He thought longer on the regard Patrick had for him, recalling, from long ago on this very cliff’s edge, the day he’d learned of greatness and God. Looking over his shoulder, he took in the sight of the sun setting in the distance. With the backdrop of a crimson sky among a bed of calm reflective water, the scenery was both comforting and magnificent. Taking it as a sure sign of His grace, he offered a silent prayer of thanks to the one God who’d made this possible.
Leif felt a bump against his arm and he looked at Patrick, who directed him to look ahead. The sight of Lorraine, making her entrance through the gap of the ringfort’s dilapidated stone walls, took his breath away. Her hair was let down from the usual ponytail, cascading in curls from a tiara of island flowers, and her dress was a fine gown of simple pale green cotton, plunging low at the neckline and revealing an ample swell of breasts for his viewing. Her face shined like polished ivory, her lips, the color of summer roses.
As she made her way up to the cliff’s edge, where he, Patrick, and the priest stood waiting, he was lost in his own world, staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Standing face to face, he took her hands in his.
Just as Dægan had struggled long ago to listen to the Latin gibberish of his time, Leif had issues with paying attention to the local Irish priest. He tried to concentrate on the ceremony, taking a deep breath to calm his wondering mind, but that only made it worse, for now he could smell Lorraine. He could smell her as remarkably as if she were right in his arms.
He looked down at her hands so small, tucked within his. They felt good and right, just like everything else when she was in his arms. It was as if everything at this moment was where it should be, and the rest of the world could fall apart for all he cared.
Leif Dæganssen was utterly content.
Lady Rain was finally his, and it was so.
Epilogue
Patrick sat on the barstool of Molly Malone’s, the local Irish pub as empty as he’d ever seen it. It could have been because it was only eleven o’clock on a week day morning, but to him, it was more than that. It was absent Lorraine, serving drinks from behind the bar.
Her replacement, the new female bartender, leaned on her elbow and cocked her head. “Did you figure out what you wanted to order?”
Patrick sighed. Lorraine wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d know his usual drink of choice and it would be sitting in front of him before he could even say hello.
“I’ll take a shot of Southern Comfort, hundred proof.”
“Sure thing,” she muttered as she left to prepare it.
“Hundred proof, huh? That’s a little out of your realm.”
The familiar voice from behind caused him to twist in his seat. Walking into the dimly lit joint was Beth. She hardly gave him a second look as she sat beside him. He stiffened as he smelled the vanilla scent from her perfume, recalling the last time he’d seen her.
It had been several weeks since he returned from Ireland and he never took it upon himself to let Beth know he was back. He assumed she’d not care after what he’d done to her. By all rights, he was no better than Jack for taking that call during their most intimate moment.
Thinking of that night made him cringe. He’d hurt her and had every intention of one day apologizing for his mistake. But he hadn’t prepared himself for it today. He had no idea what to say to her. He knew he should apologize, but how? How do you say you’re sorry to a woman, whom you were about to make love to for the first time, after taking a call from another?
He looked for the bartender, wishing she’d speed it up a bit. His hands trembled as he waited in silence.
“How was your trip?”
Patrick closed his eyes. He heard the hint of sarcasm in her question and couldn’t believe she insisted on making small talk. Surely, since he had returned without Lorraine, she knew it would be a tender subject. “It was eventful, to say the least.”
“The wedding? Or that Lorraine found the love of her life with your help?”
He furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”
Beth stared into the mirror behind the bar. “I stopped by this morning. Andy told me.”
“Oh,” was all he could muster. He was shocked she had even made the effort to see him. Knowing Beth, he figured it would be a cold day in hell before she ever came around to visit.
Thankfully, the bartender brought his stout shot of whiskey. Beth ordered her usual Bud Light and turned to watch Patrick as he touched the glass with tentative fingers.
He felt her eyes boring into him. He turned his head to look at her. “What?”
“You think if you drink, you’ll forget her?” Beth asked directly.
“I’d like to forget,” Patrick admitted somberly. “Whatever it takes.”
