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

by Mary Morgan

  Ivy lifted her glass. “A toast to my father.” She downed the entire contents.

  Sean drained his glass. “I suspected, but never dared to say anything. He was my friend. If he wanted to disclose the information, he would have done so many years ago. Rumors circled around Thomas and your mother, until she married Patrick. I never pried. He retreated into his own grief for many months after she left for America. However, after the first letter arrived with your picture, he transformed. Did you find out when you visited Anne Fahey?”

  “Yes. The woman has not moved on with her life. I left with a bitter taste and feeling sorry for her.”

  He nodded. “I feared she would speak her mind, but couldn’t fathom the secret. She cloaks herself in resentment and loneliness.”

  Ivy trailed a finger over the rim of the glass. “Ever since I’ve arrived, I’ve unraveled one secret after the next. It’s enough to have me spinning around in complete confusion.”

  Sean placed a hand over hers. “You’ve come home to your destiny.”

  She snapped her gaze up. “I wished my mother had left and brought me back home to Ireland.”

  Releasing her hand, Sean pushed away his teacup. “I am sure they both had their reasons.”

  “Ones that went with them to their graves.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now, tell me your tale of Conn MacRoich.”

  “Happily.”

  For the next hour, Sean shared every detail he knew of the great Fenian Fae warrior with her. Amazed and in awe, Ivy listened intently. She was transported to another time within his story, witnessing the details of a friendship that spanned decades.

  “Why did he return this time?” she asked softly.

  “This one is his story to tell, not mine.”

  Nodding her head in understanding, she placed her hands on the table. “The first time he walked into the pub my sight showed me the ancient warrior, but last night when he uttered the words out loud, I feared them.”

  “You were not raised in Ireland, Ivy Kathleen.” He spread his arms wide. “The land is filled with magic everywhere—”

  “But the church squashed those beliefs,” she protested.

  Sean laughed heartily. “No, my wee lass. Here, we honor and respect both. Ask Father Connelly. Even the man of the cloth believes in the Fae.”

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide. “No. Really?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Next, you’ll be telling me about the leprechauns,” she teased.

  Sean held up one finger. “We do have an expert in the village who can tell you all about them. She converses with them often.”

  Ivy burst out in laughter. “Sorry,” she choked, trying to regain her composure.

  “Quite all right. But don’t make fun of them out in the land. There are eyes everywhere.” He tapped a finger to his nose with a smile.

  “I’ll try and remember the warning. I don’t want to offend any wandering leprechauns.”

  “Ahh…yes, speaking of warnings, I must tell you that Conn and Mac O’Reilly discovered a gruesome find yesterday.”

  “Wait. Conn and Mac were together?”

  “Apparently they’ve formed a temporary truce. It’s the latest news at the Seven Swans.” The man shifted in his chair. “As I was saying, they made the discovery of a burnt body in the old forge on Eric Dunstan’s property.”

  Ivy felt the color drain from her face. “Do they…” she swallowed, trying not to visualize the image. “Do they think it’s him?”

  Sean scratched behind his ear. “Until it’s confirmed, no one is speculating. They believe it’s Mike Banister who worked for him, since Dunstan has gone missing.”

  “I don’t understand. Why were they out there at the man’s place?”

  “Apparently, you have strong protectors and after the break-in, they—Conn and Mac went out to confront Dunstan.”

  Ivy snorted in disgust. “All for an ancient set of keys that might be linked to some treasure or relics.”

  Sean folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, Conn mentioned them to me. Tales of lost relics and treasures have circulated the village for centuries. Another fable and one that is false. The keys most likely are to a dilapidated castle or building. Yours is one of the oldest in the village.”

  Curious, Ivy asked, “And the other?”

  “The ruins of Castle Lintel.”

  “Yes…the ones I can see from the store.” She shivered. “So Dunstan might have murdered Mike Banister for what?”

  “We cannot say for certain the body is Banister’s, yet. Eric made a few enemies from the moment he came into the village. For all we know, a fight happened, and Dunstan torched the body to hide the evidence.”

