Chapter Four
“I’ve lost my mind,” Regan said, her computer open to Google Hangout. “I’m making dates with a ghost! What’s worse is that he . . .” She’d been about to say Fáelán turned her on, but that was not the sort of thing she’d admit to her sisters. She couldn’t admit that to anyone. “He’s not like any ghost I’ve ever encountered. Today, he and I argued, and—”
“You argued with a ghost?” Grayce asked, looking bemused.
“Yes, because he’s stubborn and won’t accept he’s dead.” She waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, he got angry and took off . . . on foot.” Why hadn’t he simply disappeared? Any other ghost would have. “He said he needed to go for a run, and when he came back, he was all flushed and sweaty.”
“A ghost who exercises and sweats?” Grayce said. “That’s a new one. Does anyone other than you see him?”
“Does anyone we know—not counting immediate family—see ghosts? You don’t, Grayce.” Regan raked her fingers through her hair. “He’s not my imaginary friend, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m asking because I’m not convinced he is a ghost. Hey, maybe your guy is telling the truth about being cursed and not dead. I’ve read stuff, you know, like quantum physics. Could be your new friend really is stuck between dimensions.”
“I don’t know about that, but . . . we can’t possibly know about all the types of spirits and supernatural beings there are in this world,” Meredith added, her tone thoughtful. “Think about some of the beings we’ve encountered and what they were able to accomplish in the physical world.”
“I agree that he might be a type of spirit we haven’t encountered before, but cursed, not dead? Like I said before, it’s been nearly eighteen hundred years! Even twelve-foot-thick castle walls crumble after that long. He’d be dust by now. It’s impossible.” Regan flat-out refused to consider Fáelán’s outlandish claims. Elixir of Life? She hadn’t encountered a single mention of anything like that in all the research she’d done about the Tuatha Dé Danann. Fáelán had probably picked that up from hearing stories about other cultures, and he’d incorporated it into his fantasy.
“Oh, oh . . . he might not be human at all, but some kind of creature who shape-shifts to make you think he’s a human ghost,” Grayce said. “Be careful, Rae. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to hang out with this thing.”
Regan bristled. Whatever he turned out to be, Fáelán was not a thing, not to her anyway. “I don’t have your empathic abilities, Grayce, but I’d still sense malevolence. I haven’t caught even a whiff of evil or the slightest hint he intends to cause me any harm.” She shivered. “Remember the awful demon creature we drove out of that old house for the young couple in Nashville, Mere?”
“God, yes,” Meredith said. “That being moved furniture around and turned electric appliances on and off.”
“The thing even stole the wife’s jewelry and hid it,” Regan added. “She found her engagement ring in one of her shoes! And the creature threw things at the couple all the time.”
Meredith nodded. “That poor couple was traumatized, and it took both of us, armed with crystals, and cleansing the house with burning sage to herd the thing into a corner before we could chase it away. I agree. Evil is easy to sense when it comes to otherworldly creatures. Even for people without any extrasensory perceptiveness, evil makes their insides squirm, their hackles rise, and it triggers an overwhelming need to get away.”
“OK,” Grayce interjected. “Maybe Fáelán is a Celtic pixie or a brownie, some kind of mischief maker you two haven’t encountered here in the States. Could he be fae himself?”
“That’s possible.” It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be fae, but it was worth considering. Faeries liked to mess with mortals for their own amusement, but did faeries still exist? Regan had her doubts.
“I think Grayce and I should come sooner rather than later. No matter what, you need our support.”
“I’m not in any danger.” Her insides melted at her sisters’ protectiveness. “He can’t touch me. Wait until after your commencement, and then we’ll choose a date and book the flight.” Regan yawned. “Anyway, it’s late, and I’m beat. I’m going to let the two of you go. I’ll call back tomorrow.”
“All right, but I’m standing by my original perceptions,” Meredith told her. “This being, whatever he may be, is somehow significant to you.”
