“Why do ye ask?”
“Just curious.” She bit her lip.
“I imagine many places in Eire hold magic, but I’d not know of them.” He peered at her, pointedly. “I don’t see ghosts, and I don’t sense magic, Regan. Other than being a Fiann, I am unremarkable in any way.”
“OK.” She sighed. “When would you like to go to the Ring of Kerry?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll come for ye at daybreak. ’Twill give us most of the day and the next to explore.”
“It’s a . . .” Regan’s mouth shut and turned down for an instant. “Sounds like fun.”
His breath caught. She’d been about to say it’s a date, the modern term for courting, but who dated a scáil? Less than three weeks until the solstice, and then he could place his hand at the small of her back. He’d take her out for a fine meal, music and dancing. After which, he’d hold her close and kiss her delectable lips. And if he had any luck at all, his kisses would lead to more intimacies, and he’d taste other enticing, sensitive places. Blood rushed to his groin thinking about tasting the tender spot behind her ear, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her inner thighs. Heat sluiced through him, and his breathing grew ragged. A few more weeks, and she’d see how real he was, and virile. He hadn’t even reached his prime yet.
“We’ve a plan, Álainn. ’Tis grateful I am to ye, for it has been a long while since I’ve enjoyed the company of such a lovely, good-hearted woman.”
Regan made a sound deep in her throat, that sound only women made. The one that said she doubted her man’s sincerity. Fáelán grinned. How could he not? ’Twas such an ordinary reaction between an ordinary couple engaged in a dance as old as time itself—the dance of growing close, of becoming familiar with each other’s faults alongside their good qualities. Thank the gods, both old and new, his good qualities far outnumbered his faults.
Chapter Four
“I’ve lost my mind,” Regan said, her computer open to Google Hangout. “I’m making dates with a ghost! What’s worse is that he . . .” She’d been about to say Fáelán turned her on, but that was not the sort of thing she’d admit to her sisters. She couldn’t admit that to anyone. “He’s not like any ghost I’ve ever encountered. Today, he and I argued, and—”
“You argued with a ghost?” Grayce asked, looking bemused.
“Yes, because he’s stubborn and won’t accept he’s dead.” She waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, he got angry and took off . . . on foot.” Why hadn’t he simply disappeared? Any other ghost would have. “He said he needed to go for a run, and when he came back, he was all flushed and sweaty.”
“A ghost who exercises and sweats?” Grayce said. “That’s a new one. Does anyone other than you see him?”
“Does anyone we know—not counting immediate family—see ghosts? You don’t, Grayce.” Regan raked her fingers through her hair. “He’s not my imaginary friend, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m asking because I’m not convinced he is a ghost. Hey, maybe your guy is telling the truth about being cursed and not dead. I’ve read stuff, you know, like quantum physics. Could be your new friend really is stuck between dimensions.”
“I don’t know about that, but . . . we can’t possibly know about all the types of spirits and supernatural beings there are in this world,” Meredith added, her tone thoughtful. “Think about some of the beings we’ve encountered and what they were able to accomplish in the physical world.”
“I agree that he might be a type of spirit we haven’t encountered before, but cursed, not dead? Like I said before, it’s been nearly eighteen hundred years! Even twelve-foot-thick castle walls crumble after that long. He’d be dust by now. It’s impossible.” Regan flat-out refused to consider Fáelán’s outlandish claims. Elixir of Life? She hadn’t encountered a single mention of anything like that in all the research she’d done about the Tuatha Dé Danann. Fáelán had probably picked that up from hearing stories about other cultures, and he’d incorporated it into his fantasy.
“Oh, oh . . . he might not be human at all, but some kind of creature who shape-shifts to make you think he’s a human ghost,” Grayce said. “Be careful, Rae. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to hang out with this thing.”
Regan bristled. Whatever he turned out to be, Fáelán was not a thing, not to her anyway. “I don’t have your empathic abilities, Grayce, but I’d still sense malevolence. I haven’t caught even a whiff of evil or the slightest hint he intends to cause me any harm.” She shivered. “Remember the awful demon creature we drove out of that old house for the young couple in Nashville, Mere?”
