The panic in her voice shot through Leif like splintered ice. “Brother!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet. As he felt the cold hand of fear gripping his throat, the scene before him changed. No longer was he crawling through the grass beside the pub, but dropping to his knees inside a cobblestone paved barn.
“Over…here…” a voice called faintly from the floor.
“Brother!” I shouted clutching Eirik’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
Though struggling with the rope around her wrists, Mara was able to make limited use of her fingers and bring the lantern to the spot where Eirik lay. It broke the peril of the darkness and revealed Eirik’s horrifying injury. He was gasping under the pain of a knife in his gut and blood had already soaked his clothes. His trembling hands freed the dagger from its fleshy sheath and dropped it to the stone floor at her knees.
“Eirik! Who did this to you?” I demanded. “Who, Eirik?”
“I…know not,” Eirik tried to say. “He had…Mara…on the ground…”
Instantly, I shot Mara a look of gravity, my worst fears coming true as I finally took notice of the gag in her mouth and her wrists bound like an animal. I reached up with a trembling hand and touched her face. My eyes beheld more guilt and regret than she had ever recalled seeing on one man. She wanted to take hold of me, comfort me…
“I tried to…” Eirik struggled to explain.
“Sh...Brother,” I said, deflecting my attention from Mara. “You are going to be fine.”
I lied, and Mara knew it as well. It was evident the large amount of blood in such a short time meant a vessel had been direly severed. The realization sickened me knowing that nothing could save Eirik now.
I pushed my palm firmly against the deep wound, holding a steady pressure, but the blood oozed between my fingers, seeping around my hand. “Nay, Eirik…stay with me. Look at me, Brother. Look at me.”
Mara touched the side of Eirik’s face with her bound wrists. He smiled kindly at her, stealing another short breath. “Are you…all right…m’lady?”
She nodded as that was all the gag allowed her, trying not to show the dreadfulness of his wound.
Eirik tried to speak again, but choked on the blood that now filled his throat.
“No, Eirik. Come on. You can do it… Do not leave me. Do not leave me, Eirik!” I lifted my brother’s head to my lap, helping to draw the blood away from his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Eirik. Tell me who did this! Tell me now… I must know, Brother!”
I now looked at Mara again, searching her for the man’s identity, but she could only give an ignorant shoulder shrug.
“Eirik!” I shouted, pushing my palm harder against the seeping blood. “No, Eirik! No!”
I leaned closer to my brother’s face, feeling his feeble breath on my cheek. “That’s it, Eirik,” I encouraged softly. “Tell me. Tell me who did this.”
But as Mara watched me coddle my brother, Eirik’s hand briefly reached for my forearm and then dropped lifelessly to the ground.
“No!” I yelled, clutching my brother in my arms. “No! No! No!” I shook with sadness, crying loudly in Eirik’s neck. I rocked my brother’s body and cursed, shouting at the top of my lungs. “No!”
“Eirik!” Leif called out, his hands trembling as he stared at his injured brother.
Maggie and Kristoff looked at him, confusion replacing the terror in their eyes. “Who the hell is Eirik?” Kristoff asked in a clear demanding voice.
Leif’s breath surged from his lungs. Extreme relief washed over him knowing his brother had not died before his very eyes, but he was still disorientated between what he had envisioned and what really happened. Even though his brother was alive and well, embracing Maggie in his arms, he wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” Kristoff panted, pulling Maggie from his chest. He cupped her face, wiping her tears with his thumb. “What about you? Did they hurt you?”
“No,” she cried, sinking into his arms again. “I’m fine now, thanks to you.”
“What the devil?” Flanagan’s voice exploded from behind them. As he turned the corner, his eye’s widened with fury, panic ensuing him. Immediately, he reached for Maggie and ripped her from Kristoff’s arms. “I knew you were a womanizing bastard, but I didn’t think you would ever resort to rape!”