“Like you’ve never been wrong before,” Grayce quipped. “Until I get a read on this thing, I want you to be careful, Rae.”
Meredith snorted. “Because you’re infallible, and I’m error prone?”
“All right, you two, time to end this conversation.” Regan rolled her eyes. She’d been mediating their squabbles for as long as they’d been able to snatch toys from each other. “Good night.”
“It’s afternoon,” Meredith chimed.
“Not here it isn’t. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After goodbyes and ending the call, Regan headed upstairs with her laptop in hand. She’d do a little yoga to relax; then she’d crawl into bed and open her computer.
Once she was settled, Regan did an Internet search on ghosts and supernatural Celtic creatures. Fáelán didn’t fit neatly into any of the categories. Could leprechauns change their appearance? Could elves? Sighing, she put her laptop aside and set her alarm clock for an ungodly early hour. Her boasty ghosty filling her thoughts, Regan was just drifting into an erotic dream involving herself and one touchy Irish warrior when her phone rang.
She snatched it from the nightstand and peered at the screen. Pushing “Accept,” she sat up. “Hi, Mom.”
“Regan, I hope I’m not calling too late. How are you? Are you settled in yet?”
She smiled. “I am, and I’m beginning to learn my way around. How are you and Dad?”
“Your dad is right here.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” her dad called in the background.
“Hi, Dad. Are we on speaker?”
“Yes, and we’re fine, but we miss you. This is the first time you’ve been so far from home,” her mom said.
“It’s only for a year.”
“We know, but it’s still . . . strange. We’ve gotten a lot of requests for your help, and we were wondering if you’ve connected with our community there in Dublin.”
“Our community?” Dread knotted her stomach.
“It must be so exciting to be in Ireland, the birthplace of our gifts,” her mother gushed. “Have you found others like our family?”
“They’ll help you plug in and connect with new clients needing your help,” her dad offered.
“Oh no, I haven’t looked. I don’t—”
“Regan, honey,” her mom interrupted. “You don’t want to waste the time you have there, do you? Think of the good you can do.”
Regan braced herself for the spiel she’d heard since her gifts had become apparent. Yep. She’d been hearing what she was supposed to do with her abilities since she was old enough to let her parents know she had friends none of the other kids could see. Her mind wandered while her mother wound down.
“Meredith mentioned you’ve been approached by a ghost you met at a tourist site,” her dad said. “That’s good. Already on the job.”
Great. Thanks, Meredith. She would have to have a few words with her sister. Grayce knew better than to share Regan’s business with their parents, while Meredith had always been the one to fully buy into the our-gifts-are-meant-to-be-shared parental propaganda.
“Uh-huh. I’m helping him, and only him, and then I’m taking a break. Even those of us who are gifted deserve a vacation now and then.”
“A vacation?” her mother asked. “How does one take a vacation from who they are?”
Exactly what Regan hoped to find out. “So, what’s new? What have you two been up to?” She managed to steer the conversation into mundane territory, and she kept it light for the next few minutes.
“I’m glad you two called, but it’s getting late, and I’m beat.”
“Oh. Of course. We’ll let you go, sweetheart. Call and let us know how you are now and then.”
“I will, Mom. Love you.”
“We love you too,” her dad said. “Good night.”
She ended the call and snuggled down under the covers. How did one take a vacation from who they were? By hanging out with a hot ghost, or a cursed Fiann? Sighing, she closed her eyes and drifted off, already anticipating her day with Fáelán.
Regan yawned and shuffled to the bathroom, only half-awake. What time was daybreak exactly? Did daybreak refer to when the sun first peeked over the horizon, or did it have to be fully risen to qualify? Because according to what she’d found, the former would occur at 5:03 a.m., which didn’t give her much time to get ready for her date with the ghost of her dreams.
What was wrong with her?
An hour later, dressed and fed, Regan peered out the front window, anticipation thrumming through her veins. She hadn’t been this excited about a man since her disastrous relationship with her ex. Even though she’d known he was a things-are-black-and-white kind of guy, she’d fallen hard for him. Keeping her psychic gifts a secret had worn her out, though, and eventually, she’d begun to slip. He’d caught her talking to ghosts more than once, and she’d been forced to tell him the truth.
