There was but one problem: she no longer wanted to.
She’d fallen for his charms once again and envisioned a second chance at happiness. Curse him. So, in following her heart, she’d convinced Uilliam to marry his daughter Sive off. Without the girl underfoot to distract him, Alexandra would have his undivided attention, perhaps, in time, she could once again become his wife and not just his lover.
Uilliam listened to the witch as he always did but this time, he surprised her by going against her advice and choosing a suitor outside of the McQuillan clan. He’d betrothed his daughter to Conal Ó Catháin instead. The one and only young man Alexandra did not want for Sive. Their union meant a child and that child would ruin everything.
Alexandra stood at the ledge of the cave’s opening. It served her right. She thought as she stared out at the water. She’d been so caught up in the idea that Uilliam—her Vilhem—would once again be hers; she’d failed to foresee fate’s tentacles slipping up over the rocks and around her ankles—taking its course. Well she would not be sunk without a fight.
The witch returned inside the castle’s dungeon to her desk. She ran her hands over her crystal ball and steadied the question in her mind. Her black raven circled her as she chanted. Concentration was key when gazing.
Will Elena be born? An image appeared in the ball: A doe-eyed Sive standing at the altar facing Conal Ó Catháin. Hands intertwined.
They would wed and the she-devil babe would follow. Alexandra’s only hope was to pit the McQuillans against the Ó Catháins, thus preventing the union of Conal and Sive, but how? And if it worked, there was still the problem of Sive remaining underfoot. As long as the girl was around, Uilliam would refuse to make Alexandra lady of the castle, for the two women hated each other.
“I need to find a suitable replacement groom for Sive but whom?” Alexandra spoke aloud.
Uilliam was unreasonably choosey when it came to his daughter and he’d passed over all of his clansmen.
The raven stopped circling, coming to a perch on the table beside the crystal ball.
“Help me, my dark and handsome friend.” She shot a hand out and stroked the bird’s neck.
The bird tapped the ball with its beak. The words Vis Conjuncta Fortior appeared in the ball. It was the motto from the MacDonnell’s coat of arms.
“Of course, ye’re brilliant. Without an heir, whoever marries Sive will become Lord of the Route.” Dunlace Castle would be the perfect carrot to dangle in front of the Warrior Chieftan of the MacDonnell Clan. The MacDonnells of Scotland had been chomping at the bit to take over the Route since they first stepped foot on the Antrim shore. And Uilliam would be a fool to turn down Sorely Boy—the MacDonnell’s were already looking for a reason to storm the castle walls. By marrying the clans, it would force peace and both parties would get what they desired.
THREE
Northern Ireland, Present Day
My legs had turned to jelly in an instant, and I was forced to sit down on the ground.
“Aeval, what’s goin’ on with ye? Did ye hurt yerself?”
“I just can’t believe what you’re asking of me,” I said, lowering my eyes.
“Well, truth be told, I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
I looked behind me in the direction of Cullen’s Landrover to where Leslie was now wandering toward us. She’d removed her blindfold and her eyes were pointed up in the direction of the looming castle.
I was astonished. “How can you say that?”
He laughed. “It might seem a wee bit much now but ye’ve got Les to help.”
“What does Leslie have to do with my time travel?”
“Time travel? Oh Jaysus, Aeval. Is that what ye thought I was asking of ye?” Cullen crossed his arms and tilted his head as he grinned mischievously at me. “Well, no wonder ye were after turnin’ pale. I would never ask that of ye. Bejeesus!” He laughed and I swatted his arm playfully.
“What are you asking for then?”
“I need the two of ye to research the castle and see if you can unearth the truth of it. That is what librarians are best at, isn’t it?” Cullen leaned down and kissed me, helping me to my feet, followed by a hug. “I apologize, love, for givin’ ye such a start. I guess I didn’t think it through—how it would sound, I mean, to a time traveler such as yerself.”
I took a deep breath and smiled. “It would be fun to feel useful again.”
“And I’d love to help,” Leslie said, coming to stand by my side.
