Celtic Evil: A Fitzgerald Brother Novel: Roarke

by Sierra Rose

  Stepping from the car, he could see the house lit up with lights from the inside and the many spotlights on the outside, and his mind went back to earlier days. Happier days when they would return from a trip or a show to have this very same woman meet them by the door.

  Now, except for some graying hair, all seemed the same to him as Deirdre hurried down the steps.

  “I’ve prepared the rooms as you suggested and told Mick to clear the garage for those death-machines the lads use,” she spoke to Kerry briskly but her eyes were looking around, frowning as the Mavericks carefully unloaded the stretcher. “He should still be in a hospital, boyo,” she admonished sternly.

  “That’s what I said,” Peter muttered wincing as a hand smacked his head.

  Ryan rolled his eyes at the medic. “You really wanted to explain to those doctors why their patient was glowing or levitating?” he challenged, turning to give his best smile to the older woman. “Hey, luv, I was in the area and decided to drop by.”

  Already emotional, Deirdre’s eyes welled up at the sight of him. “Ryan! You lovely boy, let me look at you.” She gripped his arms but had to stand back to look him in the eye. “Saints alive but you are the image of your Da.”

  If that comment bothered him, Ryan didn’t let it show as he smiled at the woman who had taken a hand to him as often as his mother, then decided to turn her attention to his older brother.

  “Mac’s being a wimp because he absorbed too much pain tonight and won’t let it show,” he whispered in her ear, almost smiling when she turned to pin the dark blond Fitzgerald with a knowing look.

  “Patrick MacKinley Fitzgerald!” she snapped in a tone perfected of being the only help that Brenna Kerrigan Fitzgerald would allow to assist her in managing her five sons. “Take yourself in that house right this minute and be where I can find you in five minutes!”

  Mac scowled at his smirking brother and started to go toward him when Maggie caught his arm and steered him up the steps.

  “Let’s go hero,” she grinned, patting his arm. “I don’t think that’s a lady you want to mess with.”

  “It wasn’t her I was going to mess with,” Mac muttered, but gave up on the idea of getting around Maggie, who was stronger than she looked. “My big mouth little brother needs a quick reminder on why he’s younger though.”

  While Deirdre got the others settled, Ian had become fascinated with the high-tech motorcycles that the Mavericks drove and Ryan decided to follow Mac since he was the one who had gotten the housekeeper aimed his way. It also allowed Kerry a chance to check in with the Mavericks medic and leader.

  Having been told where to settle Roarke by the ever-helpful housekeeper, Peter had made sure his friend was still stable and that the ride hadn’t hurt him any.

  He was between hovering over him and trying to get Jessica Hadley to lie down and rest when Kerry walked in.

  “He won’t like being here and he can’t be alone so go away, Peter.” Jessica’s tone was one of pure refusal even though the eldest Fitzgerald brother could sense the girl’s exhaustion.

  “You know Roarke’s safe in this house, Jessie,” Kerry spoke quietly and didn’t try to approach the bed when he saw her tense at his voice. “What’s he scared of?”

  Jessica lifted her tired eyes and nearly smiled at that. “You mean, besides the events of recent days? Too much that you really aren’t ready to deal with.”

  Kerry knew he could have scanned but also knew the girl had a natural defense against mental intrusions and also knew he wouldn’t invade her personal privacy like that. The same reason he wasn’t scanning his brother.

  In the silence, Roarke began twisting in his sleep, whimpering. “No. Don’t…hit…Don’t…touch…”

  “Sshh, luv. It’s alright,” Jessica whispered, sitting next to him to try to use their link to ease the fears before any of his brothers could begin getting the images. However, she was too weak and wasn’t expecting her friend to be this far under too soon. “It’s alright.”

  Roarke moved as soon as he felt her next to him, rolling and curling against her; his arms tightening around her waist. “Why?”

  At first, Kerry thought his brother was awake but soon realized he was still asleep. His eyes were open but not clear as they saw the past, and his voice was that of a child not the adult he’d grown into.

  “Why what, Roarke?” he asked, seeing Jessica had tensed but concentrated on the boy in front of him and beginning to feel waves of emotions from him.