At first, he hadn’t believed her, and he’d urged her to see a psychiatrist, fearing she might be schizophrenic. Later, once she’d convinced him she was telling the truth, he’d called her a freak and broken up with her. After that, she hadn’t wanted to risk dating again.
At least she didn’t have to worry about revealing her true self with Fáelán. They had a lot in common when it came to the supernatural, like . . . she saw ghosts and he was one. Damn.
And there he was, appearing out of thin air to stand by her car. Grinning like a fool, she grabbed her things and headed out the door. “Hey, good morning,” she said, ripples of pleasure spreading through her at the sight of him. She really needed to get a handle on her attraction to this ghost, or whatever he turned out to be.
“Dia dhuit, mo a míorúilt lómhar,” he said with a slight bow. “Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú?” he asked. “Tell me what I said. Ye need to practice your Irish.”
“You said, ‘Hello, my precious miracle,’ and then, ‘How are you?’” She thought for a moment. “Tá me go han-mhaith.”
Fáelán chuckled. “Very well, eh? I’ll take that to mean seeing me gladdens your heart.”
“You can take it however you wish,” she said, unlocking her car doors. “I’m excited to tour the Ring of Kerry, and I also want to visit Valentia Island and maybe the Skellig Islands, where the monks once lived. I’ll have lunch in Valentia, and you can watch me eat,” she teased.
“Ah, well”—he patted a sack hanging from his shoulder—“I brought food, so ye can watch me eat as well.”
Taken aback, she bit her tongue before the words ghosts don’t eat flew out of her mouth. What the hell was he if not a ghost? Could he be so powerful he had the ability to manifest ghostly images of a meal, so he could pretend to eat? “Shall we?” She gestured toward her car.
“We shall.”
They hadn’t been on the road for long before her curiosity got the better of her. “I’ve been reading about Celtic mythological creatures.” That elicited a grunt from her passenger, and she glanced at him for a second. “Are leprechauns real? What about pixies and brownies?”
“Other than the fae, I’ve not seen any mythical creatures. No leprechauns, brownies, pixies . . . or banshees for that matter. I believe leprechauns might have been remnants of a people who lived here in ancient times. They may be what is left of the Fomorians.” He looked askance at her and folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye thinkin’ I might be some mythical being, set upon a bit of mischief where you’re concerned?”
Man, he was quick—and perceptive. “Just curious. According to what I’ve read—”
“Which was written by men who were not likely Irish, nor were they here at the time those ancients lived. They were puffed-up men, I might add, academics who could only speculate as far as the limits of their own narrow mind-sets, ye see.”
“Granted.” She so enjoyed talking to Fáelán, even when they were disagreeing, especially then. He always seemed to be a few steps ahead of her, spurring her to think faster, reason better. She could see why he’d been ordained into the Fianna. “Anyway, in the books written by the men of limited mind-sets, the Fomorians were the dark gods representing destruction, while the Tuatha Dé Danann were the gods of growth, light and civilization to the Irish people.”
“Ha. Shows what they knew, which was naught. I’ve a question of my own, Álainn.”
“Oh? What?”
“Is there no man in your life?”
“Nope. No man in my life.” The familiar sting of rejection she’d suffered over the years welled, and loneliness swamped her. “This might surprise you, but a lot of men have a problem with the fact that I see and commune with ghosts and other things not of this world.” Beings like you.
“Well, the men of this era are bloody fools, is all. In my time, those with the sight were highly regarded, and a laddie counted himself rich indeed if he had such a wife.”
“Thank you for that,” she said, flashing him a grateful look. “My sisters and I have been taught that our giftedness was meant to be shared. Ghost-whispering, working with the dead, takes a toll, even if you limit the hours you’re willing to be available to them.”
