“Ye just can’t help yourself, can ye, Aeval? Well, stay out of trouble, would ye?”
I pulled the box from my bag just as he was about to walk away and handed it to him. He was also wearing a messenger bag. “Can you take this? I can’t disappear if I’m not touching them, now can I?”
TWENTY
Northern Ireland, November 1551
C andlelight flickered, illuminating the dining hall. The night was cold, and the nip in the air threatened snow. Even the crackling fire in the O’Catháin dining hall refused to warm Conal as he paced like a caged beast, trying to absorb the news Sive had shared last night. Sorely Boy didn’t even like her, of that Conal was certain. So why was he after marrying her all of the sudden? For Dunlace, that was why.
Conal stopped pacing long enough to pour himself some whisky. He drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with a linen-covered arm. He knelt down, staring into the fire, wondering what had happened. When he was a lad, Uilliam had treated him as a son, telling him one day he would be a great ally to the McQuillan Clan—all Conal ever wanted was a life with Sive.
He closed his eyes, thinking of the way she’d looked in his bed last night, wishing they were both still there.
He sat back on his heels, angered at his vulnerability. Bloody hell, he had to confront Uilliam, but first he would speak to his cousin and longtime ally, Sorely Boy. He would need him on his side.
The knock startled him. “Come in.” He wasn’t expecting the MacDonnells until morning. When Sorely Boy walked through the doorway, Conal was sure his face showed his disappointment. Even though it would have been unsafe, he had hoped Sive had returned to his home.
Sorely Boy walked through the room, stopping to sit in one of the two chairs situated in front of the fireplace.
Conal joined him, sitting opposite. “Ye’re early and ye’re alone?”
“Aye, I am. It’s nice to see ye, Cousin. Aren’t ye going to offer me whisky? I’ve come to tell ye of an important matter. One I thought best discussed between the two of us.”
“Aye, I know,” Conal said, pouring his cousin a glass. “Ye’ve come to tell me that certain arrangements were made with the McQuillan’s.”
Sorely Boy nodded, taking a large swig. “I’d hoped to be the one to tell ye. Uilliam is making me his heir but it means marrying Sive in two weeks’ time.”
Conal leaned over the side of the chair and, grabbing a poker, stabbed at the dying fire.
“Ye know what they say. Man is incomplete until he marries. After that, he is finished.” Sorely Boy chuckled.
Conal didn’t laugh—he didn’t even crack a smile. “Since when are ye interested in Sive?”
“I know ye care for her and I realize this causes ye distress, but there’s little choice in the matter for either of us. Uilliam will no have ye and we need to unite the clans. This silly squabbling is hurting us all. We’re lucky we haven’t been attacked by outsiders yet. Uilliam has no heir and one of us needs to sit in his place when he goes. Ye will need to set yer sights on another lass.”
The fire burned full flame once again and Conal returned the poker to its home with a bang, sitting back in his seat to look his cousin in the eye.
“There is no other.”
“Conal, be reasonable, man. Honey is sweet, but ye needn’t lick it off a briar. Uilliam was insistent that I marry her. The witch has told him a match with anyone but me would be disastrous to our kinsmen. What if she’s right? We must obey.”
Conal laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “That witch changes her mind quite frequently, doesn’t she? So, he’s promising ye Castle Dunlace for his daughter’s hand. A sly rogue is often in good dress. Uilliam can’t be trusted, ye know that. If he finds ye mishandlin’ his daughter, he’ll cut ye off at yer knees. He may mistreat her himself, but make no mistake—the lass is important to him.”
“The Lord of the Route willn’a see me mishandling anyone. I dinna plan to move in with the man. And anyway, canny leaders do not wage war over such insignificant matters.”
“If that is how ye see her, then ye dinna deserve her, Sorely.”
“It’s not my decision. The fates have decided.”
“Cousin. . . tell me ye dinna believe it. Give me yer word that ye willna marry Sive. Allow me to marry her and I’ll hand ye Dunlace Castle as soon as the old man dies. Ye know my word is good. I care nothing for the place or the title. I just want her.”
