Destiny of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors Book 4)

by Mary Morgan

  His smile came slowly, and Rose thought she was going to swoon.

  “The sun and moon are one,” he acknowledged.

  She could only nod like some meek and daft lass. “Beaut…beautiful.”

  “Agreed.”

  Rose shivered, but not from the chill in the air. Never before had she had an immediate attraction to a man. The heat flared around her neck and rose to her face. She quickly averted his intense gaze. She realized the man was tall by their surroundings, and then swiftly returned her attention to him. Well over six feet tall, with a good set of shoulders and ebony hair that rivaled the night sky. It fell in soft waves around his ears, and her fingers ached to wrap around the strands. She noted the silver torc of a dragon around his neck and pondered the possibility that her rescuer was a God fashioned from the air.

  “Goodness. You’re extremely tall,” she blurted out and then swiftly cupped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

  Feeling the rumble of his laughter against her hand on his chest, Rose felt the burning sting of humiliation throughout her body and turned her face away. “Forgive my outburst.”

  “Contrary. I find it refreshing. And I stand near seven feet tall.”

  There it was again. The deep burr of his words. Not quite Scottish or Irish, but something familiar.

  Gaining her wits, she returned her attention to his face. “Thank you, Sir Knight, for rescuing me and saving me from disaster.” Seven feet! Sweet Brigid!

  This time, the man smiled fully. “I am happy to have been of some assistance.”

  Even with the shadow of a light beard, she could detect the dimple on his right cheek, and Rose smiled in return. “The Fates interceded.”

  His smile faded just as the first ray of light emerged from the sun—ending the total solar eclipse. He gently brought her down to the ground. “Regardless, you were fortunate I was here to break your fall.”

  Feeling foolish for keeping her hands still attached to the man, Rose took a step back and straightened her coat. “Thank you, again.” When she hastily turned around and started forward, his words made her pause.

  “Would you care for a pint?”

  Startled by his question, Rose responded, “I believe I should be the one to offer you a pint. Furthermore, I don’t know your name.” She took in every nuance of his form, doing her best not to touch her heated face with her cool hands.

  His mouth twitched in humor as he approached. He gave a slight bow. “Sir Aidan Kerrigan.”

  Rose bit her lip in an attempt to contain her laughter. “I’m Rose MacLaren.”

  “Rose. A lovely name for a maiden.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the bookstore. Indecision clashed with priorities.

  “Is there something that requires your attention first?”

  Quickly snapping her attention to the man, Rose answered, “I need to research a book. Can I meet you afterward?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Crestfallen by his response, Rose nodded. “Perhaps another time.”

  In one swift move, Aidan reached for her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “Why don’t I accompany you to Seamus Books? I know the owner, so perchance he can be of assistance in your search.”

  Rose studied the man’s face, noting the shift of colors in his gorgeous eyes. They had a mesmerizing effect. The heat of his body seeped into hers, along with a prickle of awareness.

  “I accept your company, but only if you’ll allow me to buy you a pint.”

  He arched a brow in challenge. “A knight never takes coin from a lady.”

  Chapter Six

  “When a decision does not present itself, let logic cast the deciding vote.”

  ~Edicts of the Fenian Warriors

  Every thought in his mind rebelled against escorting Rose MacLaren into the bookstore. But the words tumbled free before he could snatch them back. From the moment he turned the corner on Buchannan Street and witnessed the lovely lass wandering without purpose and gazing upward singing a tune, Aidan became enchanted. She lured him forward with song and beauty—a siren’s song to tempt a warrior, and he succumbed to the temptress.

  What possessed him to consider taking her for a pint?

  When he held Rose in his arms, her scent filled him. One of spices and flowers. Heady and seductive. It required every ounce of willpower not to ravage her mouth in a succulent exploration.

  I was a fool for not accepting the sexual favors from Mina.

  Aidan held the door open for Rose to enter as he recalled the vision his sister had presented to him earlier. Was he to be her guardian? Would she bring about destruction to another human? Was he fated to intercede and set her on a course not of her choosing? Usually matters concerning humans were discussed within the Brotherhood and the council. This predicament presented a host of consequences.

  Only part of the journey to the mission I’m conducting.

  “I dinnae appreciate the cold air entering my shop,” protested a familiar voice.

  Snapping out of his thoughts, Aidan closed the door behind him. “Forgive my insensitivities to your condition, Seamus.”

  “Like ye care about me old bones.” The old man approached. “What can I help ye locate today, Aidan?”

  Arching a brow at Seamus, he replied, “You wound me, old friend.” He turned, gesturing to Rose. “This lovely lass requires assistance in researching a book.”

  Seamus straightened and ran a hand through what little hair he had left on his head. “Does the lady have a name? Though what she is doing with ye is perplexing.”

  Rose laughed, the sound reminding Aidan of bells.

  She stepped forward and presented her hand to Seamus. “I’m Rose MacLaren from the Society of the Thistle. We’re doing research on a nearby archaeological dig, and I was curious if you had any books on the history of this area and any books on the area around Aberdeen. Are you the owner?”

  Seamus grasped her hand with both of his. “Aye. We have heard the news about the research being conducted, but I did not realize the Society had taken an interest.”