  “I was one of those enemies,” she countered.

  Sean patted her hand reassuringly. “Do not fret. The Garda is placing extra men nearby. They know of the threats to you.”

  Weariness descended over Ivy, and her thoughts floated back to the reason she came to the house. Fighting back the wave of loss, she took a deep breath in and released it slowly. “Sean, where is Conn?”

  He lowered his head at her. “May I ask the reason?”

  Smiling, Ivy replied. “I’m in love with the Fae warrior.”

  Sean smacked his hand on the table. “Good, but be warned, he’s hurting deeply.”

  Standing, Ivy walked around the table and hugged the man. “Don’t worry. I pray I can heal his heart.”

  Chuckling softly, he replied, “You can find him in Dublin. He keeps an apartment on the fringes of the city. I’ll fetch you the address.”

  Placing a kiss on his cheek, she whispered. “Thanks, Sean.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Candlelight of hope dwells even in a minuscule speck of sand.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Gazing at the old map of Glennamore, Conn let out an exasperated breath. For five, long, agonizing days, he battled his next move. Returning to the village and Ivy was not an option. She no longer wanted him. He was a monster in her eyes. But he had no regrets. It was time she knew the truth.

  Then, there was the alternative to return to his own world and make his report. Yes, his quest was now complete. Ivy had stepped out of the shadows—grown, blossomed, and embraced her new life.

  What direction could he seek? The loom of fate had not been corrected for her ancestor and this bothered him. There was no way to undo her fate unless he regained his status as a Fenian Warrior, traveled back in time, and rescued the lass. An idea he pondered, but knew the council would forbid him from reweaving the loom. In addition, if he tampered with the string, another would be lost to him.

  He took a sip of whiskey from the bottle, contemplating all avenues—possibilities to right one path without damaging another. To argue his case before them. If they refused, he could always do what he deemed was right for the humans. Had he not stated before how foolish the Fae council was in their ways? Always sitting in their chambers dictating laws.

  You’re not forming any coherent thoughts. They’re a jumbled mess.

  His mind was numb from too much thought and clouded with far too much whiskey. All in an effort to deaden what he had been avoiding since he left Glennamore—one aqua-eyed lass with a body that made his blood burn. She opened his heart to love, and he fought every waking moment to seal it shut. Nevertheless, he was helpless to the constant invasion of her image, so he tried to focus on the other situation. Her ancestor.

  He failed miserably.

  “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy,” he muttered her name repeatedly trying to banish everything about her from his body and mind. To cleanse her essence that had seeped into his skin.

  And again, Conn failed.

  Her words shattered his heart that night, sending him into a spiraling, bleak existence. This world meant nothing to him anymore. Gone were the joys he felt in this human world. There was nothing left for him here.

  “I gave you everything, Ivy Kathleen O’Callaghan. Did you not hear the whispers of my hea
rt to yours?” Raking a hand through his hair, he growled. “Enough!”

  Rising slowly, Conn glared at the map. “I shall never love another. If I have to burn my heart from my body, so be it. I’ll request missions to the remotest part of the centuries. Give me a sword and place me inside the deadliest battles.” Flinging the bottle outward, the glass shattered the framed map of Glennamore.

  “I dismiss you from my life.”

  However, try as he might, Conn was unable to harden his heart, but he gave no care. He would journey for the rest of his life with bitterness and regret. A lesson to be carried until they tossed his ashes upward to the stars.

  Storming into his bedroom, he tossed a few items into a backpack. He would return to his own world, give his account, and seek out the Brotherhood. Time to face his own destiny.

  Grabbing the keys to his motorcycle off the table, he strode to the door. Glancing once more behind him, he made a vow never to return to Dublin. The place was his beginning and now his ending.

  “Let another clean up the messes,” he snapped.

  Swiftly opening the door, Conn froze.

  A lovely vision in a short-kilted skirt and boots turned around and smiled at him. “Hello, Conn.”

