Mary immediately stepped onto the stool he’d been sitting on, so that they were eye level, and put her hands on her hips. “If you’re wanting an argument, you’d best choose another to spar with, because if you think I would willingly hand over my only son to a trio of women with dubious intent, you know me not at all.” She huffed out a breath. “Of course I know your purpose. You’re Ireland’s savior!”
He blinked, momentarily thrown. “What? Nay, I’m an O’Rourke Protector.”
“Oh?” She crossed her arms. “Perhaps you ought to explain what you think you’ve been doing since they took you all those years ago?”
“I’ve been learning, and teaching others what I know of ancient, medieval, and modern warfare. That knowledge will aid me, and the other Protectors, when the descendant of Brianagh and Nick, who has yet to be born, rises up to save Ireland. All the legend and lore, stories, families and clans—they’ll all be destroyed in an act of war if we don’t band together and fight with our collective knowledge.”
“And you are their leader.”
“Well…aye,” he agreed. “But—”
“You are the laird of the O’Rourke Protectors. You are the savior, Reilly. You are the one who has been taught to lead, to understand, and to rally those who are able, to travel to the time and place where you’ll all be needed the most, to save your land and your people. You’ve been building a clan of the best warriors from all times, Reilly.”
Shocked, he stared at her. He couldn’t draw a full breath; she couldn’t be right. He was the chosen bodyguard, not the chosen one. The Fates had told him…
Nothing. They never actually told him what his purpose was; they allowed him to tell them, but they never really told him if he was correct in his assumptions.
He dragged his eyes to his mother’s, his world tilting on its axis. “Nay.”
She held him steady with her gaze. “Aye, Reilly.”
He sat down heavily, all the anger fleeing his body. How could that be? He’d spent almost two hundred years grooming one O’Rourke from each generation to protect their line. They were to give up their own life to ensure the next Protector would reach adulthood, so that the next could begin his training. And throughout it all, each man swore his loyalty to…
Him.
“This is what they told you?”
She nodded cautiously. “Aye, ’twas. And they warned me not to tell you until you asked me directly. Think about your men, Reilly. Your clan. All direct descendants of yours.”
His men. All those he’d trained, befriended, saved. They swore their loyalty to Reilly, and to the O’Rourke clan. Of which, of course, Reilly was one, thanks to his father’s blood. But it didn’t matter to the Protectors that Reilly’s last name wasn’t O’Rourke, and he’d never told any of them about his connection. Only James figured it out.
But they swore loyalty to him all the same.
“That’s why I was to protect Brianagh,” he realized out loud. “So she could begin the line of time travelers, whom I would train, and those Protectors would come when Ireland needed them most?”
“Aye.”
“This changes…everything.”
“How?” Mary asked, climbing down from the stool.
He dragged in a breath. “I knew I was protecting the O’Rourkes for some greater purpose. My entire life has been to serve them—”
“Us. Use us, Reilly, for as much as I love that you bear the O’Reilly name, your father’s clan was—is—the O’Rourke clan.”
“My entire life has been to serve us,” he amended. “I’d hoped, now that I claimed my mate, that I too would be able to finish my time with them. That I could live as a normal man. Die as a normal man. How can I be with Gwen, knowing that I’ve no end date? I can do many things, but I can’t watch her die, too, Mam.”
“’Twas vowed to me, as your mother,” Mary replied, “that your soul mate would make you stronger. That your obligation to the Fates ended with her.”
“I’ve claimed her, yet I’ve not had to battle for Ireland, as is my purpose. So how is my obligation to the Fates complete?”
“Do you think she will claim you?”
Reilly heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. But I’m running out of time.”
Mary paused. “Perhaps you tell Gwen directly, after all. You won’t be holding a sword at her throat, demanding she return the sentiment. She can refuse or receive you at will, but she needs to know what’s in your heart. Don’t be a fool. Claim her properly, Reilly. The Fates assured me, those many years ago, that your mate would give you everything she had, and more. She would love you with every breath in her body. But, after you said such cruel words to her in her moment of vulnerability, how can you expect her to claim you? Especially if you haven’t told her that you love her? No matter how strong the woman,” she added softly, “there are only so many times one can expose one’s heart. She may have used up all her bravery, Reilly. Perhaps it’s your turn to be brave enough for the both of you.”
He dropped his head. “Aye. But with all she knows of me…all she’s seen me do…” He flashed back to the moment she realized he’d killed the man in the woods, and his stomach roiled. “Mam, she needs to decide her future. If I tell her she’s my soul mate, she knows that means I would never find happiness if she didn’t claim me back. She’d give up her own happiness to ensure mine.”
Mary’s face softened. “Och, lad, you have much to learn about love.”
“I’d be taking her future from her, much as what was done to you.”
Mary lifted his face up, forcing him to meet her eyes. “These are but excuses, Reilly. Love requires so much blind faith. You are worthy of her love, and she yours.”
He closed his eyes. “I need her to be happy above all else, no matter how that comes about. I don’t think she loves me the same way she once did, and even if she does, she may not be able to forgive me for all I’ve put her through.”
“Her love. Your transgressions.” Mary kissed his cheek. “You will make her remember one, and she will make you forget the other.”
