Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors Book 1)

by Mary Morgan

  Erin returned and placed his pint on the table. She leaned against the other side of the booth. “Funny thing… I’ve never heard Sean mention anything about you, Conn MacRoich.”

  Reaching for the glass, he guzzled deeply. “Ahh…perfect.” Gazing up at her, he replied, “Do you want to hear something funnier, Erin O’Reilly?”

  She nodded, though a frown marred her features.

  Conn leaned forward. “He’s never mentioned you either.”

  Erin quickly recovered and straightened. “Well I guess we weren’t important enough for him to talk about.”

  He lifted his glass and nodded in acknowledgement. “If you would be so kind, I’ll take another pint.”

  She smiled fully. “Thirsty man. I’ll go see to your dinner.” Taking the empty glass with her, she quickly walked away.

  As Conn waited for his pint and meal, his thoughts turned once again to Ivy and her lineage. After going through volumes regarding the O’Callaghan clan with Archie, he couldn’t fathom that one misstep in time would lead to such a miserable group of people. They often hid among the shadows, attempting to seclude themselves from others. Their gifts were extraordinary and they chose to squelch any within a family or clan that carried the gene. Centuries flowed, but the O’Callaghans retreated farther away from society.

  He smacked his fist on the table. “Bloody fools,” he hissed.

  “I thought I’d find you here.” Sean chuckled and dropped down in the booth across from him.

  Conn tapped his fingers on the wood. “Did I invite you to share a meal with me?”

  The man rubbed a hand over his chin. “Already had my supper. Thought I’d stop in for a pint.”

  “Is there something you wish to discuss with me?”

  Sean turned and waved at the man behind the bar. “I’ll take a pint and a shot of whiskey, Mac.” He focused his attention back toward Conn. “I can tell by your foul mood you have met Ivy Kathleen.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied, “My mood has nothing to do with the wee lass.”

  Erin brought over their drinks, placing them on the table. “New or old friend, Sean?”

  Smiling, the man pushed the dram of whiskey toward Conn. “Positively ancient.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Exactly what Ivy stated. Would you like something to eat?”

  “No thanks. The pint will be all.”

  As the woman walked away from their table, Conn pointed to the dram. “What’s this for?”

  Sean took a sip of his pint. “How long have we known each other?”

  “From the day I saved your life in Kintale Bay, which would make that over fifty years.”

  Closing his eyes, Sean remarked, “I was a foolish lad of only ten.” When he opened them, he added, “So I know you well.”

  “From one encounter?” challenged Conn.

  “You forget, Fae, the conversation we had that day on the shore.”

  Conn leaned forward. “You dare to unleash my anger by calling me thusly? Do I call you human?”

  Sean roared, causing several in the pub to glance their way. “Forgive me, and I have seen your anger. On the day you rescued me, your fury was evident. You were extremely pissed at the men who were supposed to be watching over me. They let the boat drift farther out into the sea as they drank on the shore. They were so drunk that the lashing you gave them has always haunted them. Sadly, both departed several years later.”

  “Good riddance,” stated Conn. “Did they ever mention me to others?”

  “And be scorned by the people of Glennamore? No, they kept quiet about the strange giant with silver eyes that blazed.”

  Sighing, Conn lifted the dram and inhaled the peaty aroma. “You were wise then, Sean Casey, and wiser now. I’m happy to see that the Gods favored your life well.”

  “Aye. Thanks to you, my friend.” Sean lifted his glass. “Sláinte.”

  “Sláinte mhath.” Conn drained the glass and placed it on the table.

  “Can you tell me why you are here? You mentioned it had to do with the O’Callaghan family, but why Ivy?”

  Conn glanced at Erin as she approached with his meal, ignoring the man’s question. She set the steaming plate of food in front of him. “Would you care for anything else?”

  He shook his head, reaching for a fork.

  “Give a holler if you do,” she said, and walked away.

  Scooping out a huge chunk of vegetables, he took a bite. Closing his eyes, Conn savored the intense flavors.

  “They say Erin has a secret ingredient she puts in her Shepherd pies. Many have tried to weasel it out of her, but the lass is firm on keeping it private,” uttered Sean quietly.

