“Not even a little bit,” she said, drawing him to her for a kiss. He was a generous lover and sensitive. He picked up on her responses quickly, intuitively understanding what she needed. When it came to loving, Fáelán possessed his own kind of giftedness.
His touch was more tender tonight, almost hesitant. He took his time, as if he meant to commit every second to memory. The emotions flowing between them were deeper somehow, more intimate, bringing a sting to her eyes. Or maybe the sting came from worrying about their uncertain future.
Her passion built, and she strained to get closer, trying to feel every inch of him against every inch of her. Fáelán whispered Irish words of endearment into her ear and loved her more fiercely. After they were both spent, he wrapped himself around her—this was her favorite part too—and nuzzled her neck.
“Regan.” Her name came out on a sigh. “I fear to say aloud what I feel for ye. I’ve no idea how Morrigan might come to know. Is she privy to my thoughts, or must I speak them aloud?” He squeezed her close. “’Tis of no matter, for I cannot give ye my heart fully, mo a grá. I will not. ’Tis too dangerous.”
“What do you mean?” She closed her eyes tight against the ache his words caused.
“See, I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to ye. I’d rather remain cursed for all eternity than give Morrigan cause to harm ye.”
She twisted around in his arms to face him. “How is refusing to love me because you fear I might come to harm any different from being willing to lay down your life for mine? By refusing to love me, you remain cursed and face endless suffering; if you do admit you love me, you’re free, but one or both of us must risk our lives. The sentiment is the same either way, isn’t it? And Morrigan is going to see it that way.”
“Hmm. I hope not.”
Regan tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him. “So you . . .” What if the faerie could hear them? “You’ve fallen?”
“I have, but I will not—”
“I love—”
“Hush. Do not say it aloud.”
“We’ve two days left, Fáelán. We need to figure this out, prepare.” He loves me! Oh, God, and she loved him, passionately, deeply. Now what? “If I’d focused on magic instead of touring, then maybe we might already know how to defeat your faerie princess.”
“Ah, but ye saw no need, aye? Ye thought me a scáil who’d spun a tale. Besides, playing tour guide gave me time to be with ye, and I don’t regret a single moment.” Fáelán kissed her forehead. “But now we’ve come to the point, and I’ll not have ye fight the fae on my behalf. They cannot be defeated by mortals, no matter what magic ye might possess.”
“The Milesian wizard Amergin managed to defeat the Tuatha, and he was a mere mortal.”
“Aye, but that was a different time, and the world was a different place then. The knowledge Amergin held is no longer.”
She frowned. “I don’t believe it’s gone, only forgotten, and even if it’s just to protect myself, I need to learn whatever I can. I felt the magic and heard the echoes of spells and wards being cast while at Newgrange. I have to at least try in case Morrigan comes after me.”
Whether he wanted her to fight for him or not, she intended to do whatever it took. “Have you heard of any places other than Newgrange where someone like me might be able to pick up on magic?”
“’Twould ease my mind if ye had some way to protect yourself, and not just from the fae. We can return to Newgrange if ye wish, and perhaps the Hill of Tara still holds magic.” He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her neck.
“Tara?” A wave of panic sent her heart racing at the thought of a face-off with Morrigan. She traced the tattoo over Fáelán’s heart, wishing he had a few of his fellow Fenians here to help them.
“Aye, ’tis where our kings were crowned and where they held court. My king, Cormac MacArt, made his home upon that hallowed ground. Though I could not sense it, others oft remarked on the hill being the source of mystical power for our people.”
“Good.” Regan pushed herself up and peered down at him. “I’m willing to try again to somehow gain access to that power. I thought my desire to come to Ireland had everything to do with seeking out the source of my gifts. I was wrong, and now everything makes sense. You drew me to Ireland, Fáelán. You’re my reason for being here, and I have to do whatever I can to—”
“It matters not what you think. I will not allow ye to put yourself in harm’s way.”
Regan stared into his eyes, her resolve strengthening. “It’s not your choice; it’s mine.”