“Good. The owner, he tells me that there are several journals, tons of letters, and an armload of other boring useless documents, just the sort of thing you hens moon over.”
“What does he need us for, then, if he’s already got so much information?” I questioned.
“He needs an expert, Aeval, to go through them. He’s an international photojournalist and he’s done his best to collect things but so far he’s none the wiser as to why the spirits won’t leave. He hopes the paperwork will be a good startin’ point for the two of ye.”
I looked at Les and we nodded. I had little in my life to focus on now that I was no longer working at the library. Cullen and I had talked about opening a bookstore but so far we hadn’t found the right space.
“Wait a minute...”
I shook my head, confused. “What about returning the Delhi Sapphire to the Temple of Indra?” We’d been planning a trip to India ever since his mother’s funeral.
The sapphire was a family heirloom that I’d received from my great-grandmother, Gigi. All my life, Gigi had told me a bedtime story about a powerful jewel stolen during the Indian Mutiny of 1857 by a fortune hunter who didn’t realize that removing it from the temple triggered an age-old curse.
I never realized how true the story was until I made the mistake of wearing it. I was then pulled into a past life where the sapphire captivated a greedy man who coveted the throne, condemning him to reincarnate endlessly under the foolish notion that he would someday rule. As a result, I was cursed too, tied to this dangerous man who stalked and murdered me in every life. My friend, Rochus, the protector of the sapphire’s magic, told me that the only way to end the curse was to either kill this man or return the sapphire to the temple. Weeks ago, I’d faced off against him and he had died, my fiancé’s brother, Liam O’Kelley. Now the curse was broken, but we were returning the sapphire to the Temple of Indra just in case—or rather the dagger and engagement ring which held pieces of the original stone. It was unnecessary given that Liam was dead, but better safe than sorry.
“We’re supposed to leave on Monday; we’ll never get our money back now.”
“No need to fret, love. I know how important it is to ye—to rid yerself of those cursed stones. The real work won’t begin at the castle until we’ve returned from India next month. For now, we’ll spend the weekend at an Inn—they’re kin to Sam. It’s just down the road and that way we’re nice and close to explore the castle. I’ve got to meet with my team once a day to go over the plans and after that we’ll relax. Ye lasses can moon over the documents or ye can come here with me. And Monday we’re off to roam India.”
I nodded and turned back to the cliff, beckoned by the fierce ocean a hundred feet below.
“Come closer to me, Aeval. Haven’t ye learned not to stand so close to the edge? Cliffs are not exactly lucky for ye and I wouldn’t like for ye to wind up like the banshee of Dunlace.”
“The what-now?”
“Lord McQuillan’s daughter, Sive, she was crushed against the rocks below when being rescued by her lover—her father’s enemy. A sad tale, it was, and now she haunts the castle. They call her the banshee. I’d follow ye in, to be sure, but I don’t think for a minute that we’d fare any better than the banshee and her lover, Ó Catháin.”
“No kidding,” I said, and kissed him on the neck. “Although, if I hadn’t fallen from Marguerite Island, I might never have met you.”
“Gah, we were destined to meet, Aeval. It was only ever
a matter of time before we’d have locked souls.”
Leslie made a gagging noise and we both turned.
“Sorry, Les.” Cullen apologized. “This place makes me sentimental. I’ll try to refrain from bursting into sonnets.”
“Perhaps giving a tour would keep you busy,” Leslie suggested.
“Ye fancy a tour, do ye? Well, I’m yer man, my Granda was from Norn Iron and auld ones brought me here plenty of times when I was a lad. Follow me and I’ll bend yer ears.”
We walked and listened to Cullen as he told us all about the Coastal Cliff of County Antrim and the Giants Causeway. I recognized the images from the Led Zeppelin album, my feisty absentee grandmother, Greta, had owned. She’d left most of her belongings behind at Gigi’s Lakehouse, including my mother and I, and we’d listened to that scratchy album until it no longer played.
“Aeval, where are ye?”
“Over the hills and far away,” I said, with a smile.
Cullen looked confused but Leslie smirked. She got it.