  “Why’d ya let it happen? Why didn’t you… come for me?” the tone changed to a fearful bitterness but he was curling tighter. “Why did you let her let them hurt…”

  Jessica’s fingers ran through his long black hair and slowly he fell back to sleep but this took a toll on the girl, and finally Kerry reached for her.

  “Just stay with him and rest,” he urged, frowning. “What did he mean, Jess?” he asked, knowing this was something bad for them. “Why did I let what happened? Who hurt him?”

  The girl sighed; weighing her loyalty to Roarke to what she knew was best for him in the long run. His pain, both new and old, was still cutting into her emotions.

  “He’s asking why you didn’t go get him when he wrote to you after he was sent away,” she finally sighed, laying her head against the headboard and hoped she wasn’t making this worse.

  This subject was the one that always bothered Kerry since he had fought bitterly with his father’s mother on her decision to send his younger brothers away to other relatives scattered throughout the country.

  Ian had gone to Dublin with Sybil and Brandon Sullivan; Ryan to Clare with Maureen and Eamon O’Brien; Mac had gone to County Cork with Bridgett and Padric Odell, and Roarke had gone to Ida and Felan Walsh in Mayo.

  Kerry had been nineteen at the time and had of course been able to stay on his own and inherit his family estate. He had tried to keep his brothers but Kathleen Murphy Fitzgerald had been firm on sending them away.

  She had said it was for their own safety, since what had killed their parents would try to strike at them and the boys would be safer away from the life. To be raised normally away from their heritage and the Craft but he’d always had doubts. Especially when she had insisted they stay apart, even though Mac’s foster family had plenty of room.

  “She insisted it was for the best,” he repeated the weak line and saw the mild anger in the girl’s eyes.

  “He wrote you letters, Kerry,” Jessica replied, tiredly. “He wrote you what was happening and begged you to come bring him home. He believed that since you were the oldest and promised him that you’d make it right that you’d do that.”

  Those words made him frown. “I never saw any letters from Roarke, luv,” he argued, looking at her. “The only thing I ever heard from the Walshes was when Gran showed up yelling that you and Cam had come and kidnapped him one day,” he replied, seeing her smirk as he lightly brushed his brother’s hair out of his face as he’d done once and down his back. Feeling the boy jerk under his hand and his already weak powers tried to deflect the light touch.

  His eyes shot to Jessica’s and saw her lips thin but remain silent as he carefully moved to lift his brother’s t-shirt up, and a streak of lightning ran across the clear night sky.

  “What in Finn’s name happened to him?” his voice had gone flat and cold upon lifting the shirt and seeing the many old scars that littered the younger man’s back as far as he could see.

  Some looked to have come from a hand or belt while others he didn’t want to define yet what had caused them.

  “Your grandmother’s good friends, the Walshes, used Roarke as slave labor for the two years he was there.” Her tone, while still exhausted, was also cool as she spoke distinctly to make sure he understood every word. “Their four ugly little demon brats didn’t have to lift a finger but Roarke did chores from five a.m. until well past ten p.m. He often ate little to nothing if they thought to feed him at all, and was punished for the smallest mistake.
”

  This time, Kerry began scanning his brother even though he had to work through the fear and tension of his whole life. As he did this, he also looked at the other scars and saw what his brother was hiding.

  “Cam and I were in Ireland one day checking on the local companies and decided to drop in unannounced to see Roarke since getting him by phone was a huge effort,” Jessica went on softly, her pain evident as she remembered that day. “He was thirteen, had been sending you secret letters or notes the whole time begging you to make the horrors stop, to come get him, but you never answered him.

  “That day, when we got to the Walsh farm things felt odd. Their oldest son was doing his usual swaggering until Cam put a gun in his face, but wouldn’t say where Roarke was. I found Roarke laying in the barn where they had tied him and he’d been beaten to a raw bloody pulp. His back, legs, chest, anything exposed was just raw and bloody and that’s when I learned they’d also been selling him.”

