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

by Mary Morgan

  Finding nothing more, Ivy moved away from the counter and wandered the bookstore at a leisurely pace. Contentment filled her as she trailed her fingers along the spine of several books. It was truly a lovely little store—filled with books, some authors she recognized, and others who were new to her.

  For the next hour, Ivy perused the store, making mental notes of authors she would want to check out and writing down those she thought might make a good addition to the store. Weaving her way along the back, she smiled when she entered the children’s section. There was a small place in the back by the window with a table and comfortable chairs—all in warm, muted colors. Her mind started spinning with ideas to expand and add to the area. Quickly jotting down her plans, she smiled.

  Taking a step back, she tried to envision what the room would look like with a faery house for the girls and a train depot for the boys. There could be special events and a Children’s Hour for storytelling. Almost jumping for joy, she heard someone shuffling around out front.

  Turning around, she gave a startled cry. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get inside?” she demanded more brusquely than intended.

  The man held his hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. We saw the door to the store was open and thought business had resumed.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes, believing she had locked the door when she entered earlier. “We?” The man blocked her exit, and she tried to peer over his shoulder.

  “I’m here with Peter Sullivan. My name is Mike Banister. He told me you were a pretty wee thing.”

  “Nice to meet you, but the store is closed.” Shoving her way past the man, Ivy quickly made her way to the front. Approaching the counter, she eyed Peter skeptically as he leaned against the counter.

  “Good morn, Ivy Kathleen.”

  “Is there something I can do for you, Peter?”

  He moved away from the counter. “Noticed the door was open and making sure all is well. But now that you’ve asked, care for a pint at the Seven Swans?”

  Smiling, she moved toward the door. Opening it wide, she gestured with her hand outward. “As I told your friend, the store is closed. I’m catching up on everything here. Lots to do. Come back in a few days, when I hope to re-open for business.”

  “Perhaps another time.” He gave her a wink as he stepped outside. His friend, Mike nodded to her as he followed behind him.

  Watching as they made their way down the path, she shook her head. “What games are you playing, Peter Sullivan?” she whispered.

  Closing the door, she bolted it once again. Slowly making her way to the counter, she stared at the side. The small half-door was open. Obviously, Peter was searching for something. Squatting down, she straightened the bags and other various items. “What were you looking for?”

  Standing, she pushed the button to open the cash register, only to find it empty. Already getting a sense of her uncle, she surmised that he had most likely removed the cash for the day when he went to the pub that fateful night. Sighing, she moved away and continued adding more items to her list.

  Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about her uncle. Sinking down in one of the overstuffed chairs, she gazed around. This was his store. His life. She wanted to find a way of honoring him. Had there been a funeral?

  Ivy jumped out of the chair. “Yes!” She loved where her thoughts were leading. Excitement filled her, until she heard the clap of thunder outside. “Blast! Not more rain. It was sunny moments ago.”

  Running to the door, she opened it wide and gasped. Mac O’Reilly stood on the front steps. “Excited to see me?” The man chuckled low.

  “No,” she burst out. Seeing the change in his expression, she added, “Sorry, but I was hoping that the rain would stay away for one day.”

  “Ahh…” He glanced upward. “This is Ireland. One moment the sun is shining down upon your face—”

  “And then the sky opens up with showers,” she interrupted.

  “Aye!” The first drop of rain landed on his head, and Ivy burst out in laughter.

  “Come on inside before you drown.”

  “’Tis only a light summer shower,” he responded stepping inside the store. “It’ll soon pass.”

  Ivy left the door open. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Making the rounds and thought you’d like to have lunch at the pub.”

  “Umm…thanks. I think I’ll pop in later to grab something, especially for Conn.”

  Mac folded his arms over his chest. “Conn?”

  “He’s the man working on my Aga and will be doing the repairs on the cottage. You met him last night at the pub.”

  “The Viking?”

  Ivy laughed. “He’s not a Viking.”

  Mac snorted in disgust. “Doesn’t look like the kind of man who fixes things.”

  No. He looks like a hunky male model, chiseled from the Gods. “He’s working on the Aga, so we shall see.”

  Turning to leave, he said, “Come by anytime.”

  “Thanks, Mac. Hey, do you know if there was a funeral for my uncle?”

  “Sadly, he wanted none. His body was cremated.”

  “And his ashes?” she asked softly.

  Mac ran a hand through his hair. “Follow me.” He led her to the back of the store and over to the history of Ireland, specifically the village of Glennamore. Pointing, he declared, “There is where you uncle sits.”

  Glancing upward, Ivy saw the green urn residing between two books. She glanced sideways at Mac. “Why is he here?”

  “He’s waiting for you. Didn’t Sean tell you?”

  She glared at the man. “What?”

  “Damn him,” hissed out Mac. “He should have told you. Maybe he was waiting for the right time.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, he continued, “One of your uncle’s requests was for you to scatter his ashes throughout Glennamore—his land.”

