Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four

by Nancy Scanlon

  Reilly wisely remained silent, offering little more than a nod, but inside, his mind was reeling.

  Clearly, not all was perfect in Gwen and Anthony’s relationship. And while he would never do anything to hurt her, Reilly saw his future without Gwen: Dark, bleak, and very lonely.

  He couldn’t live without her light…but, if she was in love with Anthony, he couldn’t live with himself if he ruined that for her.

  He feigned nonchalance. “I’m sure he doesn’t think that of you, Gwendolyn. But if he’s as in love with you as you are with him, perhaps he’s feeling a bit insecure. I’ve seen it time and again. The poor sap thinks he has it all settled, but then the smallest thing knocks him for a loop, and he’s not sure which way is up.”

  “I’ve given him no reason not to trust me,” she protested.

  Reilly couldn’t help but remind her, “But I’ve given him no reason to trust me.”

  Ready or not, the battle had begun.

  • • •

  Gwen peeked out from behind the curtain and grimaced. Reilly sat—well, he sprawled—in a dainty, off-white chair, meant to seat mothers and sisters and maids of honor. He looked broody.

  She knew he’d need food sooner than later, if she was to restore his good humor. Well, as good as he’d get in public. The man loved to give off that don’t-mess-with-me vibe when they were out, though she wouldn’t complain about it. They’d never had a wait at any restaurant, they’d never been approached by unsavory characters, and people usually gave them a wide berth, which was quite helpful in crowds.

  She needed that feeling of invincibility around her right now.

  She took a moment to study him, and wondered what he was thinking about. He was not thrilled to be here; all around him, dresses shimmered and women tittered, exclaiming over laces, colors, and fabrics. The perma-frown etched onto his features was proof enough that, if she didn’t hurry up a little, things were going to go downhill fast.

  But underneath the grouchy outer layer, Gwen got the feeling that Reilly wasn’t as unhappy about being here as he tried to make it seem.

  Earlier, when her taxi driver showed up drunk, Reilly didn’t need to say anything. One look at the driver and Reilly had him out of the driver’s seat and passed out on his front lawn. Disgusted, Reilly called the taxi company, stowed the keys in the mailbox, and bustled her into his runabout car so she wouldn’t be late.

  Gwen protested, but if she didn’t get the fitting done today, the dress wasn’t guaranteed to be ready in time for the wedding. So, she thanked him with promises of a hearty lunch afterward. Reilly didn’t complain, as he never did, but took it in stride and somehow got her to her appointment on time.

  Gwen wrung her hands. How was it that the man was always so unruffled? Nothing ever bothered him. He somehow managed every situation as though it was a part of his plan all along, while she—

  Well, any plans she made lately seemed to be tossed aside, trampled upon, and then spit at for good measure.

  She nervously smoothed her hands down the soft satin of the dress and tried to calm her breathing. The dress clearly needed to be altered. Reilly was all elegant grace and refined strength; his clothing fit him perfectly, his hair was just mussed enough to scream I-don’t-care-because-I-don’t-have-to, and his large, well-formed physique had turned more than one eye since their arrival.

  If it had gone right, as it was supposed to, the dress would be fine, and she would be out the door much faster. As it was…She glanced down again. It was so long it trailed a good six inches on the floor, accentuating her decided lack of height, and the waist was large enough that it made her figure look like she’d indulged in way too many pastries.

  “Gwendolyn, I swear by all that is holy, if you don’t stop fretting behind that curtain, I’ll come in and drag you out here.”

  She jumped at his voice, then yanked back the curtain, fully frustrated. “It’s awful,” she moaned.

  “Isn’t the entire point of this escapade for you to have them make it not awful?” he drawled. His eyes raked her from head to toe, which took about, oh, three seconds.

  “Stunning,” he determined.

  “Enormous!” she countered, gathering the copious amounts of satin.

  “It needs some tailoring,” he allowed, scratching his chin.