  He blinked, fearing the image would fade. “Ivy?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive me for the other night?”

  “It’s been five, long nights,” he snapped.

  Ivy lifted her chin in defiance. “Yes, but I had a lot to consider. Your announcement was shocking. I had to let everything settle that night. I went to see Sean the next day. He told me where I could find you. Of course arrangements had to be made for the Celtic Knot, and I couldn’t get Nan or Roger to cover until—”

  Conn dropped his backpack. He needed to feel her—make sure she was real. He grabbed her around the waist with one hand, crushing her to his chest. “Five agonizing nights and you couldn’t call me?”

  She placed a hand on his cheek. “I was afraid—”

  “Of me? Was I a monster in your eyes to be feared?”

  Shaking her head, Ivy’s voice trembled when she spoke. “You are the most beautiful man on this planet, Conn MacRoich. How could you think—”

  He silenced her words with a passionate kiss. A rush of emotions overtook all rational thought. Bitterness, loneliness, emptiness—all replaced with euphoria. His kiss was urgent, demanding, and when his tongue invaded her softness, Ivy’s moan entered and filled his body.

  In one swift move, Conn lifted Ivy into his arms and kicked the door closed. Entering his bedroom, he slowly slid her down his body. Pinning her against the wall, he feasted on her lips, neck, and throat. Stripping her free of her blouse, he gazed at the flimsy black material encasing her beautiful breasts. “So beautiful, so real.” Taking his finger, he gently pulled it down, freeing first one and then the other silken globe. His hands roamed over her body, exploring places he feared to never to touch again.

  Breaking free, he placed his hands on either side of her on the wall. “Why?” he demanded.

  Ivy’s breathing was labored as she placed her hands under his shirt. “Why what?”

  Conn withdrew her hands and held them firmly by her sides. “Why did you return? Do you accept me knowing who and what I am?”

  She squirmed, nudging against him, and his cock swelled more. “Every detail, Fenian Warrior. I’m looking forward to hearing about your life in the Fae realm, and the history you’ve witnessed. Did you want to hear more?”

  He ravished her pout with his lips. “You are mine forever. Do not leave me again,” he ordered, trailing a path of kisses over her face. “I will find you, mo ghrá, always.”

  “How I love you, Conn MacRoich.”

  His body stilled. Her words slammed into him, strong and loving. “You have given me a treasure.”

  Her smile beguiled him. “Stop talking and take me to bed.”

  Conn needed no more encouragement. Removing his shirt, boots, and jeans, he tore the bra from her skin and teased his tongue over her pert nipples. Ivy dug her fingers into his scalp, her pleas for more sweeping them both to another realm. He couldn’t get enough of her scent—sweet, heady, and filling him once again.

  Grasping her hand, Conn pulled her toward his bed. Cupping her face, he breathed his request against her lips. “Indulge me in a fantasy?”

  Ivy arched a seductive brow. “Now I’m intrigued. Will you grant me one?”

  “Done.” Conn kept his gaze on hers as his fingers slid under her skirt and finding lace panties blocking his entrance. “Do they match the bra?”

  Her eyes mirrored his own lust. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He stroked lazy circles over the material, causing her to gasp. “This…this is your fantasy?”

  Pinching her most sensitive area, he leaned near her ear. “No, mo ghrá.” Tearing them free from her body, he spun her around to face the bed.

  Ivy angled her head to look at him. “Love the skirt and boots?” she coaxed, wiggling free from the lacy material.

  “You have no idea.” Bending her over the bed, he lifted her skirt to expose her round, lush bottom. Caressing her soft, ivory skin, Conn fought the urge to take her too swiftly. Unfastening the skirt, he let it slip to the ground. Spreading her legs slightly apart, he gazed over the sight. “Ahh…you present a vision with only your boots on.”

  “I do?”

  “A feast,” he replied, with each touch, stroke, and kiss. “I have yet to taste every inch of your body.” His finger traced over her tattoo, and he bent down and placed his lips over the area.

  Ivy moaned.