“I imagine having the sight must be a heavy burden to carry. Can ye close your mind to it?”
“No, but I’m looking for a way, which is why I asked if you knew of any places where you might have sensed magic. I can ignore the ghosts, but I can’t escape the sensations caused by their presence.”
Her heart pounded with sudden realization—ghosts brought an unnatural cold with them. Being near the dead always chilled her to the bone, yet no coldness emanated from Fáelán. She didn’t feel warmth either for that matter, but . . . what did it mean?
“Aye?” He cocked a brow and waited. “What sort of sensations?”
“I always experience a prickling at the back of my neck, goose bumps on my arms, and when a ghost is near, the temperature drops.”
“Mmm.” He nodded slowly, his expression smug. “And now you’re puzzling over why ye feel none of that whilst you’re with me, aye?”
“Newgrange,” she muttered.
Fáelán laughed. “Fair enough. I made my point.”
“Mind if I turn on some music?” She’d already plugged in her phone before they’d started out.
“A bit of music would be a fine thing.”
She tapped the music icon, and they continued on their way. Occasionally she commented on something she saw, or her passenger from the past would share a history lesson about the area they happened to be passing through. And no matter where she looked, the gorgeous Irish countryside offered spectacular views.
Clouds were gathering. Would they be forced to take their tour in the rain? Maybe not. “You know what I’ve noticed?” she asked, breaking a long span of nothing but music filling the interior of her car.
“Tell me, lassie.”
They were close to the peninsula now, and she drove slowly through a village. It began to sprinkle outside, and she flipped the wipers on. “The weather in Ireland is extremely changeable. I find I put on and carry clothing for any and all possibilities, and in the span of one day, I’ll use every single combination possible.”
“’Tis true.” He pointed. “See the wee white sign across the street?”
“The one with the arrow pointing to a castle?”
“Aye. Turn there.”
She did, following a narrow lane not wide enough for two cars. They were nearly to the ferry crossing to Valentia. “You want to show me a castle?”
“Nay, a fort. I’ll direct ye from here.”
By the time she parked and they climbed out of the car, a steady rain had begun to fall. Blue sky peeked through the clouds to the west, though. The precipitation wouldn’t last long. Regan pulled up the hood of her rain jacket and huddled into the warmth of the flannel lining. “OK. Lead on.”
“This fort is ancient. Perhaps ye’ll find a bit of magic within.” Fáelán gestured toward the gravel road across from the lot. “This way.”
They walked down the lane side by side, and she wished like hell they could hold hands, or even better, that he could put his arm around her. And his cloak. She shivered, glanced at him and frowned. Leaving off the if you’re not a ghost part, she asked, “How is it you’re not getting wet in this rain?”
“’Tis not raining in the void, Regan.”
“I don’t like constantly being confronted with these things I don’t understand,” she groused, unconvinced. Seemed like further proof of his ghostliness to her.
“And I don’t like not being able to shelter ye from the wet and cold, mo a míorúilt.”
Her pulse leaped. “If you could, you would?”
“Of course.” He sent her a smoldering look. “Nothing would please me more than to hold ye in my arms and share with ye the warmth and protection of my body.”
Gulp. Heat coiled low in her belly, and his sinful wink stole her breath. “Double entendre much, oh flirty one?”
“Resist much, oh doubting one?” he said with a laugh. He jutted his chin forward. “Look ye there, lassie.”
A massive circular wall of stones rose from the crest of the hill to their right. “It looks a lot like the outside wall of Newgrange,” she said, in awe of the structure. They climbed the hill and came to a mounted plaque with information written in both Irish and English. “Cahergall Stone Fort. No mortar, and the walls are thirteen feet thick in some places,” she read. “Says here this ring fort was built for defense sometime between the fourth and fifth centuries.”
“Nay. ’Twas here when I was but a wee laddie, and the old folk told stories about the ring being here long afore they and generations of their predecessors were born. Come, let us go inside. From the top of the wall, we can see Ballycarbery Castle ruins across the way, and I’ve a story to tell ye about the site.”