  Ivy shivered. Recalling how she buried her parents’ ashes in the Pacific, she didn’t relish doing it again. Sighing, she looked at Mac. Her previous idea took on new meaning. “Before I do so, I would like to have a wake for my uncle on the re-opening of the Celtic Knot. I want to honor his life, since he didn’t have a funeral. I believe he would have approved.”

  Smiling broadly, Mac nodded. “A great idea.”

  “Do you think you can provide the food and drinks?” She shifted slightly. “Of course, I would pay for everything.”

  “Absolutely. And don’t fret about the money. I’m sure I can think of something. Say have a drink with me other than the Seven Swans?”

  What is up with the men in this village? “I would feel more comfortable paying, Mac.”

  He moved closer. “Are you afraid to have one drink with me?”

  “The beer truck is here with our order, Mac,” stated Erin behind them. “Do you think you could go let them in at the back?”

  Mac glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. Be there shortly.” He turned toward Ivy. “Come see me later and we can discuss the arrangements for the food and beer.”

  “I’d like to add some bottles of whiskey, too,” she added.

  “You might have to have two drinks with me.”

  “I’m paying for this,” insisted Ivy and moved away from him.

  Both women watched him leave and finally Ivy grabbed Erin’s arm. “What is wrong with the men in this village? They act like they’ve never seen a woman before.”

  Erin’s eyes went wide, and then she burst out in laughter. When she calmed down, she replied, “Let me explain…you are fresh blood, Ivy Kathleen. Most of the women here in the village have grown up with these men. Those that are still single view the current male population as the brotherly kind, and for good reason.”

  Ivy shook her head and moved to the front counter. Placing her tablet and pen down, she watched the rain spattering against the windows. “Not interested in dating. There’s too much to do with the store and cottage.”

  Erin strolled over and leaned her arms on the c
ounter. “Don’t let them bother you. They may be cute, but they’re only men with one thing on their minds.”

  Ivy gave her a sideways glance. “And it isn’t marriage?”

  Erin snorted. “They view the ring as a sign of prison.” She nudged Ivy. “They like the occasional tumble.”

  “So I’ve gathered. I’m not hanging a ‘sex for a night’ shingle out anytime soon.”

  Pushing away from the counter, Erin placed an arm around Ivy. “Honestly, they’re not that bad, but I foresee someone else in your future.”

  Ivy shrugged out of Erin’s embrace. “Don’t know what you mean,” she lied.

  “How’s your Celt doing over at the cottage?” asked Erin as she made her way to the door.

  Feeling the heat creep up into her face, she turned away from the woman. “Don’t know. But he’d better have that Aga working soon.” Ivy waved a hand over her head as she headed for the office.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Ivy could still hear the woman’s laughter as she dashed out of the store and across the street.

  The next several hours were spent going over every detail of the accounts, making a couple of phone calls to Sean, and checking in with the bank. Everything had been immediately transferred into her name the moment she signed the papers. Shocked by what the bank manager had told Ivy was in the account, she had to ask him to repeat the figure again. Stunned by the vast amount, she could only nod and mumbled a word of thanks before departing the bank.

  Stuffing the statements into her purse, she walked along the narrow sidewalk. Her parents had left her with little money and debts to pay after their premature death. She’d expected the same with her uncle. However, the day was proving to be one full of surprises.

  Warm sunlight touched her face, and Ivy lifted her head. Pushing back the hood of her jacket, she smiled, grateful the rain had eased. Heading toward the Seven Swans, her stomach growled the moment she stepped inside the pub. Waving to Erin, she made her way toward her.

  “Are you here for lunch?” asked Erin, wiping down an empty table.

  “Yes. I’m starving. What’s the special today?”

  “Beer-battered fish and chips,” she responded, moving past her.

  “Sounds heavenly. I’ll take two orders.”

  Erin paused. “A date with the Celt?”

  She glared at the woman. “He has to eat, too.” Pulling out a chair, she sat down.

  “Of course, of course,” she replied, slipping into the kitchen.

  Fifteen minutes later, Erin returned with a large bag. Placing it on the table, she said, “I’ve added some malt vinegar, napkins, and extra chips.

  Standing, Ivy reached into her purse and asked, “How much do I owe you?”

  Erin shook her head. “On the house today.”

  “Absolutely not,” argued Ivy. Retrieving a twenty euro, she tried giving it to the woman.

  “Next visit, Ivy. Consider this part of Glennamore’s welcoming.”

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped. “You’ve already done so much.”

  Erin reached for the bag of food and shoved it into Ivy’s arms. “Wait until I put my order in for specific romance books.” The woman smiled broadly.

  “Are you serious?” she asked. “You could give me your list now.”

  She steered Ivy toward the front door. “Next visit. I like this one particular author. She writes steamy catering romances.”

  “I’ll hold you to it, too,” Ivy tossed out over her shoulder walking across the street.

  “We can also discuss plans for your uncle’s wake. Mac informed me of your idea. Positively wonderful!” Erin shouted back.

  When Ivy approached her cottage, she heard shouting in a strange language, and her steps quickened. All the windows had been flung open, along with the front door. A strange smelled assaulted her as she ran inside and toward the kitchen.