• • •
Gwen fumed.
The morning before Mary’s wedding, she sat in a medieval chair, in a medieval cottage, during a medieval rainstorm, and she seethed at herself.
She had done just what every other woman of his acquaintance did when presented with his affection: she swooned. Swooned!
And, to make matters even worse, then she went ahead and did exactly what she swore to herself she wouldn’t do: tumble head over heels for him. All it took was one kiss, and she was braiding rainbow ribbons into the manes of unicorns.
And nothing had changed. She still was not the woman for him.
She dashed a tear from her cheek and took a deep breath. She was made of sterner stuff than this. She was better than this. Yet, as he stood outside and chopped wood (in the rain, for crying out loud!), she couldn’t help but watch. His tunic was plastered against his chest, his dark chest hair easily visible through the wet fabric. The damn thing had the gall to stick to his abs, too, giving her a perfectly good outline of what she knew was a ridiculously sculpted torso.
She didn’t want to think about his ridiculously sculpted anything, but alas, Mother Nature didn’t care about what she wanted.
Hell, no one cared about what she wanted.
And her chest hurt.
The physical pain was almost too much to bear. She alternated between close to tears and spitting fire.
The tiny part of her that wasn’t angry was disappointed. She always harbored a small spark of hope that Reilly would one day wake up and realize they were meant to be together. He would show up at her door with chocolates in hand (because really, what good are flowers if they’re just going to die? At least chocolates taste good as they disappear.). He’d tell her he’d been so blind, and to please allow him to spend all of eternity showing her how much he loved and appreciated her.
That they were soul mates, destined to each other before time b
egan, and would last after time ended.
She snorted at that image. That wasn’t Reilly. It never would be.
The crack of the axe drew her attention back to the man in question, and she looked out the open door at him again. He claimed he’d needed something to do, so Mary suggested he make himself useful with the axe. It did seem to be depleting the excess energy he’d held around himself all morning.
The village games were postponed until “later,” though Mary admitted that could mean days or weeks from now. With nothing else to do, Mary began to teach Gwen how to knit.
Surprisingly, she enjoyed the rhythmic clacking of Mary’s needles. Unsurprisingly, her needles didn’t clack rhythmically or otherwise. She kept dropping them.
After a while, Mary showed her instead how to finger-knit, and Gwen found that to be much easier. Boring, but easier.
“What do you do when you don’t have any games to attend?” she asked, trying to loosen one of the yarn loops that had tightened around her forefinger.
“Sew, mostly. Sometimes I’ll visit a friend in the village.”
Gwen smiled, but inside, a piece of her began to wither and die. She couldn’t stay in this tiny cottage and finger-knit until the rain stopped. She’d lose her mind.
“Can I cook something for you?” she offered, placing the yarn tangles aside.
Clack, clack, clack. “Nay, lass, you just enjoy your yarn.”
Gwen forced a smile again, then looked with despair at the tangled mess. “Okay, well, I guess I can—”
Thankfully, Reilly chose that moment to enter the house. “’Tis a deluge out there. Mam, you’re set with wood, though you’ll have to dry it out longer than normal.”
She thanked him, though they all knew she wouldn’t be using the wood he split, as she’d be moving into the castle well before it dried out.
Clack clack clack.
Did Gwen ever think she enjoyed that sound? Because suddenly, it felt like the sound of death chimes.
Gwen stared morosely at the fire.
“Gwendolyn?”
She snapped to attention, then realized it was Reilly talking. Her expression turned cool. “Yes?”
“Would you care to join me?”
Huh? Clearly, she missed something, though admittedly she hadn’t paid any attention to their conversation. She glanced out the small window and raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to swim somewhere?”
“Nay,” he replied off-handedly. “I’d planned to row us there.”
Mary snorted out a laugh, and Gwen clenched her teeth. “No, thank you.”
“I’ve much sewing to be done,” Mary said helpfully. “Is your needlework better than your knitting?”
“You know it’s not,” Gwen sighed. She glared at Reilly. “Fine, I’ll go with you.”
Mary handed her a shawl, which Gwen wrapped around herself, and she and Reilly stepped outside.
Reilly grimaced as he pulled his shirt away from the back of his body. “Let’s go to the barn.” They walked around the house, and, as promised, there was a small outbuilding. “I need a favor.”
Intrigued despite herself, she followed him in.
He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing…
Well, Gwen lost all train of thought at the perfection staring back at her.
He smirked, then flexed a little. She blinked, then gave him a dirty look. “What’s the favor?” she barked.
He turned around, his muscled back on full display. “I’m afraid I’ve—”
“Jesus, Reilly, what happened to your back?” she cried out, rushing to him. An angry red line slashed across his shoulder. “It looks painful!”
He admitted it was slightly painful before handing her a small jar. “When we first arrived, the arse who tried to rob us tossed his blade in my direction. My back was turned, so he caught me unawares.”
She carefully opened the jar and wrinkled her nose. “That’s pretty strong stuff.”
“Aye. Organic, too.”
She couldn’t contain a small laugh, then gently spread the ointment over the wound. It looked a little bit angry, as it was red and warm to the touch. His muscles jumped as she smoothed her fingers over it.