He felt Beth’s touch upon his hand. He didn’t have to look at her to know she somehow pitied him. He couldn’t stand it. Any of it. It ate at him to know Beth was still hanging on, despite how he’d left things between them. Right now, all he wanted was to be alone. To sulk in his own misery by himself.
“Why are you here, Beth?”
“I’m here because you need me. Now more than ever.”
He wanted to laugh. What he needed was for someone to erase his memory. To expunge every recollection he ever had of Lorraine—of Mara. Getting on that plane, bound for Cincy, was the second hardest thing he ever had to do. The first was watching Leif and Lorraine kiss, as husband and wife, at the ceremony. The only way to remove his reminiscent thoughts of their previous life together was to put a bullet in his head. Not being that desperate, he opted for the inebriate effects of alcohol.
“Please don’t take this personally, but I just want to be left alone.”
Before he could lift the shot to his lips, Beth plucked it from his hand and moved it out of his reach. “You don’t need this. Nor do you need Lorraine. What you need is a good smack upside the head.”
Patrick couldn’t argue there. “So, go ahead. I deserve it. Take your best shot.”
Beth smiled and shook her head. “Not because you rudely left me lying naked on your bed while giving your full attention to Lorraine. But because you don’t remember who I am. Who I used to be.”
Patrick gazed into her eyes, drawing a blank.
“It’s funny how the mind works. How the brain cannot remember certain faces or memories even when they stare you in the face.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps this will help you remember,” Beth explained, sitting straighter as she prepared her words. “I can make you forget all about her. Stop dreaming of what can never be, and take what you want from what is real—flesh and blood. She, by her own vows to another man, denies you what you long for. I will never deny you, Patrick. Or should I call you Breandán?”
Patrick’s heart stopped. “How do you know who I am?”
“Because I loved you in a time when you were an archer, in love with a Connacht princess. I gave my life for you and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Tell me, you remember me. Think back….I know you can.”
Patrick closed his eyes. His world spun uncontrollably. He reached out for the bar, steadying himself as his mind whirled deep into his past.
****
I guarded the opening, my bow drawing and releasing in rapid succession at anyone who tried to come near.
As Sorcha and my mother started to make their way out of the rudimentary barricade, I stopped them. “There is nowhere for you to go. You are safer inside. Stay.”
“I want not to,” Sorcha said in a panicked state. “We have to get out of here!”
“Nay,” I replied sternly, my hand grasping her upper arm as she tried to jump from the cart. “I cannot protect you if you scatter about.”
Sorcha looked at the hand clutching her arm, my touch stunning her.
I neared my face to hers. “Please, Sorcha. Do as I command.”
Sorcha’s eyes widened at something behind me and she quickly gasped. I released her and rotated
around just in time to see a man about ten yards away with his bow stretched taut. A million thoughts ran through my mind. If I moved to avoid the arrow, it could pass right through the cage and injure, or kill, one of my loved ones. But if I didn’t move, I risked being hit myself. Even if I attempted to let it sink into a nonfatal area of my body, the injury alone would impair my ability to keep fighting and protect anyone from further danger.
No decision was a good one.
My world suddenly moved in slow motion. I saw the arrow leave the bowstring, aimed for me, but Sorcha hurdled over the cart door and stepped in front of its path. Her body fell into my arms, her eyes locking on mine.
“Sorcha!” I exclaimed, supporting her limp body. I could feel the long shaft jutting from her back, a warm wetness seeping around my fingers.
At first, I was shocked by what she had done, thinking she had unknowingly walked into the line of fire. But after seeing her face—the quiet serenity of her sweet satisfied smile—I knew she had unselfishly stood between me and death.
Rage gripped me now. My eyes coursed a red hot path toward her killer, the murderer making haste to nock his next arrow. But it was too late. A dark blond Northman had ridden passed, taking off his head with a momentous swing of his sword.
The impressive Northman reined his horse around and faced me, locking eyes with me as if searching for a specific face. I thought I recognized the blond warrior, but when my face didn’t seem to meet the Northman’s criteria, he rode off, continuing his crusade of mowing down Donnchadh’s men.
“Breandán,” Sorcha breathed.
