Wild Irish Rebel

by O'Malley, Tricia

  Wild Irish Rebel

  Book 5 in the Mystic Cove Series

  Copyright © 2015 by Tricia O'Malley

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design:

  Alchemy Book Covers

  Editor:

  Emily Nemchick

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express permission of the author. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text.

  If you would like to do any of the above, please seek permission first by contacting the author at: tricia@thestolendog.com

  For my mother, Andrea, for always being the one to stand for me.

  "There's nothing so bad that it couldn't be worse." - Irish Proverb

  Chapter One

  "Stop it!" Morgan McKenzie awoke on a screech, her throat burning as she clawed at her chest, gasping for air. The beginning of a panic attack burned in her stomach and she struggled to orientate herself.

  "Oh no." Morgan jerked her head up and tried to focus her mind away from her panic attack and on the more pressing issue at hand.

  That issue being the entire contents of her small studio apartment levitating around her.

  Including her bed.

  "Okay, just breathe, focus," Morgan ordered herself, desperately trying to lower the objects that hovered around her. She didn't own much in this world and what she did was precious to her. If Morgan shattered her lamp because of a recurring nightmare that she had it would take her at least a week's worth of work to pay for another.

  Morgan breathed a small sigh of relief as her bedside table and lamp settled back onto the ground. However, lowering her bed without creating a loud thump for her neighbors below was another thing, and she counted to ten in her head to force herself to concentrate before she timidly lowered the bed gently back onto the ground.

  "Oh, this just has to stop," Morgan muttered to herself as she shoved out of bed and walked to the small kitchenette tucked in the corner.

  The apartment was tiny and had just barely been within her budget, but Morgan didn't care. It was really nothing more than a large room tucked on the third floor of a small apartment building on the edge of town. But the worn wood floors and curved paned windows had appealed to Morgan and the high ceilings with exposed beams made the space seem larger than it was. With the help of her boss Aislinn, she'd been able to fit a double bed and loveseat, along with a table and two chairs, into the room. Prints of Aislinn's moody seascapes ranged across the brick wall, bringing color and movement to the room. Morgan had secretly delighted in buying a delicate sea-foam-green comforter for the bed with matching towels for the small bathroom tucked off the kitchen.

  It wasn't much, but it was home.

  Aside from her van, this was the first space that Morgan could call her own. After years of being unceremoniously moved from foster home to foster home, Morgan had a natural aversion to putting down roots. Until she'd come to Grace's Cove and had found herself able to build friendships for the first time in her life.

  And found people who shared similar gifts to hers.

  It hadn't been easy for her…growing up without a family, struggling to understand an otherworldly ability that would seemingly act on its own accord. It had gotten so bad that the nuns had periodically tried to exorcize her of demons.

  Morgan shuddered as she measured out coffee for her French press.

  Talk about instilling deep-rooted insecurities, she thought. Morgan hated the dreams that forced her to relive that time in her life. The nuns had been convinced that they were acting on God's behalf. Only Baird, Aislinn's husband and the resident psychiatrist, had shown her that being tied to a bed and prayed over for hours was really a form of child abuse.

  Baird. Morgan breathed out a sigh of relief as she thought of her mild-mannered psychiatrist and friend. He had offered her sessions for free at the request of his wife, and her employer, Aislinn. Her eyes teared up just thinking about how much they had both helped her in such a short time. Morgan was quite certain that she would simply die if she ever disappointed them.

  And it wasn't just Baird and Aislinn that had helped her, Morgan thought as she impatiently waited for her coffee to brew. Flynn had taken a chance on her by hiring her to work on his fishing boats with him. His wife Keelin was coming into her own as a healer and she'd been pushing Morgan to spend time with her grandmother, and the greatest healer in all of Ireland, Fiona. Morgan's scalp itched as she thought about meeting with Fiona. She'd spent so long trying to hide her extra abilities that going to Fiona seemed like ripping a bandage off of a wound. She just wasn't ready to tackle that step yet.

  And then there was Cait and Shane. Cait was a bossy pub owner, now hugely pregnant, who had nosed her way into Morgan's life and began ordering her around like she'd known Morgan forever. Though Morgan put up a token fight now and then, she secretly couldn't help but love the fact that someone cared enough to boss her around. Cait's husband Shane had gotten her this apartment and Morgan was quite sure that he'd given her the family discount. A debt that she intended to repay with a free year of babysitting once their baby was born.

  Morgan's mind circled back to Aislinn's gallery, Wild Soul. She'd taken a chance that day when she'd used her powers to stop a painting from falling from the wall. It had been such a beautiful piece that Morgan had reacted instinctively. Aislinn had witnessed Morgan using her power to save the painting and instead of running her out of town, she'd hired Morgan and had become her mentor.

  Morgan didn't know whom to thank for the gratuitous turn of events in her life, but something had nudged her towards Grace's Cove. Finding a small town full of people who shared similar gifts to hers had been the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  The scent of coffee teased Morgan's nose and pushed her out of her thoughts. Morgan sighed in relief as she reached up for her one and only mug, a rejected pottery experiment that Aislinn had deemed too ugly for sale. Morgan loved the overlapping cream and turquoise glaze and had insisted on taking it home with her. Drinking from it every morning was a reminder of how far she had come.

