No wonder Dylan had fallen in love with this place, Liam decided, and pulled a twenty from his wallet. No reason not to get in on the fun.
Chapter 21
Grace stomped through the rain to her truck, not caring that her blouse was getting wet. In fact, the fat drops of rain that plastered her hair to her shoulders and drenched her clothes seemed to cool skin that felt like it was on fire. Reaching her door, she wrenched it open, only to screech when it was slammed closed once again. Whirling, she held up her clenched fists.
“Suing me? You’ve already filed an injunction,” Dylan shouted.
“Aye, and since I’ve caught wind of you trying to get the villagers to work for you regardless of the injunction, I realized that you’ll stop at nothing to get what you want,” Grace shouted right back.
“I have every right to build there.”
“No, you don’t. It’s not your land. And if you can’t feel that in your bones, you’re an idiot,” Grace declared, the rain coming down in sheets between them.
“You’ve a bad habit of insulting my intelligence,” Dylan said, stepping dangerously close, forcing Grace’s back to the truck.
“I call it like I see it,” Grace said, her chin up.
“Yet you’ll ignore this?” Dylan said, deliberately letting his gaze slide down her face to where her wet blouse, all but see-through now, molded to every inch of her curves. The rain did nothing for the heat that flashed through her now – this time from lust, not rage.
“Aye, I can acknowledge you’re handsome enough,” Grace said, “But I’ve no interest in a man who goes through women like they’re some sort of delectable candy.”
“Women are delicious, and I, for one, have no issue with tasting them,” Dylan said, edging just a bit closer.
“Be that as it may, I’ve no interest in a man who flits from woman to woman like a distracted gnat,” Grace said, putting her hand up to his chest to push him back. Instead, he grabbed it in his and held it there, the pulse of his heart beating beneath her palm.
“Liar,” Dylan said, and Grace opened her mouth to protest, only to have it enveloped by his.
Oh, but she wanted to push him back. She hated when men thought they could take what they wanted from a woman. But… it was just a kiss. And she trusted him enough to back off if she really told him to keep his hands off. Plus, when it came down to it, Grace had enough power in the tip of her pinky finger to send him running.
And then she couldn’t think at all.
Kissing him was like coming home. It was all of her dreams come to life in one moment – the taste of him, his touch the same, but oh so different. In her dreams she had felt like she was back in those stolen moments in time with him, but the now was so different. So much more potent. Despite herself, Grace moaned as he changed the angle of the kiss, deepening it, pulling her down with him as the rain drummed over them.
Belatedly realizing where they were and just how many people could be peering out of the pub windows, Grace broke the kiss and stepped back.
They stared at each other and she wondered at the thoughts that stormed behind those magnetic blue eyes. Did he see her now? How could he kiss a woman like that and not feel what she felt? She searched his face for answers, but found none – at least, not the ones she wanted.
“Come home with me,” Dylan said, his breath ragged.
“No,” Grace said, shuttering her emotions and reaching up to pat his face lightly. He surprised her by turning a kiss into her palm.
“Why? Are you scared?” Dylan asked, mimicking her attack from earlier.
“Of so much…” Grace said, blessing the rain for hiding the tears that slipped into her eyes. “More than you can understand. Good night, Dylan. I’ll ask you to stay off my land.”
He let her leave, as she’d known he would. Despite the nasty things she’d said about him in the pub, the man had honor. It was she who, in this moment, wished she had a little less honor and could throw caution to the wind. Her body screamed for his hands on her, and she drove home with her mind clouded by lust and regret.
Even if she’d gone with him, although the night would have been fun, the morning would have been empty – and Grace prided herself on winning the battles she took on.
And wasn’t true love worth a battle?
Chapter 22
Grace had proceeded directly to her shower when she’d arrived home, allowing the steaming water to rinse away the tension of the night. By the time the water grew cold, Grace was spent. She crawled naked into bed, pulling a huge down comforter over her, and closed her eyes. With the sound of rain pattering on the roof and the warmth of Rosie cuddled at her side, Grace dropped right into sleep.