  Opening his eyes, he nodded. “Damn good. I believe she uses wild mushrooms and green garlic. There’s a mixture of spices I’m sure I can name, but I’ll keep her secret.”

  Sean took a sip of his pint. “Sweet Brigid. She’d most likely have your head if she heard you mention one word.”

  Shrugging, Conn took another mouthful. He had to admit the woman was an excellent cook. Reaching for his pint, he took a long swallow. Could he possibly share his reason for being here with Sean? Perhaps the man could assist him—help him see the real Ivy O’Callaghan. He placed the glass down. “To answer your previous question, I’m here to assist Ivy on a search for her true identity.”

  Sean narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  Conn waved his fork in the air. “She is…gifted and hides behind a wall of her own secrets. Some are even in this village. No one can tell the lass why her parents left Ireland.”

  “Then she carries the traits like her Uncle Thomas, who spoke to me about his sight of seeing things before they happened, or events of the past.” Sean drained his glass. “We spoke of this only once, but he never mentioned the discord between his brother. He was distraught over their leaving in the beginning. But when the first letter arrived with pictures, Thomas felt it was his duty to share everything about his niece living in America.”

  Reaching for his pint, Conn drained the rest of his beer. “So there is no one in this village that can explain why her parents left?”

  Sean frowned and scratched behind his ear. “He had many friends, but did not like to discuss the bad blood with his brother, Patrick.”

  Conn concentrated on his meal, letting his thoughts settle on which direction to take with Ivy. He had no plan whatsoever. Nowhere to start and his gut soured. Shoving his meal aside, he concluded the path would eventually reveal itself. For now, he would work on the repairs at Ivy’s cottage.

  Sean smacked his hand onto the table. “There might be one who could shed some light on the O’Callaghan brothers.”

  Eyeing the man skeptically across from him, he replied, “Continue.”

  He pointed a finger at Conn. “There was a lass who was fond of both brothers. However, when Patrick started seeing Sara, the woman turned her sights to Thomas. ’Tis a pity nothing more happened. She would visit the village a few times a year to visit relatives, but Thomas refused to see her again.”

  Leaning forward, Conn placed his hands on the table. It was a small slice of information and he would gladly accept the morsel. “Where is this woman?”

  “Anne Fahey is her name. She moved away after Patrick and Sara left for America. Bought a small place up north in Kindale.”

  Conn smiled. “It’s a start.”

  Turning sideways, Sean waved to the bartender. “Bring us two drams of your best single malt.”

  ****

  The new dawn brought the promise of another clear day as Conn maneuvered his motorcycle down the path to Ivy’s cottage. After several more drams of whiskey last evening with Sean Casey, he had as much information as required. There was a mystery to the O’Callaghans and this woman, Anne. It niggled down his spine this sense of secrecy. Until he could meet with this woman, he pushed aside any further thoughts.

  Turning off the engine, Conn got off the bike and made his way to the front
door. Knocking several times, he waited. After several moments, he peered in the front window. Glancing up at the sky, Conn knew the hour, so he frowned in confusion. Was the lass prone to sleeping? Did she forget?

  He walked around to the back of the house. Unprepared for the vision in the early morn’s sunlight, his steps faltered, and he froze. There in the garden stood Ivy, the light shimmering around her in a hazy glow. Today’s outfit was a flowered mini rose-colored dress, and he could make the outline of all her shapely curves. Smiling, he noticed she wore no shoes. Her hair blew in soft waves around her face, reminding him of those from his own Fae realm.

  Conn stood in a trance watching her as she tilted her head up to let the sun’s warmth touch her face. Time slowed, the rhythm of the land pulsed all around them, and it frightened him. “Who are you, Ivy Kathleen O’Callaghan,” he whispered.

  Her head turned toward him with eyes that blazed from another time and held his own—ancient and powerful. His sprite was in another time. Conn held out his hand, “Come back, Ivy,” he commanded softly.

  She blinked in confusion, and placed a hand over her brow. “I’m…so…sorry.”