  And just how much she had to lose.

  Morgan's gaze tracked around the room, making sure that nothing had been broken during her nightmare. She'd yet to figure out how to control her power during her sleep, and most especially during her nightmares. It was one of the main reasons that she didn't date anyone and had never slept at a man's house.

  She could only imagine a man's face if he were to awake to see a desk hovering above them. He'd run screaming into the night.

  Morgan shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. "Just let it go," she ordered herself. These nightmares always made her feel melancholy and brought her right back to being tied to a bed while Father George screamed at her in Latin. She'd have to bring this up to Baird sometime.

  Glancing at the clock, Morgan realized that she'd been lost in her thoughts for too long. She ducked into the bathroom and peered into the tiny mirror, grimacing at her reflection. Dark circles smudged eyes that couldn't decide if they were blue or green, and her skin looked pale. She pinched her cheeks for some color and pulled her long dark hair into a braid before wrapping it into a bun. Stripping, she stepped into the shower and washed quickly, reaching out to take large gulps of coffee from the mug that she had placed on the counter. She wished that she could stay under the warm stream for a while longer, massaging the knots in her neck from a night of fitful sleep. Instead, she dried off in a hurry, brushed her teeth, barely glancing in the mirror before snagging her coffee cup on the run.

  Morgan rarely applied makeup. What was the point? She worked on a fishing boat and didn't date, so she found little need for it. Morga
n dressed quickly, pulling a simple t-shirt and waterproof fishing overalls on and tucking her feet into rubber-soled shoes. With a last glance at the clock, she grabbed an apple and a peanut butter sandwich from the fridge and left her tiny apartment.

  Morgan tried to walk softly down the worn wood steps that led to the front foyer of her apartment building. It was just shy of 4:30 in the morning and she suspected that the other tenants wouldn't take kindly to her waking them up at this hour.

  The crisp morning air welcomed her as she stepped onto the street of small town Grace's Cove. Named for the stunning cove that was tucked into the cliffs outside the town, it was an accepted fact around town that Grace O'Malley, Ireland's infamous pirate queen, had chosen the cove as her final resting place.

  And, in doing so, had protected the cove with powerful magick. Most of the residents of Grace's Cove wouldn't speak of the magick that was found inside the cove; instead, they steered far away from those enchanted waters, knowing that only harm could be found there. Thousands from around Ireland flocked to the town, thinking that they would be the ones to finally venture into the cove and find the reputed treasure that Grace had buried there. The government had finally put up signs warning of a powerful current and forbidding people to enter as a safety measure.

  Too many lives had been lost there.

  And, yet. The cove seemed to accept its own, Morgan thought as she hurried down the quiet street, only the bakery showing a dim light and movement. Houses and shops clustered together on cluttered roads that all led down to the harbor. It was common to find unique places tucked among the shops, like one place that operated as a hardware store during the day and as a small pub at night. People in Grace's Cove were nothing if not inventive.

  And, not shy to capitalize on an opportunity. Just as many people came to Grace's Cove to catch a glimpse of the enchanted cove as they did to enjoy the quaint, small town that boasted stunning views of the water. Pubs, restaurants, and bed and breakfasts made a killing here in the summer.

  It was the winter months that were the lean times. Morgan sniffed the air, happy to scent that the chill of winter was dispersing and the balm of spring was rolling in. Working on the fishing boat had been particularly grisly during the winter months, but Morgan had been determined to hack it, which in turn had won over the begrudging respect of the other members of Flynn's crew.

  Reaching the docks, Morgan made her way down to Flynn's pier, where a smaller fishing boat was tied.

  Today was a cove day then, Morgan thought and smiled happily.

  Morgan was the only one that Flynn could take into the cove with him. It was the place where he found the best fish and lobsters to supply his restaurants across Ireland. Fish caught there claimed a high price.

  It was an honor to be included on those trips, Morgan thought and raised a hand at Flynn as she came to the head of the boat.

  "Cove day?"

  "Aye," Flynn said.

  Chapter Two

  Flynn stood at the bow of the boat, coiling nets and dropping them in spots that would keep them from tangling together. Not for the first time, Morgan admired his darkly handsome looks, mentally congratulating Keelin on her excellent choice in men. Not only was Flynn ridiculously handsome, but he was also a good man and a solid employer. Morgan looked up to him like he was an older brother.

  And she supposed that he was, in his own right. The legend said that all female members of Grace O'Malley's bloodline held a touch of something special. Which would make her and Keelin related in an odd sort of way. And, through that, Flynn was a brother of sorts. Morgan had been relieved to work that out in her head after meeting Keelin. She'd begun to worry that she was developing a bit of a crush on Flynn. Once she'd moved him into the family zone in her head, it had disappeared entirely.

  The boat that Flynn used for fishing in the cove was low and sleek, the fiberglass sides painted a cheerful red. Inside, it held all of the modern amenities that a boat could want, including a small bathroom tucked below that Morgan was forever grateful for. It wasn't the first time that her being a female on an all-male fishing crew had caused some awkwardness.

