Conn had left. She didn’t extend an invitation to stay for dinner. No words were uttered between them about tonight. In fact, she just assumed he would want to stick around, since obviously she wanted him to stay.
Her hands gripped the counter. “Foolish, girl. You’ve fallen for the man.”
Trying to steady her rapidly beating heart, Ivy walked out the back and into the garden. The scene was indeed one out of the faery tale books. Beauty in the soft fading light, illuminated by the candles. He must have spent the entire day in the garden cleaning and painting. Fresh flowers were everywhere, along with budding herbs. Even the garden gate had been repaired and painted. Her eyes misted with unshed tears.
“It’s magical,” she uttered softly.
Moving forward, she noticed her Celt kneeling on the ground. Again, she heard him speaking in a strange language—words that were soothing, luring her to him. The man wore only his jeans and nothing else. He was in complete harmony with the land, and the air hummed with new energy.
“How can I ever thank you, Conn?”
His hands stilled on the ground. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes blazed in the gloaming. “My gift to you deserves no thanks. I wished to heal the land and your heart.”
Her lip trembled as the tears slipped down her cheeks. I love you Conn MacRoich. Biting her lower lip, Ivy reached out her hand to him.
He stood slowly, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I tried to recall the placement of everything, though come spring we shall see what happens. Some of the broken shoots, especially the vegetables may strive forth.”
Ivy linked her fingers within his, warm and strong. His strength filled her. “Yes, but for now, I’ll enjoy the autumn beauty of new growth, though they’re heading for winter, and I fear they may not survive.”
Conn drew her toward him and lowered his head. His lips sought hers, and she welcomed his touch. It was a kiss that left her body burning for more. When he broke free, he glanced upward. “I’ve said a prayer for their endurance through the harshness of winter’s hand.”
Ivy leaned against his chest. “You’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met. Even your words reflect the unique quality about you.”
He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss along the knuckles. “Remember, ancient.”
“That reminds me, I wanted to ask you a question about one of my relatives…and possibly yours.”
Releasing her hand, Conn started to blow out the candles. “You have me intrigued.”
“Are you staying for dinner?” she asked, fearing the answer.
“Yes. And the night.”
Ivy wanted to jump to the stars with joy. Her skin prickled with anticipation as they both entered the back door to the kitchen. “Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll start the meal.”
“What’s on the menu?” Conn asked, his eyes roaming over her body.
She turned away from his intense stare, as if he wanted to feast on her. Pulling out a frying pan, Ivy busied with the preparations. “Hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re one of my favorites.” A sense of guilt plagued her. The man deserved a full meal, not some simple fare.
His breath was hot against her neck. “Make mine with extra cheese and some dill.”
She nodded, unable to form any cohesive words. His presence made her a jumbled mess—one where she was finding herself tumbling out of control with Conn.
As his footsteps receded, Ivy let out a long held breath. Peering out the window, she could see an owl perched in a nearby tree. “Hello, any sage words of wisdom on love?”
Neala rubbed against her legs, and Ivy almost let out a screech. “For the love of the saints, you could announce yourself.”
The cat immediately started to purr.
“Humph! Must try harder my friend.” Ivy shook her head in humor and started making their cheese sandwiches.
Conn entered as Ivy was setting the table. “Do you want water? Beer? Wine?” She paused. “Wait, no wine, only beer.”
He moved to the fridge. “Beer will suffice. You?”
Ivy smiled. “I’ll take one, too, please.”
Sitting down at the table, each dove into their meal. The warm, gooey sandwich was one her mom made often for her when she was young, and Ivy never grew tired of the comfort food.
“A combination of cheeses?” questioned Conn between mouthfuls.
Wiping her mouth, Ivy nodded. “Mozzarella and gruyere. I like it cheesy. Grabbed the last block of gruyere from the market the other day.”
“I can’t recall the last time I had one.”
“You approve? Seriously?”
“Of course.” He reassured her with a smile. Reaching out, Conn grasped her hand. “Remember, I don’t jest.”
She held up her half of the sandwich. “I remember the first time my mom made one of these for me. It was after my first vision. I was only four. It frightened me so much I wouldn’t speak. She coaxed me back to the land of normality with a cheese sandwich and cup of cocoa.” Sighing, Ivy placed the food back on her plate. “If I could talk to her this very minute, I would ask her why she didn’t divorce him and move us back to Ireland.”
