Finn’s stomach continued to churn. Torn between telling Mercadia that he was coming home right now and staying to find the woman that he loved. The woman whom the Council believed was worth fighting for, even dying for. Finn exhaled profoundly, releasing some of the anger. Grabbing his jacket and room key, he sprinted down the stairs towards the reception of the B&B.
“Good morning, lad. You are looking so much better,” Patrick smiled warmly. “Have you had your breakfast? There’s still time.”
“No, I haven’t yet, but thank you.” Finn followed Patrick into the dining area, a petite woman coming out from the kitchen.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “You’re the last one, so you can take your pick of seats,” she said.
Finn chose the table nearest the window and peered through the glass. The garden, although in a state of disarray from the previous night’s storm, still managed to retain its beauty.
He smiled and turned his head in time to see Patrick kiss his wife fondly on the cheek. “I’ll settle up with you after your breakfast, lad. I need to do my paperwork. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of the Mrs, she’ll take good care of you.”
Patrick disappeared with a grin, leaving the two of them alone.
“Thank you so much for the clothes and the food last night…” Finn hesitated.
She chuckled. “Edith, and you’re welcome. Help yourself to fresh juice. I’ll fetch your cooked breakfast. The full works?”
“I’m not sure what the full works are but as I’m starving, yes please.”
“Coming right up, one belly buster breakfast on its way.”
Finn smiled and placed his jacket on the back of the chair. He waited until Edith returned to the kitchen before heading to the long, pine table to inspect its contents. Reading the label marked ‘Orange’, Finn raised the jug, took a quick sniff, and then poured himself a small glass of juice. The sharp taste had him smacking his lips in pleasure. Admittedly it had a slight tang to it but proved incredibly refreshing. He gulped the full glass and took the liberty of pouring himself another, before sauntering back to the table.
Staring through the window, Finn moved his senses across the garden and completed a quick sweep of the surrounding grounds. He scanned beyond the B&B and travelled towards the centre of the main village. Finally, he traced a path to Sycamore Road and searched the shadows for any threat, pleased to note that Kane and the Fallen were nowhere in sight. Bringing his attention back to the room, Finn relaxed into the chair, his stomach growling with excitement as the kitchen door swung open, and Edith appeared with a plate of steaming food. She set it down in front of him.
“Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sausages, beans, grilled tomato, black pudding and fried bread. That should certainly keep you going,” she winked at him.
Finn stared at the plate salivating. A feast fit, for a King. “This is all for me?”
Edith laughed. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea please.”
She left him, returning seconds later with a teapot and milk jug. Finn was still gawping at the plate.
“Tuck in before it gets cold.”
He picked up his knife and fork and took a bite of sausage, groaning with appreciation as his taste buds burst with sensation. Edith beamed her approval before heading back to the kitchen.
Finn devoured the food with great enthusiasm, and didn’t stop until an empty plate remained. Remembering Eddie’s constant drilling over table etiquette, he placed his cutlery together on his plate and reluctantly signalled that he had finished his meal.
Having worked up quite a thirst, he guzzled the last of his orange juice and then poured his tea, sipping at the hot liquid while he watched a small group of birds outside search for their next meal. One sensed his attention and looked up from the group. It flew away from its companions and to the ledge. Finn placed his cup down and raised the window. The little bird ventured inside and cocked its head at his open hand. After a few minutes, it hopped into his palm. Finn whistled a melody from his home-world, the bird joining in the chorus. Together they finished the song.
“Thank you, little one, now back to your brothers, and stay away from the South Fence. West of the house is best for the worms.”
The bird chirruped its thanks and departed. Finn laughed as the small flock headed West. Sensing movement from the kitchen, he closed the window quickly.
“How was it?” Edith asked. She gathered his empty plate and glass.
“Delicious, thank you so much.”
Her smile warmed, and she spoke with affection. “Come back again soon, Finn. It’s been a pleasure to have you stay with us.”