She finished her ministrations, then handed the jar back to him.
“Thank you.”
She shrugged. “Anything else?”
“Aye. There’s a wedding to attend, and I find myself in need of a date.”
“Have you tried asking anyone?” she replied evenly.
He stepped close to her, and rational thought fled. All she could comprehend was, in order: a) Reilly O’Malley; b) Reilly O’Malley without a shirt; and c) Reilly O’Malley, looking as though she was his most favorite meal, and he’d been fasting for weeks.
“Gwendolyn Allen.” He stepped closer, their bodies almost touching, his voice gravelly and his breathing as uneven as hers. “Will you do me the very great honor of standing by my side at my mother’s wedding tomorrow morning?”
She gritted her teeth against her initial reaction and stepped away from him. “No.”
He nodded. “I deserved that. And what I don’t deserve is an answer to my next question, but I pray you might find it in your sweet soul to provide me one.”
She remained silent, waiting.
“I’ve made mistakes with you, Gwen. Big mistakes—”
She held up her hands, her traitorous eyes filling with tears. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Please, Gwendolyn. Can you forgive me?”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Reilly.” He stepped towards her, but she matched it with a step backward. She shook her head. “No. I can’t do this. Not again.”
“I will have my words with you, lass. And they will be soon.”
She heard his words trail after her as she fled from the outbuilding, back to the house.
• • •
Watching his mother depart with the laird’s messenger, Reilly wondered at the changes that were happening. History as he’d known it was being rewritten, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked where ’twas going.
While he was glad that his sister had found love, and he was relieved that his mother would be secure in her marriage to the laird, the unsettling feeling in his gut gave him pause.
The feeling was similar to the first time he rode in an airplane. His stomach felt as though it was floating uncomfortably in his body, alternating between shooting up to his throat, then hovering somewhere under his ribs, then dropping to his knees.
Reilly turned and caught sight of Gwen in front of the mirror.
He had the same kind of feeling now, though he suspected his stomach wasn’t the only organ that danced about.
He watched her wind her plaited hair around her head and was reminded of the first time he watched her do the same. He still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to fly to a country she’d never been to, to see a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was her sense of adventure, or the folly of her youth. But he was grateful she’d taken the chance all the same.
When she’d been staying at his cottage for a pair of days, during that first trip out to see him, he recognized that her attraction to him made her a little nervous. It didn’t put her at ease that he ensured he gave off no reciprocal response; after all, she was but twenty-one, a mere child in the modern world. To pursue her would end in disaster; he had just handed over Brianagh to Nioclas and didn’t know if he was to have another assignment, or if he’d be sent back to the past to live out the rest of his days. Gwen hadn’t seen anything of the world, and she was eager to get out there and conquer it.
The first night she was in town, they’d planned to go into Dublin city center. Twenty minutes after she said she’d “be just a minute,” Reilly went looking for her to see if she’d perhaps forgotten the way out of her room. When he came to her open door, he’d halted, struck witless at the sight in front of him.
Gwen had been seated at the small vanity he’d placed in the room
before she arrived. Masses of red curls tumbled over her hands as she struggled to grasp it all, her eyes closed as she wrestled with it. Her elegant neck was fully exposed from the back, and Reilly stared at it, unable to comprehend why the sight of it was more alluring than any of the pretty faces he’d seen in all his years.
She had let out a frustrated sigh and her eyes popped open, immediately catching sight of him in the mirror. “I know I’m taking a long time. I’m sorry. I just can’t get all my hair up. I banged my wrist this morning, and it’s really sore,” she rushed to explain. “If I leave my hair down, I’ll get really hot while dancing.”
“May I assist?” he asked.
She nodded and explained to him how to gather it all and pull it through the hair tie. He gently gathered the silky strands, the feel of each one branding his skin. The fruity smell wafted to him, enveloping his senses fully, and he was rendered immobile for a long moment.
“Reilly?” she had asked uncertainly.
He’d shaken himself out of his reverie. “Just trying to figure out how not to snap this,” he covered, testing the elasticity of the hair tie. He managed to do as she asked, and though it was far from perfect, she gave him a beatific smile and didn’t touch it for the rest of the night.
Pulling himself back to the present, Reilly reminded himself to breathe. He was a seasoned warrior. Battle-hardened. He’d stared death in the face and laughed outright.
Looking at Gwen’s profile now, he didn’t feel much like laughing. In fact, he felt as though he might cast up his accounts all over her beautiful red dress.
Dealing with a feisty redhead who was presumably still angry with him was a battle he was ill-prepared to fight.
He needed to apologize to her, ask for her forgiveness, tell her he was hers for as long as she’d have him (which, he hoped, was for eternity). And then, perhaps, he could dust off his chivalry and woo the lass the way she deserved to be wooed.
She caught sight of him watching her and rolled her eyes as she slid the last pin in place. “I won’t make us late for your mother’s wedding. Come on.”
He held out his arm.
“I don’t need you to pull some Neanderthal move to let everyone know I’m yours,” she sniffed. “I am quite capable of walking myself to the castle.”
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 23
