The senselessness of it all pinned him to the floor where he lay. He covered his face with his hands and wept. Memories of his island prison, a place he loathed with every fiber of his being, came back to him in a rush. The endless loneliness had carved his heart from his chest and eroded his soul. How many times had he railed against the persecution? And all along he’d never known why Morrigan had imprisoned him. Now he knew. Regan had told him, hadn’t she? He and Morrigan had a daughter, whom she’d hidden from him, stealing from him the right of fatherhood.
“Ahhhh, ’tis not right. Morrigan did this to me,” he cried. “She deceived me from the start, murdered an innocent woman and kept me a prisoner for centuries. That fae bitch stole my life and punished me for defying her. She hid my daughter from me. I don’t know my daughter,” he sobbed.
As each recollection was restored to him, fresh grief raked talons through his soul. His family, clan . . . all dead and gone, over and over, loss upon loss. Through all of his imprisonment, Morrigan had taunted him and reveled in his pain. The weight of self-recrimination squatted upon his chest, and he could scarce draw a breath. All of it could be laid at his feet, because he’d been weak and led by lust.
Finally, Regan appeared, and bittersweet memories of their weeks together flooded his awareness. Regan. Even thinking her name cooled the fiery rage scorching his soul. Believing him to be a ghost, she’d done her best to goad him toward the light, whilst he’d insisted he was cursed, not dead. Newgrange. Their safe word. He smiled through his tears, remembering everything.
The morning he’d been freed from the void, they’d made love. ’Twas like nothing he’d ever known afore. She’d stolen his heart from the first moment he’d watched her at Brú Na Bóinne. Again he keened, awash in misery. Every conversation they’d had, the way she moved, smelled, felt . . . her generous, brave heart. Hardest of all were the memories of the night he’d been ripped from her. The night they’d declared their love, and he’d told her he’d rather remain imprisoned than put her in harm’s way.
The sensations caused by the concoction gradually receded, leaving Fáelán bereft and as weak as a newborn. He stared at the ceiling as tears ran freely from the corners of his eyes. “Regan risked all for me, and I denied her,” he said, his voice hoarse and breaking. “I remember everything.”
With his memories came fresh fear. He pushed himself up to sitting and sought Fionn, finding him at the table, with scrolls of vellum from the shelves spread afore him. “Regan’s coming to warn me, her preventing the curse and leaving Fragarach behind will have drawn Morrigan’s wrath even more than when the curse ended. Regan thwarted the fae princess more than once, and Morrigan will want to punish her. No matter what I do, things go from bad to worse.”
Stricken and shaky, he forced himself up from the floor and staggered to a chair, propping himself against the back. The table, chairs and tapestries no longer moved. Fáelán was exhausted, and his head ached. He blinked against the grittiness of his eyes. “King Lir is my only hope to set things aright. I see that now.”
“Aye.” Fionn lifted a pitcher and poured something into a goblet. He handed it to him.
Fáelán eyed the offering with suspicion. He took it and peered at the contents, and then brought the goblet to his mouth and gulped it down. Pure, cold water cooled his parched throat. “I owe ye a great debt of gratitude, Fionn. Though I never wish to experience the like again.” He sank into the chair he’d been leaning against.
“All has come back to ye?” Fionn asked.
“It has.”
“Tell me.”
Haltingly, he related everything that had transpired between himself and the fae princess. Fionn nodded now and then, grunted a few times and listened intently. Fáelán ended the tale and sighed. “How long has it been since I drank the foul potion? I’m starving.”
“’Tis nightfall, and you took the draught early this morn.” Fionn rose, moved to the door and called for food to be brought to them.
His heart lurched. “Fionn, I need to get to Regan. Morrigan killed Nóra when she caught me in bed with her, and she’ll do far worse to Regan. Morrigan will want her to suffer first, for she accomplished what the fae princess could not.” He thunked his head against the table’s hard surface, gratified by the punishing pain. “What have I done?”
