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

by Mary Morgan

  Conn gave her one of his smoldering looks. “Which I will endeavor to answer.”

  She took a sip and leaned back in her chair. “First question. Did your ancestors live in this village?”

  His heated gaze vanished. “No. Never.”

  Ivy took another sip and nodded slowly. “All right. Second question. If they never lived in this area of Ireland, how did an artist by the name of Bradon Finnegan happen to paint the very likeness of you hundreds of years ago?”

  Conn’s expression changed to one of cold steel. “Since many believe I have the looks of a Viking, any other blond-haired man could resemble me.”

  Stunned, Ivy glared at him. “Really? That’s your answer? Poppycock!”

  He placed his hands upon the table and leaned toward her. “Then pray tell, what do you believe, Ivy?”

  Placing her beer on the table, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t form any conclusion, since I keep stumbling over one secret after the next.” She kept her gaze steady on his. “For instance, today I learned that the renowned artist, Bradon Finnegan, was a distant relative. Erin told me all about it earlier after I showed her one of his paintings. Did you know it’s titled, Meeting of the Warriors?” For a split second, Ivy could have sworn Conn’s eyes flashed to silver.

  She leaned forward. “I had a vision today and you were there.” Pausing, Ivy studied his face, trying to read the man. He was as impenetrable as a stone fortress.

  “Continue,” he ordered, his tone almost a growl.

  “One of the men—an Aidan Kerrigan, called the one who could have been your twin, Conn.”

  Instantly, Conn’s features softened. Reaching for his beer, he pointed it at her. “You, mo ghrá have an overactive imagination. It’s one that slips into your dreams.”

  “I wasn’t dreaming,” she corrected. “I was in a vision trance.”

  He waved her off dismissively. “Even so, visions cannot always be interpreted accurately.”

  Ivy looked at the man incredulously. “For your information, I take my visions seriously.”

  “As you should. But you’ve been under a tremendous amount of strain with all this knowledge. Any of it could have a factor on your images.”

  The man’s words made Ivy doubt everything. Could he be correct? Her vision fabricated by everything that had happened to her since she landed in Ireland? Then again, she had experienced turbulent times and it never interfered with her gift of sight.

  Rising, she dumped the rest of her sandwich in the trash. Swallowing the last of her beer, she gazed out into the night sky. “You’re wrong, Conn. What I saw were images of the past. I can’t explain why, nor do I really care. You say it couldn’t be your ancestor, but then, you can’t be positive either.”

  Silence greeted her, but Ivy knew he was right behind her. The man had stealth-like moves. His heat radiated around her, making her feel safe, warm, and loved.

  “What purpose would the vision serve, Ivy?” asked Conn, his arms slipping around her waist.

  “Have I ever told you I love to solve puzzles?”

  He kissed the back of her neck, causing her to shiver. “No. What kind do you enjoy?”

  His lips caressed the sensitive area behind her ear, and Ivy moaned. “Life puzzles. Trying to figure out the pieces of my visions. They have helped me see things in a clearer light.”

  “Then I shall do my best to help you solve them.”

  Ivy angled her head around to meet his gaze. “Interesting.”

  Conn turned her around to face him. Cupping her chin, he traced a path over her bottom lip with his thumb. “A challenge.”

  Before she could utter a reply, his mouth swooped down to capture hers, igniting a firestorm of desire. All previous thoughts dissolved, leaving Ivy aching for Conn’s touch. The room could have burst into flames, but as long as she was in his arms, Ivy was safe—floating on a current of passion.

  ****

  The glow of stars faded to make way for the dawn of a new day. Conn watched as one slipped effortlessly into the next. His body hummed with energy—a call to greet the land. But a certain lass was curled against his chest, softly snoring. He didn’t have the heart to leave. In truth, he craved her more than the new dawn. Conn wanted to take Ivy once again. He’d spent almost the entire night exploring her body in a loving, pleasurable way, and finding those places that drove her wild. Images of her body spiraling into ecstasy made him hard again.