  Aidan stepped nearer. “You are a member of the Society?”

  A frown marred her features. “Did I not state it clearly with my introduction?”

  “Forgive me. I’m astonished they have members who are so young.”

  “There is an entire bookshelf dedicated to the history of the village and surrounding land,” Seamus offered. “I do have a small section with books on Aberdeen, Arbroath, and Stonehaven.”

  Returning her attention to Seamus, she smiled. “Wonderful.” She glanced over the man’s shoulders. “In what direction?”

  “Let me take ye there.”

  Aidan followed slowly. He knew the bookstore well. However, the old man had become besotted with the lovely lass—not that he could find fault, since he had also fallen under her charm. Therefore, he allowed Seamus to take over. Aidan had to harness in his emotions. They were leading him astray.

  Rose halted among the section on ancient castles of Scotland. She brushed her hands over the spines. “Would you have any books on a castle located near Corridon near Aberdeen? It’s located near the other archaeological site.”

  Aidan leaned against the bookcase. “No.”

  “Excuse me?” She gave him a baffled look.

  For a brief moment, Aidan noted the hue of her green eyes go from pale to dark shards of emeralds in seconds.

  Seamus reached for her arm. “I am sorry, but there are no books referencing Balleycove Castle.” They started forward.

  “I can provide you with any details of the castle,” stated Aidan. “Is there a reason for your curiosity?”

  She halted, removing her arm from Seamus’ hold.

  “It would depend on your knowledge of the castle, grounds, and foliage.” Her tone was skeptical as she studied him.

  “I can assure you, I am fully capable of answering all of your questions.”

  “Why don’t ye tell her why ye are so bloody knowl
edgeable?” snapped Seamus and wandered to the back of the store.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Do tell.”

  Aidan tilted his head to the side. “I own Balleycove.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Are you the Laird?”

  Seamus snorted loudly, and Aidan narrowed his eyes at the man’s rude outburst. “No. I’m merely the owner of the estate.”

  “How long has it been in your family?” Rose took a step toward him.

  Amused by her question, he leaned near her ear. “Centuries.”

  She trembled and turned to meet his gaze. “Isn’t Kerrigan an Irish name?”

  “Smart lass,” he admitted, sorely tempted to brush his fingers over her rosy cheeks.

  “And?”

  “And,” he echoed.

  Swallowing, Rose continued. “And the Scots actually allowed an Irish family to remain all these centuries on their land?”

  Aidan clasped his hands behind his back and straightened. “They were loyal to the kings and clans. They could not refuse.”

  She arched a brow. “But not to Ireland?”

  How could he explain he was devoted to both countries? Revered and honored the land on each? Simple. He could not. “I am loyal to all countries, which includes England.”

  “You answered the question as if it pertains to you, personally. Your current ownership of the land is not rife with civil wars going on between the three countries as it was centuries ago. I’m assuming your ancestors were also steadfast in their loyalty to Ireland?”

  The lass was perceptive, and Aidan grew restless. When did he lose control of the conversation? “My ancestors were great negotiators and managed to maintain certain privileges here in Scotland and Ireland.” Again, how could he possibly explain that magic was a deciding factor in negotiations for the land and castle?

  “Fascinating. You must share more.”

  “Here are a few books that would be of interest,” interrupted Seamus, handing her the stack.

  “Wonderful.” She glanced around the bookstore. “Would you have a chair or table? I’d like to peruse these first, before I make a purchase.”

  “There is a quiet alcove beyond the mythology section.” Once again, Seamus took her arm and led her away. “Take your time.”

  Aidan strolled along perfectly content to study the lass from behind, admiring the view while Seamus escorted Rose to a nearby chair. The man continued to prattle on about the books he had chosen for her. Finally, his old friend left.

  Approaching her side, Aidan glanced down at the book she had chosen first. “Standing stones of Bran? Why the interest?”

  Rose continued to flip through the pages. “The Society is working on the area with the university, along with the site in Corridon.”

  Aidan removed a chair from around the corner and placed it next to Rose. Taking a seat, he examined the pictures. “What are you looking for? These photos were taken within the past ten years, so they won’t be able to help you ascertain what plants grew around the landscape hundreds of years ago.”

  “Obviously, you are familiar with the work of the Society,” she observed. Holding the book closer to her face, she inspected the picture of the standing stones.

  “Yes, but I don’t believe their research extends to the stone ruins.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “One cannot be so sure. There could be a drawing of a particular flower or something to assist us. If we were permitted to take soil samples, there might be evidence of vegetation changes due to human activity and pollen changes in the soil. We cannot say for certain what they ate, because plant material rarely survives and is easily missed in excavations. But we can find clues in the occasional nut shell, seed husk, or other remains in a clay pot.”

  A tremor of unease prickled across Aidan’s skin as her attention remained fixed on the tallest standing stone. No matter what she spouted, Rose’s curiosity extended beyond the botanical. “If I may ask, what are you looking for?”

  She pursed her lips. “There are no pictures of the back of the stones.”

  Aidan fisted his hands on his thighs. Why the fascination, Rose MacLaren? “The back of the stones have no conclusive meaning.”