He drew in a long, shaky breath and let it out slowly. “When I realized Regan could see me in the void, I thought only of gaining my freedom without giving the consequences to her a single fecking thought. How many must suffer because of my witless selfishness?”
He’d been caught up in his own inflated sense of importance as a Fiann, taking advantage of his status and the way the lassies swooned over him. “Selfish, immature and heedless,” he muttered. “I do not deserve to be a Fiann.”
“’Tis a heady temptation, all the attention bestowed upon ye as one of the Fianna. Few could resist, or would, for that matter. Besides, how could ye have known Morrigan’s true identity?” Fionn shook his head. “Ye’ve suffered enough, Fáelán, there’s no cause to blame yourself for what Morrigan has done.”
“But—”
“We shall fill our bellies, and after a good night’s rest, I’ll take ye to King Lir Beneath the Sea.”
“That’s a metaphor, aye?” Trepidation spiked, and his pulse raced again. Being trapped in the void had been bad enough. He couldn’t bear the thought of being leagues beneath the sea.
“A metaphor?” Fionn frowned. “I’m not familiar with the term.”
Fáelán rubbed his throbbing temples, realizing how much from the future had been restored to him. “Are we actually to travel to a place beneath the sea?”
“Ah.” Fionn snorted. “Nay. We’ll enter Summerland and go to Lir’s stronghold. He only rules the oceans, laddie. He does not live beneath them.”
“Thank the gods, both—”
“Old and new?” Fionn said, a wry grin suffusing his features.
Their food arrived, and while they ate, Fáelán’s sense of urgency grew. His knees bounced under the table, and ’twas all he could do to stay put. Regan needed him. If aught happened to her, he’d not survive the loss, nor would he want to.
“Eager to be off, are ye?” Fionn pinned him with a look. “Cease with your twitching.”
Fáelán rubbed the achy spot over his heart. “Worry for Regan consumes me, my lord. I have Fragarach and my skills as a warrior to protect me, but Regan is defenseless. Can we not depart this very moment?”
“Nay. What ye experienced this day takes a heavy toll. Ye’ll not do your woman any good if ye appear afore King Lir exhausted and strung as tight as ye are right now. I’ll not take ye to Summerland until ye’ve rested, and if ye need a potion for that as well, I’ll make one.”
“No more potions.” His stomach lurched.
“Aye, no more potions,” Fionn grunted. “I’ve been thinking, laddie. Ye’ve served me faithfully and well for nigh on eight winters now. I owe you a great debt for blocking the arrow that would have taken my life whilst we fought the raiders from the Northland. Ye know I’ll help in any way I can. After this trouble with Morrigan has passed, what do ye wish to do with the rest of your life? Do ye wish to continue on as a Fiann?”
“’Tis the truth, I’m torn in two. I’ve sworn an oath to ye, my king and country. Have I not? Yet Regan holds my heart, and she is with child. To break my vow to you and King MacArt would be grievous, yet to abandon the woman I love, and our unborn child, is also wrong. Morrigan denied me the opportunity to be a father to Boann. I’m not certain I can walk away from the second chance I’ve been granted.”
“Think ye Regan would be willing to live in this time?”
Hadn’t he already caused enough havoc due to selfishness? “Mayhap she would, but I would not ask it of her. Being a Fiann means we’d be apart far more than we’d be together. ’Twould be unfair to expect her to give up all she knows, only to see me for a se’nnight here and there. She has sisters she’s close to and
her own kin. In this century she’d have only me.”
“Ye have kin. Would she not live with them? I know your ma and da would welcome her, would they not?”
“’Tis certain they would, but ’twould not be the same. Even though my da is chieftain to our clan, many would view Regan with suspicion and fear. What if my clan shunned her? I could not bear her unhappiness.”
“No need to think on it overmuch. For truth, ’tis not our decision to make. King Lir will have the final say, and he might not be willing to allow ye to return to the twenty-first century.”
Fáelán nodded, desolation rising to choke him. He knew Morrigan too well. Whatever he decided mattered not, for he might already be too late to save Regan.