“I will, I promise.”
Edith’s joy radiated from her as she retreated to the kitchen, with a bounce in her step. Finn collected his jacket and headed for the reception area.
Patrick grinned. “A bloody good cook that Mrs of mine.”
“I agree. Her breakfast was truly a feast for a King. My friend Gregor would be envious,” Finn said.
“Well, you get your friend over for a visit. He’ll be shown the same hospitality.”
“Thanks, Patrick. I know you’ve done so much for me already but could I trouble you for one last favour before I leave?”
“What can I do for you, lad?”
“Have you any chance a razor I may borrow?”
Patrick laughed. “Aye, lad, one moment.” He returned a few seconds later with a razor and a tin of shaving foam.
“I won’t take long.” Finn bounded up the stairs and back to his room. Reading the instructions on the tin he applied the foam to his face, and picking up the razor he eagerly set to work.
Ten minutes later, the old Finn grinned back at him from the mirror. Leaving the razor and the shaving foam in the bathroom, he completed a last appraisal of the room, making sure he had left nothing of value behind, before making his way downstairs.
“An improvement, lad,” Patrick acknowledged as Finn approached the desk.
“Thanks. You and Edith have been truly amazing. I don’t know what I would have done last night without your kindness.”
“You’re welcome, it has been our pleasure. You remind us so much of our son, Thomas.” Patrick’s voice broke. He stopped talking and fumbled behind the desk for some papers. Finn read the sadness in the older man’s eyes and knew that the son Patrick spoke of was no longer with them. Reaching inside his pocket, Finn’s hand wrapped around the roll of cash. He took it out and flicked through the notes, handing across thirty-five pounds to Patrick.
“I hope that you will accept this also.” Finn gave him a further handful of cash. “I will be moving on today, and I very much want to thank you for the kindness you have shown to a stranger.”
Patrick stared at the volume of money in his hand. “I can’t accept this, lad. It’s way too generous.”
“Please take it. Use it to repair the fence and restore the garden.”
Patrick swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Finn offered his hand. “Take care of that beautiful dragon of yours.”
The older man roared with laughter and grasped Finn’s hand. “Aye, lad, that I will, that I most certainly will.”
As Finn turned to take one last look, Edith had joined her husband behind the desk. “What was that?”
“Nothing, dear!” Patrick responded.
Finn chuckled and with a genuine affection, waved the couple goodbye.
Chapter Six
Guisborough, North East England
Rowan heaved a sigh as the hot water assaulted her skin, and battered her aching body into submission. Although the night had been a revelation, it still left her with more unanswered questions and a war that raged between her head and her heart.
How could she possibly have feelings for a man she had never met? A man she wasn’t altogether sure existed? Even her guide in spirit couldn’t see him, so what did that tell her? You’re in love with the Invisible Man, an Alien, or had she finally boarded that train to Crazy Town
? And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, she had drunk tea with an old woman called Bessie and her talking dog. Yes, that’s right, a talking dog, such an utterly regular occurrence, nothing to worry about at all.
“So why on earth would you contemplate packing your bags, leaving your boss in the lurch, while you go off in search of some hocus pocus talisman, that you have no idea what, or where to look?” her head challenged. “Are you completely insane? What possible excuse would you give to your boss? To your mum? Sorry but I need a few days to find myself? I blame the cheese, it always gives people nightmares.” Her head concluded its rant.
“Absolute rubbish and you know it,” her heart retorted. As much as she tried to rationalise the events of last night, she couldn’t deny her feelings. “Have you forgotten the way he looked at you? The way you felt in his arms? And what of his kiss?”
Rowan fought to catch her breath, her heart drumming in her chest as she recalled the heat from his lips brushing against her skin. She shuddered with need.
“You see?” her heart argued, “there can be no denial. He calls to every part of your being and wakens the fire within. What you feel for him is real. This is the truth.”