“God, yes,” Meredith said. “That being moved furniture around and turned electric appliances on and off.”
“The thing even stole the wife’s jewelry and hid it,” Regan added. “She found her engagement ring in one of her shoes! And the creature threw things at the couple all the time.”
Meredith nodded. “That poor couple was traumatized, and it took both of us, armed with crystals, and cleansing the house with burning sage to herd the thing into a corner before we could chase it away. I agree. Evil is easy to sense when it comes to otherworldly creatures. Even for people without any extrasensory perceptiveness, evil makes their insides squirm, their hackles rise, and it triggers an overwhelming need to get away.”
“OK,” Grayce interjected. “Maybe Fáelán is a Celtic pixie or a brownie, some kind of mischief maker you two haven’t encountered here in the States. Could he be fae himself?”
“That’s possible.” It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be fae, but it was worth considering. Faeries liked to mess with mortals for their own amusement, but did faeries still exist? Regan had her doubts.
“I think Grayce and I should come sooner rather than later. No matter what, you need our support.”
“I’m not in any danger.” Her insides melted at her sisters’ protectiveness. “He can’t touch me. Wait until after your commencement, and then we’ll choose a date and book the flight.” Regan yawned. “Anyway, it’s late, and I’m beat. I’m going to let the two of you go. I’ll call back tomorrow.”
“All right, but I’m standing by my original perceptions,” Meredith told her. “This being, whatever he may be, is somehow significant to you.”
“Like you’ve never been wrong before,” Grayce quipped. “Until I get a read on this thing, I want you to be careful, Rae.”
Meredith snorted. “Because you’re infallible, and I’m error prone?”
“All right, you two, time to end this conversation.” Regan rolled her eyes. She’d been mediating their squabbles for as long as they’d been able to snatch toys from each other. “Good night.”
“It’s afternoon,” Meredith chimed.
“Not here it isn’t. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After goodbyes and ending the call, Regan headed upstairs with her laptop in hand. She’d do a little yoga to relax; then she’d crawl into bed and open her computer.
Once she was settled, Regan did an Internet search on ghosts and supernatural Celtic creatures. Fáelán didn’t fit neatly into any of the categories. Could leprechauns change their appearance? Could elves? Sighing, she put her laptop aside and set her alarm clock for an ungodly early hour. Her boasty ghosty filling her thoughts, Regan was just drifting into an erotic dream involving herself and one touchy Irish warrior when her phone rang.
She snatched it from the nightstand and peered at the screen. Pushing “Accept,” she sat up. “Hi, Mom.”
“Regan, I hope I’m not calling too late. How are you? Are you settled in yet?”
She smiled. “I am, and I’m beginning to learn my way around. How are you and Dad?”
“Your dad is right here.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” her dad called in the background.
“Hi, Dad. Are we on speaker?”
“Yes, and we’re fine, but we miss you. This is the first time you’ve been so far from home,” her mom said.
“It’s only for a year
.”
“We know, but it’s still . . . strange. We’ve gotten a lot of requests for your help, and we were wondering if you’ve connected with our community there in Dublin.”
“Our community?” Dread knotted her stomach.
“It must be so exciting to be in Ireland, the birthplace of our gifts,” her mother gushed. “Have you found others like our family?”
“They’ll help you plug in and connect with new clients needing your help,” her dad offered.
“Oh no, I haven’t looked. I don’t—”
“Regan, honey,” her mom interrupted. “You don’t want to waste the time you have there, do you? Think of the good you can do.”
Regan braced herself for the spiel she’d heard since her gifts had become apparent. Yep. She’d been hearing what she was supposed to do with her abilities since she was old enough to let her parents know she had friends none of the other kids could see. Her mind wandered while her mother wound down.
“Meredith mentioned you’ve been approached by a ghost you met at a tourist site,” her dad said. “That’s good. Already on the job.”