  Nevertheless, Conn let her sleep. His mind dwelled on their conversation last evening. In all his lifetime, no other human had managed to see into his past. However, that didn’t trouble him as much as finding out Bradon Finnegan, friend to the Fae, was an ancestor. Thank the Gods the painting she talked about was missing. She’d probably want to inspect every detail. Ahh…Bradon, you would have adored your descendant.

  Glancing down at her lovely features, Conn let out a sigh. His duty to bring her out of the shadows was almost complete. A shift in her aura had deepened to reflect the change. Ivy didn’t sense it yet, but soon she would be on a path of light. The loom of life was a tangled mess in Ivy’s world, and Conn was knotted in there with her. It was his journey as much as hers and with each unraveling piece, his fate moved closer to Ivy’s world.

  Yet, he had neglected another. Conn was determined to set the path right for Ivy’s ancestor. There had to be a way, but his mind was unable to map out any cohesive objective.

  Ivy stirred in his arms and desire rolled through him. Muttering a curse, he kissed her forehead and slipped quietly from her bed. Picking up his clothes from the floor, he cast one more glance over his shoulder at his sleeping beauty.

  His quest might be ending, but Conn was not ready to leave the woman who claimed his heart. Furthermore, his next decisions could alter both worlds.

  Dressing quickly, he shut the bedroom door softly. Making his way downstairs, he strode out of the house. His steps took him on a path he had grown familiar with—one where he now sought to seek advice.

  Brushing past tree limbs and through the brush, he continued onward. The first light of dawn became a beacon as it fell across the sky in welcome. Conn embraced the energy, absorbing it through his body. Early morning birdsong heralded the arrival, and he smiled.

  Quickly making his way to a place among the trees, Conn stripped his shirt and knelt. Lifting his head upward, he closed his eyes. “Stars, moon, and sun, so the cycle continues around the land. Greetings, Mother Danu.”

  He waited patiently, no longer aware of time. Minutes slipped into an hour and still he waited.

  A faint whisper touched his cheek. “You seek answers to your questions, but there are none. For you have them all within your heart.”

  Conn snapped open his eyes, keeping his hands fisted on his knees. “I have not yet asked the question.”

  “Beware the path you are on. Beware the love you have allowed to enter your heart. Beware the quest to right an injustice to ease the guilt.”

  “It is my destiny to make it right,” he argued, fighting the urge to shout.

  “Beware the loom of fate. You try and mend a string on the harp and another may break.”

  He wiped a hand over his brow. “I do not understand.”

  “Go tend to your garden, my warrior.”

  Confused by her words, Conn placed his hands upon the ground. Anxiety clawed at him. Why was it so difficult? Scooping up a handful of dirt, he brought it to his lips and then flung it outward.

  Standing, he reached for his shirt and walked slowly away, his mind now uncertain of the path ahead.

  An acorn fell from the tree and landed on his head. He froze.

  “You planted the seed, now follow your heart.”

  Conn chuckled as he plucked the acorn from the forest floor. “No, Ivy planted the seed of love within my heart.”

  Whistling softly, he made his way to Ivy’s garden. Halting in front of the gate, he smiled at the sight. The seedlings had grown more overnight. Though the air crisp,
he had magically sealed off the flowers and herbs from any harm. Entering the place, he walked softly through the garden, chanting ancient words. The new life greeted him in return.

  Reaching outward with his hands, the power surged out of him, gliding over the land. His spirit now renewed, until he heard Ivy’s bone-chilling scream.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “When walls crumble, seek the source of the loose stone.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Almost taking The Celtic Knot’s front door off its hinges, Conn ran into the store and headed for the office. “Ivy!” he bellowed.

  “In the office,” she responded angrily.

  The moment he spotted her, he breathed a sigh of relief. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he peered into the office. “Only this place?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Stupid bloody idiots. What a hellish mess! Why?”

  Conn moved past her and inspected the room. “Someone was looking for something in here.”