Sorely stood defensively. “Aye, but ye would ask me to break my word. Ye know better than to ask that of me.”
“Yer gettin’ greedy, Sorely, plain and simple, and ye’re forgettin’ a golden ring can tie a man as tight as any chain.” Conal downed the rest of his drink and smashed the glass against the wall. “Christ, Sorely Boy, have ye gone mad? Ye know I’ve had the lass in my bed. Ye canna marry her.”
Sorely Boy cringed. “Aye, I can. She’ll soon be my wife, Conal, and if ye so much as mention that to another soul, I’ll have her locked in the tower.”
Conal stood and paced the room, shocked by his friend’s words. “What are ye sayin! To stop carin’ for the lass. How can I do that? I willn’a let ye take her from me.”
“Truth is, Cousin, ye have no say in the matter. I only came here to tell ye that I expect ye at the weddin’, I’ll consider it a personal attack if ye choose not to appear at my side.”
Conal watched his cousin get to his feet and he struggled to rein in his anger. He wanted to break every bone in his body. But Sorely Boy was right about one thing. It was Uilliam who refused to let Conal wed his daughter, and without the man’s consent what more could Conal do?
TWENTY-ONE
Southern India, Present Day
S tunned, I lay outside the café, not moving, as I tried to get my breath back. I’d landed face down, my knees and elbows taking the brunt of the fall. My messenger bag had come loose—or maybe it had been yanked off—and lay two feet in front of me.
I crawled forward, but hands gripped my ankles and yanked me back. My chin bumped the dirt. I didn’t have much strength, but still, I kicked out. I struggled to get my hands under my body to push up, the world went dark.
The temple had to be around here somewhere. Thrashing my way through the murky jungle, I, distanced myself from the Witch of Dunlace. She’d been on my trail since I’d left the Antrim Glens of Northern Ireland. I wiped the sweat from my brow with my sleeve and listened to the sounds of pursuit. The Temple rose before me as if out of nowhere. It was just as described. Gasping, I crouched beside the bank of the River Ganges, wetting my hands and catching my breath. It was so warm here, so much warmer than where I was from. Already the voices of the hired rebels grew louder, echoing around me, mingling with the calls of the strange tailed animals overhead. If I didn’t move, they would soon be upon me.
I had to hurry.
Without hesitation, I raced forward, using every last ounce of strength, risking one quick glance behind before climbing the crumbling steps. The carved idol with the long arms beckoned.
My only hope of escaping this madness was to place the curse here. Once the gem was in place, the spell would take hold—cloaking me as well as the sapphire from the Witch of Dunlace.
I kissed the edge of the statue’s foot, thinking briefly of my poor grandmother and how I’d been forced to leave her badly wounded in the Glens of Antrim. The faeries would have to take care of her now. She’d given me specific instructions that I’d followed exactly.
What would I do next? I would have approximately three hundred years to wait. Once the dreams began, I, Rochus Lovari would need to locate and protect the girl. Of course, I’d have to watch out for the witch. She would try and bring the girl and the sapphire together but it was my job to see that she failed. If I could keep the girl from touching the sapphire, then the curse would be broken.
Moments later gentle hands on my shoulders pulled me upright into a sitting position.
“Aeval, are ye hurt?”
“Huh? What happened? W
here’s Rochus?” My vision blurred at the quick change from lying down to sitting up.
“Rochus? Did someone hurt ye? Can ye point him out?”
I gazed around for a minute but forgot what I was searching for.
Foggily, I realized my bag was missing. I was robbed. Had I said that aloud? I was so tired.
I drifted back off. In my mind, I was still in the body of a man, climbing the stairs of a temple.
In the distance, I saw Cullen now and he shouted at me to wake up. It was hard to make out what else he was saying because he was so far away.
“Leslie, she’s comin’ to. Can ye move the suitcase off the bed? Sophia, open yer eyes.”
“I love you, Cullen.” Had I said that out loud?
He must have heard me because he kissed my face. One of my eyelids fluttered open, and I saw the worry in his green eyes. There was so much I wanted to say.