He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Think, Regan. Even if I remain cursed, each year we’ll have twenty days together in the earthly realm, and I can still be with ye whilst I’m trapped in the void—same as I have been this past month.”
“Twenty days a year is enough for you? Because I have to tell you, it’s not enough for me. Besides, you’ll remain the same, while I grow older each year. Not looking forward to that.” Even so, having him for whatever time they could share together would beat not having him in her life at all. “I’d rather make a stand and put an end to whatever it is between you and Morrigan once and for all. If the curse ends, does that mean you won’t be immortal anymore?”
“I’ve no way of knowin’, do I?” He drew her back down into his arms. “Ye own my heart, Regan,” he whispered. “Do ye not see? Your safety means far more to me than freedom.”
“You just said we shouldn’t say that out loud, and now you’ve gone and done it anyway. I feel the same, and I can’t even think about anything bad happening to you without having a panic attack. Something, some force we don’t understand, has brought us together and led us to this point. My sister even said as much. She sensed you’re significant to me, and I’m supposed to help you. The way and place we met, it all has to mean something.”
She laid her head over his heart, needing to hear its reassuring beat, needing to feel his warmth. “We’re meant to be together, and I’m willing to fight for what we have. Aren’t you? Between your skills as a warrior, and my ability to—”
“See ghosts?” He grunted and ran his hand up and down her arm. “Or do ye refer to your ability to touch your toes?”
“Not helpful.” She glared. “Tomorrow we’re going to the Hill of Tara. If there is magic there, I will find a way to take it, and if I don’t sense magic at Tara, we’ll go back to Newgrange. With magic, we might be able to protect ourselves from Morrigan, even if it’s only to hide our whereabouts so she can’t get to us. I know I’m grasping at straws here, and it might be unrealistic, but if force of will has anything to do with wielding magic, I’ll make it happen.”
“Your bravery touches me in ways ye cannot imagine,” Fáelán said, his voice strained. “Like ye said, we’ve two days in which to prepare. Tara is not far from here, and perhaps we might find something there to aid us. No matter what, we’ll face what comes together, knowing our hearts are pledged.”
He shifted and wrapped himself around her again. “Sleep now, love. Ye’ll need to be well rested if ye are to find a way to grasp hold of Tara’s magic, aye?”
Now that things were settled between them, her panic receded and determination rushed in to take its place. They’d find a way; they had to. Regan yawned, drugged by Fáelán’s enveloping warmth. “Are there ghosts at Tara?”
“’Tis likely.”
“Maybe they can help, or at least one of them might have information we can use.”
“Perhaps.”
Held within Fáelán’s arms, Regan drifted into sleep, even as her mind worked on a solution to their looming problem.
Fáelán could scarce breathe through the tightness in his chest. Regan had it aright. He loved her, and he’d only fooled himself into believing he could hold back even a portion of his heart, when all along she’d owned him body and soul.
A familiar tugging sensation assailed him, and adrenaline surged. Fully alert, his heart pounding, he listened and waited. Wh
en naught happened, he blamed it upon nerves and settled himself again. Another tug, this one stronger, and before he realized what was happening, he was wrenched from Regan. Fáelán landed with a thud—not upon his island, but in the midst of the fecking grayish-green mist.
“Morrigan,” he shouted. “This cannot be. Ye swore to free me once my heart was given. Ye cheating, heartless bitch, by Tuatha law, your oath cannot be broken.” For what seemed like hours, he shouted, ranted and railed against her until his throat was raw.
He sank down to the bare ground, engulfed in the dreaded fog, naked and helpless as the day he’d been born. By the gods, to be so close, only to have that conniving, duplicitous faerie break her word . . . Fáelán closed his eyes and shuddered.
Grief and anger broke what control he had left, and sobs racked his entire being. He cried for Regan, for the heartbreak his abandonment would cause her. He cursed Morrigan for the years of injustice perpetrated against him, and he wept bitter tears for his part in poor Nóra’s murder so many centuries ago.