Oblivious to the battles waging around me, my eyes quickly fell on her and I lowered her limp body carefully to the ground, cradling her. “’Tis all right, Sorcha. I am here.”
A forced smile took shape on her dirt-ridden face, her tears leaving pale streaks behind. “You are safe now,” she said proudly.
I returned her smile, though I really wanted to scold her for doing such a thing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to give her life for me. I was supposed to protect her. And I could’ve if she would’ve listened to me.
Foolish girl. You selfless, foolish girl!
“Why…” was all I could muster as I held her.
“Because I love you.”
God in Heaven, what was I to say in response to that? I had known she’d more than fancied me, but never had I given thought to her actually loving me. Perhaps I should’ve taken the opportunity a fortnight ago and told her I loved only Mara. Maybe if I’d hurt her then, she wouldn’t have been so apt to sacrifice herself.
“I am cold, Breandán,” she said as her eyes glazed over. “I cannot feel you anymore.”
I held her closer, giving her the solace she needed. “I am here. I will not leave you.”
My eyes welled with tears. How cruel I felt to hold the woman I cared for who had given her life to save mine.
Sorcha had been a childhood friend and until this moment, I truly hadn’t known how much she loved me. I felt guilty for never taking her amorous enticements seriously.
“This is all I ever wanted, Breandán. To be in your arms…”
I stroked her face with the back of my hand, soothing her with my touch. When she didn’t react anymore to my tender care—her eyes staring harrowingly at me—I knew she had passed.
I reached up and closed her lids, embracing my friend one last time as I said my silent farewell in her ear.
****
Slowly, Patrick opened his eyes, blinking away the harrowing scene that played out before him. “Sorcha?” he muttered, finding it hard to believe his own eyes. He brushed her dark hair away and examined every detail of her face. “How can this be?”
“I suppose it’s the same reason Lorraine doesn’t remember who you were. I imagine if you had told her, she’d recall her life with you.” Beth cupped his hand against her face. “I gave my life to save a noble, honorable man in the tenth century. And knowing you threw away the chance to tell Lorraine who you are and unselfishly gave her up for another man, you are still that gallant man I fell in love with centuries ago. So I ask you now, Breandán Mac Liam. Will you let me love you like I’ve always wanted? Like you’ve always needed?”
Patrick stroked his thumb across her cheek, the feel of their joined hands familiar in ways only Beth and he could understand. “I want to love you. I’ve wanted to love you since the first time I met you, but didn’t know why.” His hand trembled as he touched her lip. “I can’t promise anything, Beth. I fear I’d only hurt you if I did.”
Beth smiled and slipped off the stool. She snuggled up against him and drew in a slow breath, her eyes capturing him as he hesitantly wound his arms around her.
“I don’t need promises. All I need is to be with you. To be in your arms…”
THE END
ABOUT RENEE VINCENT
Renee Vincent is a bestselling contemporary and historical romace author. From the daunting, charismatic Vikings, to the charming, brazen Alpha male heroes of modern day, you'll be whisked away to a world filled with fast-paced adventure, unforgettable romance, and undying love.
She also writes lighthearted, fancy-free Chick Lit romance under Gracie Lee Rose. For those who love to read fun, wholesome, and endearing romantic stories (with a smidgen of spunk) that your mother, sisters, friends, and daughters can enjoy.
Other Books By Renee Vincent:
Silent Partner
The Warrior Sagas
The Temperate Warrior, Book 1
Jamett & Joseph Series
The Start of Something Good, Book 1
The Road to Something Better, Book 2
The Gift of Something Grand, Book 3
Visit Renee Vincent at
http://www.reneevincent.com/
If you enjoyed Renee Vincent’s Emerald Isle Trilogy
you might also enjoy these boxedsets
published by Turquoise Morning Press:
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set
LOVE in a Small Town (Ladies of Legend) Boxed Set
Perfectly Matched: ...and the rest of the Matchmaking Chef Boxed Set
Turquoise Morning Press
Dip your toes into a good book!
www.turquoisemorningpress.com
Turquoise Morning Press
Because every good beach deserves a book.
www.turquoisemorningpress.com
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 93