She’d gone to collect flowers that day. A silly endeavor, she supposed, for a pirate warrior. But Grace rarely had pretty things on her ship, as it was built for battle and for hauling goods. No sense decorating her captain’s quarters with the finest things if they would just be broken. But – well, she had a great love for flowers. She considered them little balls of joy, popping up from the landscape, giving of their beauty freely to the world.
She’d been a bit more sentimental of late, Grace supposed, for having spent time with Dillon. Oh, but she loved the man! From the stories he told her over the fire each night, to the way he made her feel with his touch. There was nothing like waking up each morning cradled in his arms, seeing the sleepy smile spread across his face as he looked at her. She’d never known such joy in her life. Sure, she’d loved her first husband, and his death had saddened her. But – ever the realist – Grace had picked up and moved on with her life.
Bending, she snipped some clover and pressed it into the basket, humming as she went. She’d sprinkle the flowers around the cottage when she got back, tucking them in various corners and along the windowsill.
Today, Grace thought. Today was the day she would ask Dillon if he’d want to come home with her. Meet her children. See her home, her land – everything she’d built and battled for. She reckoned he’d like it, though she’d never try to make him stay. Grace recognized a wandering heart when she saw one, and she knew that the man would never be happy without the sea. Nor was she, if she was honest with herself. Maybe they’d take a few of those adventures together, she mused, and crested the hill. Following the path that led toward the beach where their little cottage was sheltered, Grace slammed to a stop.
The flowers forgotten, strewn behind her on the path, Grace ran, digging the dirk from where she always kept it in the waistband of the breeches she wore. Dillon had teased her for dressing like a man, but she knew he appreciated how it showcased her shapely legs. Breeches gave her a freedom of movement both on the ship and on land.
She screeched a warning to the two men who battled on the beach with Dillon. Her heart thudded as he fell facedown into the sand and didn’t move, didn’t even try to get up.
“No…” Blind with rage, Grace didn’t even give the first man a chance to speak before she drove the dirk directly into his throat, ripping it clean across and felling the man before she whirled, blood dripping from her hand, to face off with her lover’s murderer.
“That’s a pretty lass,” the man crooned, his fine coat showing his station. Grace’s eyes landed on the crest emblazoned on the pocket, noting the name of the clan. For if Dillon truly was lost to her, she’d never sleep until the clan felt her pain tenfold.
“Oh? Do you like what you see?” Grace said, dropping the hand with the dirk and shooting him a flirtatious look. When he paused, his sword hand faltering just long enough to smile at her, Grace dove forward, plunging the dirk into his heart and twisting it mercilessly. Not even watching as he fell, Grace turned and raced to Dillon, using all her strength to roll him.
“Dillon,” Grace breathed, propping his head on her lap, tears leaking down her cheeks and onto his face. The blood… oh, so much blood. A stray gull cried overhead, its melancholy call so lonely, as Grace’s heart shattered into a million pieces.
> “Gráinne. My forever love. Now and always…” Dillon choked out, a sliver of blue flashing between almost-closed lids. “Across time. My heart for yours.”
Grace pressed her lips to his, begging him to stay with her, proclaiming her love over and over.
But he was gone, lost to her forever. Ages later, when Grace finally stood, it was as a new woman – a hardened one – and she vowed to seek revenge on those who had stolen her light from her. Grace vowed that, from that moment forward, she would never let herself be so vulnerable again.
Chapter 23
The rough lap of a tongue across her cheek woke Grace and she turned, crying openly as Rosie desperately licked her face to dry her tears.
“Thanks, baby,” Grace said, cuddling the dog close and taking a few shuddering breaths. Curling into her comforter, she took stock of what she’d just witnessed and felt in her dream.