A sense of futility gripped his heart, compressing the organ into a hard, heavy stone in his chest. Confusion hazed his mind. He’d been robbed over and over again, and for what? What about the time he should’ve had with his family? That too had been cruelly ripped away. He hadn’t been there for his ma when his da died, and he’d never known the joy of holding a child of his own in his arms. Ah, gods, he’d never know a life with Regan, the one love of his long, long life.
Scalding tears of anger, sorrow and self-recrimination poured forth until he was emptied, and his roiling emotions ceased. The sound of his own breathing was all he had left to hang on to in this desolate place. His head throbbing, he lay on his back and stared blindly into the gray-green void. How could he ever forgive himself for the heartbreak he’d cause Regan? Once again selfishness—his and Morrigan’s—affected an innocent in whatever this was that lay between the two of them.
He had nothing, not even a bit of cloth to cover his nakedness. How could he fight one of the fae? How could he bear this loss? His sanity would surely forsake him now, for ’twas clear Morrigan had never intended to set him free and never would. Fáelán curled himself into a ball and fell into a fitful slumber.
Startled alert, he sensed Morrigan’s presence. The air around him smelled of summer rain, and the mist became charged as if a storm threatened. Fáelán pushed himself up to standing and prepared to fight in whatever way he could. The mist parted, and Morrigan stepped forth. He glared.
“Fáelán.” She smiled, her eyes filled with cold derision. “How nice to see you again.”
Time had not altered her in any way. She still possessed the same ethereal, unnatural beauty. Her complexion was impossibly pale and her hair so light as to be almost colorless. It hung to her waist, and she wore a long, diaphanous gown.
Repulsed by the very sight of her, he averted his gaze. “Ye broke your word.” Gods, what he’d give for a weapon right now, any means to strike out at her. The instant the thought formed, his body turned to lead. He couldn’t raise his arms or move his legs, no matter how much he struggled to throw off the force she exerted over him.
A cold sweat added to his misery, and humiliation at his helplessness against her galled him to the depths of his marrow. “Your sire, King Lir, will learn of this,” he managed to grit out. “By reneging on your word, ye’ve broken fae law . . . again. He’ll sense your crimes.”
“Have I broken my word?” She circled him. “Perhaps I took you from your mortal lover a bit early, but I’ve not acted against Tuatha laws in any way.”
“The curse—”
“Aye? What of it?”
“Ye granted me a way out, and I met the conditions set forth.”
“Did I grant you a way out?” She stroked his cheek and traced a finger down his torso.
Bile rose up the back of his throat, and his skin prickled with disgust. Try as he might, he couldn’t move away. “Aye, by wind, water, earth and fire ye swore, once I gave my heart fully—”
“I know what I said,” she snapped. “The terms I set forth were ambiguous at best, and purposefully so. Not without mercy, a daughter of Danu be, I grant ye one path by which ye might be free,” she recited. “Might, as in at my discretion. And what of the last line?” she asked, tapping her chin. “How did it go? Ah, yes, in the earthly realm may ye once again live.” Shaking her head, she tsked. “Might and may—do these words not suggest things could go either way? It might be this, or it may be that—either an end of your curse will come to pass, or it may not. I choose not.”
“Why? After all this time, why concern yourself with a mere mortal? ’Twas ye who came to me in falsehood, not the other way ’round. I’m the one wronged here, Morrigan, by your deceit. What did I ever do to warrant your eternal wrath?”
“I offered you a life of immortality as my royal consort, and you insulted my generosity with your refusal. You, a puny human, rejected me, one of the Tuatha Dé Danann and a direct descendant of the goddess Danu!” The blue of her eyes glowed, and the mist around her darkened and eddied. “I need no other reason.” She lifted her hand, and a portion of the mist parted and cleared to form an oval, a window of sorts.
The surface rippled, and Regan came into view, still sound asleep in her bed. Peaceful in slumber, she was unaware he no longer slept beside her. Fáelán’s heart split in two, and fear unlike any he’d ever known closed over him. Again he struggled to free himself from Morrigan’s hold. His fight yielded naught but an evil look from his captor.
“Don’t hurt her,” he rasped out. “I beg ye, do not harm Regan.”