They were the only two visiting the fort. Probably because of the chill and the drizzle, but the precipitation had stopped for the moment. “All right.” She had to crouch to get through the small arched entrance. Fáelán already stood on the inside, waiting for her.
“Must you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Pop in and out like you do,” she grumbled. “It’s disconcerting.”
“My apologies. ’Tis easier for me to will myself into places that might be difficult to navigate whilst I’m in the void.” He swung his arm in an arc. “What do ye think?”
She wanted to ask what that meant, but he’d already moved on. “Impressive. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.” Round stones, like those found in the surrounding fields, had been fit snugly together to form a thick wall. No mortar held the wall together, yet the structure remained intact against the elements after countless centuries. Regan studied the area within. The wall was about twenty feet tall, and the interior yard measured maybe a hundred feet across. Steps leading to the top had been built all along the inside of the ring.
A smaller circle of stones stood in the middle of the grounds, and Regan went over to investigate. A large slab of gray rock, slightly hollowed out in the center, took up most of the interior of the smaller ring. “What do you suppose this was for?” She’d seen similar slabs of stone in the three chambers of Newgrange. Those too had been a flat gray and slightly hollowed out in the center. Faint ghostly orbs hovered above the center stone, none strong enough to manifest their presence. Old, very old, spirits were trapped within the smaller circle, their sentience fading with the passage of time.
“Perhaps humans were sacrificed to the old gods here,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Is that what you’ve heard?” She sucked in a breath. “That would explain what I’m picking up here.”
“What is it ye sense?”
“Traces of spirits too weak to make much of an appearance, and for that I’m relieved.” She shivered.
“’Tis likely the stories I heard whispered in the dark of night about this place were true then. Who can say? The Fomorians were sometimes referred to as the stone people. Perhaps forts like this are remnants of their ancient kingdoms.” He surveyed the interior yard. “’Tis a good place for defense, to be sure, and to perform sacrifices to appease the old gods, I imagine.” He gestured toward the wall. “Would ye care to climb to the top?”
“If you’ll climb with me instead of just popping up once I’m there.” She strode toward the outer wall.
“If you insist,” he said, trailing behind her.
Regan took the stairs that spiraled around the interior to the top. Fáelán climbed along behind her, even reaching out a hand as if he wanted to ensure she didn’t slip and fall. Her heart skipped a beat, and if onlies danced around in her head. Like . . . if only he were real and not a ghost, one of the fae or a shape-changing whatever. If only she could feel his heat and his lean hardness pressing against her. A kiss would be nice, in a torturous way, because honestly, she wanted more than kisses with her Fiann.
By the time she reached the top step and scanned their surroundings, she’d gone breathless, and it had nothing to do with the climb. She pointed. “That’s Ballycarbery Castle?”
“Aye, what’s left of it.” Fáelán came to stand beside her. “Do ye know the story of Donal of the Feathers?”
“No.” She flashed him a questioning look. “Should I know his story?”
“Mmm. Perhaps. Could be he’s a distant relative. He was a MacCarthy and grew up in Ballycarbery Castle during the sixteenth century. ’Tis said he haunts the area still. He was the bastard son of the last king of Desmond. Donal is famous for the way he fought against the English at the Gap of Plumes. That’s how he got the nickname of the Feathers. He had the reputation of being something of a Robin Hood. He and his lads harried and harassed the English. Worse than biting flies, they were, darting in to sting and out again too fast to slap. They would disappear into the surrounding bogs before the English could retaliate. Donal took back what the English had stolen from his clan and returned the land to its rightful owners, one hectare at a time.”
“Wow.” Regan gazed toward the site with greater appreciation. “I need to start doing a genealogical search on my family. My MacCarthy ancestors are from the Munster area.” She leaned against the wall of stones and gazed at the castle ruins and the river moving past in its sluggish pace toward the sea. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if my family was related to the Ballycarbery MacCarthy clan?”
