Lucky Like Love: The Fae Legacy #1

by Rachelle Ayala

  He hit redial and a woman answered, “Clare, where are you? Are you seriously getting married tonight?”

  “Uh, this isn’t Clare,” he answered. “I think I lost her.”

  “Griffin?” Sorcha’s voice rose an octave.

  A piece of the puzzle clicked in place.

  His name was Griffin.

  It took him a moment to refocus on the woman who spoke too fast.

  “What do you mean you lost her?” she asked. “We’re wondering what’s going on. Clare texted saying you two were headed for the abbey to get married. What happened?”

  “I woke up in a dungeon.” His teeth chattered as he spoke. “It’s deathly cold. There’s no sign of Clare. Did we get married?”

  “That’s what the text message said,” Sorcha replied. “Maeve and I are on our way to the abbey to intercept her. She can’t be getting married without us.”

  Another voice shouted from the other side. “This is Maeve. How come you’re in a dungeon? Did Abbess Aisling refuse to marry you two?”

  “I don’t remember,” Griffin said. “I’m dressed in a topcoat and tails with a vest and fancy shoes. Whatever’s happened, we have to find Clare.”

  “Describe where you are,” Sorcha said.

  Griffin took a picture of the gate and the surrounding walls and texted it to them. “I hope Clare’s okay. I have no idea who she is or why I married her, but I know she’s supposed to be my true love. Don’t ask me how I know.”

  “You’ve had another seizure,” Sorcha said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Shouldn’t we call for help?” Maeve asked in the background.

  “No, we have to handle this,” Sorcha said. “We can’t give away the secret hiding place.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Maeve said. “Griffin, stay put. We’re on our way. And congratulations. I wish Clare could have waited and had us in the wedding. I can’t believe you two are so impulsive.”

  “We can do the wedding again,” Griffin offered. “Because I can’t remember it either.”

  He hung up after they promised to meet him posthaste and help him look for Clare. In the meantime, he’d better refresh his memory.

  His name was Griffin. Her name was Clare.

  What was it she’d said to do? Look on the cell phone for photos, videos, and notes?

  Despite the chill, he was warmer now that he knew he was a married man, and that he had a wife waiting for him. His heart stuttered at the thought she might be in danger, but at the same time, he had the magic stone that would point the way to her.

  What did she look like?

  He hoped she was pretty, at least to him.

  Scrolling through her phone, he found what he was looking for. Pictures of him and this wonderful Clare.

  A smile trickled onto his face, and his heart expanded with joy. The woman in the sparkly white gown was as cute and pert as a fairy, and her red-brown hair was the color of cinnamon. Lovely, perky face, and a mischievous expression in her gorgeous green eyes. She wore the purplish-red stone on a chain over her milky-white bosom.

  He read through her notes and melted with relief. She’d promised to care for him through his surgery. She was his friend, and she wanted him to live a full life having new experiences and making sweet and beautiful memories—with her.

  She was the key to making it all happen. He was as lucky as love to wake up to this wonderful new reality.

  Chapter 26

  Clare was handcuffed and shoved into a plastic, tarp-covered back seat of a limousine. Her sequined wedding gown was a mass of muddy shreds and torn rags, and she had a network of welts and scratches on her bare arms and legs.

  Seamus pulled off her hiking boots and put them in a plastic bag.

  “Can you at least throw me a blanket?” Clare asked, still shivering from the cold March weather.

  “You need to get cleaned up.” He hefted a coat over her and opened the divider to talk to the driver. “Call Pierce and tell him to get the bedchamber ready.”

  “Buh-bedchamber?” Clare gasped and stared at the driver. “He left Griffin behind in the tunnel. Aren’t you going to rescue him?”

  “Shut up,” Seamus said. “We don’t have time to deal with Griffin. Call in an anonymous tip to the abbey that someone’s been trespassing underneath their cistern, and let’s get moving.”

  “Why aren’t you helping Griffin?” Clare demanded. “We can’t just leave him to an anonymous tip.”

  Seamus closed the partition. “You’d better get some rest. You have a big role to play tonight.”