Leif came to his feet in an instant, blocking Flanagan before he could get to his brother. Taking complete offense with the accusations the Irishman made, he pressed his hands on Flanagan’s chest, holding him at bay. “Calm down, Flanagan. You’ve got this all wrong. Kristoff did no such thing.”
Flanagan’s eyes flashed red. “Then how do you explain my sister crying for dear life and her shirt torn to shreds?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He tried to bolt passed Leif, hands already fisted for the fight he wanted to have on his sister’s behalf. But Leif grabbed him and threw him backward. “You want to vent your anger on someone? Then you better do it on the two lowlifes that just took off toward the pier. They’re the ones who did this to Maggie. If it wasn’t for Kristoff, she’d have suffered more than a torn shirt.”
Flanagan huffed with each breath he took, Leif’s words settling in his head. “Is this true, Maggie?”
All the men looked to her for a reply. As she stood there, trying to cover herself up with her arms, Kristoff unbuttoned his shirt and threw it around her shoulders, holding her against his body. She smiled halfheartedly, still shaking from the distress of the incident. “Yes, it’s true. Kristoff came to my rescue. He and Leif.” She looked up at Kristoff, clinging to him with her last bit of strength.
Flanagan let out a hiss and spun on his heels to keep from looking at them. Leif knew he was finding it hard to accept that Kristoff was not the scoundrel he thought him to be. Flanagan was torn between being indebted to him for coming to his sister’s aid and wanting to drill his fist down his brother’s throat. Because of Kristoff’s bravery, he knew he couldn’t rightly indulge in the latter and that upset him even more.
After a few paces, Flanagan approached Maggie. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Why did you?” Kristoff questioned.
Flanagan glared at him. “I was just gone for a moment. I left her at the door to pull up the carriage.” Silence followed, the tension still thick between the two men. Finally, Flanagan let down his pride and slowly offered his hand to Kristoff.
Kristoff eyed the Irishman’s gesture and eventually shook it. “She’s cold. Get her home.”
Without another word, Flanagan wrapped his arm around Maggie and ushered her away, leaving Kristoff with a proud smile inching across his lips. Leif joined his brother as they watched the two walk around the corner and disappear into the night.
“Did you hear that?” Kristoff asked. “Maggie’s his sister.”
“Yeah, well I was hoping you didn’t catch that.”
Kristoff chuckled deviously. “That little revelation certainly changes things, doesn’t it?”
Leif eyed his brother, realizing Maggie wasn’t one of those women Kristoff claimed he could forget about. He cared for her and from the way Maggie had held fast to him, she must have felt the same. Leif laughed aloud. “You’re screwed.”
Kristoff’s eyes met his, remembering their conversation that morning in the kitchen. “I guess I am.”
Leif smiled. He never thought there’d come a day when his brother would admit to falling in love with one woman. “Play your cards right, and you just might have a chance with her.”
Taking the first steps toward home, the flow of adrenaline tapered off and, in due course, so did the deadening affect of the alcohol they’d consumed. The two men silently nursed their aching bodies as they contemplated the night. Leif rubbed his jaw while Kristoff stretched his sore ribs. Neither wanted to admit they’d gotten hurt and neither questioned how badly the other felt now that it was all over.
The walk home seemed longe
r than normal, but Kristoff made it worse. He crowded his brow and gazed at Leif in retrospect. “So, are you going to tell me who Eirik is?”
Chapter Thirty
Leif asked himself that very question. Who was Eirik and why did he appear at such a poignant moment? The entire journey home, he couldn’t answer Kristoff’s question, nor could he solve the mystery for himself. His mind was plagued with a blankness he could barely discern as he sought through nothingness. The only two things he knew for sure was that he’d called Eirik his brother and that Lorraine was there. To his surprise, the name Mara registered in his head the moment he laid eyes on her—not Lorraine. Though gagged and bound, and dressed in period clothing, the woman was Lorraine, without a doubt.
Entering his cottage in a deep stupor, he said goodnight to his brother who collapsed on his couch. He walked like a zombie down the hall, stopping at the door of his guest room. Peering in, his heart ached at seeing the empty bed.
