by Mary Morgan
Confused, he snapped, “What purpose would it serve? She is no longer a part of my world.”
His father glanced over his shoulder. “Nonetheless, she will always remain a part of your heart. Did you not state that you spoke the binding words to seal your souls together?”
Conn fought the wave of pain threatening to spill forth. Unable to answer, he clenched his hands.
“If you did so, then you know the battle you shall always face.” His father turned back around. “It will tempt, torment, and create havoc within your very being. We are Fae. When we love, it consumes us at times.” He took a step closer. “Again, tell me about the woman you love.”
“She is my breath, my heart, my soul,” uttered Conn in a strangled voice.
“As well as your blood. Yours mingled with hers when you saved her life.”
“Why are you doing this?” demanded Conn.
“Because your father has been a fool. Yes, I was furious upon your return. We had not seen you in so long and then you arrive under guard. We—no, let me rephrase. I had hoped this final quest would make all right between us. You’d come back and accept your place here.” He let out a sigh. “You can imagine my fury when I heard you’d secretly entered the realm with an injured human. I was not pleased. I forced you to make an ultimatum.”
Conn held his arms outward in exasperation. “What do you want me to do?”
His father gestured toward the trees. “Go bring home your future wife before it destroys you.”
Stunned, Conn gaped at his father.
“It does no good standing there like a forlorn goose. Do not step foot back in this kingdom until Ivy O’Callaghan is by your side.”
“What about the house of Frylnn?”
“Let me deal with the repercussions. It would have made a miserable match.”
Conn couldn’t move. He raked a hand down the back of his neck. “I don’t understand. What changed your mind?”
“A conversation with the woman who holds my breath, heart, soul, and blood. Your mother. She reminded me of the true nature of our people.”
“And that is what?”
“Love. Without it, we are a hopeless race.”
Holding out his arm to his father, he waited. However, he surprised Conn by embracing him. “I only have one request when you both enter the realm.”
“Anything.” Joy infused his words.
“To meet her alone. If she is to be the future queen, I must speak with her first.”
Conn laughed, the tone sounding foreign to his ears. “I can assure you, Ivy will charm you the moment you see her.”
Chapter Thirty
“A Fae’s love can turn tears of joy into brilliant crystals.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
“So many books and not enough time to peruse them all,” complained Ivy, pushing the giant ladder to an area of the library in the cottage she had yet to explore. Climbing the steps, she pulled out one of the books. Flipping it open, she snorted. Glancing at the others with identical spines, she noted the brass plate on the shelf. Her uncle had amassed an entire collection on Greek mythology, but it didn’t do her any good, since it was all in Greek.
Replacing the book, Ivy noted an area tucked in a corner. There was a collection of books all tied together with a plaid ribbon. Reaching as far as she could, she grumbled a curse when her hand barely touched the spines. “I’m not getting back down.”
“Do you want me to give you a push?”
Ivy’s hand slipped. “Damn! You scared me.”
“You shouldn’t be attempting to push the ladder while you’re standing on it,” scolded Erin.
Ivy narrowed her eyes at her friend. “And friends knock before entering.”
Erin shrugged dismissively. “I saw you through the window. Thought you could use some help.”
“What did you bring today?” Her friend just couldn’t understand that she’d lost her appetite. Even explaining about the grief did no good either. Erin was determined to feed, talk endlessly, and remind Ivy that she needed to step back into life.
“Cheesy Mac and Cheese with bacon and a salad.”
“I’m gaining weight with all these meals you’re preparing. A salad would have been fine.”
“You’re not a rabbit.”
Ivy chuckled softly. “But I do like vegetables.”
Erin set the package of food down and gripped the ladder. “Hold on.”
She pointed to the books in the corner. “I only need to go a foot over.”
Her friend complied and pulled the ladder in front of the books she specified. When Ivy pulled them out, dust engulfed her. Sneezing, she almost lost her balance.
