The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  “I think I’ll need this,” she said, holding it up.

  “That and your shirt,” he pointed to his left and then toward the bathroom. “Don’t forget your jeans in there.”

  He didn’t mean to be lazy, but watching her pick up her strewn-about clothes from all parts of the house held much of his full attention. His shirt, to his delight, shortened in length every time she bent over, leaving nothing to the imagination. As she came out of the bathroom, she tucked what was left of her sheer white thong in his front pocket. Her fingertips grazed across his hungry flesh.

  Seven couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Showered and dressed, Lorraine tied her shoe laces and slipped her arms through her Lands End jacket, ready to take on the world. In coming to Ireland, she had left her troubles behind to find strength and independence in being on her own. What she ended up discovering was she wasn’t meant to stay single after all. For whatever reason—God’s intervention or, as Leif would peg it, a small blessing—she had found the man she fell in love with from another lifetime and wasn’t going to let him slip through her grasp.

  Not many people could claim such a thing. She knew a few who had alleged to have lived previous lives, but they had little to no recognition of their past or those they came in contact with. Up until now, she had thought them a little eccentric and, on some occasions, psychiatrically disturbed. She almost wished she had paid more attention to their inconceivable stories. Maybe she’d have a better understanding of how it all worked and how, if possible, to jog another’s past life memory.

  Though Leif didn’t seem to recognize her from his past, he professed to have felt a connection with her. That minimal thread of optimism had her beaming with hope. If she could only stir his subconscious enough to let the deeply suppressed memories of his past resurface, just as his birthmark had done for her, then perhaps there was a chance he’d recall the medieval life he had shared with her. She couldn’t be too certain, but it seemed their first kiss might have sparked a faint memory from that period.

  I have no idea how to describe what I felt when I kissed you. All I know is that I saw you, a different version of you. And as I gazed upon your face, I felt like I was out of my body—watching me kiss you.

  She recalled their very first kiss—Dægan and Mara’s—after she’d found herself alone with him under the shelter of the forest near the River Shannon. He was such a beautiful man, with hair like the sun and eyes like the ocean. He was strong, stubborn, and confident. Remembering how he asserted he’d marry her with or without her father’s consent brought a smile to her lips. Though it upset her, at the time, to have a man so haughtily decide her future, she missed that side of him. Leif was not quite the domineering fellow he once was as Dægan. She blamed the affluent civilized society for taming the wild warrior within him. Men no longer claimed other men’s daughters as their own and married them to sustain peace, acquire power, and accrue wealth. They no longer drew swords to protect their families, defend their honor, or fight for freedom.

  Life was much easier now, and safer. The chance of a hoard of Vikings, or pirates plundering the towns, taking what they want is nonexistent. The need for brave armored knights to save the damsel in distress has all but whittled away to nothing.

  Leif didn’t need to be that audacious man and leader who’d whisk her away to safety and slaughter a group of two hundred men because they threatened to take what was his. Modern life has diluted the epitome of undaunted courage. No matter what sort of man contemporary society had nurtured Leif to be, she’d love him just the same for he was hers. She just needed to figure out how to make him realize it.

  As she pondered how to kindle Leif’s memory, she glanced over at her phone that had been charging on the table since she entered her quaint accommodations at the Man of Aran Cottage. Three bars. Good enough for making a quick call to Patrick before she headed into town.

  Now that it was near full charge, she saw on the display that she had missed three calls. Knowing exactly who they were from, she cringed as she confirmed Patrick’s name beside each one. She knew an ass chewing was inevitable, but pressed ‘two’ anyway.

  Pacing the room, she counted the rings before he picked up. One. And a half.

  “Are you all right? How’s your head? Where are you? Why haven’t you picked up? I’ve called you about a hundred times—”

  “Three actually…and hello to you, too.”

  Lorraine heard Patrick sigh. “Sorry. I was just worried. You said you’d call and you didn’t. Then, when I tried calling you, it went straight to voice—”

  “Patrick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you gonna let me explain?”

  Another hellacious sigh blew over. “Yes. I’ll calm down. Just first…tell me you’re all right and you’re safe.”

  Lorraine sat on the edge of her bed. Patrick’s familiar aura of concern soothed her. “I’m safe and sound. I’ve been safe ever since I last talked to you. I just forgot to charge the phone. When I did remember, it was here in my suitcase out of reach.”

  “What do you mean out of reach? Your luggage is with you, right? Don’t tell me the airline lost it.”

  “My luggage is in my possession,” she asserted. Biting her lip, she wondered how to explain the rest. “But the past couple days, I haven’t been near my luggage.”

  A few seconds of silence spanned between their conversation. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been following your rules.”

  “What?” Patrick’s tone took on an indication of demand instead of confusion.

  “You gave me strict rules to follow while I was in Ireland, remember?” She ticked off one by one on her fingers. “No calling Jack. No turning in before the sun sets. No wallowing in self pity. And, my personal favorite, do something crazy at least twice a week while I’m here.” She couldn’t help but laugh as she recalled her days spent with Leif. “Well, lookie there. I managed to do every single one of those.”

