“It’s Tuesday morning, the twenty-seventh of June,” Grayce said, sending Meredith a look of concern. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Everything that had happened the past couple of days swamped her, and she burst into tears. “I was trapped in a cavern under the Hill of Tara, with no way out, and . . . I . . . I didn’t have any food, and I’m pregnant,” she sobbed. “That couldn’t have been good for my baby.” Two sets of arms encircled her. “I’ve lost him,” Regan wailed. “I b-broke Fáelán’s curse, and then everything went to hell.”
Her sisters made soothing sounds and helped her upstairs and into her room. They made her sit on the bed while Grayce gathered clean clothes and Meredith filled the tub. Regan was exhausted right down to her leptons and quarks, dammit, and her heartbreak went even deeper. A massive lump clogged her throat, and her chest hurt. All of her hurt, inside and out.
“I never sensed a thing.” Meredith’s brow creased. “I wonder why?”
“Fae magic or something about the Hill of Tara’s energy maybe.” Regan shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Do you need help getting out of your clothes?” Meredith asked, her expression filled with sympathy.
Regan managed a small smile. “No. I can manage. I’ll come downstairs once I’m dressed.”
Meredith nodded. “If you need us, you’ll call?”
“I will. Make tea, please, and save me some of whatever it is you made for breakfast.” Once the twins left, Regan stood up, still a little light-headed, and shuffled to the bathroom. Stiff and achy, she felt as if she were ninety-five and not still in her twenties. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced. Both of her eyes were swollen, black and blue, as was the bridge of her nose. The cut on her forehead was an angry slash in a mound of purple and pale green. Her hair was matted with dirt and dried blood, and so was her face. She blinked against the tears filling her eyes and turned away. Physical aches and pains couldn’t hold a candle to the emotional toll to her heart.
She undressed and stepped into the tub, and for several glorious minutes, she did nothing but soak, letting the hot water soothe her aching bones. Then she washed, and the water turned a rusty brown. “Yuck.”
She drained the tub, stood up and washed again under the shower. Lord, but it felt good to be clean. Yawning, she dried herself and put on fresh, sweet-smelling clothes. Opening a bathroom drawer, she grabbed a couple of Band-Aids and applied them to the gash on her forehead, doing her best to bring the edges of her torn skin together. The cut on her nose wasn’t bad, so she left it alone. At least both wounds were clean.
Regan gathered her dirty laundry from the floor and stuffed everything into the hamper. Then she grabbed a hairbrush from the dresser and sat on her bed to work the tangles out of her hair. A mistake, because that led to lying down and pressing her face into Fáelán’s pillow. His scent still lingered. Had it been only a handful of days since he’d been taken from her? She curled herself into a ball, hugged Fáelán’s pillow to her chest and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Fáelán paced and gesticulated before the fae king. Lir’s throne was positioned at one end of a grand courtyard surrounded by cloisters and crowded with curious courtiers. Avid interest pulsed from the Tuatha Dé Danann nobles, becoming a palpable force pressing in around him. Fionn stood nearby, and so did his captain’s fae relation, lending Fáelán courage.
He couldn’t help but get caught up in the retelling of all that had befallen him at Morrigan’s hand. He poured all the emotional turmoil he’d suffered into his words. “I was deceived, tormented and held captive for nigh on two millennia by one of your own,” he called out, meeting the eyes of several of the spectators. “My mate risked her life, coming back through the ages to warn me. Because of Regan’s bravery, I evaded Morrigan’s curse this time ’round, but still the fae princess continues to hound my every step.”
He turned back to the king. “I am beside myself with worry for Regan, Your Majesty. Your daughter choked the life from poor, innocent Nóra the night I was cursed. I’ve no doubt Morrigan means to—”
“Think you I do not know my own daughter?” Lir pointed at the fae sword at Fáelán’s waist. “How come you by the Tuatha weapon?”