Great. Thanks, Meredith. She would have to have a few words with her sister. Grayce knew better than to share Regan’s business with their parents, while Meredith had always been the one to fully buy into the our-gifts-are-meant-to-be-shared parental propaganda.
“Uh-huh. I’m helping him, and only him, and then I’m taking a break. Even those of us who are gifted deserve a vacation now and then.”
“A vacation?” her mother asked. “How does one take a vacation from who they are?”
Exactly what Regan hoped to find out. “So, what’s new? What have you two been up to?” She managed to steer the conversation into mundane territory, and she kept it light for the next few minutes.
“I’m glad you two called, but it’s getting late, and I’m beat.”
“Oh. Of course. We’ll let you go, sweetheart. Call and let us know how you are now and then.”
“I will, Mom. Love you.”
“We love you too,” her dad said. “Good night.”
She ended the call and snuggled down under the covers. How did one take a vacation from who they were? By hanging out with a hot ghost, or a cursed Fiann? Sighing, she closed her eyes and drifted off, already anticipating her day with Fáelán.
Regan yawned and shuffled to the bathroom, only half-awake. What time was daybreak exactly? Did daybreak refer to when the sun first peeked over the horizon, or did it have to be fully risen to qualify? Because according to what she’d found, the former would occur at 5:03 a.m., which didn’t give her much time to get ready for her date with the ghost of her dreams.
What was wrong with her?
An hour later, dressed and fed, Regan peered out the front window, anticipation thrumming through her veins. She hadn’t been this excited about a man since her disastrous relationship with her ex. Even though she’d known he was a things-are-black-and-white kind of guy, she’d fallen hard for him. Keeping her psychic gifts a secret had worn her out, though, and eventually, she’d begun to slip. He’d caught her talking to ghosts more than once, and she’d been forced to tell him the truth.
At first, he hadn’t believed her, and he’d urged her to see a psychiatrist, fearing she might be schizophrenic. Later, once she’d convinced him she was telling the truth, he’d called her a freak and broken up with her. After that, she hadn’t wanted to risk dating again.
At least she didn’t have to worry about revealing her true self with Fáelán. They had a lot in common when it came to the supernatural, like . . . she saw ghosts and he was one. Damn.
And there he was, appearing out of thin air to stand by her car. Grinning like a fool, she grabbed her things and headed out the door. “Hey, good morning,” she said, ripples of pleasure spreading through her at the sight of him. She really needed to get a handle on her attraction to this ghost, or whatever he turned out to be.
“Dia dhuit, mo a míorúilt lómhar,” he said with a slight bow. “Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú?” he asked. “Tell me what I said. Ye need to practice your Irish.”
“You said, ‘Hello, my precious miracle,’ and then, ‘How are you?’” She thought for a moment. “Tá me go han-mhaith.”
Fáelán chuckled. “Very well, eh? I’ll take that to mean seeing me gladdens your heart.”
“You can take it however you wish,” she said, unlocking her car doors. “I’m excited to tour the Ring of Kerry, and I also want to visit Valentia Island and maybe the Skellig Islands, where the monks once lived. I’ll have lunch in Valentia, and you can watch me eat,” she teased.
“Ah, well”—he patted a sack hanging from his shoulder—“I brought food, so ye can watch me eat as well.”
Taken aback, she bit her tongue before the words ghosts don’t eat flew out of her mouth. What the hell was he if not a ghost? Could he be so powerful he had the ability to manifest ghostly images of a meal, so he could pretend to eat? “Shall we?” She gestured toward her car.
“We shall.”
They hadn’t been on the road for long before her curiosity got the better of her. “I’ve been reading about Celtic mythological creatures.” That elicited a grunt from her passenger, and she glanced at him for a second. “Are leprechauns real? What about pixies and brownies?”