  The driver started the limo, and the car bumped and grinded its way down the rutted road away from the abbey. On the way out, they passed by Griffin’s convertible.

  Seamus glanced up at the full moon, and Clare realized what the hurry was all about. It was the night of the Spring Equinox, and there might be some special significance dealing with resurrection.

  “I don’t trust you as far as I can spit my eyetooth,” she said. “You locked me out of our fundraising accounts. What did you do with the money?”

  Seamus plowed his hand through his thick head of dark hair and laughed. “I didn’t need that measly pile of money.”

  “Then give it back,” Clare said. “Let me go, give me the money back, and we’ll forget about this kidnapping charge.”

  “I didn’t kidnap you.” Seamus pulled the Heart of Brigid from his pocket and dangled it in front of Clare’s face. “You stole this from Griffin and agreed to give it to me. We’re in cahoots. Once I restore Brigid from the dead, I will be ahead of the other Guardians.”

  “You’re insane and off your rocker. What’s this about the Guardians and you being ahead?”

  “There are four treasures or hallowed objects. The stone, the spear, the sword, and the cauldron.” Seamus hung the Heart of Brigid around Clare’s neck. “My goal is to get them all.”

  “I know about the four hallowed objects,” Clare said. “But this is not the Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny, which stands to this day on the Hill of Tara.”

  “Does that stone do any magic or does it just stand there and let tourists take selfies with it?” Seamus yawned and finished with a disdainful smirk. “The common masses have been deceived by legends and fables. You, my dear, are wearing the real treasure of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Tonight, you shall see it work, or at least see as much of it until it actually works.”

  He leaned back and stretched out his long legs, seeming supremely satisfied with himself.

  Clare couldn’t help shuddering at the veiled threat. She would see it up to a point, and then her life would be snuffed out.

  Why had she been so stupid as to get involved with the Heart of Brigid? She should never have taken it from Griffin. Even after she felt guilty about stealing it, she should have simply mailed it back to Gallagher Castle.

  But then, an alarm bell jangled in the back of her mind. Pierce, the traitorous butler, could have intercepted the package and given it to Seamus.

  “Why would Pierce help you?” Clare asked, figuring if she was going to die, Seamus wouldn’t mind telling her.

  “Pierce wants to ally himself with the winning Guardian.” Seamus cracked his knuckles. “The Gallagher family has been a spectacular failure all through the centuries. It’s time for the O’Tooles to rectify the balance of the universe.”

  “You’re not half as honorable as the Gallaghers,” Clare said. “I’m sure Griffin would have given me my money back.”

  “If he remembers,” Seamus said. “Don’t worry. You won’t be around for him to remember or forget you.”

  Clare shook with anger, but the handcuffs cut into her wrists. She gritted her teeth and snarled. “He’ll never forget me. We have a special bond.”

  Seamus leaned toward her and touched the Heart of Brigid. “He’ll forget all about you when Brigid reappears.”

  “You’re crazy if you believe that myth. There’s no Brigid, no restoration of Ireland, no Tuatha Dé Danann, a
nd no chance of taking Ireland back to the twelfth century.”

  “You know too much,” Seamus said. “Fortunately, the line of Richard “Strongbow” de Clare will finally be silenced when you are gone.”

  “You’re never going to get away with this,” Clare yelped. “Never. Griffin will rescue me. You’ll see. I’m to be his bride tonight.”

  Seamus guffawed and slapped his thighs. “Maybe your blood will run through the veins of Brigid, but it’s she who will be a bride tonight. Not you. Did you really think Griffin had you dress up because he wanted to marry you? All he wanted was the Heart of Brigid. How convenient of you to return it to him in time for the resurrection. You silly, silly fool. This is not one of your novels, what was it, the one about the fairies who seduced your boyfriend? Do you remember how that one ended?”

  Clare clamped her mouth shut and turned her face to the back window. Tears welled in her eyes, and she didn’t want Seamus to get the last laugh. In her story, the dastardly boyfriend double-crossed the heroine and turned her into a changeling, possessed by the fairy queen. She’d lost her mortality, true, and gained immortality, but she could no longer feel strong emotion—no pleasure, no pain, no desire, no repellence, no love, and no hate.