  Ivy swayed, and Conn was there immediately, placing an arm around her waist. The mere contact blazed a path of longing throughout his body. Instantly closing off the emotion, he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

  Her eyes grew wide from his touch. “Lost…track of time.”

  Regretting his next move, Conn released his hold on her and took a step back. “I would imagine one would lose all sense of time coming into this stunning garden, especially in the early morn. Your beauty only enhances the place.”

  She quickly turned away, but not before Conn caught a glimpse of the blush staining her cheeks. “You must think I’m foolish being out here without shoes, too,” she said moving toward the house.

  “No. I find it enchanting. You can feel the heart of the land through your skin.”

  Ivy paused and looked over her shoulder. Giving him a smile, she nodded. “I do it each morning and evening. Would you like a cup of tea before you start on the Aga?”

  “Coffee?”

  She laughed, the sound reminding Conn of bells. “Sorry. I don’t like the stuff. I was brought up on strong tea.”

  Conn shrugged. “Then strong tea will do.”

  Laughing once again, Ivy made her way into the cottage.

  He hastily knelt on one knee and placed his palm upon the ground. “Where did the lass go?” He closed his eyes reaching out with his Fae senses. Trying to grasp a thread of where her essence traveled to, he blew out a frustrated breath when the vision refused to open for him.

  Standing, he gazed at the garden. A profusion of flowers, herbs, and vegetables all grew in abundance. They were pleasing to the senses, and Conn marveled at the place. “Beauty everywhere.”

  Making his way into the house, he stood in the arched entrance of the kitchen. Ivy had donned a pair of socks and she was busy preparing the tea and muffins.

  She gestured him over to a chair. “I’ve bought some blueberry muffins. Would you like one?”

  “Of course,” he replied taking a seat. The small chair creaked under his weight, and Conn feared this would be another project—fixing broken chairs.

  She quickly set everything down in front of him. “If you need anything else, I’ll be at the store.”

  He arched a brow. “You’re not eating?”

  “Well, umm… I have tons to do, since I’m opening the store in a few days.” Ivy bustled about, and Conn watched her every movement. “I need to look at the inventory sheets, monetary ledgers, go to the bank, and—” She burst out in laughter.

  Leaning forward in his chair, Conn folded his arms on the table. “Extremely humorous, I’m sure.”

  “No, sorry.” Ivy leaned against the table. “Do you want to know a secret?”

  By the hounds of Cuchulainn, Conn wanted to know all of her secrets and unravel those waiting to be whispered into his ear. “Do tell,” he encouraged in a low voice.

  Ivy leaned closer. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

  Instinctively, Conn reached out and placed a hand over hers on the table. “Trust your inner guidance. And when chaos surrounds you…smile.”

  Her rosy lips parted, inviting Conn to taste. The call of desire so potent, his vision blurred. Snatching his hand back, he stared into her aqua depths.

  “Sage advice,” she whispered and moved away from him to grab a pair of boots. She quickly put them on and stood. “I checked your motorcycle and didn’t see any tools.”

  “Sean told me that your uncle kept a shed full of the necessary items,” he replied, and then added, “I’ll make an initial inspection and determine what further supplies I will require.”

  Ivy reached for a sweater from the back of one of the chairs and a muffin with her other hand. “Great! I sure hope you can get the Aga working.” His eyes followed her out of the kitchen. “I would love to start baking my own food.” Her voice trailed off as she left the cottage.

  The moment the door closed, Conn’s shoulders slumped. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Why did a mere slip of a lass almost cause him to lose control? He gritted his teeth and then pounded his fist on the table, the result causing the chair to splinter beneath him.

  His arse hit the ground hard. “Damn! Now you can add another repair to your list, sprite.”

  Laughter bubbled up within Conn, and he roared with its release.

  Chapter Ten

  “The dating game of unwanted men awaits those who have sealed off their hearts to love.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Ivy stood transfixed outside her uncle’s office in the bookstore. The place was arranged and neatly in order. Her gaze drifted around his room. Beautiful floor-to-ceiling bookcases contained old and rare books, and others looked to be more recent. To the left hanging on the wall were various maps. Stepping inside she moved closer, and noticed they were of the village of Glennamore—some had dates as old as six hundred years. “Amazing,” she muttered.