The room was just as she had left it that morning. The blankets and sheets were disheveled on the mattress, bringing to mind the wonderful night he’d spent making love to her and waking up with her body snuggled against his. He longed to have her close, feeling the warmth of her skin and hearing her blissful sigh in his ears before she’d close her eyes to sleep.
There was an emptiness inside him. A huge void in his heart as he entered the room and climbed upon the bed. He had gotten used to having Lorraine in his life and the notion of him sleeping alone this night stabbed his heart like a dull knife.
Burying his head in the pillow, he smelled the scent she’d left behind. Spiced cinnamon and warm cypress infused his senses as he breathed deeper. He savored it, clutching the cushion against his body.
He needed her, now more than ever. It wasn’t just to feel her soft naked flesh against his. It went beyond that. He felt lost and alone, wandering the depths of uncertainty with no knowledge of what to look for. He had so many unanswered questions and he couldn’t help but think that each one could be resolved through Lorraine, if he took the time to listen to her.
He recalled the look in her eyes when he’d told her to get her things and go. He’d cut her deeply, throwing away every precious moment they’d shared. He swore he’d never hurt her, professed it to her when she relayed to him the infidelity of her fiancé, yet the wound he carved out had probably left a jagged scar too great to heal.
What little he knew about her, did not hinder him from noting the strength and fortitude in her character. Though tears had welled in her eyes, there was not one ounce of weakness in her stance. She had believed he was her reincarnated soul mate from the tenth century and nothing, not even his own cold harsh condescension, could make her change her mind.
He wanted to believe her, for no other reason than because it was she who claimed it. He’d felt things with her, things he never experienced before with another woman. When he held her, he felt as if God, Himself, had made her specifically for him. They meshed together like two puzzle pieces. Every time he looked in her eyes, he saw his future, a long life of love and happiness with her and only her.
Was he out of his mind? He had only known her for less than a week and the idea of living the rest of his life with this woman seemed as ridiculous as believing he was once a bona fide sword-wielding Norwegian Viking.
Frustrated, he kicked his legs out and spread his body across the bed, knocking the blankets off the side. Something heavy hit the floor. Sitting up, he looked over the edge. Peeking out from beneath a pile of crumpled tissue paper, boxes, and an Aran sweater, he saw the carved wooden music box Lorraine had given him.
His heart leapt as he reached down to retrieve the gift. Lying back upon the bed, he wound it up and popped the lid. The clear tinkling of the melody soothed the aggravation from his mind and brought a smile to his face. He thought of the legendary story she’d told him about the chest and the words she said to him thereafter: …and you, Leif Dæganssen, from the day I laid eyes on you, had my heart.
Serenaded by the quiet, simple song, he sat it on his chest and lay there entranced, thoughts of Lorraine’s laughter filling his tired mind. His eyes fluttered heavily until they closed, his last thoughts being of her running into his arms.
A decision was made. First thing in the morning, he’d go to her.
****
With the music box in hand, Leif raced up the paved road on his big black beast of a horse, the sound of its hooves pounding out a rhythm that matched the pace of his heart. He hadn’t bothered to tack it up with a saddle. He was excited to see Lorraine again—determined moreover. He had decided the moment he awoke he was going to forget all that he knew to be real and fathomable, and open his mind to the possible notion of reincarnation.
It was all he had to go on at this moment. Nothing but his soul being reborn in another body explained the unusual emotions and sense of familiarity he had when he was with Lorraine. Against his better judgment, the extraordinary visions he’d seen in the past few days also led him to lean toward a past life existence. It pained him to throw out everything he’d ever believed in, and receptively embrace a whole new doctrine of hypothetical credences for which there were no scientific grounds. But he was fixed on listening to anything Lorraine had to say on the matter. He wanted to shed as much light as he could on the unresolved, but if it also meant somehow bridging the gap between him and Lorraine, then he was willing to put all academic theories aside.