“Aye. Would ye like to go take a look? Perhaps Donal awaits ye there.”
“I would.” Regan started back down the steps. If Donal’s ghost was there, and they were related, he might be able to tell her something about her ancestor, the first in their line to have the gift of sight.
“I am thoroughly enjoying today, and you are an excellent tour guide, Fáelán.” And he was sexy as hell. Confusion reigned where Fáelán was concerned. Insane as it was, she was developing a mighty big crush. Not good. He wasn’t real, or at least not part of this world, and this world was where she lived. Damn giftedness.
Fáelán gloried in Regan’s praise. He’d pleased her, and that pleased him. Regan’s smiles were like patches of warm sunshine after a long, dismal winter, warming him and brightening his horizons. As they walked toward the car park, he studied her out the corner of his eye. Her face had gone pink from the chill and exertion, and a soft smile played about her mouth. The delicate curve of her cheek had him enthralled.
Her beauty took his breath. The urge to wrap his cloak around her, to draw her close and warm her with his kisses, grew stronger with each passing moment. His need to protect and provide for her . . . ’twas a good sign.
“We get on well when not trying to convince each other of this or that, aye?” he asked, longing to tuck her hair behind her ear, or run his knuckles down her soft-as-petals skin.
She grinned and looked sideways at him. “We do.”
“I thought tomorrow we could tour the Dingle Peninsula, and there’s another stone fort to see on our way around the Ring of Kerry. Staigue Fort, ’tis called.”
“I’d like that. So, the castle, the ferry to Valentia Island for lunch, drive around the Kerry Peninsula, see the other fort, and by then it’ll be time for me to check in at the B&B.” They’d reached the car. Regan unlocked the door and climbed in.
He took his place in the passenger side. “By then I’ll need to return to my island.”
Her brow furrowed as she drove the car around to the exit. “The other day, you just kind of disappeared. What happened?” she asked, leaving the gravel lot and turning onto the road to Ballycarbery ruins. “What’s your island like?”
“My island is naught but an illusion,” he said, his tone bitter. “And it exerts a hold on me at all times. I am wrenched back once my energy is spent.” A shudder racked him as memories flooded his mind of the misery Morrigan had put him through in those first weeks of his imprisonment. “Naught but swirling mist exists within the void realm. The fae have powerful magic, and they project whatever they want to exist into that otherwise bleak hell. ’Tis where they make their homes.”
“If you’re confined to an island, how do you know all that?”
“Do ye recall I told ye Morrigan tried to persuade me to become her consort in the beginning?”
She opened her mouth as if to say something but then closed it, nodding instead.
He couldn’t help but smile at her restraint, knowing the urge to confront him with his supposed death drove her to do him good. He too refrained from commenting. He was cursed, not dead.
“Morrigan explained the void to me. She brought me to her castle, promising to remake it however I desired if only I’d agree to be her plaything for all eternity. She bragged about how the fae could change the void into anything they wished. With my own eyes, I watched her create a garden to rival Eden, and still I refused her.” He flashed her a wry look.
“After that, she took away the island and the lake, leaving me stranded to wander in the mist for weeks. Were I not one of Fionn’s best, my mind would have broken. The void is not a pleasant place, lassie.”
“But you live on the island now, right? How did that happen?”
“Eventually Morrigan must have relented, because one day my island and lake were restored to me, and I’ve dwelt there ever since. ’Tis not overly large, and besides the plants and trees, I’m the only living thing there. Not even fish exist in the lake.” His jaw tightened. “Still, I used to pretend. I’d go through the motions of hunting and fishing, just to occupy my time, ye see.”
Regan’s expression filled with compassion. “Sounds horrible. I’m sorry, Fáelán.”
“My thanks. After some time, I set my mind to finding ways to leave the island, hence my ability to spend an entire day away.” He grunted. “’Tis likely Morrigan tolerates my wandering so she can claim she’s honoring the curse’s only way out. If I’m to be free, I must seek one who sees me, aye?”