Eventually we made our way inside Castle Dunlace and traipsed through dozens of rooms, including the Lord’s chamber. There must have been fifty rooms or more, such a shame that they’d lain unused for so long. The wing we currently explored was the most intact and had obviously been utilized to some degree. The rooms were spacious and airy, and some still held furniture and brightly woven tapestries. A corner of the kitchen was still visible, although the north wall and a good chunk of the room was completely missing. Cullen said the kitchen fell away into the sea one dark and stormy night, killing much of the staff, sometime in the seventeenth century—just one of the many haunting aspects of the place. Our last stop was the north-eastern tower. Since it was separated from most of the other rooms, Cullen turned on the flashlight to illuminate the winding stairwell leading up to it.
“This place gives me chills,” I whispered as we reached the top.
“It’s not the grandest of accommodations but I’ve slept in worse.”
“Can’t you feel it—the oppression in the air?”
“Now that ye mention it, lass, I do. It must be the banshee. She was held prisoner up here for a time.”
“For what?”
“What else? Disobedience,” Cullen replied. “She’s the one I told ye about, who died attempting to escape this place. She was married off to a war chieftain of the MacDonnell clan, but she wouldn’t stay put. Every time Sorely Boy left the castle, she ran away so he brought her home to Dunlace. She was to be imprisoned until she agreed to be a good wife. The man she loved, O’Cathain rescued her, but their boat crashed against the rocks of the mermaid’s cove below. They say her ghost still haunts the place. It’s a sad tale but at least they died together.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of unhappiness for one girl,” I said, rubbing my shoulders. “Let’s go back downstairs.” I took a few steps and looked over at the gaping hole that was a window. “Will you put glass or bars here—it seems unsafe.” I stuck my head out the opening. “A child could fall to their death.”
“Or an adult,” Leslie said, giving me a mock shove.
Cullen smiled. “They aren’t usually so low. Sam didn’t say but ye raise a good point, love. I’ll ask him if he plans to have children roamin’ the tower and if he wants to keep them alive.”
I laughed and pinched his arm.
“Come on, I’ll take ye down below to natures very own cathedral. They call it the mermaid’s cave. It’s an enormous cave, every bit as grand as the castle itself, its vault is more than sixty feet high. When the sea enters, it does so with a mighty roarin’ sound.”
“Are there any ghost in the Mermaids cave?” Leslie questioned.
“Aye, the banshee also wanders the slippery dark depths below. It is said that the lass was imprisoned down here first, but she escaped. That’s why she was later placed in the tower. She wouldn’t tell them how she escaped—said she couldn’t remember.
“Is it safe to go in?”
“Of course, Aeval, as safe as a sea cavern in County Antrim can be.”
“Gee, that’s reassuring.”
“The entrance to the cave is down an eroding ramp which gives it a superb subterranean feel but the cave’s length exceeds three hundred feet. Ye don’t need to go near the water if ye don’t want to. It’s a big place. It’s hard to describe just how big it is until ye’re standin’ inside it, dwarfed by the tonnes of rock overhead, and yet there is an intimacy to the space, like we’re naught but a speck of dust inside a giant’s keyhole.”
“Here we go again,” Leslie teased. “This place turns Cullen into a poet.”
Cullen laughed and led us down the stairs. “Sam says, according to the Lord’s journal, there’s a hidden room somewhere in this place. He wants us to find it.”
FOUR
Northern Ireland, November 1551
“Tell me why ye’ve come, Saundra, when I didn’a send for ye. I’ve no time to please ye now.
“I dinna wish to burden ye, Uilliam, but we’ve an important matter to discuss.” Alexandra Cuza did her best to mimic Uilliam’s accent. She’d picked it up fairly easily ten years ago when she’d first stepped foot on Ireland’s soil but she sometimes slipped after being on her own. The clan felt more comfortable around her believing she was of Irish descent so she made a point to always stay in character.
“What in God’s name is it?” Uilliam croaked. “I’m up to my neck in shite, amn’t I?”