  Silence again followed.

  “Patrick?”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my Rain?”

  Lorraine giggled and fell backward on the bed. Patrick was right. She was a whole new person, and she loved it. She felt liberated, confident, and daring with a hint of sexy. Jack had never made her feel those things. If anything, he subdued her vitality for life, making her feel like a shrinking violet who’d not be worth a second glance.

  Because of Leif, she remembered the feisty woman she used to be. The girl who knew what it felt like to love and be loved in return. The stubborn female who’d not back down and go after what she wanted. The person who dared to be adventurous and tenacious.

  “I like the new ‘me’, Patrick. Don’t you?”

  “Of course, I do. It’s great to hear you’re so happy. That’s what this trip was all about. But what happened? The last time we talked, you were babbling on about past lives and meeting some guy who looked like the man in your dreams. Did you go see that doctor like you said you would?”

  She remembered the late-night house call Dr. O’Donnell had made to Leif’s house. “Yeah, I did. He said I was fine. Jet lag on top of a concussion sort of thing. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s good. So, what about the guy? Was he just a figment of your concussive imagination?”

  “Afraid not. He’s very real and exactly like the man in my dreams—well, save for the Viking apparel and the sword. He’s very gentlemanly, a great cook, and he has this perfect little cottage on the beach with a barn and horses. You’d like him.”

  “You’ve been to his house?”

  “In his guest room,” she tried to smooth over, leaving out the part where he slept with her.

  “Okay, that’s it. I’m coming to Ireland. Just sit tight and I’ll be there in less than twenty-four hours. Do not go back to his house, you hear me?”

  Lorraine sat up in a flash. “Patrick, I’m fine. There’s no n
eed for you to jet across the world to check up on me.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have sent you over there by yourself. I regretted the decision the moment your plane lifted off the ground. I should’ve been there with you. But don’t worry. I’ll take the next flight out.”

  She heard him rustling like a mad man in the background. “Patrick, put the suitcase back in your closet. You don’t need to come to Ireland. I’m fine. Leif’s taking very good care of me.”

  “Taking advantage of you, more like it.”

  “No, he’s not,” Lorraine defended. “He’d never do that.”

  “Right, ‘cause after hanging out at his house for two days you know every thing there is to know about him.”

  “That’s right, I do.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m hauling ass to get to you. You’re not thinking clearly and for all you know, this guy might be a serial killer.”

  Lorraine had to laugh at Patrick’s exaggeration. Leif may be a lot of things—bold, charming, persuasive, and oh so skilled in the bed—but he wasn’t a serial killer. “You’re seriously overreacting.”

  “So, what if I am.” She heard the distinct swift sound of a zipper fasten. “At least I’ll know you’re safe.”

  “Patrick, will you stop for a moment and listen to me?” Luggage wheels rolled across his floor as his heavy boots stomped out a definite pace. “Please?”

  His elongated strides came to a halt and she held her breath. She didn’t hear another thing on the other end except Patrick’s shallow breath. “I’m listening.”

  Lorraine breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” It felt silly to thank him for lending an ear, but what she had to say would blow silly out of the water. “Why don’t you sit down for this.”

  “Rain—”

  “Please, Patrick? I need you to hear me out and truly listen to me. Don’t patronize me like Jack used to do and pretend you’re listening.”

  She must have struck a chord with him. He didn’t cut her off or placate her with words she’d want to hear. Instead, she heard the sudden squawk of leather, as if he flopped himself down on the living room couch. “All right, I’m sitting.”

  Lorraine swallowed. “Do you remember when I asked you about reincarnation?”

  “Yeah.”

  Already, there was a hint of disbelief in Patrick’s voice. “Do you believe in it?”

  “What does it matter if I believe in it? What does this have to do with you in Ireland?”

  “Everything. It has everything to do with it. It’s why I’ve always been drawn to this island. It’s why my dreams are filled with unknown places I’ve been to before, but never realized it until I came here. It’s why the man who haunted my dreams for so long is here, living on Inis Mór. It’s why I was meant to come here and find him, so we can be together again.”

  “Again? What do you mean together again?”

  “I know this may sound off the wall, but—” She froze. Her gumption receded behind the protective walls of cowardice. It wasn’t like she was confessing to jaywalking in downtown Cincinnati. This was much bigger than that and Patrick may not be ready to hear it. Chances are he’d hang up the phone, catch a red eye flight to Dublin, and be at her door by morning.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to sell her best friend short. He was the one person she could depend on and, more times than she could count, he had sacrificed whatever necessary to make sure she had someone to lean on. He always went above and beyond the call of duty when it came to their friendship and he didn’t deserve to be left out in the cold now. Out of everyone she knew, he’d be the one person who’d understand.

  She swallowed hard and took a deep breath of courage. “I used to be the daughter of a king in Medieval Ireland. I fell in love with a warrior chieftain from Norway. His name was Dægan and I married him on this very isle at Dún Aonghasa. Everything was perfect until his twin brother came and plundered the isle, leaving my husband for dead. He abducted me to ransom Connacht from my father, but his plan failed as my husband lived, gathered an enormous army and tracked him down. In saving me, he gave his life.