“Sweet Brigid, be careful. I can’t break your fall.”
“But you could soften it,” teased Ivy, wiping the dust off the top of the books with her fingers. However, the books no longer held her interest. It was the ancient looking box setting way in the back. “Erin, I’m going to toss these down to you. There’s something else behind here.”
“All right.”
After gently dropping the books to Erin, Ivy stood on the top rung and stretched outward. Tugging it forward with her fingers, she was surprised by its beauty. The large box looked like oak, its luster shining through the layers of dust. “Grab me a cloth, towel, anything.”
Erin quickly left and returned with a kitchen towel. “Do you need help?”
Ivy glanced over her shoulder. “I think I can manage.” Wiping off the dust, she gasped. Etched on top was a four-leaf clover with the initials S.D. carved underneath. Carefully making her way down the ladder, Ivy’s hands trembled as she made her way over to the desk.
Erin handed her a towel. “It’s beautiful, but what do the initials mean?”
Ivy swayed. Lights danced before her eyes. The vision slammed into her with such force, she had to grab the sides of the desk.
The man stood before the blazing fire, clutching a letter. Tears streaked his face. His hand shook as he held the item outward, the flames snapping at his fingers. At the last moment, he drew it back and crumbled it within his fist.
“I will never forget our love. An ocean isn’t far enough.”
Ivy watched through the haze as the man moved to the desk. Opening up the box, he smoothed out the paper. Folding it, he stuffed it in the envelope and tucked it inside the box. “This was to be yours on our wedding day. Now, it will only hold what could have been.”
Placing a hand on top, he wiped the other across his face. “Enough! You have your life to live and I have mine. Be well, Sara.”
The vision blurred, and Ivy sucked in a huge breath of air. “Water,” she gasped, struggling to fight the pain inside her and stay focused.
Erin grabbed the bottle of water at the other end of the desk. “Drink,” she ordered, placing it into Ivy’s cold hands.
Taking slow sips, Ivy blinked and stumbled over to a nearby chair. “That was horrible.”
Erin knelt beside her. “What happened?”
“I saw him…my father.” Her voice trembled. “He had a letter from my mother and was ready to toss it into the fire. The intensity of his pain was overwhelming. I’ve never experienced emotions on that degree with a vision.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the box?”
Ivy glanced at the item on the table. “Absolutely. It belonged to my mother. The initials are for Sara Donaldson. My father made it for her. It was to be a gift for their wedding day.”
“I’m sorry, Ivy.”
She shrugged and took another sip. Standing, Ivy made her way back to the desk. Picking up the towel from the floor where it landed after her vision started, she wiped the dust from the top. Flipping the latch back, she carefully opened the lid. Scents of her mother filled her, but without any visions. The box was crammed full of letters, and Ivy feared to touch any of them.
“Sweet Jesus,” muttered Erin. She placed a hand on her arm. “Do you think it’s wise to read them?”
Ivy closed the lid. “I don’t know.” Leaning against the desk, she stared upward at the empty space on the bookshelf. “It’s so sad. Am I doomed like they were?”
Her friend nudged her. “What are you saying?”
Mixed emotions surged through Ivy, and she glanced sharply at Erin. “Must my life mirror my parents? Am I destined to live in sorrow, pain, and regret?”
“Conn left you,” snapped Erin and moved away from the desk. “Time to move on.”
“And find another man? You don’t understand.”
Erin grabbed the bag of food and started for the door. “There’s plenty of other fish in the ocean.”
Ivy pounded her chest. “I am still in love with him. I have no desire to find another man to take Conn’s place inside my heart.”
The woman’s steps stilled. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes were filled with sadness. “Then I guess you’ll be living a life filled with the things you don’t want.”
“Just like my parents,” stated Ivy.
“I love you, my friend, so don’t make the same mistake they did. Find your true happiness.” Erin dashed back to Ivy. Embracing her, she whispered, “Grieve, get angry, cry your heart out, but return to the living.” Stepping back, she smiled. “I’ll go put this in your fridge.”