Conn squeezed her hand before releasing it. “She must have had her reasons.”
Clenching her fists, Ivy shook her head in frustration. “It’s not like it was fifty, sixty years ago. We’re talking only a few decades.”
“You forget. This is Ireland. Divorce is frowned upon, even worse several decades ago.”
She snorted in disgust. “My mother was not Catholic. Yes, there’s a piece of the religion drilled into me by my stepfather, but my mother shared her belief in the Celtic ways with me. That’s why I don’t understand.”
“No matter her beliefs, your mother did what she thought best for you.” Conn took a sip of his beer. “Did your mother have any gifts?”
Ivy frowned in concentration. “Funny you should mention the possibility. I often thought she did, especially when she had that far-off look. However, when I questioned her one time, she flatly denied having any clairvoyant abilities.”
“A question to ponder another day,” suggested Conn.
Reaching for her bottle of beer, Ivy peered over the rim at him. “I have a question for you.”
Conn gave her one of his smoldering looks. “Which I will endeavor to answer.”
She took a sip and leaned back in her chair. “First question. Did your ancestors live in this village?”
His heated gaze vanished. “No. Never.”
Ivy took another sip and nodded slowly. “All right. Second question. If they never lived in this area of Ireland, how did an artist by the name of Bradon Finnegan happen to paint the very likeness of you hundreds of years ago?”
Conn’s expression changed to one of cold steel. “Since many believe I have the looks of a Viking, any other blond-haired man could resemble me.”
Stunned, Ivy glared at him. “Really? That’s your answer? Poppycock!”
He placed his hands upon the table and leaned toward her. “Then pray tell, what do you believe, Ivy?”
Placing her beer on the table, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t form any conclusion, since I keep stumbling over one secret after the next.” She kept her gaze steady on his. “For instance, today I learned that the renowned artist, Bradon Finnegan, was a distant relative. Erin told me all about it earlier after I showed her one of his paintings. Did you know it’s titled, Meeting of the Warriors?” For a split second, Ivy could have sworn Conn’s eyes flashed to silver.
She leaned forward. “I had a vision today and you were there.” Pausing, Ivy studied his face, trying to read the man. He was as impenetrable as a stone fortress.
“Continue,” he ordered, his tone almost a growl.
“One of the men—an Aidan Kerrigan, called the one who could have been your twin, Conn.”
Instantly, Conn’s features softened. Reaching for his beer, he pointed it at her. “You, mo ghrá have an overactive imagination. It’s one that slips into your dreams.”
“I wasn’t dreaming,” she corrected. “I was in a vision trance.”
He waved her off dismissively. “Even so, visions cannot always be interpreted accurately.”
Ivy looked at the man incredulously. “For your information, I take my visions seriously.”
“As you should. But you’ve been under a tremendous amount of strain with all this knowledge. Any of it could have a factor on your images.”
The man’s words made Ivy doubt everything. Could he be correct? Her vision fabricated by everything that had happened to her since she landed in Ireland? Then again, she had experienced turbulent times and it never interfered with her gift of sight.
Rising, she dumped the rest of her sandwich in the trash. Swallowing the last of her beer, she gazed out into the night sky. “You’re wrong, Conn. What I saw were images of the past. I can’t explain why, nor do I really care. You say it couldn’t be your ancestor, but then, you can’t be positive either.”
Silence greeted her, but Ivy knew he was right behind her. The man had stealth-like moves. His heat radiated around her, making her feel safe, warm, and loved.
“What purpose would the vision serve, Ivy?” asked Conn, his arms slipping around her waist.
“Have I ever told you I love to solve puzzles?”
He kissed the back of her neck, causing her to shiver. “No. What kind do you enjoy?”
His lips caressed the sensitive area behind her ear, and Ivy moaned. “Life puzzles. Trying to figure out the pieces of my visions. They have helped me see things in a clearer light.”
“Then I shall do my best to help you solve them.”
Ivy angled her head around to meet his gaze. “Interesting.”
Conn turned her around to face him. Cupping her chin, he traced a path over her bottom lip with his thumb. “A challenge.”