  Ivy threw up her hands in frustration. “What? There’s no money in here. The safe is in the side closet. There is absolutely nothing of importance in here, unless you count the books.” She tiptoed inside and pointed to the bookcases. “They pulled them off the shelves and dumped them onto the floor. Some of them are very rare.” She started to pick one up when Conn reached for her hand.

  “Again, I believe this was a search for something. The Garda should be notified immediately.”

  She clenched her hands. “So much for a peaceful day.”

  “How did they enter the store?”

  “Back entrance. The bolt has been cut.”

  “Mo ghrá, are you sure there’s nothing missing?”

  “Yes, I haven’t removed anything—” Ivy paused and looked up at Conn. “Yesterday I pulled out three old keys that I had found stuffed in the back of a drawer my first day at the shop. I showed them to Erin.”

  Rubbing his chin, Conn glanced around the place. “Where are they now?”

  Ivy walked out of the office. “I took them home with me.”

  Following the lass to the front of the store, he watched as she opened her purse and withdrew the keys. “Erin knew about them. She said the larger one was the first key to the cottage, but my uncle couldn’t determine the use of the others. Do you honestly believe someone thinks these are of value?”

  Conn narrowed his eyes. “What time does the Seven Swans open?”

  “Not for two more hours.”

  He maneuvered her toward the front door. “I’ll call the Garda, but you go home.”

  She shook her head. “I’m all right. I’m going to keep the store open. No one is going to frighten me away.”

  Conn wrapped his arms around his warrior lass. “Any help today?”

  Ivy lifted her head, and Conn noticed the shadows under her eyes. Tonight he would stay away from her bed and let her sleep. “Only Nan,” she answered softly.

  He kissed her tenderly. “Good. I don’t want you to be alone today. I’ll go place a call to the Garda.”

  ****

  The man stood silently within the thick cluster of trees down the road from the Celtic Knot. Several officers had arrived and walked around the place, and he studied their movement. Not concerned with the law, he focused on the one person he wanted to see. Fury boiled inside him when he found no trace of the keys in her office. Pitiful it had come this far. He hated resorting to tactics like these. They were beneath him. He’d prefer a rougher assault. Better to go for the jugular and dump the body somewhere.

  Perhaps Miss Ivy O’Callaghan would trip on her way across the street resulting in the same loss of life as her uncle. Or wander down a path and become lost and confused in the woods. No evidence. No trace of her existence. “Vanished into thin air, the newspapers would say of the poor woman.”

  He chuckled low at the thought, and then sobered. First, he needed those keys. It was important.

  He straightened when he saw Ivy emerge from the Celtic Knot. Keeping his gaze focused on her, he raked his dirk against the bark of a tree in slow, methodical slashes. She spoke quietly to the officer.

  “Pretty Ivy. You require a real man. Maybe I’ll show you what I can do, and then I’ll carve lots of pictures onto your body.”

  Noticing her pale features as she spoke to the officer, he snarled. “Good, little mouse. Be scared. Scurry back home to America or suffer at my hands.”

  The Viking came striding out front as if he owned the place. He despised the arrogant man from the moment he stepped foot in Glennamore. How simple it would be to put a bullet through his smirking face. Since when did he become protector of the bitch? He spat onto the ground in disgust.

  “Yes, maybe several bullets for you as you speed off on your bike.” The man raised his index finger and thumb forming them as a gun. “Bam, bam, right through your heart.”

  Content with everything, the man turned and stalked back within the forest, planning his next strategy in case the persistent Ivy O’Callaghan refused to leave on her own accord.

  ****

  After Conn had inspected the back entrance, he deemed it was a male who had broken into the Celtic Knot. Though he wasn’t able to determine the exact person with magic, it was now time to pay a call on Eric Dunstan. First, he required some information.

  Folding his arms over his chest, Conn’s gaze drifted across to the Seven Swans. Their sign was lit open for business. He started to move steadily toward the pub, when a certain sprite dashed up and grabbed his arm.