  Had Griffin truly meant to marry her, or to use her blood to bring his Brigid back to life? How could she have been so gullible?

  The nuns had always warned how dangerous it was to play pretend with fairies. Well, it now looked like she’d been caught in her own playacting, and her blood would run in a fairy queen’s veins.

  Where did that leave her? The soul known as Clare Hart? Would God have mercy on her and keep her? Or was she past redemption? Caught in a web of fiction, imagination, and fantasy?

  She let the images of the streetlamps and traffic bombard her eyes, and retreated from thinking. She’d stay in the moment and let her thoughts go. The right answer would come to her. It always did when she least expected it.

  Griffin staggered his way through the drizzling feathers of rain, retracing his steps. It wasn’t too difficult because of a pair of distinct hiking boot footprints.

  He spotted a luxury car sitting outside a gap in the stone wall and made his way to it. It unlocked itself, and he fumbled in his pocket, finding a key fob.

  About time he had some good luck.

  Now, he had to figure out what happened to Clare and go to her rescue. He put the backpack on the back seat next to the bags of souvenirs and knick-knacks purchased at the tourist traps he didn’t remember visiting.

  A green spiral-bound notebook was wedged in between the seat and console. Griffin’s heart jumped, and he opened it.

  It had a big note on the inside of the front cover. “If found, please return to Griffin Gallagher, Gallagher Castle, Malin Head, County Donegal.”

  This was his book full of clues.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Someone rapped on the partially open car door. He looked up to see a rideshare car depart, leaving two women wearing trench coats and rainhats.

  “Griffin? It’s us, Sorcha and Maeve,” the women said.

  He blinked at the two beautiful creatures, one blonde and one brunette. “Please excuse me if I don’t remember which one of you is which.”

  “I’m Sorcha,” the brunette wearing glasses said.

  “And I’m Maeve,” the blonde added. “Do you seriously not remember us?”

  “The memories may come back,” Griffin said. “But I’ve found an important clue. This green notebook seems to be mine and has a plan for my actions.”

  “Great!” Sorcha said. “Then let’s see what it says. May I see Clare’s phone in case she left more clues?”

  “Sure, come into the car where it’s warm,” Griffin said, handing over Clare’s phone. “We need to hurry. Whoever kidnapped her might be dangerous. They coshed me on the back of the head.”

  “We can’t blindly chase what we don’t know,” Maeve said. “What’s in the notebook?”

  “It’s mine, and it looks like it has detailed instructions,” Griffin said. “Some of it is in the Old Irish language.”

  He flipped through the pages quickly, blinking at the tree-like strokes and parallel lines of the Ogham alphabet. “This isn’t good. I’ve forgotten how to read this.”

  “I can help,” Maeve said, taking the notebook. “I’ve studied Old Irish.”

  “Looks like Clare was wearing the Heart of Brigid,” Sorcha said, pointing to a selfie on Clare’s phone. “Where is it now?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Griffin said. He took the crystal out of his pocket and held it under the dome light.

  “This one is a six-sided crystal,” Sorcha said. “It’s quartz. What happened to the diamond one?”

  “I, uh, don’t know,” Griffin said. “You’re right. This is not a diamond in the rough.”

  A rotten feeling settled in his gut. Had Clare stolen the diamond in the rough, after all?

  “She was supposed to return it to you,” Sorcha said, confirming his suspicions. “But here, I see her wearing the quartz.”

  She pointed to a picture taken before they stepped into the tunnels.

  “You two were dressed to the nines,” Maeve said. “This is a beautiful picture. But Sorcha’s right. She was wearing the quartz.”

  “I found this inside the tunnel,” Griffin said. “It was dropped near where I found Clare’s backpack.”

  Sorcha and Maeve looked at each other, and a silent warning seemed to pass between them.

  “What are you thinking?” Griffin asked. “That Clare swapped the quartz for the real one?”

  “Or it’s still back there,” Maeve said.