Ivy reached out and squeezed the woman’s arm. “Thanks.”
As Erin strolled down the hall toward the kitchen, she shouted. “I expect to see you at least every other day at the pub. I can’t keep taking these daily long breaks to make sure you’re fed.”
“And here I thought you had added catering to your list of duties.”
“Good to hear your sass has returned.”
Sighing, Ivy rubbed her eyes. Wandering back to the table, she placed her hand on the lid. “I believe it’s a wise idea to peruse these letters, regardless of what you may think, Erin O’Reilly.”
****
Neala snuggled closer to Ivy, purring softly. The fire blazed and snapped as Ivy continued to pull one letter after the other out of the box. Some detailed her life in vivid images, sharing even the minuscule things—a bump on the head, always running barefoot, her first report card with all A’s, the time she wept over the death of a dragonfly—the list was endless. However, some letters Ivy refused to continue reading. They were personal and intimate. Her mother poured out her heart with love, longing to be back in her father’s arms.
Nevertheless, it was not meant to be.
Pulling Conn’s jacket more firmly around herself, she glanced around the place. There had to be hundreds of letters and notes strewn about the place. When she first started reading them, she placed them on the table, but after several hours, the neat pile had fallen onto the floor. Sometimes, there would be a note mentioning a particular picture of Ivy, and then, lengthy letters filled to the brim about her. However, Ivy sensed the frustration of her mother’s life within each of them. The woman didn’t belong in the states. Her mother’s soul would always yearn for Ireland and Thomas. But she stayed away, hoping Ivy would have a better life away from Glennamore. In addition, Thomas—her father had agreed.
“How wrong you both were.”
Frowning, she reached for the particular one where her mother worried for her stepfather. In the note, she had become concerned when he thought she was leaving him and returning to Glennamore. Her mother had come home one afternoon with Ivy and found Patrick with a loaded gun. In his confusion, he thought she was leaving and wanted to end his life. Placing Ivy safely in her room, she convinced him to put down the gun, but only after she made a solemn promise never to leave him. Ever.
“So you made a promise to stay with him, because he what? Wanted to end his life?”
Ivy tossed the letter down in disgust. Gazing into the flames, she bit her lip. In truth, she couldn’t pass judgment on any of them. She lived inside her own glass house and didn’t dare cast stones at others. Though her stepfather was cruel at times, he did support Ivy and her mother. Never once did he lift a hand to them. He confined his abuse to words.
“You were a man haunted by your own fears each time you saw me.” Ivy shuddered and stretched her legs out. Collecting all the discarded letters and notes, she placed them back within the box in an orderly fashion. Setting it back on the table, she rose and went to the window.
The morning clouds had vanished, bringing forth a day with no threat of rain or snow. Digging her hands inside the pockets of Conn’s leather jacket, she fought her own wave of despair as she stared out into the trees. She leaned her head against the cool glass pane. “Time to cast my sight to the present. The past is gone. The future has yet to be written.”
Hearing Neala yawn, Ivy glanced over her shoulder. “I can assume you agree?”
Neala jumped to the back of the couch, her tail swishing back and forth.
Curious, Ivy went and picked up the feline. However, the animal let out a hiss and escaped from her arms.
Fisting her hands on her hips, Ivy watched as the cat sauntered into the kitchen. “Excuse me? Is it something I said, or are you tired of my sullen behavior?”
Shaking her head, she removed Conn’s jacket and walked into the kitchen. Apparently, Neala decided to flee the place through her small door. “Just remember who feeds you,” she shouted.
The afternoon sun beckoned Ivy, and she went to retrieve her coat and riding boots. She longed to clear the dusty cobwebs from old memories.