  Glancing to the other wall, she let out a small gasp. The wall to the right was covered in framed photos of herself. She swallowed hard, willing her feet to move closer. A mirror of her life gazed back at her. Tears misted her eyes as her fingers brushed over the one where her mom was holding her as an infant. Born premature, they warned her parents that she might not survive. But Ivy proved them all wrong. When someone told her no, she balked and did it anyway. Walking at ten months, she embraced the world around her.

  Once, she remembered a doctor telling her mom that she would need surgery for her eyes and glasses afterward. Again, Ivy stormed out of the office and ran to the park. There she knelt before a giant tree and said a silent prayer that the faeries would heal her eyes. Within six months, Ivy’s vision cleared and the doctor proclaimed it a miracle.

  As her gaze traveled the many years of her life on the wall, she choked out a sob. So many precious memories that her mother shared with someone she’d never known. The faces haunted her and anger infused her spirit.

  “Why?” she blurted out. “Someone explain all of this!”

  The ticking clock on the wall mocked her outburst, chiming the hour. Rubbing her eyes, she went over to her uncle’s large desk and started opening drawers. Pulling forth the books and ledgers, she stared at them. “These are now mine and I don’t know what to do,” she uttered quietly. Gently turning the pages, she gazed at the handwriting. Detailed and organized, Ivy was pleased with what she saw. Each month showed good sales for the year—a good sign.

  Setting them aside, she opened a side drawer. Keys dangled on a large ring holding them all in place. She picked them up, the weight heavy in her hand—three keys, all of them looking positively antique.

  “Great. Where and what do you open?” Putting them back in the drawer, she discovered a book meant for orders and other pertinent information on the store in the second drawer. Leafing thr
ough the pages, everything appeared to be going smoothly at the bookstore. She noted an incoming order from Galway due to be shipped out at the end of the month. It was a collection of travel memoirs from a new author, and a few books on the geography of Ireland. Peering inside the other drawers, she came across miscellaneous items. There was an array of pens, quills, ink, parchment, leather journals, and writing tablets. Yet, what Ivy couldn’t fathom was why her uncle didn’t keep everything on a computer.

  Pulling out a tablet and pen, Ivy started to make lists. Number one, ask Sean Casey if her uncle had a laptop somewhere. Perhaps it was behind the counter at the front of the store. Number two, what were all the keys for? Number three, incoming shipment at the end of the month. Number four, check with the bank manager regarding cash used in the store. Did her uncle have a specific amount?

  Tapping the pen against her mouth in thought, Ivy’s mind started to drift. Running a bookstore was not her expertise. No, it was history and mythology. Images of Conn swirled in front of her again. He had approached silently in the garden while she was attempting to put the pieces of an image she had seen earlier within her mind. She could actually visualize the landscape of Glennamore from long ago. Rolling hills dotted with trees, and for a brief moment, Ivy could hear the water from a nearby stream. Never before had her visions been so powerful. It was as if she had traveled back in time. They were so vivid, until Conn MacRoich arrived.

  A gorgeous male specimen standing there staring at her. Each time she saw him, he sent her pulse skittering, as if he could read her every thought. Ivy could imagine him posing for one of her art classes. His muscles rippled when he walked, and she was not blind to his physique. He would have made an ideal subject for her nude life drawing class.

  Snorting, Ivy glanced around the room in embarrassment. “Get a grip. You’re daydreaming too much about the man.” However, her face heated with the idea of what he would look like without any clothing.

  Slamming the door on her lustful thoughts, she stood and made her way to the front counter of the store. Lifting the latch on a side entry half-door, she stepped behind the counter. One lone cash register with a sales pad rested on top. Underneath, the counter were bags with the logo of the Celtic Knot Bookstore. Pens were neatly stacked off to the side, along with more tablets. The counter was worn, but beautiful. The wood’s luster glistened in the early morning sunlight. She placed a hand on top, trying to get a feel for the place. After several moments, she gave up and moved on with her inspection.