Instead I muttered, “Someone stole my purse?” He covered his sigh of relief with a laugh and stripped me of my dirty white dress, replacing it with an oversized rock t-shirt, before laying me on the bed.
“Stealing yer purse was the least of what they did. Ye were in a right state when I found ye on the ground out front.”
“That’s right,” I said, remembering, “I was attacked from behind. Someone shoved something hard into my side and then knocked me to the ground. I reached for my bag thinking I could phone you for help. I think that must have been when he knocked me out. Oh god, they have my cellphone.”
“We’ll get ye a new one. I’m just glad I found ye right away. There was a crowd attempting to help you—they probably scared him off.” He took my fingers between his hands, and kissed each, gently.
“Eww, Cullen, did you wash my hands? I touched all that garbage.”
Cullen roared with laughter. “I couldn’t give less of a damn right now, my love.”
I licked my lips into a smile. “Did Saraswati show up?”
“She could have been there; I was a little preoccupied with luggin’ ye back to the hotel.”
I glanced around the room. “Where did Leslie go?”
“I think she just made a mad dash for the toilet. She tried to have lunch and it didn’t exactly go over well.”
“I should go check on her.”
I groaned and slid off the bed, but when I tried to stand, my legs folded under me, like a newborn colt’s.
Cullen grabbed me by the waist. “Steady there, Aeval. Let’s keep ye in bed a wee bit longer.”
“But I have to get dressed. I thought we were going to dinner and we’re changing hotels, aren’t we?”
“Tomorrow, love, ye can go courtin’ trouble tomorrow. I think it’s best if we just remain here tonight.”
“But it’s not safe in this city.”
“Aeval, I’m not sure anywhere is safe when ye’re around.” He paused and set me back against the pillows, “but it sure ain’t dull.”
TWENTY-TWO
Northern Ireland, November 1551
T ensions ran high at Dunlace the following week. Da was often bloodshot of eye and short of temper. He spoke not so much as a word to her for three days straight. And she, for her part, spoke not a word to him.
His ill-temper affected everyone. Even the witch walked carefully under the dark cloud of the Lord of the Route’s displeasure. Angry at the world, Sive left midway through the afternoon and struck out across the bog. The cure for her melancholy—besides clouting Da—lay in fresh air, and lots of it. What she needed was a long, solitary walk.
She was gone about two hours, and frozen to the bone when she returned. Bridget convinced that she had caught her death, stripped her to her shift and placed her in a nice warm bath. She’d almost relaxed when she heard the door open.
“Good evening, love,” Sorely Boy said suavely. There was a glint in his eyes that told her he enjoyed the view.
Sive stood and reached for the towel. Her groping hand found the smooth wood of the table-top and moved across it knocking the towel onto the carpet below.
“Devil take it,” she muttered crossly. It was just outside of her reach. Unwilling to lift her leg to climb out of the tub, and then bend forward in front of him. She turned to the side and did her best to cover her private areas with her hands.
“Cold?” He smiled.
“You misinterpret my shudder.”
“What are ye doin’ in here?”
“Payin’ my wife-to-be a call. Am I not welcome in yer chamber?”
“Ye’re not. Now, pass me that towel and leave, or just leave.”
His eyes narrowed at the calm statement. “Soon enough ye willn’a have a say at all. If I were ye, I'd step out of that water. Ye'll be chilled to the bone before long.”
“Turn yer back then, and I will.”
He laughed then. The sound unamused. “Turn my back? Ye are to be my wife in less than a week. Surely there is no need for the pretense of feminine modesty in front of yer betrothed. Ye were naught but my cousin’s whore before now, so why bother to pretend to a modesty ye canna feel?”
“Just turn yer back.” There was an edge to her voice. His comments were both insulting and unsettling.
“No.” The one-word reply bordered on brutality. Sive eyed him for a moment, then made up her mind. She would play the role of whore that he had assigned her, and hoped to give him such a disgust of her that he would refuse to marry her.
“Very well, then. As ye say, 'tis useless to be modest since I’m so acquainted with sharing my body.”