Grabbing her keys and a small purse, she stepped outside and locked the back door. Though the threat of Banister was gone, she felt the need to continue to carry the old keys with her. Making her way along the path to the stables, she paused before her garden. Red roses that were bigger than her hand trailed over one of the trellises. Ivy could smell their intoxicating aroma from where she stood.
“Thank you for this, Conn…always.”
Quickly brushing aside the memory, she steadily made her way down the road. A falcon’s cry echoed above, and she shielded her eyes to catch a glimpse of the bird. Birds in nearby trees sang in harmony, flying about from one branch to the other. A sense of wonder and peace settled within her, and her steps quickened.
Coming to a halt in front of the stables, Ivy’s heart froze. Time ceased to exist. The world tilted, and she found it difficult to draw in a breath. Her champion, her best friend, her Fae lover stood next to her horse.
“Conn,” she uttered softly.
He turned slowly toward her. Her eyes roamed over his features—from his black tight pants, fitted leather vest, silver armbands encircling his massive tattoo-covered arms, and up to a face chiseled from the Gods. His silver blond hair hung loose to his shoulders. Yet, it was those eyes that held her captive.
“Conn,” she stated with more conviction. “Are you real?”
His smile stole her breath and soothed her weary soul. He patted the nose of her horse. “How did you ever manage to tame the beast and bring him into a stable?”
Ivy’s lip trembled. “I named him, Drust, after a ninth century king of the Picts. Sean and Mac helped me find him outside of Dublin.”
His laughter filled the place, sending goosebumps down Ivy’s body. He stroked the animal once more and then started to move toward her. “Did you know that Drust was a rival of the Scottish King, Kenneth MacAlpin?”
She nodded. When he stood merely inches in front of her, she lifted her head up to meet his gaze. “You’re really here.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Ivy could feel the breath of his word against her cheek. “For a day? Week? Month?” She swallowed. “How long?”
Conn grasped her firmly around the waist. “For as long as you want me, mo ghrá.”
Tears tumbled free as he captured her mouth, swallowing her cry of joy. The kiss sang through Ivy’s veins, mending the wounds and scars inside her heart and soul. When his tongue sought hers, a firestorm of desire swept through her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for support.
Breaking free from the kiss, Ivy swa
yed. “What happened? Are you no longer the prince?”
Conn brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I am still the prince. Apparently, my parents had no wish to see me become a hardened Fae. The king has ordered me to bring you back to our world.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “Why?”
He cupped her face, his eyes glittering like the stars in the sky. “Because I love you, Ivy O’Callaghan. The moment my body entered yours, I sealed my fate. You became mine. Though I have never mentioned the words to you, my actions spoke volumes. The Fae realm cannot rule without love at its core. One day, I shall be king, and I want the woman who is at my side to be the one who carries my heart.”
Her entire being burst with joy. Never did she believe to hear those words of love, or to set eyes on the man again. She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “I never stopped loving you. You were inside my mind, body, and spirit every waking moment, as well as within my dreams.”
His lips recaptured hers, demanding more. “Ivy, Ivy, I’ve been lost since you’ve left.”
“Oh, Conn, how I love you.”
Lifting her into his arms, he brushed kisses along her neck. “Marry me, Ivy? Become my princess—my future queen?”
Placing a hand on his cheek, her heart pounded. “I’m human. Are you prepared to share a brief lifetime with me?”
Amusement flickered in the depths of his eyes. “You are only half-human now. When my blood entered your body, you became part Fae. Your lifeline has been extended. Furthermore, in my world, time moves at a much slower pace.”
Surprised, Ivy responded, “Now I understand fully what Ronan meant by my healing. While only the other day, I sliced my finger cutting tomatoes. It healed instantly. To say I was shocked, is putting it mildly. I wonder—”
“No more talking,” he ordered, striding toward the pine trees.
She laughed. “Where are we going?”
He arched a brow seductively. “Home. To our chambers and into my bed.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“A thread on the loom of life varies, as does a grain of sand. Each one is uniquely different.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