  “Some?” she exclaimed, stalking to the mirror and almost tripping over the excess material. “It’s not even close to the right size. I am drowning in this thing!”

  He shrugged. “The color suits you.”

  The attendant bustled over, her eyes wide. “Oh, dear. This is the wrong size! It must be ten sizes too large!”

  “No kidding,” Gwen muttered, helplessly lifting the dress from the floor. “It’s big everywhere.”

  The woman began pinning fabric with the speed of a NASCAR driver, rounding Gwen in dizzying circles. She made lots of “hmms" and loud sighs, but a few minutes later, she stepped back and eyed Gwen critically. “With some modifications, this dress will be lovely. You’re such a petite thing, with such interesting coloring. This shade of green is simply perfect for you.”

  Gwen drew herself up to her full five-feet-two-inches and tried to imagine it. “Thank you.”

  The attendant moved aside, and Gwen turned to look at Reilly.

  His face had a funny expression on it, like he’d been struck with something heavy and he was shaking off the resulting fog. She tilted her head at him, concerned. “Ry? Are you okay?”

  He shook himself out of whatever was going on in his head. “Aye. The lady’s correct, lass. Like I said: stunning.”

  Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Thanks. Hopefully it’ll be done in time.”

  “Plenty of time,” the woman assured her. “Do you need help taking it off?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No, I’ve got it, thanks.”

  “I think we’ve found the dress!” another client called out excitedly.

  The attendant flashed Gwen a quick smile and hurried over to a woman standing on a small stage. She seemed to glow with happiness as she turned this way and that, admiring in the mirror the wedding dress she wore.

  “She looks radiant,” Gwen murmured.

  Reilly lounged back even further, threatening the stability of the tiny seat. “I bet you’ll look even more so in your wedding gown. I can imagine you in it. Simple, elegant. Hair up, though you should leave it down. And none of that veil nonsense. Your groom should be able to see the love written all over your face.”

  She blinked at him, at a loss for words.

  He cocked his head at her. “You should never hide your face behind anything. You’re too beautiful.”

  Her eyes widened, and her heart thudded in her chest.

  He gave her a quick smile, making her knees wobble a bit. “Am I so infrequent with the compliments that you’ve no idea how to take them? I’ll have to rectify that. Off with you now. You promised me lunch, wench.”

  She laughed, her heart still pounding in her chest, and carefully picked her way back to the small dressing room. Reaching behind her neck, she slid the zipper down, but it snagged on something. She froze.

  It’s fine. You’ve got this, Gwendolyn. Just a little tug, and it’ll glide right down.

  A little tug made a rendering sound, and she pursed her lips. She stuck her head out the curtain, looking for the attendant. “Where’s the saleslady?” she asked, biting her lip.

  “She went to the other floor to get some sort of headdress,” Reilly informed her. “What’s wrong?”

  “The zipper’s stuck, and I’m afraid I’m going to rip it.”

  He stood in a fluid motion, and though there was nothing predatory in his walk, Gwen felt as though she was his prey. Which was ridiculous, as this was Reilly. He spent years ensuring she always felt like anything but prey.

  Except once.

  “I can unzip it. Turn around.”

  She complied and held her hair off her neck. A memory assaulted her; his hands, gliding down her back, j
ust like this…

  He let out a low whistle. “It’s caught all the way down to here.” He pressed gently on the curve of her spine above her bottom, and a cascade of butterflies took flight in her stomach. “You’ll have to step into the dressing room for this, unless you’d like to bare yourself to the world out here.”

  Once they were behind the curtain, Gwen swore someone turned the heat up in the building. She concentrated on the ugly purple curtain that separated them from the main room as Reilly smoothed his fingers onto her back, slowly working the zipper free from the satin. His knuckles grazed her spine, and she shuddered.

  “Cold?” he murmured, his fingers never stopping.

  “Um, a bit,” she lied.

  He didn’t reply, and she prayed he believed her, despite the fact that her entire body was turning red.