As he reached the Man of Aran Cottages, he halted his horse and took in the picturesque view. The single story long buildings sat side by side of each other, the pitch of their roofs creating an M-shaped appearance. The outside structure was made of stone, painted bright white with stained wood panes framing the windows. A narrow walkway, bordered by a knee-high rock barrier, ran the length of the quaint cottage, while roses of various vibrant colors clung to its walls. Though improvements on the thatched cottages had been made over time, the old world charm remained.
Dismounting, he threw the reins over his horse’s back and walked to the farthest cottage, assuming Lorraine would prefer the view of the Atlantic from her window. His legs felt heavy and weak as if he had run the jaunt from his house to here himself. His mind raced, not knowing what to say once she opened the door. His nerves jittered inside him as he realized he was clueless how to greet her. Considering how rude he had been toward her, there was a good possibility she’d slam the door in his face the moment she saw him. Worse yet, perhaps she’d already packed her things and left.
The idea of Lorraine on a plane bound for Kentucky left him with a feeling of dread. He’d kick himself if he’d missed his chance to repair the damage he caused her heart. He couldn’t live with himself if he knew he deserted her without a word of apology or explanation.
Staring at the first door he came to, he drew in a long breath and blew it out slowly. His heart hammered in his chest as he lifted his fist and rapped upon the dark stained wood.
Despite the cool damp breeze whistling in his ears, he heard voices, Lorraine’s voice and someone else he didn’t recognize. A thought that he might have mistook the female voice and perhaps had chosen the wrong room flitted across his brain. He leaned forward to listen, innocently eavesdropping on those inside.
The door flew open and Leif straightened, shocked at seeing a dark-haired fellow of middle age standing before him. At first glance, he thought he noticed a twinge of irritation registering on the man’s face. Leif figured he was likely a honeymooning husband annoyed by the interruption.
“I’m sorry,” Leif apologized sincerely. “I have the wrong room.”
“I wish that were true, Leif,” the man retorted, stepping aside. From behind him Lorraine tentatively stepped forward, her eyes wide with astonishment, wavering between the men.
“You two know each other?” she asked.
Leif studied the man, his face holding a hint of familiarity.
“Yes, we know each other. I shod his horse a few years ago.” The man glanced o
ver Leif’s shoulder. “That Friesian beauty, to be exact.”
Realization struck Leif. “Patrick…” However, the man’s last name escaped him. “I’m sorry I can’t recall—”
“O’Rourke,” Patrick answered for him.
As the awkwardness mounted, Leif directed his attention back to Lorraine, words failing him. He’d forgotten why he came. His mind went blank as he settled on why a farrier was rooming with her. Then it hit him. Like a ton of bricks falling down upon him, he remembered the conversation he and Lorraine had had on the beach the night before.
“Patrick’s watched over you?”
“Yes, you could say that. He’s been the protective big brother I’ve never had. Most people don’t understand. They think because two people of the opposite sex are living together under the same roof they’re romantically involved in some way.”
Putting two and two together, Leif comprehended the gravity of the situation. He had hurt Lorraine and she went running back to the man she’d always counted on, the man she claimed was just a friend. But as he took notice of Patrick interlacing his fingers with hers, holding her hand protectively, he knew better. There was more going on between them than she had let on.
Jealousy reared inside him, but Leif shoved it away. He would not give Patrick the satisfaction of knowing his dominant presence in Lorraine’s life cut him to the core. Glancing down at the music box in his hand, he remembered his purpose for being there. It didn’t matter anymore. The words she’d spoken to him when she gave him the gift, no longer held meaning. He found them very hard to believe and he wished she’d never said them.
He took one last look at her and returned her gift. “I guess I’m not the only one who holds your heart.”
“Leif, wait!”
He heard the sheer desperation in her plea, but he ignored it, stomping toward his horse. He didn’t even give her a second look when he swung his leg up and mounted. He grabbed his reins and sped away, leaving his broken bleeding heart at her feet.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 89