So it had been true, then, what she’d read about Dillon being murdered. A part of her had hoped it wasn’t, simply because she’d never dreamed about it. She’d been spared the more gruesome aspects of that time, and blessed with the joy. Now she wondered why she’d been shown his death.
Such a horrific death, at that. Grace shuddered again as she flashed back to the blood draining from his body onto her legs.
“Grace.”
Grace turned to find Fiona at the edge of the bed, a worried look on her face.
“He was murdered.”
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said, her voice soft. “You avenged him, you know.”
“I read something about that,” Grace said, shrugging one shoulder. What did revenge matter when the love was gone?
“Aye, you went on to marry again, as women did in that time. It was more of a business agreement than a marriage, for it strengthened both of your political power. Even after you married, you went back and laid siege to the clan’s castle. The clan who took Dillon from you.”
A small smile flitted across Grace’s face. It did sound like her. She couldn’t imagine many men being happy with their new wife going off to battle to seek revenge for a murdered lover, but there was never a description that fit her better, she decided.
“Did I win?”
“Of course you did,” Fiona scoffed.
“That’s something, I suppose,” Grace said.
“He kissed you,” Fiona stated, perching on the side of the bed and peering into her face.
“He did. It was wonderful and maddening and… oh, I just wanted to scream at him to see me. All of me,” Grace said, balling her hands into fists.
“Why do you think you were given this dream now?” Fiona asked, reaching up to smooth Grace’s hair from her brow. Though Fiona was a spirit, Grace still felt the flutter of a touch across her forehead.
“Am I supposed to feel the pain of losing him? I already do. I never thought I’d find him and now he here is, right in front of me, and I can’t have him,” Grace said, her anger still simmering just below the surface. Fiona cocked an eyebrow as the patter of rain picked up outside.
“He’s not lost to you. Not yet, at least,” Fiona pointed out.
“Then maybe it’s because I feel lost? Or that I’m at battle? Except in all reality, I feel stuck. Trapped. I want him… oh, I crave being near him like he’s a drug that will heal all my problems. And then I remember that he’s trying to take this land from me and tear down our cottage and I hate him. Why does he have to be this way? Why couldn’t he have shown up in a different man? In a man who isn’t trying to take the things that I love most from me?” Grace demanded, the injustice of it all making her want to scream.
“I think everybody shows up in your life for a reason. We all have different lessons to learn from each other,” Fiona said, standing once more, happy to see the color back in Grace’s cheeks. “Don’t you think there’s a lesson here for you?”
“Judging from how I felt in the dream last night, it’s to protect my heart at all costs. I’d rather never love that hard again than open myself up to that much pain,” Grace admitted.
“That’s a damn shame, Grace O’Brien. I never took you for a coward.” Fiona blinked out of sight before Grace could respond, so shocked was she at her great-grandmother’s words.
Coward? That was the last thing she was. Obviously Fiona didn’t have a clear view of the situation at hand. The reality was that Grace needed to protect her heart and fight for what was hers. The reality was that sometimes you just couldn’t have it all. Better to play it safe, keep her walls up, and save Grace’s Cove.
“And if I have to grow old alone and unsatisfied – so be it.”
Chapter 24
“The axle’s broken,” Liam said from where he stood by the digger. It had been sitting on a trailer since Grace had sent them hightailing off of her – scratch that, his property.
“Vandalism,” Dylan said, shaking his head, though he wasn’t surprised by it. As word of his project spread around the village, it seemed the opponents far outweighed the supporters.
“Maybe. ’Tis a tricky and difficult thing to break, though,” Liam said, running his hand over his beard as he thought about it. “It’s secured on the trailer quite well, and to even get on the trailer, crawl under, and – then what? What angle are you leveraging a tool large enough to snap an axle? And one of that size? I’m really struggling to understand how this happened.”