  “Not without me, you don’t,” ordered Ivy. “I told the police…Garda to come find me here when they’re done. I have questions, too.”

  He placed a hand over hers. “Afraid I’ll rip a limb off someone?”

  Her laughter was music to his ears. “Yep.”

  Upon entering, all eyes turned toward the couple, and Conn tightened his grip on Ivy. His intent was clear. Ivy was his woman.

  Erin was the first to approach. “Sweet Brigid, what happened? We saw the Garda vehicles.”

  “I came in this morning to find my office trashed,” replied Ivy.

  “It seems as if the person was searching for something of value,” interjected Conn.

  The woman’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Was anything taken?”

  Mac moved alongside his sister. “What could they want?”

  Conn looked at the man skeptically. “Indeed. Perhaps they were curious about a set of ancient keys?” He released his hold on Ivy, only to wrap an arm around her waist.

  Ivy jabbed him in the side.

  “The keys you showed me yesterday?” asked a stunned Erin.

  Mac made a disgusted sound. “Who would want those rustic items?”

  Conn glared at the man. “You know about the keys?”

  “Yes, I told him,” answered Erin. “I’m sorry, Ivy, was I supposed to keep it a secret?”

  Ivy reached for her friend’s hands. “No. But did you tell anyone else?”

  Erin cringed. “Everyone in the bar last night.”

  “I was there,” proclaimed Mac, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Seamus and his friends were in the back playing darts, but there were only two at the bar when Erin talked about doing some research on the computer to help out Ivy.”

  “And these two individuals?” asked Ivy.

  “Mike Banister and my brother, Peter,” announced Nan from behind them.

  Conn and Ivy turned around to face the young girl.

  “Oh, Ivy, he’s a mess,” sobbed Nan. She moved toward them hesitantly.

  “Let’s move to the back of the pub,” suggested Mac.

  “Agreed,” Conn stated.

  When they were all settled at a large table, Ivy reached for the girl’s hand. “What happened?”

  “I swear my brother had nothing to do with your office, Ivy. Please believe me. He took a beating from Mike Banister, because he wouldn’t go along with him. He lured Peter into thinking there was going to be some fantastic story about
the lost relics of a certain clan and a treasure worth a lot of money.”

  Conn drummed his fingers on the table. “Let me guess. Clan Dunstan?”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Yes. How…did you know?”

  He sneered. “Eric Dunstan made threatening advances toward Ivy the day of her uncle’s wake. It would appear Banister is working for him.”

  “Filthy bastards,” growled Mac.

  Ivy glanced at Conn and then back to the girl. “And Mike and Dunstan thought the keys were to these relics?”

  Nan nodded. “Peter refused to participate any further.” She wiped her nose. “He came to like you. After he heard about your garden, Peter was furious.”

  “Where is he now?” demanded Conn.

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “He left. Packed everything and told me he would call when he got to Galway. Peter was the only family I had,” she sobbed out.

  If Conn ever saw the man again, he would strangle the bastard. How could he leave his sister? Did he not consider she might be in danger as well?

  Ivy squeezed her hand and looked at those gathered at the table. “No, Nan, you have family here in this village. You won’t be alone, I promise you.”

  She laughed nervously. “At least I’ll be turning eighteen in a month. If not, I’m afraid they would have removed me from my home.”

  “It will never happen,” stated Erin soothingly. “Remember, I promised your mother before she died that Mac and I would look after you, too.”

  Nan smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

  “You know you’ll always have a job at the bookstore, and I can give you extra hours if you want,” remarked Ivy.

  The girl’s lip quivered. “I was afraid you would fire me.”

  Smiling, Ivy shook her head. “Not going to happen. Your brother’s actions had nothing to do with you.”

  “Oh, Ivy, thank you.”

  The two women stood and embraced each other.

  “Now, do you want to help me clean up the office?” suggested Ivy.

  “Would love to.”

  Ivy surprised Conn by leaning down and kissing him. “See you later.”

  “Of course,” he replied and followed her movement out of the pub.