  Skidding to a halt at the entrance, she stared at the man standing in front of the Aga and speaking foreign words. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he had removed his shoes, standing barefoot on her kitchen floor. She scrunched up her nose at the smell. “What happened?”

  Conn looked over his shoulder—his gaze primal. His face was smudged with black streaks, making the color of his eyes stand out more. He quickly turned away. “Bloody thing is fixed, though I cannot say it cooks properly.”

  Ivy stepped cautiously inside the room. Setting the food on the table, she removed her purse and placed it on a chair. Peering around him, she looked at the charred lump. “What was it supposed to be?” she asked, while keeping her gaze on the item in the oven.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I was attempting to warm one of the muffins from this morning. A simple task, you would think.”

  Trying hard to keep from smiling, she angled her head to the side. “How long did you keep it in there?”

  Shifting his stance, he replied. “A good hour.”

  Clamping a hand over her mouth, Ivy nodded and turned away. Doing her best to stifle the laughter, she finally turned back around. “I believe the Aga is working properly.”

  Conn blinked in obvious confusion. “Seriously? How do you know?”

  Reaching for a towel, she removed the burnt muffin and tossed it into the sink. “Trust me, I know these things. And if you ever need to heat a muffin again, you only need five minutes.”

  His eyes grew wide, and Conn scratched the side of his face. “Amazing.”

  “Why don’t you take a break and eat some lunch with me.” Ivy moved to the table and removed the food from the bag. “Could you grab a couple of plates from the cupboard, please?”

  “You brought lunch?”

  His tone surprised Ivy. “Yes. You need to eat, too.” She glanced up to find him staring at her. “Go clean up in the bathroom. Your face is covered in grime.”

  He didn’t say a word as he exited the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, retrieving two plates for them. Sitting down at the table, Ivy handed him a napkin.

  “Thank you,” he replied softly. “What are you doing?”

  Her face took on sadness, but then quickly vanished. “I’m writing a list for my uncle’s wake. I found his ashes sitting on a shelf in the Glennamore section of the store. Something Sean Casey forgot to mention.” She gave a slight shudder. “Anyway, I have to scatter his remains across our lands. But first, I would like to have a proper send-off when I re-open the Celtic Knot.”

  “Indeed. I believe he would be pleased.”

  “Eat,” she said, pointing to his plate.

  “Only if you join me. Your list can wait.”

  Ivy let out a groan when she took the first bite. “Holy moly!” she exclaimed between mouthfuls. “It’s so much better than in America. The fish is so fresh and moist.” She continued to eat, the warmth of the food bringing a sense of peace within her. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she noticed Conn hadn’t eaten. He sat staring at her, his intensity heating her face. “What? Food still on my face?”

  He leaned forward. “Do you always eat with such pleasure?”

  “I…um…well it’s go…od,” she sputtered, embarrassed by his question.

  Chuckling softly, he stood. “Let me get you some water.”

  Frustration seethed inside of her. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  The man shrugged, bringing her a glass of water. “I’ll eat the chips, but will pass on the fish.”

  Realization dawned on Ivy. “You’re a vegetarian?”

  Conn nodded, reaching for a chip and sitting back down.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to appear rude.”

  Ivy gaped at the man, unable to say anything else.

  When the first drop of water landed on his head, Conn narrowed his eyes and glanced upward. “Eat your meal quickly, Ivy, for I fear the roof is next on my list for this afternoon.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Tread carefully toward wee beasties with sharp claws.”

  ~
Chronicles of the Fae

  Drenched in rain, muck, and sweat, Conn did his best to patch up the leak in Ivy’s roof until he could return and thatch the place properly. What had possessed him to become her handyman? With a snap, wave, or thought, he could repair almost anything with magic. Not that he didn’t mind the manual labor, but his hands itched to use Fae magic on the roof. Unfortunately, a human would not comprehend the repairs in a matter of moments. The Aga was easy, only a minor part needed to be fixed.

  Swearing softly, he quickly made his way to his motorcycle, only to find Ivy leaning against the seat. “Is there something else?”

  He watched as she trailed her fingers along the leather of the seat, wishing they were on his own skin. “You ride without a helmet?”

  “Yes,” he answered slowly.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride one, but they seem frightening. I much prefer a horse than a vehicle.”

  Her response stunned Conn. But then everything about Ivy had him in a state of wonder and puzzlement. “They are both to be feared and respected, though at least a motorcycle will not talk back to you.”

  She giggled and moved away. “True. I used to own a horse—Daisy, and she was as stubborn as a mule. Mind you, she did have a good temperament, but it was her way or the highway.”

  Fascinated by her story, he moved closer. “I’ve never heard the expression about the highway. But if I understand your meaning”—he arched a brow—“she was mighty obstinate with having her own way.”

  “Sorry. I forget most here don’t know American slang.” She twisted the ends of her sweater.

  “I am a quick learner, Ivy.”

  “I imagine you are, Conn.”