  “I watched him die, Patrick. In my arms.” Tears spilled from her eyes as she vividly remembered Dægan drawing his last breaths. Shrugging away the horrid memory, she continued. “We gave him a king’s funeral. I’ll never forget the sight of that sunset as his longship burned on the horizon. He was gone. My first love ripped from me before we even had a chance to begin our lives together.”

  “And you think this Leif…guy…is a reincarnated version of your Norse husband?”

  “I don’t think. I know. He says things to me that Dægan has said before—word for word. He bears the mark of a huge battle wound across his thigh, the same one Dægan had. His voice is Dægan’s. His kiss is Dægan’s. His body is Dægan’s. His touch is—”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  The awkward silence thereafter screamed through the phone. Lorraine couldn’t stand it any longer. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lorraine swung her legs over the side of the bed, her body tense, her hand cramping from the grip she had on the cell. She loved Patrick, always had, but knowing he didn’t believe her hurt worse than him giving up on their tight-knit relationship altogether. From that, she could recover. It would be a lot easier to convince herself that he had turned away from her because he’d found someone else and needed to move on. That their closeness had been interfering with every intimate relationship he ever tried to have. In all honesty, it probably should happen. But if he didn’t believe her, then it would be difficult to go on. There wouldn’t be a door between them that had closed, with the possibility of one day reopening it. This would be a solid wall, a permanent barrier which would ultimately divide them. If he didn’t trust what she said was true, there’d be nothing holding them together.

  She whispered his name, though it wasn’t for getting his attention as much as it was to keep herself from crying. If Patrick didn’t believe her then how could she possibly get Leif to believe her?

  “Patrick, please say something. Anything?”

  His voice finally came over the phone, low and composed. “I’ll be frank with you, Rain. It all sounds preposterous.” He paused, causing her heart to falter in her chest. “But I do believe you.”

  Lorraine felt like she could breathe again. “You do?”

  “Trust me, I’d rather not. It sounds better if you’re the sole crazy one.”

  An easy laugh escaped her, though she couldn’t tell whether he was being truthful or facetious. “So, now what?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he murmured. She could picture him sinking low into the couch and stretching his long legs out, his eyes closed. What he always did when he needed to think, when he didn’t have answers. “Have you told him?”

  Lorraine imagined Leif repudiating her on the spot. “No, I’m afraid to. He’s not as credulous as you are.”

  “Thanks,” he said solemnly.

  “I mean, he’s not likely to believe a word of it unless he can back it up with scientific evidence. He’s an archeologist, for goodness sakes. I’ll need more than just a birthmark and a few analogous conversations to convince him.”

  “So, find something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, you used to live there. In the time you were together, was there a special place you used to frequent, or anything said that only you and he would know about?” He scoffed. “This sounds so bizarre. Me asking you about places and things from a time hundreds of years before my birth.”

  “I know. And I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have your support, Patrick. To know I can tell you anything and you won’t deem me to be some loony tune nut case strung out on hallucinogens.”

  “I won’t lie. I’m still tossing around that idea. But it’s you. I know you’d never make up outlandish lies for any reason and expect me to buy into them. If you say you’ve had a p
ast life with a man you’re presently…involved with…then I’ve no choice but to help you help him remember. That is what you want, right?”

  Patrick’s words eased her nervousness. It wasn’t just what he said, but the kind, nurturing way he said it that smoothed the deep anxious lines from her forehead. The burden of carrying this discovery alone on her shoulders had been lifted. “Yes. I want Leif to remember me as I used to be. The woman he came upon by the River Shannon, who enchanted him so much he couldn’t live without her. The woman he took as his wife. The woman he fell madly in love with.”

  “How did you know he was in love with you?”

  A smile automatically curled Lorraine’s lips. “I felt it. I felt it in everything he did. In the heat of his eyes as he looked at me. In his embrace as he held me tight. In the poetic words he used to express his heart’s desire. He once gave me gift. A king’s chest of immeasurable value and it was then that I knew he loved me.” She drifted off to the day Dægan had given it to her.

  ****

  Dægan took my hand in his before he spoke. “I know this may seem sudden and a bit forward, but I want to give something to you. A gift, if you will—one that would seem more fitting had I had a chance to offer your father a sufficient bride price.”

  He studied me, deliberately holding fast to the innocence of my face. Like a child, my eyes sparkled as I anticipated the endowment. He began with a story.

  “There was a king blessed with power, wealth, and dignity, who loved a woman and she loved him…

  ****

  Lorraine stood from the bed and walked to the window. What she wouldn’t give to see that chest again. Back in the day, she knew it meant the world to Dægan. She couldn’t help but think that if Leif could see it now, he’d have to remember giving it to her. She shrugged off the idea of the chest and leaned her hip against the wall. It was so long ago and who knew where the chest ended up after her death.