  The curse of a redhead; every time she had any emotion at all, her skin showed it.

  Reilly’s hands were warm, his fingertips a bit rough, and his skin on hers brought her mind right back to where she swore she’d never let it go again.

  Gwen, you know Anthony’s touch will never give you this feeling.

  Her knees were threatening to give out on her. She needed to get a grip. Gwen risked a look in the mirror she was facing, and she her mouth went dry at the expression on Reilly’s face.

  She knew her mind was playing tricks on her, but she could swear that he looked like a man bent on seduction.

  Holy hell.

  If that’s what a seductive Reilly looked like, she would combust before he even got her to the bedroom door.

  Like an avenging angel, the attendant chose that moment to call out, “Did you get the dress off?”

  “Um, no,” she managed to call out. She swallowed past a very dry throat. “The zipper is stuck.”

  The attendant bustled in, tsked, and shooed Reilly out before tugging the last inch of fabric free from the zipper. The dress peeled off Gwen, and the woman readjusted a couple of the pins as Gwen tugged on her clothes.

  “No damage done, thankfully. Men can never be trusted around satin. It makes them all sorts of crazy,” the attendant confided with a knowing smile. “It’s a tactile thing. Once they touch it, all rational thought goes, and they tend to simply shred it with their impatience.”

  Reilly hadn’t seemed impatient to her; in fact, his hands had traveled maddeningly slowly. She nodded, thanked the woman, and exited the dressing room.

  Reilly was waiting for her at the door, his face again an implacable mask. Any trace of the desire, if there even was any, was long gone. “Food?”

  She cursed herself ten times the fool as they left the shop together and promised herself she would call Anthony just as soon as she could.

  • • •

  Thirty minutes later, Reilly was still trying to recover from the dressing room. He knew that if he was ever going to convince Gwen of his intentions, he had to lead her to her own conclusion…without letting her know he was doing any of the leading.

  He could have her love. He reminded himself, for the sixteenth time that day, that he had to work for it, and show her his love first.

  “So what would you care to do now?” he asked. Let the initial battle commence. He needed to introduce her to his family, but it had to be her idea, and she had to be certain of it. No backtracking allowed.

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m taking up your time. You didn’t exactly plan on entertaining me.”

  “I’ve naught but time on my hands. All I had was a tentative thought to visit my dam, but that can always be pushed to another week.” He nonchalantly glanced down at her. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “What dam? Like in a river somewhere?”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Nay. My dam. My mother.”

  She gasped. “Your mom? You mean, you were going to take a trip? Oh no, is she expecting you? Can she expect you?”

  He raised a brow. “Aye, but it’s not a problem. I can see her another time. She won’t mind at all, especially when I tell her I was with you.”

  “She knows about me?” Gwen asked, surprised.

  He arched a brow. “Of course. You’re the most important person in my life; why wouldn’t I tell her about you?” Her mouth formed a perfect O, and he took a moment to enjoy her speechlessness before continuing. “She’s always on me about bringing you to her, but until recently, you didn’t exactly know I could.”

  “She wants to meet me?” Gwen squeaked.

  He easily maneuvered them onto the highway. “Well, aye. Colin’s had naught but good things to say about you, and James, of course, told her all about your—”

  “The O’Rourkes know her?”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record, Gwen. Aye, they know her. She’s been keen on meeting you since I first told her of you. But don’t trouble yourself over it. Shall we visit Cork tomorrow?”

  He held his breath.

  “I’d much rather meet your mom,” she admitted readily, and he let it out slowly. “I mean, your mom, Ry! I’ve always wondered what she’s like. Is she sweet, or more of a tough love type? How old is she? Where does she live? Is she as beautiful as you?”

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “You think me beautiful, lass?” Reilly asked with a chuckle. He flexed his arm and gave her a sideways glance. “Go on. You know you want to.”