  Her fingers stilled in his hair as another streak of lightning flashed and Kerry’s eyes started to smoke. “They…”

  “The Walshes, their kids, used him as a toy, a slave and they raped him from eleven to thirteen, and Cam and I took him from there with the threat that if they even tried to touch him again Cam would cause so much trouble,” she slowly met his eyes and debated on telling him this next part. “I told them we’d tell you but the old woman just laughed and said it wouldn’t matter since your grandmother already knew what they were doing. In fact, she had told them to make him suffer. That she wanted him to pay for what he’d caused to happen.”

  This time, the whole clear night sky just lit up as his temper lit, but his brother’s soft whimper brought him back slowly to some calmness. Several deep breaths and finally Kerry could find his voice. “Kathleen knew they were doing this to him?”

  The pain in his chest was bad enough but this was making his stomach turn as he laid a gentle hand on the boy’s face and looked, wishing he hadn’t as the images flew to meet him until finally he jerked back, but was careful to stop them from going any further.

  “Sleep, Roarke,” he whispered, fingers brushing across a scar on his neck, but didn’t want to focus on those he couldn’t see yet. “Sleep, little boy, as your dreams won’t be touched tonight and neither will you.”

  Kerry’s promise went unheard as his brother’s body seemed to relax and he looked up to see that this had taken what strength Jessica had. “Sleep, darling. You don’t need to protect him tonight. You both sleep.”

  Jessica started to object but the older man shook his head, reaching for the handmade quilt from the bottom of the bed to lay over them.

  As he waited to be certain the spell would hold, he crossed to the window and lit the candle on the sill, silently whispering the protection spell he’d heard his mother use before.

  “Moonlight, starlight, I ask thee to protect these I seek to shield this night.” The candle sparked blue flame and he left a low light on before easing from the room to see Cameron Young in the hall.

  “She swore to him we wouldn’t tell you and considering your grandmother’s involvement, I wasn’t sure he’d be safe in Ireland.” The merc leader could read the silent fury. “The only way we could save him was to get him outta here and help him to forget.”

  Kerry knew that was true but he was still feeling his brother’s pain, the shame, and above all the absolute abandonment. “Stay close to them and if either of them wakes up, call me or Mac.”

  “Are you going to tell the others?” Cam wasn’t sure that would be good, especially if one considered how Roarke and Ryan got along.

  “I don’t know,” the eldest brother admitted as he headed downstairs, his temper beginning to spark as he again thought of what he’d been told, what he’d seen, what he’d felt and above all, what all he hadn’t been told these past fifteen years.

  In the kitchen of the Fitzgerald manor, Deirdre O’Connor served strong Irish coffee, tea and bottled water with her famous cookies and cakes as she hovered over Mac.

  “Even as a lad you were always taking on too much,” she admonished, pleased with the way Maggie had taken to rubbing the spots on Mac’s neck the way she’d showed her.

  “Saint Mac,” Ryan threw out a phrase he’d used when they’d been boys and was pleased when his brother lifted his head from the table enough to shoot him a hard look.

  Maggie just gently pushed his head back down, clucking her tongue. “I see we have typical brothers,” she chided.

  “Got many of those do ye, Miss?” Deirdre asked while placing dishes away as sudden noise came from outside.

  “I have nine of them to be exact,” Maggie returned, hearing Ian choke and Mac tried to twist his head. “What? A girl can’t have brothers?”

  “Are they older or younger?” Ryan asked, reaching for the whiskey bottle in the cabinet.

  “All older, I fear,” the red-haired reporter replied, surprised to see lightning flash. “I’m the youngest of ten.”

  A smack to the hand had Ryan jerking away from the bottle. “Damn it, Deirdre,” he complained wincing as another slap came to his head.

  “You’ll watch your mouth in your mother’s house, Ryan Fitzgerald, and you don’t need whiskey at this hour,” the housekeeper returned firmly, turning as the sky outside lit up with lightning and Mac raised his head.

  “Kerry’s ticked about something,” he sighed, reaching for a cookie and meeting Ryan’s gaze. “It takes a lot to cause his temper to make lightning.”

  Ryan knew this and remembered the times when breaking up fights between them had caused that reaction, though the final time he’d felt that reaction had been the day of the funeral when his brother and grandmother exchanged words.