  “No, it’s not,” Sorcha declared. “If it was, the kidnapper would not have disappeared with Clare. They’d still be back there searching.”

  “Did you actually see someone hit you?” Maeve asked. “Or did you fall?”

  “Someone hit me and took off with the real diamond,” Griffin said stiffly. “I saw footprints and signs of someone being dragged. We need to figure this out quickly.”

  “How about your phone?” Sorcha asked. “Did you take pictures?”

  “I did, but my phone’s broken,” Griffin said, showing them the broken cell phone.

  “Everything is uploaded to the cloud,” Sorcha said. “Do you have the account and password?”

  “That’s the thing, I don’t remember.” Griffin rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. “Someone knocked me out, and when I came to, I barely knew who I was.”

  “Clare would have left a clue,” Maeve declared. “She’s big on clues.”

  Griffin patted his shoulder. “I have a fresh tattoo with numbers on it. It unlocked Clare’s phone. Maybe she has a fresh tattoo, too.”

  “That’s it,” Sorcha said. She flipped through Clare’s photo stream until she came to a picture of Clare’s raw tattoo. “This must be your password.”

  Sorcha browsed to the cloud and typed in Griffin’s password. “It works. You two are either too romantic or stupid.”

  The three of them stared at the pictures taken down in the dungeon. The women giggled at the ones where Clare and Griffin were kissing, and they ribbed him on spending his wedding night in a dungeon.

  They got seriously quiet when they came to the secret hiding place. Sure enough, there was a picture of Clare wearing the stone.

  “Let’s zoom in and see if it’s the diamond,” Sorcha said.

  She spread her fingers over the screen, and the crystals of the stone became clear.

  “Four sides,” Griffin said. “Clare is wearing the Heart of Brigid in the last picture we took.”

  “That means she’s in danger,” Maeve said, flipping through the Green Notebook. “It’s all in here. The plan. Once the real Heart of Brigid is found, you, Griffin, are supposed to sacrifice a virgin and let her lifeblood bleed over the skeletal remains. You place the heart inside the ribcage, pour the blood over it, and the fairy queen, Brigid, will resurrect.”

&nb
sp; “That’s nonsense,” Griffin said. “Why would I kill my own bride?”

  “Let me see that.” Sorcha looked over Maeve’s shoulder. She ran her finger over the passages, and the blood drained from her face.

  “What is it?” Griffin made a grab for the notebook, but Maeve twisted around, keeping it from him.

  “You! You planned all this. You’re the kidnapper. What did you do with Clare?” Sorcha opened the passenger side door. “Maeve, let’s get out of here.”

  “No, I would never hurt her.” Griffin grabbed Maeve’s wrist and wrestled the notebook from her hand.

  “Let go of me.” Maeve screamed. “You’re a monster. We’re calling the Garda. You probably killed her, and you’re luring us here with this fake stone to establish your alibi.”

  Sorcha was already out of the car, running down the road, while Maeve struggled, twisting her arm and pulling to get away.

  Griffin didn’t like to hurt a woman, and ordinarily, he would have let her go, but she was his only link to Clare. He wrestled her back into the car.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t abandon Clare,” he said. “I have to rescue her. Since you can read Old Irish, I want you to read the rest of the plan from the notebook and direct me.”

  “You might have killed her and not remembered,” Maeve shrieked. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I have no choice.” He leaned over Maeve and fastened the seatbelt on the passenger seat. “You have to help me. If I indeed hurt Clare like you said, then let Sorcha call the Garda and hunt me down. But before they do, I need to stop whoever took Clare from carrying out the plan.”

  He pressed the ignition button and gunned the engine, swerving just in time to avoid hitting Sorcha who was on the phone calling for help.

  “Set the navigation system for Gallagher Castle,” he said. “I’m sure that’s the scene of the crime.”

  “It is,” Maeve said, her voice shaking. “It says you have a bedchamber set up underground. It says the Heart of Brigid will take you and the sacrificial victim back to the twelfth century. Once you kill her and bring Brigid back to life, Ireland will never be conquered by the Normans or anyone else.”