Before she could utter a reply, his mouth swooped down to capture hers, igniting a firestorm of desire. All previous thoughts dissolved, leaving Ivy aching for Conn’s touch. The room could have burst into flames, but as long as she was in his arms, Ivy was safe—floating on a current of passion.
****
The glow of stars faded to make way for the dawn of a new day. Conn watched as one slipped effortlessly into the next. His body hummed with energy—a call to greet the land. But a certain lass was curled against his chest, softly snoring. He didn’t have the heart to leave. In truth, he craved her more than the new dawn. Conn wanted to take Ivy once again. He’d spent almost the entire night exploring her body in a loving, pleasurable way, and finding those places that drove her wild. Images of her body spiraling into ecstasy made him hard again.
Nevertheless, Conn let her sleep. His mind dwelled on their conversation last evening. In all his lifetime, no other human had managed to see into his past. However, that didn’t trouble him as much as finding out Bradon Finnegan, friend to the Fae, was an ancestor. Thank the Gods the painting she talked about was missing. She’d probably want to inspect every detail. Ahh…Bradon, you would have adored your descendant.
Glancing down at her lovely features, Conn let out a sigh. His duty to bring her out of the shadows was almost complete. A shift in her aura had deepened to reflect the change. Ivy didn’t sense it yet, but soon she would be on a path of light. The loom of life was a tangled mess in Ivy’s world, and Conn was knotted in there with her. It was his journey as much as hers and with each unraveling piece, his fate moved closer to Ivy’s world.
Yet, he had neglected another. Conn was determined to set the path right for Ivy’s ancestor. There had to be a way, but his mind was unable to map out any cohesive objective.
Ivy stirred in his arms and desire rolled through him. Muttering a curse, he kissed her forehead and slipped quietly from her bed. Picking up his clothes from the floor, he cast one more glance over his shoulder at his sleeping beauty.
His quest might be ending, but Conn was not ready to leave the woman who claimed his heart. Furthermore, his next decisions could alter both worlds.
Dressing quickly, he shut the bedroom door softly. Making his way downstairs, he strode out of the house. His steps took him on a path he had grown familiar with—one where he now sought to seek advice.
Brushing past tree limbs and through the brush, he continued onward. The first light of dawn became a beacon as it fell across the sky in welcome. Conn embraced the energy, absorbing it through his body. Early morning birdsong heralded the arrival, and he smiled.
Quickly making his way to a place among the trees, Conn stripped his shirt and knelt. Lifting his head upward, he closed his eyes. “Stars, moon, and sun, so the cycle continues around the land. Greetings, Mother Danu.”
He waited patiently, no longer aware of time. Minutes slipped into an hour and still he waited.
A faint whisper touched his cheek. “You seek answers to your questions, but there are none. For you have them all within your heart.”
Conn snapped open his eyes, keeping his hands fisted on his knees. “I have not yet asked the question.”
“Beware the path you are on. Beware the love you have allowed to enter your heart. Beware the quest to right an injustice to ease the guilt.”
“It is my destiny to make it right,” he argued, fighting the urge to shout.
“Beware the loom of fate. You try and mend a string on the harp and another may break.”
He wiped a hand over his brow. “I do not understand.”
“Go tend to your garden, my warrior.”
Confused by her words, Conn placed his hands upon the ground. Anxiety clawed at him. Why was it so difficult? Scooping up a handful of dirt, he brought it to his lips and then flung it outward.
Standing, he reached for his shirt and walked slowly away, his mind now uncertain of the path ahead.
An acorn fell from the tree and landed on his head. He froze.
“You planted the seed, now follow your heart.”
Conn chuckled as he plucked the acorn from the forest floor. “No, Ivy planted the seed of love within my heart.”
Whistling softly, he made his way to Ivy’s garden. Halting in front of the gate, he smiled at the sight. The seedlings had grown more overnight. Though the air crisp, he had magically sealed off the flowers and herbs from any harm. Entering the place, he walked softly through the garden, chanting ancient words. The new life greeted him in return.
Reaching outward with his hands, the power surged out of him, gliding over the land. His spirit now renewed, until he heard Ivy’s bone-chilling scream.