  Morgan hopped easily from the dock to the deck of the boat and moved to tuck her small bag with her food and apartment keys in a cubby beneath the steering wheel.

  "Bait done?"

  "Not yet," Flynn said and Morgan nodded and moved to the back of the boat where lobster pots were stacked. Though much of what they caught was through the nets, lobster from the cove fetched a premium price. Without fail, they always found the largest and healthiest lobsters there. It would be the first lobster catch of the season as they edged into late spring and Morgan suspected that the baskets they had laid a day ago would already be full.

  A bucket of herring stood near the baskets and Morgan had zero hesitation about shoving her hands into the mushy wetness of dead fish. She hummed to herself as she worked, barely noticing when Flynn started the boat and pulled slowly away from the dock. She took her time baiting the baskets, making sure each piece was secure in the small mesh bag before moving on to the next. When finished, she leaned over the side of the boat, dipping her hands in the cold water to rinse the bits of fish from her fingers.

  "Coffee's there," Flynn said, nodding to a thermos he had put next to the passenger seat.

  "Thanks," Morgan said, moving to the front of the boat to stand by him.

  This was her favorite part of the day. As the sun crept over the horizon of the still water of the harbor, shafts of light stretched across the water, slowly illuminating the brightly colored buildings of the village. One by one, lights began to pop on and the village awoke as the boat puttered out into deeper waters.

  Because this was Flynn's smaller boat, he kept closer to the shoreline than he would have with his larger fishing vessels. Morgan found herself scanning the large cliffs that sprung from the water just outside the village, dominating the coastline with their impressive presence, and drawing thousands of tourists every summer. They were stunning in their command of space, but Morgan always felt a tug of sadness when she looked up at them. There was something raw and elemental about the cliffs, jutting out of the deep ocean water to put her humanness in perspective, she thought.

  "How's the new place?" Flynn asked.

  "Good, thanks. I'm so grateful that Shane set it up for me," Morgan said. Flynn knew that she had been living in her van and yet had never questioned her about it. Another reason that she loved working for him. The man knew when not to ask questions.

  "Do you have everything that you need?"

  "Aye, I do. I got a bed and Aislinn helped me to decorate. It's really a perfect space for me," Morgan said.

  "Good, we all need a place of our own," Flynn said and left it at that.

  Morgan silently agreed with him. She just hadn't realized it until she had gotten her apartment. A hole inside her had been filled the day that she signed the lease and for the first time in years, she looked towards her future with hope.

  "Offering is up front," Flynn said quietly as they approached two large cliffs that ended in rocky points, for all the world looking like stony guards that protected the entrance to the cove. Morgan didn't have to ask what he meant. It was understood by those that were allowed to enter the cove that an offering must first be given in order to ensure their safety. Morgan didn't question it.

  Morgan made her way to the bow of the boat and found the small mesh bag. Shifting it around she could see the glint of metal and some crystals. Flynn cut the engine and silence surrounded them as they drifted into the still waters of the cove. Her heart clenched – just for a moment – as it always did whenever they entered the cove. Whether people would admit it or not, there was powerful magick here. Morgan could feel the weight of it press against her skin as though she was passing through a thin veil of smoke. Steam drifted into the sky from the still waters of the cove and the cliffs hugged the water in an almost perfect half-circle. A sandy beach stretched at the base of the cliffs,
looking for all the world like the perfect picnic spot. Instead, it lay empty, the waves lapping gently against the golden sand.

  Morgan hefted the bag and spoke loudly, her words echoing back to her from the cliff walls. "We would like to offer you these gifts as a sign of our respect for your waters. We promise not to harm the cove, nor are we here for unworthy purposes." Morgan never repeated the same words when she entered the cove, but the intent was the same.

  We mean no harm.

  We respect these sacred waters.

  With those words, she tossed the bag into the water and it disappeared into the depths with a soft little plop.

  "Let's check the pots," Flynn said and Morgan pulled herself away from the front of the boat.

  It was time for work.

  Hours later, Morgan stretched her back while looking at the pile of baskets in the back of the boat. The baskets had been teeming with large lobsters when they'd pulled them from the water and Flynn had been delighted with the haul. All in all, it had been a peaceful, if not busy, day. Flynn and Morgan typically worked in silence, with Flynn humming along to the music from the small radio in the dash. Morgan didn't mind the physical labor as it left her alone with her thoughts.

  And, lately, she'd been thinking a lot about the managerial position that Aislinn had been nudging her towards at the gallery.

  It wasn't that she didn't want to take it – she'd do anything for Aislinn. It was just that the old insecurities that had plagued her since childhood had crept up, making her question her ability to do the job well. She'd rather not take the job than fail Aislinn in any way.

  Reaching a decision, even though it made her a little sad, had her slumping down in the seat next to Flynn and letting out a small sigh.

  Flynn cast her a quick glance. "How are things at the gallery?"

  Morgan sliced a glance at him. "Sure and I could swear that Cait was the one with the mind-reading powers, not yourself," she said, smiling up at him.