“Parts must be rusted. You know how it is living close to saltwater,” Dylan said, his tone terse as he moved down the sidewalk. The morning had dawned brisk, with a light chill in the air, but he was happy to see that the rain, which had plagued them for days now, had finally subsided.
He’d spent much of yesterday holed up in his house, reading books, researching the history behind Grace’s Cove, and doing his best to push the infuriating Grace O’Brien from his mind. Unfortunately, he’d failed at the last part and had spent much of the day mooning around the house wishing she was there for him to battle with. Or to engage in other more lively diversions.
The village hummed around him with the Monday morning bustle of children being packed off to school, markets opening, and people heading off to work. The scent of a proper Irish fry-up wafted to him from a diner he passed, and Dylan’s stomach grumbled in response. If his boat weren’t set to dock soon he’d have stopped for a breakfast, some tea, and a chance to look over the paper. Instead, he was on his way to meet some of the workers he’d managed to bribe into working for him – and the men who were already loyal to him – at the docks for a quick meeting on what they hoped to accomplish this week, with the added benefit of being able to keep his eye out for The Pirate Queen.
The name still made his stomach clench every time he recalled Grace casually saying she was no mermaid, but instead a pirate queen. Though he’d resolved himself to believe that she was toying with him, a deeper side of his subconscious seemed to press at him as though it knew he was lying to himself. If he was being totally honest with himself – something he usually tried to do – he would admit that he didn’t see Grace as being that crafty. For she’d been genuinely surprised when he showed up at her house with gifts, and he doubted she would have used that moment – especially before she’d even fully woken up – to try and mess with his head.
Still. It had to just be a coincidence. It wasn’t that uncommon to talk of pirates, especially when one lived on the water. She’d likely just plucked an idea from the air and spoken without thinking. It meant nothing more than that.
“It’s a brand new digger,” Liam said, bringing him back to the conversation, though he had noted Dylan’s distraction.
“Then it’s vandalism. Just because we don’t know how it was done doesn’t mean it wasn’t vandals. Remember, we’ve got a target on our backs here, right?”
“Aye, vandalism it is then,” Liam said, affable in the morning sun that struggled to peek through the clouds. He even had the audacity to whistle a little tune as they walked past storefronts painted in cheerful colors.
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��Is there something you’d like to say?” Dylan ground out, annoyed at his friend’s response.
“You’re the boss. If you’re comfortable with claiming vandalism, that’s fine by me, boyo,” Liam said, a smile hovering on his lips. Dylan narrowed his eyes at him as they dodged a group of schoolboys, dressed in their uniforms, racing up the sidewalk chattering about the hurling match from the weekend before.
“Liam, I don’t have the patience for this today. Just speak your mind,” Dylan said. He’d had another night of fitful dreams, torn with lust, half in love, with Grace as the star of the show.
“I’m just thinking back to the other day when the trucks starting honking and dancing all on their own. Just wondering if there’s other hijinks in the air is all,” Liam said, holding a finger up and swirling it in a little circle in the air.
“Is this about magick again?” Dylan pinched his nose and sighed.
“You’re not one to ignore all possibilities, are you?” Liam asked, cagily dodging the question.
“I’m not, no. But… I think this whole ‘enchanted curse’ thing is going to everyone’s heads. My guess is that there is a very logical and reasonable explanation for all these events,” Dylan said as they drew close to a group of men – a smaller group than he’d hired – who huddled at the dock.
“If you say so, boss,” Liam said, clapping a hand on Dylan’s back before striding forward to greet the men.
“I swear I don’t know why I’m friends with you,” Dylan called after him, only to receive a shit-eating grin over Liam’s shoulder.
Briefly, he turned to scan the harbor. The sea was calm today, with just a light breeze to ruffle his hair, and it was business as usual for the fishermen on the water. His boat should have been here by now, Dylan thought, especially on such a calm day. Wondering what the holdup was, but trusting his crew, he turned back to join the group that waited for him.
Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 Page 10