“Other than the fae, I’ve not seen any mythical creatures. No leprechauns, brownies, pixies . . . or banshees for that matter. I believe leprechauns might have been remnants of a people who lived here in ancient times. They may be what is left of the Fomorians.” He looked askance at her and folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye thinkin’ I might be some mythical being, set upon a bit of mischief where you’re concerned?”
Man, he was quick—and perceptive. “Just curious. According to what I’ve read—”
“Which was written by men who were not likely Irish, nor were they here at the time those ancients lived. They were puffed-up men, I might add, academics who could only speculate as far as the limits of their own narrow mind-sets, ye see.”
“Granted.” She so enjoyed talking to Fáelán, even when they were disagreeing, especially then. He always seemed to be a few steps ahead of her, spurring her to think faster, reason better. She could see why he’d been ordained into the Fianna. “Anyway, in the books written by the men of limited mind-sets, the Fomorians were the dark gods representing destruction, while the Tuatha Dé Danann were the gods of growth, light and civilization to the Irish people.”
“Ha. Shows what they knew, which was naught. I’ve a question of my own, Álainn.”
“Oh? What?”
“Is there no man in your life?”
“Nope. No man in my life.” The familiar sting of rejection she’d suffered over the years welled, and loneliness swamped her. “This might surprise you, but a lot of men have a problem with the fact that I see and commune with ghosts and other things not of this world.” Beings like you.
“Well, the men of this era are bloody fools, is all. In my time, those with the sight were highly regarded, and a laddie counted himself rich indeed if he had such a wife.”
“Thank you for that,” she said, flashing him a grateful look. “My sisters and I have been taught that our giftedness was meant to be shared. Ghost-whispering, working with the dead, takes a toll, even if you limit the hours you’re willing to be available to them.”
“I imagine having the sight must be a heavy burden to carry. Can ye close your mind to it?”
“No, but I’m looking for a way, which is why I asked if you knew of any places where you might have sensed magic. I can ignore the ghosts, but I can’t escape the sensations caused by their presence.”
Her heart pounded with sudden realization—ghosts brought an unnatural cold with them. Being near the dead always chilled her to the bone, yet no coldness emanated from Fáelán. She didn’t feel warmth either for that matter, but . . . what did it mean?
“Aye?” He cocked a brow and waited. “What sort of sens
ations?”
“I always experience a prickling at the back of my neck, goose bumps on my arms, and when a ghost is near, the temperature drops.”
“Mmm.” He nodded slowly, his expression smug. “And now you’re puzzling over why ye feel none of that whilst you’re with me, aye?”
“Newgrange,” she muttered.
Fáelán laughed. “Fair enough. I made my point.”
“Mind if I turn on some music?” She’d already plugged in her phone before they’d started out.
“A bit of music would be a fine thing.”
She tapped the music icon, and they continued on their way. Occasionally she commented on something she saw, or her passenger from the past would share a history lesson about the area they happened to be passing through. And no matter where she looked, the gorgeous Irish countryside offered spectacular views.
Clouds were gathering. Would they be forced to take their tour in the rain? Maybe not. “You know what I’ve noticed?” she asked, breaking a long span of nothing but music filling the interior of her car.
“Tell me, lassie.”
They were close to the peninsula now, and she drove slowly through a village. It began to sprinkle outside, and she flipped the wipers on. “The weather in Ireland is extremely changeable. I find I put on and carry clothing for any and all possibilities, and in the span of one day, I’ll use every single combination possible.”
“’Tis true.” He pointed. “See the wee white sign across the street?”
“The one with the arrow pointing to a castle?”
“Aye. Turn there.”
She did, following a narrow lane not wide enough for two cars. They were nearly to the ferry crossing to Valentia. “You want to show me a castle?”
“Nay, a fort. I’ll direct ye from here.”
By the time she parked and they climbed out of the car, a steady rain had begun to fall. Blue sky peeked through the clouds to the west, though. The precipitation wouldn’t last long. Regan pulled up the hood of her rain jacket and huddled into the warmth of the flannel lining. “OK. Lead on.”
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 7