  “Sensitive spot?”

  “Don’t torture me. I need you,” she begged.

  Her words undid Conn and taking his cock, he thrust deeply into Ivy’s hot flesh. Exquisite pleasure filled him each time he withdrew and slid back inside her. He watched her hands clutch the furs on his bed, her own desire building. There was no gentleness, only one of reclaiming what he thought lost to him. His love. His heart. His life. All Ivy.

  Climbing higher, Conn let the release rip through him, sending him on a wave of pleasure so intense he barely heard his love’s own cry when she screamed his name.

  He quickly withdrew and brought them both onto the bed and entered her once again. Covering her mouth with his, he drew in her breath and gave it back mingled with his own. This time he took his leisurely time in kindling the desire in them both, kissing the tender side of her breast, behind her ear, and on her shoulder. But she surprised him by digging her fingernails down his back and wrapping her legs around him. When he withdrew slowly, Ivy pushed him harder inside her sending his senses reeling.

  “Are you my vixen?” he rasped against her cheek, rubbing his face over hers.

  She nibbled on his ear. “Vixen, wench, lover. Your heart’s desire is mine.”

  Her raw sensuousness carried him to greater heights than he’d ever known. The fire continued to spread as the tremors of release began. He flicked his tongue over her taut nipple, eliciting a growl from her sweet lips. “Fly with me, mo ghrá.”

  Conn kept his gaze on his beloved, and when the bright flare of passion exploded within her, he emptied everything he had into the woman he loved.

  ****

  Warm, sated, and happy, Ivy trailed her hand over Conn’s smooth muscular chest. She thought him to be asleep, with one hand over his forehead and the other flung out to the side. He was the most gorgeous man ever, and she was deeply in love with the Fae. He had no idea how agonizing those five nights were to her, too. It was torture not to leave after her conversation with Sean and head directly to Dublin. Yet, she needed to think and not feel.

  The first couple of nights sleep was elusive. Oftentimes, she wandered downstairs in despair. Her heart, body, and mind ached for Conn. Regardless that he was a Fae warrior Ivy knew she loved him. There was one fear she held close to her heart. He was an ancient, so why did he ch
oose to be with her? He called her my love, said she was his, but did he truly love her? Or was she a possession?

  Her hand stilled over the center of his chest. I don’t know what to believe?

  “You have found my heart,” uttered Conn softly.

  Startled, she lifted her hand. “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.”

  “I am merely resting.” He placed her hand back on his chest. “A Fae’s heart is centered to his body, unlike a human’s.”

  All other doubts vanished, intrigued by this new knowledge. “Fascinating. And your blood?”

  He opened one eye. “Red is universal in the cosmos.”

  Ivy shrugged. “I had to ask.”

  “I’m not an alien.”

  “Umm…in a way.”

  Conn moved to his side and propped his head on his hand. “Would you be upset to know that humans were not created on this planet?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you discounting evolution and man? God?”

  His face grew serious. “Absolutely not. I’m stating a fact, which I’ll explain in further detail later.”

  “Why me?” she blurted out.

  Conn drew her to him. “Honestly?”

  Ivy shook her head, though she held her breath fearing the worst.

  “I cannot say, Ivy. From the moment I saw you, everything else shifted within me.” He sighed, bringing them both back down against the pillows.

  Placing her hand back in the center of his chest, she gazed up at him. “Surely there have been others. You’re—”

  “Ancient, not old,” he interjected.

  “Is there a difference?” she teased. “Then tell me more.”

  For the next several hours, Ivy listened with rapt attention to her Celt explain the world of the Fae and what a Fenian Warrior and the Brotherhood meant to him. Shocking as some of the information seemed, she absorbed it all, urging him to divulge more when he would hesitate or become unsure. The man had traveled through time—stood, counseled, and battled with many kings and queens. Her mind staggered, especially when she wanted to know how it felt being whisked from one century to the other. As he discussed his magical qualities, she probed him for examples, and he promptly reminded her about her garden.