“I’ve come to warn ye,” she replied. “I’ve a vision with regards to yer daughter.”
“Another. What of it?”
“She must be married—.”
“I tell ye, ye’re mad in the head, witch. Ye told me that afore. Ye’re wastin’ my bloody time.”
The witch cut him off. “Let me finish, ye hard-headed brute. She must marry a MacDonnell.”
“Gah. Those bastards? I think not. I trusted yer judgement in the past—ye’ve never led me astray until now—but I’ll make my own decision regarding whom my daughter marries.”
“I understand yer position, Uilliam. I do. I can only tell ye what I saw last night—a vision of Sive giving birth to a healthy MacDonnell babe. ‘Twas a boy—an heir to Dunlace. The night afore I dreamt she married Conal and the fates were not so kind. Trust me when I tell ye that she must marry Sorely.”
Uilliam McQuillan allowed his thoughts to drift to his daughter and how unhappy she would be if he didn’t sort this situation out with Conal Ó Catháin. He paced the room. But then there was the MacQuillan clan to consider—they were furious; the Ó Catháins had killed his nephew, the McQuillan heir. The lads were convinced the Ó Catháins had done it on purpose to gain Dunlace Castle through Conal marrying Sive.
Niall Ó Catháin was a great ally, and his grandson, Conal had been like one of Uilliam’s own.
“There must be another way. Sive set her sights on Conal when she was but a lass—no one else will do.”
“It canna be Conal,” The witch said. “It must be the Warrior Chieftain of the MacDonnell Clan. It will make allies of the MacDonnells and the McQuillans.”
Uilliam pushed thoughts of Sive’s sad blue eyes away. He would see them soon enough if he agreed to this.
“Sorely Boy.” He paused and then grumbled, “I’ll think on it.”
“Be that as ‘tis, she must be wed before the next full moon or else there will be grave consequences.”
“That’s less than three weeks away.”
“I realize that, Uilliam, which is why I thought it urgent to see ye. I dinna make this up, ye know, but if ye dinna wish to heed me then by all means take yer chances.”
“Aye, I’ll think on it. Now go, and give my head peace, woman.”
FIVE
Northern Ireland, Present Day
The sun was just going down as we spotted the bed and breakfast that Cullen had booked us into, a charming, white, two-story home with stunning views of both the Glens of Antrim and the famous Antrim coastline.
; “Here we are—nice and close to the castle ruins. I believe Sam said that this place is run by his Da’s kin.”
Yawning, I stretched as Cullen and Leslie unloaded our suitcases and we made our way to the inn’s entrance. Stepping inside the old wooden door, I smiled as the warmth of the fireplace to the left washed over me, melting away the icy feeling in my fingers and face. The place was fairly large, and nice, in an antiquated sort of way.
I was loosening my scarf and unbuttoning my jacket when a woman’s raised voice exploded from the other room.
“Is yer head cut? Ye best tell him he’ll not be stayin’ here.”
An old grey-haired man spotted us lingering in the doorway.
Sweat hung visibly on his brow, and I could tell he was losing an argument to his wife, a petite but formidable woman who had now set her striking green eyes on me.
“What about ye’?”
It was the old woman who spoke and, immediately, I didn’t trust her. Her glare, her tone, her posture—everything about the way she slyly tucked her necklace away from my prying eyes told me that she had something to hide.
“We’re booked here for the night, aren’t we?” I asked.
“Ach, of course ye are, never ye mind the oul doll. She’s away in the head.” The small man winked at his wife and then turned back to me. “Ye look as if ye’ve caught yer death, shiverin’ in the doorway like that. Come in and I’ll get ye some tea. I assume yous are the O’Kelley’s.”
Leslie’s stomach growled.
“You just ate.”
“I did not. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime,” she said, looking offended.
“You ate a scone, a granola bar, crisps and an apple before you fell asleep on the way here.”
“That’s hardly real food.” The old man scoffed. “Get the spuds on, Ida, they’re starvin’.”
Leslie grinned as we were led into the kitchen and shown to a harvest table with three steaming bowls of stew.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 47