“I know we agreed not to talk about the curse, but doesn’t it strike you as improbable that the way to end it is so simple?” she asked. “Given all you’ve told me about Morrigan, it doesn’t seem likely that the minute you fall in love, zap, the curse will be over, and you’ll go on your merry way.” She shrugged. “I mean, there’s the part about being willing to give your life for your lover’s.”
Had she been worrying over that bit for some time? “I expect there will be some sort of challenge, yet another test I must pass, but the fae have laws they must follow when dealing with mortals.”
“Is it against their laws to commit murder?” Regan whispered, her voice shaky. “Because if it is, how did Morrigan get away with—”
“Aye, I take your meaning, mo a míorúilt lómhar.” It killed him that he couldn’t hold her and put her mind at ease. “So many years have passed since Morrigan first cursed me. ’Tis my hope her wrath has diminished, for there was no cause for it to begin with. Let us put it aside for now. When the time comes, I shall endeavor to overcome whatever challenge she places afore me to the best of my ability. ’Tis why I still train.”
Regan nodded slightly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You said your family sees you and can talk to you. Does your family have fae blood? Are they gifted like I am? Because I really want to find out more about that.” They’d reached Ballycarbery, and she parked alongside the lane. “If there’s a way to turn my abilities off, I’d sure like to know how.”
“Nay. ’Tis sorry I am to disappoint ye. After I was cursed, I sought Fionn’s help. He’d been granted many gifts, so I hoped he’d be able to see me. More likely ’twas because he’s part fae that he could. Anyway, I told him what Morrigan had done. He appealed to his fae kin on my behalf. Though they could not undo Morrigan’s curse, one of them did grant me a boon and made it so my family could see me through the veil between the realms. Not all, but at least one or two in each generation, and they’re able to help me.”
“You have an answer for everything.” Regan frowned.
“Newgrange,” he reminded her before popping out of the car. “Ye are the one who brought all of this up, not I.”
Regan snorted as she climbed out of the driver’s side. “That’s once for you, and once for me.” She grinned. “We’re still getting along, so the code word is working.”
He laughed, and without thinking, he reached for her hand, dropping his arm when he realized what he’d done. “By the gods, both old and new.” His heart thudded painfully, and he muttered a curse under his breath.
Regan stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and set off for the castle, and he followed. She’d noticed what he’d done, but he didn’t know what to make of her reaction. Did she feel as he did? Did she long for his touch as he burned for hers? They made their way up the hill toward the castle ruin.
“By the gods, both old and new,” she mimicked, peering at him. “Why both the old and the new gods?”
“Hedging my bets, is all.” He winked at her, pleased by the responding flare in her eyes. Aye, she wanted him. His blood heated, and he counted off the days until the solstice. Thoughts of Regan, naked and in the throes of passion, filled his imagination, and he fantasized about what he wanted to do with her.
They’d reached the summit where the ruins stood, and Regan closed her eyes and raised her chin. “I don’t sense any ghosts here,” she murmured.
“Are you disappointed, mo Álainn?”
“A little.” She moved to peer down a set of stone steps leading to a chamber beneath the castle. “It would’ve been nice to meet Donal of the Feathers. Who knows? Maybe he’s a cousin.” She gestured toward the stone steps. “I wonder if there’s a dungeon down there.”
“More likely ’tis where the castle guard billeted. This is rather a small keep to have a dungeon.”
“Mmm.” She backed up several paces. “I think there’s a hall above.” She pointed. “Want to climb up there with me and take a look?”
He studied the decrepit steps, which were overgrown with weeds. “I’d rather will myself there. Climbing the stairs at the fort was no easy task, and these stairs are in much worse shape. ’Tis disorienting for me to climb anything in the earthly realm.”
She canted her head and studied him, her gaze sharp. “How so?”
“I’m in the void. There is a boundary between the worlds. I cannot set my foot solidly upon a step for the same reason I don’t get wet when it rains upon ye.” His pulse raced with wanting her. “Or for the same reason I cannot touch ye. Though I long to touch ye, mo a míorúilt. Do ye doubt me in this?”