“Harrumph.” His reply was toneless as she stood up, stepping from the tub, deliberately giving him a wanton view of her full-frontal nudity as she patted her body dry with carefully assumed languor. His eyes took on a dangerous gleam that she thought was a combination of anger and desire. Still damp, she abandoned her self-ministrations without the least appearance of haste and reached for the wrapper Bridget had left lying over the back of a nearby chair. Pulling it around herself, tying the belt, she felt marginally safer. His eyes were fixed on her body, the shape of which was clearly visible through the thin material that clung closely to every damp curve. The thought made her skin crawl. He might be handsome but Sorely Boy was also dangerous.
“I find myself surprisingly attracted to ye, Sive, despite the skinny little waif ye used to be. I see why Conal allowed ye to grace his bed,” he muttered, and the flames that leaped to life in those devil's eyes nearly unnerved her.
“Not surprisingly, I find myself completely repulsed by ye, just as I always have,” she said and laughed, a carefully calculated little trill.
As she had expected, his face tightened. He was in front of her in two strides, his hands gripping her upper arms hard through the flimsy silk.
“How about I show ye just how repulsing I can be?” He glared down at her, fingers digging punishingly into her soft flesh.
“Try it.”
“I'll not tolerate yer disrespectful mouth in my presence.”
“Then allow me to get out of yer presence,” she snapped back.
“Amn’t I after tellin’ ye that I'll have no more of yer mouth, lass, unless ye're wishful to see just what I can do with it.”
“Lay a hand on my mouth, Sorely Boy, and ye'll eat yer teeth! Ye forget that my Da has a hell-born temper and I amn’t yet yer wife to handle, ye Bastard!” This deliberate litany of curses earned her a little shake.
“I’ll not have ye swear! Tis so it is.”
“I'll swear if I like! Who asked ye to come sniffin’ about, anyway?”
Sive suddenly stopped her tirade and took a deep breath.
“We do not belong together, Sorely, amn’t I right? I dinna want ye, ye know that. Ye hardly need a wife who doesn’t want ye and I dinna need a husband, least of all a bloody brute like ye. Go home to yer castle, and leave me be!”
Sorely Boy was glaring at her so fiercely that his eyes were mere glittering slits in his dark face.
“Ye dinna need a husband, is that so? Aye, well we
shall see what yer Da has to say about yer boldness! I dinna know any other respectable man who would be willing to marry a hell-born chit like yerself!”
Sive, unable to stop herself, slapped him. His head jerked back, his eyes widened, though for just a moment she thought she saw the merest hint of satisfaction in them. Before she could think further, he was jerking her against him, bending his head to find her lips. He kissed her, grinding his mouth against hers as if he wanted to hurt her, to punish her. She fought him, tried to pull away, but he was too strong, forcing her lips apart with hurtful insistence.
Appalled and frightened she managed to jerk her arm free of his hold and slap him again. The openhanded blow was vicious, motivated by panic as much as by anger, and it rocked his head to one side. Before he could recover, she slapped him a third time. This time he caught her wrist, imprisoning it. The mark of her hand was plainly visible on his dark cheek, the whitened imprints quickly filling with red. A muscle twitched at the corner of his hard mouth, and his bearded jaw was set and grim. He towered above her, his shoulders in the black cloak wide enough to block her view of the rest of the room. She had forgotten how tall he was, how strong and muscular. Always, to her, he was simply Sorely Boy. But now, looking up at him, she reminded herself of something: he was no longer her friend, he was her gaoler. Once they were married, she was vulnerable to the devil in him. And “devil” was exactly the right word.
TWENTY-THREE
Southern India, Present Day
I yawned and propped myself up in bed, admiring the traditional south-Indian style of the small cabin room. The whole resort was full of intricate woodwork, stone pillars and vibrant tile floors and I was excited to fully explore it now that I was more rested.
I rubbed the sore spot on my head and got to my feet.
“Hey, Les,” I said, walking into the living room. I was certain she hadn’t heard a word. Her brow was creased in concentration, and her mind was clearly elsewhere as her eyes frantically searched the document in front of her. “Leslie . . . ?”
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 52