  Another one of their games. Gwen always found it fascinating that she couldn’t wrap both her hands around his bicep. He would call her a wee thing, and she would try harder, to no avail.

  His workouts weren’t solely for the protection of the O’Rourke line.

  She huffed out a laugh. “You’re fishing for compliments, you know.”

  “Aye, I am. So be a good lass and humor this old man.”

  She wrapped her small hands around his bicep, and it shot straight to his heart. She tested and stretched, but her fingertips were so far from each other, she quickly gave up.

  “Yes, yes, your arms are huge.”

  “Eh, you’re just a wee thing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What about your sister?”

  “What about her?”

  “Does she still live with your mom?”

  “Depends on when I visit her,” he replied honestly. He cleared his throat. “It’s the one thing the Fates gave me some control over. I can visit my family whenever I wish.”

  “So theoretically, if someone was to die of unnatural causes, you could prevent their deaths, if you were aware of it, right?”

  “Nay. If I try to change their future, I’m immediately removed.”

  Which is why, after all this time, he still wondered how he was able to so thoroughly break the rules for Aidan and Emmaline MacWilliam. Aidan’s fate was in the past, and Emma’s in the future; he’d taken it upon himself to reunite them, despite what the Fates demanded.

  Though it had been years, he was still half-waiting for the punishment the Fates would eventually mete out.

  “Do you know when people die?”

  “Only those that have died before this moment in time. I cannot go to the future.”

  She swallowed. “You seem rather cavalier about it.”

  “I’ve had more years than you know to come to terms with all of this. For the deaths of my family, I simply ensure my visits are between a certain set of years.”

  “How old are you, Ry?”

  He shook his head. “Gwen, you don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

  “I know what your license says. Are you much older than that?” she pressed.

  “When did you sneak a look at my license?” he exclaimed, turning off the highway. He knew, of course. He always knew when his things were disturbed. It was a survival tactic of his, to remember just where he put important things, and to notice when they’d been moved.

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  “I’ll drop it when you drop my age.”

  “You’re so sensitive.”

  “
Aye, I cry into my cereal every morn over it,” he deadpanned.

  “You don’t eat cereal. And fine, I’ll let it drop for now. Let’s talk instead about this visit with your mom. Mary, right?”

  He nodded. “Aye, Mary. But you don’t really want to go back then. It’s even earlier than when you visited before, by more than a hundred years.”

  Her eyes widened, and he caught the sparkle in the mossy depths of her eyes when he risked a glance at her face. “Sure I would!”

  He frowned, though inside he was preemptively raising a fist in victory. Slow down, O’Malley. “Lass, think about it. What would happen if you were to fall ill? Eleanor would never forgive me, and by association, nor would Colin.”

  “Oh, pfft. I won’t get sick. I’ll bring vitamins.”

  “What about a prolonged absence from your parents? Won’t they wonder if you’ve not contacted them after a few days?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “They’re on a two-week cruise in the Caribbean. They wanted to be tanned for Ellie’s wedding. I hadn’t planned on talking with them until then.”

  Reilly smothered his laugh. Gwen’s parents were lovely, but they were walking stereotypes for wealthy, upper-crust Yanks. He turned serious. “What about your fiancé? Won’t he wonder what’s become of you?”

  Her mouth turned downward into a small frown, and he wished he had the privilege to smooth it out. Easy now.

  “Yes, probably.”

  “Probably? If it were me, I’d want to know.”

  “Control freak much?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. My future wife can do what she pleases. I’d like to know of her plans so I could imagine myself rescuing her if her plans went awry.”

  “My plans always go awry,” she muttered.

  They do indeed, he thought. Which was why he liked always knowing what her plans were.

  “I’ll tell him that I’m going on a side trip and will call him when I can. He’s pretty busy in Atlanta, so I don’t think it’ll prove too much of a problem.”

  “It would be if he knew you were going with me.”

  Gwen shrugged. “We’re friends, Ry. He has to accept that.”