Regan moaned, and even that soft sound sent shards of pain piercing through her throbbing head. She blinked her gritty eyes, and swallowed against the dryness of her mouth and throat. Blood crusted her face, and she reeked. So did her prison, because she’d been forced to turn a small corner into a latrine. Not pleasant, but what choice did she have?
Dim light filled the space, coming from what she had hoped was a portal out of the cavern. She touched the gash on her forehead, which had swollen and was undoubtedly black and blue. Turned out, the portal was more like a webcam screen, showing her the world beyond Tara, reminding her how trapped she truly was.
Regan turned her head, only to cry out in surprise. A tray had been left for her. Boann’s doing, or did Morrigan plan to imprison her for eons, like she had Fáelán? Pushing herself up to sitting, her world spun, and she hurt all over. “Ohhh.” She held her poor throbbing head between her palms, remaining still until the cavern ceased its sickening whirl.
Suspicion warred with her overwhelming thirst and hunger. Fáelán believed Morrigan had slipped him the Elixir of Life through the food he’d been given. She had no desire to live forever in a fae prison, but she did want to live.
The instinct to survive won the battle, and she crawled on her hands and knees toward the tray. The first thing she took was one of the two goblets filled with clear water. She gulped it down, no longer caring if it made her immortal or not. Survival first—deal with the fallout later. Never before had anything felt or tasted as good as the water soothing her parched throat. She swallowed the last drop and set the goblet down.
Bread, cheese and slices of some kind of roasted fowl were next, and she tore into the food like a starving person. Regan choked and coughed. Oh, right. She was a starving person. After being hungry for so long, it didn’t take much before she felt full and uncomfortable.
Leaving the rest of the food for later, she rose slowly to her feet and inched her way to the portal, keeping a hand on the wall for support. The view had changed, and she recognized the unusual hue of the sky and the utter perfection of the landscape. She peered through the window into Summerland, the home of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Why this view?
“Oh.” Her heart thumped. Three men came into view. Two of them were strangers, but she’d know the third man’s swagger anywhere. “Fáelán,” she shouted. “Here! I’m here!” She pounded against the stone wall until her palms were raw and stinging.
Hadn’t she broken his curse? Why was he in the fae realm? She shouted again and again, knowing full well he’d never hear her. Regan shook her aching hands and moved away. Morrigan wanted her to see this, which could only mean she meant to make her suffer.
She paced around the cavern in an effort to keep from looking through the window. It didn’t work, and she returned. The scene had changed again, and the three men now stood before one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The faerie sat upon a throne of wood encrusted with mother-of-pearl. He wore a crown of polished coral, and he held a trident in his hand. He had to be King Lir.
Fáelán was speaking, his passion for the subject obvious. He gesticulated and strode around the ring of people who listened and watched; then he returned to stand before the king. His two companions stood to the side of the king’s throne. Lir frowned and seemed intently interested in what Fáelán had to say. He gestured and spoke, and a woman appeared out of thin air to kneel before the king. Morrigan?
Regan couldn’t take her eyes from the scene, but then the portal flickered and disappeared. “Dammit.” She pressed her fists against the wall, frustration banding her chest. Without the portal, the cavern was pitch-dark. The scent of ozone filled the chamber.
Morrigan was coming for her; she just knew it. Regan turned and pressed her back against the wall. She held her breath, terrified to confront the creature who had caused so much misery. The air around her crackled with energy, and for all she was worth, she tried to whoosh herself anywhere else but here. Boann had said her magic might respond to her need, hadn’t she? It didn’t work this time either, and she remained pressed against stone and earth, still trapped.
An orb glowing with a silvery light appeared, and behind it the silhouette of a woman in a long, flowing gown. “Regan?”
“Boann,” Regan whispered back. All the breath left her in a rush, and she sank to the floor in a puddle and sobbed with relief.
“Forgive me.” Boann hurried to her and crouched down. “I could not get to you until now.”
“All this time you knew I was trapped here?”