“Which part?” she asked, her cheeks blooming with color. “The boundary or wanting to touch me?”
“Both.” He held out his hands, palms up. “As to the boundary, see for yourself.”
Her expression skeptical, Regan turned to face him. She took her hands out of her pockets, held them over his and applied pressure. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes widened. “It feels like I’m pressing against an air mattress, only . . .”
“Press harder.” She did, lifting her eyes to his in surprise. He flashed her an I told you so look. “Opposing forces. ’Tis similar to two like poles of magnets repelling, aye?”
“Oh, my God, this is . . . I’ve never encountered anything like this before, and I’ve had some pretty weird things happen.” Her gaze bored into his. “But I’ve seen you lean against my car, Fáelán. How do you explain that?”
“Nay, ye only see a dysmorphic representation of what is truly happening.” He paused, trying to come up with a way to explain what he experienced so she’d understand. He didn’t fully understand himself. “’Tis like when ye look through thick glass, and things become distorted,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Have ye ever dropped something into a pool of water, and when ye reached for it, ye missed the thing completely?”
“I have!” Understanding dawned, and her brow rose. “Refraction and distortion.”
“Aye. ’Tis the best way I can explain the phenomenon. It only appears as if I’m leaning against your car, but what I’m really leaning against is the veil between the coexisting dimensions. Lean into me, Regan, and ye’ll see what I mean.”
Slowly, she let herself go, pressing against him from head to toe. The boundary between the two planes of existence separated and cushioned them. Not his best idea ever, because having her so close while not being able to hold her drove him to distraction.
She gasped. “The surface is not completely stable, is it? It’s like lying on a waterbed.”
The smallest movement caused ripples and waves between them. “I’ve never encountered a bed of water, but I get what ye mean.” Thoughts of making love to Regan on a bed of water, the waves rocking them against each other, intrigued him.
“About the span of my palm separates us today. Two months ago, the boundary would’ve been twice that. As we get closer to the solstice, the space between us will decrease until there’s naught left. Make no mistake, Regan. I will be with ye when the veil between the realms lifts.” And for the rest of my mortal life. Hope swelled like the tide within him, and a lump rose to his throat. “Mo a míorúilt ansa,” he whispered. His dearest miracle.
She lifted her face to his, as if inviting his kiss. He leaned in to meet her, but doing so only caused a wave to push her back. Frustration, deep and sharp, sliced through him. He stepped away, crossing his empty arms in front of him. If only he could plunge through the boundary to her now. Never had the emptiness of his arms, his life and his very existence struck him as hard as it did in that moment. His lungs heaved, and his vision hazed.
“What causes the boundary?” she asked, studying the castle a little too intently. “Why does it decrease and increase in sync with the solstices and equinoxes?”
“The earth is magnetic, and it has a negative and a positive pole, aye? The earth’s axis tilts toward and away from the sun at differing angles in its orbit, causing the seasons. Perhaps the tilt of the magnetic poles, in conjunction with the force of gravity, or the sun’s pull causes the difference in the strength of the veil between the realms.” He shrugged. “I can only guess.”
“This is all a little too intense for me, sorry. I can’t process any more right now.” Regan stomped off down the hill, muttering to herself.
He hurried to catch up with her. “Ye must be hungry by now. Shall we take our midday meal, talk of naught but the weather for a bit and relax?”
She nodded but wouldn’t look at him. “For a guy born in the third century, you have quite a grasp of physics, and an impressive vocabulary.” One side of her mouth quirked up the tiniest bit.
“Aye, well I’ve had naught but time to learn.” Now was probably not the time to tell his wee miracle he had a college degree, and that over the years, he’d studied a variety of subjects of interest to him. Once the Internet came into being, and with the help of his kin, the world had opened up in amazing ways. Still, Regan had been confronted with enough to challenge her wrong thinking for one day, and he far preferred pleasing his lady to confounding her.