Sighing, she switched off the water. Her head had admitted defeat in the sudden silence of the bathroom. There was no escape from the impossible truth and the fact that, yes, she had indeed boarded that train.
Shivering, she stepped quickly from the shower, and narrowly missed standing on Angus, who had curled himself into a fluffy ball on the thick pile bathmat. Her arms automatically flung forward to steady her balance. “Silly cat,” she scolded.
Angus, unperturbed, stretched and yawned lazily. Cursing, she snatched the nearest towel from the rail and wrapped it around her. “Well, stay there if you must, but if you’re still here when Jake gets in the shower, you’ll be one sorry kitty cat.”
Angus slowly licked his paw, paying no heed at all to her warning.
“I mean it, kitty, you best scoot before you end up resembling what we humans would call, a drowned rat.”
With a casual flick of his tail, he turned his back and lay down to snooze, a deliberate snub. Rowan resisted the temptation to drag the bathmat right out from underneath his furry backside. With a huff, she left him to it, stomping barefoot across the landing.
Pausing outside her mother’s room, she pressed an ear against the door, and waited, relieved when only silence bid a greeting in return. Senses alert, she attuned to the vibrations of their home, searching for additional confirmation, all was still with no sound of movement from below. Rowan smiled, her temper dissipating. It seemed that her mother had finally followed her advice, days of nagging at long last paying off. A small weight lifted from her shoulders and boosted her forward.
With a renewed vigour, she dressed in jeans, an old t-shirt, and trainers. An impressive effort, she considered, catching sight of her reflection in the bedroom mirror, and all in less than ten minutes! Her chestnut hair towelled dry and pulled back into a ponytail. A few tendrils escaped, softening her features. Absent of makeup, her skin flushed with a healthy glow. The sheer simplicity of her appearance complemented by the fire that he had stoked within. Rowan exuded confidence, and felt on top of the world, practically strutting down the stairs. Bring on the day, she was ready for anything. Her stomach rumbled its discord… well, almost.
Sipping at her coffee, she surveyed the damage outside from the kitchen window, a mental checklist forming of tasks ahead. The back garden sadly had fared no better than the front. Ornaments smashed, plant debris and an assortment of rubbish scattered across the lawn. Placing her mug down, she leaned closer to the glass, her eyes locked on the object at the far end. Rowan’s heart sank. A loose fence panel had blown free and now rested in the adjoining garden along with, mortifyingly she noted, their parasol. She deliberated whether her newfound confidence would be enough to enable her to tackle the delights of ‘Miserable George’. Inwardly cringing, she registered the fence panel’s position. She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that it had crushed some, if not all, of George’s azalea flower bed. Her gaze flicked to the parasol lodged dangerously close to his pond and prized Koi carp. The verbal ear-bashing was most definitely a given, although the degree could vary, depending on the mood she caught him in.
She considered whether to get it over and done with now or wait until he had completed his usual lunchtime visit to the local. If she delayed, there would at least be a fifty-fifty chance that his mood mellowed sufficiently to attempt a civilised conversation. Biting down on her bottom lip, she mulled the options over. The sudden ping of the toaster was a welcome distraction from the problem.
Temporarily pushing all thoughts of George aside, she savoured the hot buttered toast, a rarity for a Saturday morning, given that her brother had an incredibly annoying habit of raiding the cupboards the night before ‘Shopping Day’, and consuming the last of everything. She barely managed to scrape enough milk out of the carton for her tea and keep just enough for her mother. Jake, however, she chuckled, would be out of luck, and would have to wait for the shopping to arrive. Although annoyingly he would likely surface around the same time.
With her hunger abated, she drank the last remnants from her mug and stacked it in the dishwasher. Jake, not so considerate, had left evidence of last night’s feast on the counter along with a small collection of bowls and glasses that had miraculously managed to brave their way from his room.