“Nay, but I knew something had gone awry with our plan, because Mother put me under a binding spell the moment I sent you through time. Yet another transgression,” she muttered. “When King Lir summoned Mother to his court in the third century, that strand of time altered, and the spell she cast in this century broke. Then I was able to locate you.”
“I think I saw that happen, the part where King Lir summoned Morrigan. What’s happening now . . . or then?” Sweat streaked down her caked and filthy cheeks. “There was a . . . a window there,” she said, pointing to the wall where the portal had been. “I saw Fáelán and two other men. He was speaking to King Lir.”
“Aye. Fionn, the leader of the Fianna, arranged for the meeting with King Lir. Though you prevented my father’s curse, my mother has continued to pursue him, and Fáelán hopes King Lir will put a stop to her harassment.” Boann took her by the arm. “It is being discussed in the past as we speak. Rather than taking the time to find out, I thought it best to free you. Come. We must hurry.” She tugged at Regan. “I must get you away from here whilst I still can.”
“Wait.” Regan stood on wobbly legs and raked a shaky hand through her matted hair. “Does this mean Fáelán has remembered his time in the future? Does he remember me?” Her voice hitched.
Boann faced the wall and did her runes-in-the-air thing. “I don’t know any more than what I have already shared.” A portion of the wall shimmered and waved. “Go. This will take you to Howth.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“I cannot. To do so would only draw more trouble to you.” Boann gave her a little push. “I’ll come to you when I can.”
“My pack. I dropped it somewhere.” She searched the floor in the silvery light, finding her bag near where she’d fallen. “How long have I been here?”
“Regan,” Boann snapped. “I’ve been trapped since the day I sent you through time to warn my sire, which was five days ago. Taking away the time you spent in the third century, I’m guessing you’ve been here for three mortal days, and if you do not leave now—”
“Sorry,” she huffed. Had Boann just snapped at her? After the hell she’d been through, Boann’s tone got on her last nerve. “I’m disoriented and probably a little dehydrated. Forgive me if I’m not as quick on the draw as I usually am.” She grabbed her pack from the floor. “And by the way, the last time I aimed for one of these damned passages, I slammed into solid granite. I’m pretty sure I’m concussed.”
“I can see that, and I beg your forgiveness,” Boann said, still sounding impatient. “Off with you, before it’s too late and you suffer far worse.”
The fae princess shoved Regan none too gently into the portal, and she was caught up in the sickening rush. “Please let
me land inside the town house and not in a messy heap on the sidewalk outside,” she prayed. She came to a sudden ungraceful halt, flat on her already bruised face against a carpeted floor. “Ouch.”
Screaming voices, familiar and beloved voices, filled her ears. Despite how miserable she was, relief flooded through her.
“Oh, my God! Is she alive?” Grayce screeched.
Regan groaned and rolled to her back. “Just barely.” She inhaled the delicious aromas of something yummy. Waffles and bacon? Her mouth watered. “Something smells good.”
Meredith helped her up to sitting. “What happened? My God, you look like you were beaten with a two-by-four. Who did this to you?”
“Regan, where the hell have you been, and how did you just appear out of thin air like that?” Grayce crouched down beside her. “If Fáelán beat you, he’s a dead man.”
“He didn’t do this. The fae princess who cursed him is responsible.” Her gut wrenched. Would she ever see Fáelán again? He had a sworn duty to his king, Fionn and Ireland. Like he said, he belonged in his own time, and he had no intention of leaving. “I have a lot to tell you, but first—”
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Meredith took Regan’s head between her palms, tilted her face and studied her wounds.
“It’s too late for stitches, even if I might have needed them.” Regan gestured toward the gash on her forehead. “I got this two days ago, and it’s already started healing. A bath and clean clothes is what I need.”
Grayce tugged at Regan’s third-century gown. “What are you wearing?”
“It’s a long story, and I’ve had a rough few days.” After bathing, more food and a nap, maybe she’d be ready to talk. “What day is it anyway?”
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 22