The fae king’s unnatural gaze lasered through Fáelán, and he lowered his eyes to Fragarach. “’Twas loaned to Regan, so that when she came through time to warn me of Morrigan’s curse—and Nóra’s impending murder—I’d believe her. How she came by it, I cannot say, Your Majesty. When we parted, Regan was upset, and she left the sword behind.” He placed his palm over the hilt. “I don’t believe she meant to leave it, but ’tis glad I am that she did.”
Lir’s frown deepened. “Mananán,” he shouted, “explain.”
The fae prince stepped forward and bowed. “Your future granddaughter Boann brought Fáelán’s mate to me in the mortal’s twenty-first century, Father. They shared with me the tale you just heard and asked for my help. ’Twas I who suggested Regan travel back to this point in time to prevent the curse from ever happening. Doing so seemed the most expedient way to set things aright.” He shrugged. “Boann asked for one of my swords as a token of proof, and ’twas she who guaranteed its return.” He strode toward Fáelán. “I’ll have it back now.” He held out his hand.
“Not so fast,” Lir boomed. “Did you know of Morrigan’s curse when first she laid it upon this mortal?”
“Aye, Father, and I—”
“Why did you not come to me with all of this from the start?”
“I tried to talk Morrigan into freeing him many times, but she refused.” Mananán dropped his hand. “I didn’t wish to trouble you with an altercation involving a mere mortal. When Boann brought Regan to me, I offered the perfect solution, and bringing it to your attention didn’t seem necessary. I dismissed the entire affair from my mind. I did not anticipate my sister’s obstinate persistence in her pursuit of this mortal.” He cut Fáelán a scathing look. “Nor did I anticipate the Fiann’s appearance before you, bearing my sword and pleading for your intercession.”
“In other words, you did not wish to implicate yourself in your sister’s crimes.” Lir sighed heavily.
“I had naught to do with her crimes.” Mananán gazed around at the courtiers, who listened with rapt attention. “I did try to reason with her many times, sire, but she refused to heed my advice.”
“Morrigan,” Lir shouted, tracing a rune in the air with his hand. “I summon thee to my court. Now.”
Morrigan appeared out of thin air before Lir’s dais. She went down on bended knee and bowed her head, her hands folded gracefully in front of her. Fáelán’s stomach curdled at the sight of her.
“Father,” she said, her head still bowed. “What is your wish?”
“Upon one strand in the weft of time’s tapestry, you will have murdered a human, given the Elixir of Life to a mortal without sanction and kept him unlawfully for nearly two thousand of their years. You also reneged on your oath to set him free once he’d met the conditions you yourself set forth. And let us not forget your deception when you came to him at the very first.” His scowl deepened. “What have you to say for yourself, daughter?”
“She cannot lie to her father,” Fionn whispered beside Fáelán. “He’ll know if she tries, and then ’twill go worse for her.”
Fáelán nodded slightly, his attention fixed upon the scene playing out in front of him.
“Everything this mortal told you is the truth.” She lifted her head to meet her father’s gaze, her expression pleading. “But, Father, I have conceived a child with him,” Morrigan cried, turning her wrath toward Fáelán for an instant. “I am bound to him, and I . . . I only wished to make him my consort, so that we could raise our child together. He refused me,” she said, her tone that of a spoiled child.
The familiar rage and frustration unfurled within Fáelán. Not only had the fae princess cursed him, but she’d kept any knowledge of his d
aughter’s existence a secret. Regan had been the one to tell him, and he’d accused her of lying. Had his daughter longed for a father’s love and guidance as she grew up? Did Boann hate him for what must seem to her like abandonment on his part? Morrigan had also kept his daughter from his family, and they would have showered her with love and kindness. His jaw tightened to the point of pain.
“The mortal declined your offer, daughter, which is within his rights.” Lir’s tone hardened. “Having kept your true identity from him from the start, you could not have expected the outcome to be any different. Punishing him for not wanting you, subjecting him to a curse he did naught to deserve, is unacceptable. From this moment forward, you will leave this man in peace.”
“But, Father, I—”
“There is no excuse for your behavior. Bonded or not, you know the law. Be grateful Fáelán’s mate had the bravery to undo the worst of your crimes upon this place in time, else your penance would be far greater.” He rose from his throne. “Do not make things worse with petty excuses. You have shamed me. You have shamed the goddess.”