  After placing the book on a side table, she reached for another tome. “Many scholars have overlooked a miniscule marking believing it to be a flaw in the stone. Have you actually witnessed them up close? Do you understand their meaning?”

  “Yes,” he responded abruptly. “They are merely scratches and graffiti.”

  Shaking her head slowly, she leaned back in her chair and flipped through the pages. “Are you an expert, Aidan?”

  “Yes.”

  Rose snapped her attention to him. “Oh.”

  “I have been brought on as part of the team from the university to assess their findings,” he confirmed. “Along with my vast knowledge of Balleycove, I am also an archaeologist, specifically pertaining to ancient standing stones.”

  Her face turned the shade of crimson roses and she made to stand. “Sorry, I must be going. I…I forgot there was an errand my sister requested of me.”

  Aidan reached for her hand, forcing her to sit back down. Every instinct in him urged him to let her go, but his own curiosity and concern took over. “What are you afraid of?”

  She gave him a haughty look. “Nothing!”

  “Then why the sudden change in demeanor when I told you I was part of the team?”

  “What change? There was none.”

  You lie, Rose MacLaren. “Let us start again,” urged Aidan. “Tell me your fascination with the standing stones, and I promise to keep your secret.”

  “Secret? I don’t understand your meaning.”

  Leaning forward, Aidan clasped his hands together. “The Society of the Thistle has been given permission to inspect the area away from the standing stones. Professor Linton was clear in his instructions to me. It appears as if you’ve ventured near the stones.”

  Worry reflected in the depths of her green eyes, but she did not avert her gaze. “I think this conversation is over.” After retrieving one of the books, Rose stood slowly.

  Aidan rose from his chair, blocking her exit. He had no desire to frighten her. Trying to converse with the lass was beginning to give him a headache. “Regardless of what I’ve just admitted to you, I will assist you in your research.”

  Clutching the book to her chest, she asked, “For what purpose? Is there a favor you seek in return?”

  A kiss given freely? He swiftly banished the thought. “You have already agreed to a pint. If you have no objections, I can share my knowledge of Balleycove with you then.”

  Indecision battled briefly within her eyes. Then her smile came slowly. “Only if you let me pay.”

  “Ahh…the battle lines have been drawn. Then I accept your offer this once, Rose MacLaren.” Stepping aside, he gestured for her to proceed.

  “Let me make my purchase first,” she stated.

  As she made her way to the front of the store, Aidan rubbed a hand over his chin. Her scent lingered in the small enclosure. Closing his eyes, he sealed all emotions, including the heady lustful ones. They were an unnecessary distraction. Focus, harness, bind the emotions until there are none.

  When he opened them, Aidan followed the woman.

  After Rose made her purchase, she promised to come back and peruse the other sections of the bookstore. Seamus was besotted with her and grasped her hand in apparent appreciation.

  He spared Aidan a glance. “You should consider writing a book about Balleycove.”

  “And as I have stated on numerous occasions, I have no desire to have my lineage recorded for others,” responded Aidan dryly.

  The man merely shrugged and thanked Rose once again.

  Aidan opened the door, allowing her to step out into the sunshine. A chill breeze swept over them, and he inhaled the scent of rain on the horizon.

  “I find it peculiar that an archaeologist—one with a castle—has no year
ning to write the history of his own estate and surrounding land,” declared Rose, as she attempted to pull the collar of her coat more closely around her neck.

  Without hesitation, Aidan brushed away her locks and assisted her. “I know everything there is about my land,” he declared.

  She glanced at him sideways. “You explore the past, but have no wish for others to research or learn from your land and ancestors?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Is Balleycove a secret fortress with immense treasures?”

  Aidan tried to fight the smile forming on his mouth. “Actually, most of my research includes ancient artifacts. There is not much to glean from the castle or land. It’s merely a medieval structure.”

  Rose abruptly grabbed his arm. “Medieval?”

  He cast his gaze to where her small hand held him firmly. “Is this another one of your fascinations besides exploring standing stones?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled and removed her hand. “Yes, a deep interest with anything medieval. Though my sister would object and tell you it’s more an obsession.”

  “Does this medieval fixation rule you?” he asked, taking her arm and guiding her across the street toward the pub.

  She snorted. “I’ve often told her I’m a woman displaced out of time. The Society studies the past. Therefore, my love for a specific time-period is merely acceptable. Even Maeve has an interest in the medieval years.”

  “Is Maeve your sister?”

  “No. Just one of the women living with us at the Society. Lily is my sister’s name.”

  “Any other sisters who are named after flowers?” inquired Aidan as he opened the door to the pub.

  Rose laughed. Rich, warm, sensual, and Aidan’s fortress of steel cracked open again.

  “No,” she replied and glanced around the interior. “What is the name of this pub?”

  “Cuchulainn’s Hounds,” uttered Aidan softly.

  “Celtic mythology.” Rose clasped her hand over her heart. “Another fascination of mine. It’s perfect! Did you know that Cuchulainn trained under the great woman warrior, Scáthach on an island on the west coast of Scotland? Possibly the Isle of Skye?”

  “So I’ve been told.”