“Foolish mortal that she is, did she not swear she’d fight for you? I’ll not lift a finger to harm her, but neither will I prevent her from casting herself into troubles of her own devising.” She shrugged. “If she possesses an ounce of sense, she’ll realize she’s powerless against me, and she’ll do naught. In which case, no harm will come to your lover by my hand. Besides, ’tis your misery I wish to savor, and so I shall for as long as it amuses me. Here you shall remain for all eternity, and here you will watch your lover age and die before your eyes.”
For an instant, he considered capitulating. He’d swear to be her consort, but to what end? Regan wouldn’t know, so he couldn’t prevent her from searching for him or trying to find a way to defeat Morrigan. Nor was there anything he could do to prevent his love from aging and dying, while he remained eternally five and twenty. “Damn ye to hell.” Fáelán closed his eyes and his mind. He refused to pay the fae princess another second’s heed.
The air around him changed, and he was released from the paralyzing force. Morrigan had left him, and once again he was alone to face the unending emptiness. Why had he not reasoned things through before courting Regan? He knew Morrigan’s treacherous nature well enough. Aye, but he’d been greedy for freedom, wanting to believe life in the earthly realm was finally within reach. He’d believed at long last he’d live a real life with a woman he loved by his side. He’d selfishly ignored what he knew to be true, and yet another innocent would pay the price. The rending of his soul brought a piercing sting. Hardening his heart, he clenched his jaw, determined to defy Morrigan in any way possible.
His back to the portal, he lowered himself to sit, drew up his knees and rested his forehead upon his forearms. He’d refuse to participate in Morrigan’s twisted game. He would not look through the portal, not even once, and in this small way he’d deny Morrigan the satisfaction of watching him suffer. By the gods, both old and new, ’twas likely his future held naught but this dismal view from now on—gray mist, loneliness and remorse were his only companions from this day forward, and here he’d thought he’d run out of tears.
Regan awoke and stretched, every inch of her a prime example of one well-loved, satisfied female. Fáelán must have already been up, because his side of the bed was empty. His down pillow still held the indent from where his head had rested. Sighing, she turned to her side, pulled the pillow
close and inhaled his lingering scent. If she stayed in bed long enough, perhaps he’d come back upstairs and join her. Smiling, she nestled under the covers, listening for him over the patter of rain against the windows.
She didn’t hear the shower going, or any noise or movement from downstairs. She couldn’t detect the scent of coffee or tea from the kitchen either. In fact, her place was too quiet. Empty. Throwing the covers back, she rose to sitting and swung her legs to the floor. Fáelán might have gone for a run. Rain didn’t bother him. Or he might’ve gone to the bakery in the village. Her hopes pinned on the latter, her mouth watered at the thought of fresh scones for breakfast. The thought of food propelled her out of bed. At least she could have the coffee ready and waiting for his return.
Regan got up, took her robe from the hook on the back of her bedroom door and slipped into it. She picked up the pile of Fáelán’s clothes from the floor, exactly where he’d dropped them, and tossed them into the hamper before heading downstairs to start the coffee.
By the time she’d had breakfast, showered and dressed, with no sign of Fáelán, worry consumed her thoughts. He hadn’t left a note, hadn’t called or texted, and his car was still parked in front of hers on the street. She grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, where it was recharging, and punched in his number. Her heart thudding, she followed the sound of his ringtone to the nightstand in her bedroom. Her mouth going dry, she ended the call and stared.
The oppressive silence amplified his absence. Regan walked across the room and peered out the bedroom window into the pouring rain. They’d made plans to go to the Hill of Tara today. He wouldn’t just disappear without a word, would he? She sucked in a breath. He would if he believed abandoning her might protect her from Morrigan.
“Dammit, Fáelán!” She brought her phone up and looked for Jim’s number in her contacts. A death grip on her cell phone, she pressed it to her ear. If Fáelán was hiding out in Waterford, she’d give him a piece of her mind in blistering detail. They’d agreed to face whatever came together, and then he’d left her once she’d fallen asleep? Coward. Maybe not cowardly, more like playing the martyr when he didn’t have to.
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 14