Lir stepped down from the dais and stood before his daughter. “You are sentenced to reside here with me under supervision for the span of this mortal’s life, so that I can be sure he remains unmolested.”
King Lir pounded the end of his trident against the floor, and a wave of power surged through the hall, nearly knocking Fáelán off his feet. “And do not think for an instant I will not know if you coerce others to do your bidding against him. I will assign a companion to you, someone I trust who will remain by your side every moment, until all of Fáelán’s days are spent. Do you understand?”
Morrigan nodded, her expression closer to cunning than contrition.
“As for you.” Lir turned to Fáelán. “Your life is restored to you as it was before my daughter’s interference. You no longer need concern yourself with the Tuatha. Go in peace.”
Where was the relief he should be feeling? Instead, sorrow engulfed him. Not only had he been denied the chance to know his daughter; now he was to lose the only woman he would ever love, and he’d never know his child—his second child. Fáelán knew what he wanted. More than anything, he longed to be with Regan. Morrigan had stolen so much from him. After eons of deprivation, he refused to give up his one chance at happiness.
He glanced at Fionn, not even attempting to hide the misery stealing his breath. “My lord . . . I . . .” He cleared his throat. “Please release me from my vows to the Fianna. I need to be with Regan. I cannot forsake her or my unborn child.”
Fionn studied him in that deep way he had and nodded slightly, his expression grave. “I release ye, my friend, and I wish ye naught but contentment and peace all the rest of your days. Ye’ve earned them, aye?”
Warmth seeped through him, and gratitude. “I am proud to have served ye, and I am grateful for everything ye’ve done for me.” Drawing in a long breath, Fáelán stepped forward. “King Lir, I beg your indulgence for a moment longer.”
“Aye?” The fae king cast him a look of annoyance. “What is it now?”
“I wish to be sent back to my life in the twenty-first century. I want to be with my mate. She carries my child, and I want to be a good husband to her and a father to our babe.” And any other children they might be blessed with in the future. “I never knew my daughter, Boann. Do not force me to forsake another. After all I have suffered, am I not owed this one favor?” He glanced at Morrigan with all the loathing he held for her. “If not from you, then from her?”
“Hmph.” Lir’s brow lowered. “Owed a favor? You came asking me to settle the matter betwixt the two of you. Did I not do as you asked? Was that not favor enough?”
“Ye did, and ’tis grateful I am, but—”
“You were born in this place and time, and here is where you were meant to live out your short life. If I were to grant you another favor, ’twould alter the fate of many in what your kind call the third century.” The king climbed the stairs of his dais. “Favor denied. Return to the earthly realm.” Lir glanced at Fáelán, his eyes glowing an unnatural bright blue. “’Tis where you belong.”
His heart pounding, and a cold sweat breaking out over his entire body, Fáelán squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’ve been told that what has already occurred in the past, present or the future cannot be erased.” He waved a hand in the air. “I know naught of strands or the weaving of time, but Morrigan has already altered time’s tapestry. Has she not? If I am not sent back to my life in the twenty-first century, will that not affect the fate for many as well, including my progeny? That is unacceptable to me. What I am asking is reasonable and just.” Fáelán swallowed convulsively, praying the demigod would not squash him like a bug where he stood.
“Who told you nothing can be erased?” King Lir’s gaze settled upon his son Mananán.
The prince stepped forward again. “Boann shared that with Regan, whilst trying to convince the mortal woman to aid her sire. Regan feared if she undid Fáelán’s curse, she’d lose her unborn child, and Boann wished only to put her mind at ease.”
Warmth spread through Fáelán. His daughter had wanted to help him, and that gave him hope. Mayhap she didn’t hate him after all. “Regan told the same to me when she came to the past. Changes have already been wrought, and it matters not whether I remain in the third century or return to the twenty-first.” He’d grieved the loss of his third-century family eons ago.