Rowan worked quickly to clear the mess that her brother had left in his wake, her thoughts every so often drifting back to George. She explored the possible apologies and counter-arguments that she could put forward to lessen the tongue-lashing that was inevitably coming. George, notorious on the estate for his miserly ways and lack of goodwill, refused to let anyone retrieve any possessions that accidentally found their way into his precious garden. The local children had nicknamed him ‘Miserable George’. It had quickly stuck with the adults too.
Rowan couldn’t help but snigger at a memory unlocked from last Autumn. The expression on dear old Elsie’s face, who relayed the tale of the only occasion that George had been so embarrassed, as to stun him into silence. An unfortunate incident, which hailed the arrival of some oversized knickers and bra in his gooseberry bushes. Elsie had successfully retrieved her rogue underwear. However, George now avoided her like the plague, which Elsie advised she was more than happy about. It had come as no surprise to Rowan, that Elsie had rarely pegged her smalls out on the washing line, particularly on blustery days.
Head aching with the effort, Rowan finally concluded it best to wait and lessen the sting. There was no risk of George approaching her directly in the interim. He would much prefer to argue from the comfort of his doorstep, and of course, he knew he had something that she wanted.
With the decision made, she pushed George firmly from her mind and turned her attention to the top of her task list. Armed with everything that she would need, she stepped outside and appraised the full extent of the damage. In the broad light of day, it looked considerably worse than she had recalled from the previous night. The lawn was littered with rubbish from both bins, one overturned on the drive, the other on the main street, its contents spilt out. Ornaments and plant pots were smashed to bits. Hanging baskets wholly obliterated, their materials decorating the driveway.
The sound of a brush sweeping from across the road drew her attention momentarily away. Their neighbour, Duncan Peterson cast a sympathetic look and shook his head. “’Tis a sad sight. My Nora would be turning in her grave.”
“I can give you a hand over there, once I’ve finished up here?”
“Lassie, that’s very kind of you, but it looks like you already have your hands full.”
Rowan grimaced. “It would seem so.”
“Where’s that brother of yours? He should be out here helping you.”
“If only. No chance of him surfacing till at least mid-afternoon.”
“Aye well, make su
re you leave something for him to do.”
“Oh, there’ll be plenty, I’m sure.”
Duncan laughed and gave her a wave. “I best get on. Good luck, lassie.”
Immersing herself in the task at hand, Rowan gradually lost all track of time as she bent, swept, and sifted. A couple of the neighbours stopped to chat in empathy, comparing the damage with their gardens. She listened politely, careful not to ask too many questions, and keep the conversations brief. Rowan didn’t want to appear rude, but there was a lot to do, and as the morning wore on, she grew hotter, and admittedly somewhat cranky.
“You didn’t need to do all of that, I could have sorted it.”
Sweat beading her forehead, Rowan turned and forced a smile. Her mother offered a glass. The ice chinked, and she gratefully accepted, downing half of its contents in one steady gulp. She wiped her mouth. “I’d hoped I would have it all cleared before you got up. Did you enjoy your lie in?”
“You were right. I needed it. You’ve done a good job.”
“Thanks. Maybe after I finish here, we can take a trip to the garden centre? Replace some of the hanging baskets and ornaments?”
“I’d like that. I could do with the distraction, to be honest.”
Rowan sensed she wanted to say more. “What is it?”
Her mother took a seat on the step and patted the space beside her. “I dreamed of your father last night. It felt so real.”
Rowan lowered herself quickly and placed the glass to one side. “Maybe it was, mum.”
Taking some tissue from her pocket, she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “I would love to think your dad was there, watching over us all. I miss him so much.”
“I’m sure he is. Did he say anything to you, in your dream, I mean?”
She nodded slowly. “It was very bizarre. He mentioned you, and when the time comes, I must trust and let you go.”
“Did he say anything about Jake?”
“Only for me to not give up on him.”
Rowan fell silent for a few minutes, reflecting on her mother’s words. It was evident that she’d received a visitation, the messages from her father were of importance.
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