  Maggie had sat down to sip her tea, tapping a cookie on the rim of the china cup. “Your brother causes lightning?”

  “Aye, when his temper is up he certainly can,” Deirdre again slapped Ryan’s hand away from the bottle. “Lad, you were an obstinate child but you don’t need whiskey at this hour and not in my kitchen.”

  “What’s the use of having Irish coffee without the whiskey to put in it?” Ryan grumbled, seeing Mac grin. “Shut it,” he warned, knowing what he was thinking.

  Mac smiled innocently, taking another cookie then handing the tin to Ian, who seemed to be having mixed feelings on taking another one. “You can’t handle whiskey, Ry,” he reminded him gravely. “Hell, you couldn’t even handle Da’s Rum the day you got into it and were sick for the next two days.”

  “I was eight years old that time and have learned to handle my liquor a little better,” his brother countered, giving up on the whiskey so he laced the coffee with sugar.

  Ian was frowning. “The house is tense,” he spoke quietly, but both his brothers seemed to feel it.

  Maggie was still having trouble believing she was sitting in the same room with three of the famous singing Fitzgerald brothers and mentioned it, narrowing her eyes in annoyance as Mac nearly choked and Ryan lifted dark eyebrows.

  “Been awhile since anyone remembered us that way,” he lifted his cup to her in mild salute and smiled at her; also not missing the look Mac gave him at this and catching the underlying meaning to this. ‘Well, well, this is new,’ he thought.

  “My Gran was a huge fan,” the reporter replied looking out the kitchen window as the whole sky lit up. “Had a book of clippings, all your albums, everything.”

  Mac’s eyes narrowed at the lightning but caught Ian’s look. “What’s up, lad?”

  The boy had been wondering this for a long time but never had anyone to ask. “I always asked Sybil if it had been so easy for us to quit being a group, to quit singing,” he frowned, looking up as he sought to explain. “I mean, I like to act in school and I can sing pretty well but…”

  Deirdre put a loving arm around his shoulders. “Lad, for three years old when you last sang with your brothers you sang like an Angel,” she told him.

  “Kerry was the main singer in th
e family,” Mac explained, thinking back. “When it became clear that all of us could sing it made sense to Mum and Da to keep the family together by making a group. To this day, people still try to get Kerry to sing at local festivals or the like but… As for what happened to us singing together…” He could only shrug.

  “Your Da’s Mum thought it best to stop the singing to protect you lads,” Deirdre explained looking up suddenly as the feel of the whole house seemed to change.

  Maggie had been about to ask something when she saw Kerry enter the kitchen, and figured it better to stay silent.

  The oldest of the Fitzgerald brothers had always seemed like he could look colder and serious to Maggie but as he walked in this time there was no mistaking the anger radiating off him.

  “What else did our Grandmother think, Deirdre?” he asked; voice cold steel as he reached in the cabinet for the whiskey and a glass.

  “Deirdre says it’s too late for that, bro,” Ryan grinned but quieted as his brother poured the amber liquid in a shot glass and drank it in one hiss. “O-kay, your house so your rules, I suppose.”

  Mac looked up and frowned. “Kerry, what’s wrong?” he asked, starting to stand but a single look from his brother had him sitting back down.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Maggie’s question was a soft whisper but Mac could only shrug as his brother sat the glass down on the table with a thump as he pinned the housekeeper with his eyes.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Kerry,” Deirdre replied, wiping her hands on an apron and reaching for another mug to pour more coffee.

  Usually very careful about his powers, this night Kerry’s eyes flashed and the mug turned to ash.

  “Whoa,” Ian breathed, not expecting this and clearly by the way both Ryan and Mac looked, neither were they.

  “Kerry!” Mac was on his feet even as the dust was hitting the floor. “What the bloody hell’s wrong?”

  His brother didn’t shift his gaze from the older woman. “For so long as I was old enough to remember, aside from my parents, you’ve had the pulse of this house, Deirdre. You could always tell what was where before Mum asked you for it,” he spoke quietly now but his accent was almost totally gone, which was a sign of his temper.