“Your Majesty, I long to be where my heart resides, which is in the future with Regan and our child.” In a last-ditch effort, he added, “Do you and I not share a bond of kinship through my daughter, Boann? Upon that tie, I beg ye, grant me this request.”
Lir sat upon his throne, canted his head and scratched at his beard. “You are brave, Fiann . . . and foolish. Still . . .” He leaned back and rapped his fingers against the armrests. “Long have I been intrigued with the Fianna.” He shot Fionn a challenging look. “Have you not claimed over and over the skill of your warriors is peerless, even greater than that of a Tuatha warrior?”
“I have, Your Majesty, and this lad is one of my finest.” Fionn rested his hand upon Fáelán’s shoulder.
“Hmmm.” The king scrutinized Fáelán.
The thumping of his heart echoed inside his head, and Fáelán gripped Fragarach’s hilt so tightly, his palm would surely carry the imprint of its runes for the remainder of his life.
Lir leaned forward. “I propose a tournament. This Fiann”—he pointed his trident at Fáelán—“against a champion of my choosing. Since the fae sword still hangs at your waist, I’ll grant you Fragarach’s use for this contest,” Lir said, his tone mocking. “If my champion draws first blood, you remain in the century of your birth. If you draw first blood, then I shall consider your request. What say you?”
The king would consider his request? “Ah, feck,” Fáelán muttered under his breath, and Fionn’s grasp upon his shoulder tightened.
Fáelán caught movement from the corner of his eye. He bowed his head as if in thought and cast a sideways glance. Morrigan slipped away through the crowd.
“Well?” King Lir’s voice boomed. “What is it to be?”
Fáelán knew Morrigan well enough to suspect the worst and to be on guard. Yet no matter what she schemed, what choice did he have but to accept? Though his innards had turned to watery porridge, he thrust out his chest and widened his stance. “Your Majesty, once I’ve drawn first blood, the battle will cease, aye?”
“Aye, Fiann.” King Lir laughed. “You have my word as a direct descendant of the goddess Danu, my champion will not use fae magic to defeat you. Múiros, come forth,” he called.
One of the guards standing along the wall sauntered forward, smirking as he met Fáelán’s gaze. The fae warrior carried a shield and a lance, along with the sword at his back.
“This must be a fair fight,” Fionn said, moving to stand in front of Fáelán. “Either grant my Fiann a lance and a shield, or have your ch
ampion set his aside.”
“Agreed.” Lir nodded to Múiros, and another guard came forward to take the lance and shield from him.
Fáelán rolled his shoulders before removing the scabbard and belt from his waist. The sword had always been his favorite weapon, and he excelled at the skill. He drew Fragarach from its scabbard, tossed the belt aside and held the flat of the blade to his forehead. He sent a prayer to whatever helpful spirits or gods might be listening. “For Regan, our child, my daughter, Boann, my clan and kin,” he muttered under his breath. “Lend me strength, speed and the wits needed to defeat my foe.”
“Regan,” one of her sisters said, jostling her by the shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie, or you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“I doubt that. I’m pretty sure I could sleep for a week.” Regan rolled to her back and stretched, taking inventory of all her aches and pains. “How long have I been out?”
“All morning,” Meredith said, peering down at her. “We’ve made lunch. Grayce and I want to know what’s been going on since we got your text telling us you might not be here when we arrived.”
“OK. I’m hungry anyway.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. “I look like hell, don’t I?”
“Yes. Two black eyes, a nasty lump and cut on your forehead, and a swollen nose. You look like you might’ve been in a car accident.” Meredith studied her. “How do you feel?”
“Beat up. Sad.” She headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be right down.”
“I’ll wait, in case you’re unsteady on your feet.”
Regan nodded and closed the bathroom door behind her. She avoided looking in the mirror. At least she was clean and had access to a bathroom. Quickly taking care of her needs, she then washed her hands and her face, brushed her teeth and headed downstairs, with her sister standing close by. Meredith and Grayce had already set the table. Regan’s stomach gurgled with hunger. “Smells like chicken noodle soup.”
“Yep, homemade, and we have currant scones from the bakery in the village,” Grayce said, setting two steaming bowls on the table.
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