Patrick glanced at the leaflets once more and gave a shake of his head. The papers wouldn’t help Devlin. Printed words couldn’t help Patrick reach his son as the young woman had reached the little girl behind the glass. He didn’t need anything here in Indianapolis. Nay. He needed the young woman’s magic.
Patrick stared once more through the glass. There was only one solution. He would take her back to Meath Province. He would take her to Devlin.
Chapter 4
Tara sat back on her heels, her heart lifting to see Chelsea’s progress. Three days a week over the last two months she had worked with the child, in accordance with the instructions of Chelsea’s doctor. And the spark of life in the little girl’s eyes gave her a cautious hope that there was a way to bring the child completely back to her parents. After seeing that one of the undergraduate volunteers watched over the children in the playroom, Tara stood. Eager to update her notes, she stepped into the hallway.
She saw him then, the good-looking man from the bus. She took a moment to appreciate the way his jeans hugged his long legs, and the way his flannel shirt spanned the breadth of his shoulders. He stood near the rack of pamphlets, confusion etched on his face, and ran a frustrated hand over his strawberry-gold curls.
She stepped toward him. “May I help you?”
He turned to face her fully, and she stared up into crystal blue eyes. “Aye.” He flashed a gorgeous smile. “I daresay I’m at a bit of a loss here.”
He spoke in an accent she couldn’t quite place. British, maybe. Or Irish. The image of the hunk in the soap commercials struck her, fresh and strong. Manly, yes. She shook her head to clear it.
“I’m Tara Connor,” she said. “An assistant here in the Behavior Lab.”
He nodded, light shining off his curls, and she blinked. He truly was gorgeous.
“Have you always cared for children, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered without question.
“Why?” he asked with another smile.
She opened her mouth to berate him for prying, but instead found herself smiling in response to his grin. It was suddenly so warm in here. She reached up to widened the V in her lab coat.
“I have no parents,” she said. “No family, really. And these children…” She swallowed. “They’re locked away from their parents by their afflictions.”
He stepped closer to her, giving a slow nod.
“How do you help them?” he coaxed.
“I…” She gasped, suddenly even warmer. “I work with them, study their symptoms. When I break through those walls? Oh, there’s nothing like it.”
He reached out to touch her hand, and she felt heat spread through her body. She breathed in, smelling the clean scent of him, and her pulse pounded.
“You are special, Tara Connor,” he said. “Aye, that’s true.”
***
Patrick watched the young woman, certain he held her in his lure. Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink, and her amber eyes were wide and slightly out of focus. One delicate hand rubbed the base of her throat as she breathed through parted lips.
He asked her a few more questions, easily gaining all the answers he needed. He knew she was wise in the ways of these poor children. She was the one to help Devlin. Stepping back, he released her from his charm.
Obviously still a bit flustered, the girl tucked a loose lock of her thick sable hair behind one ear. She nodded and walked to the glassed-in area, stopping as she placed her hand on the door. That glance over one shoulder showed him all, her confusion and her wariness. Guilt niggled at him but he shut it out. He didn’t need the medical advances of this time as Brianna’s sister had. Nay. He needed the knowledge in Tara’s mind. As she turned away and reentered the lab, he felt a smile curve his lips.
***
Tara placed her backpack on the counter and crossed to the stout fridge set in one corner of her kitchenette. She withdrew a can of diet soda and popped the tab, relishing the hiss of air as the drink gave off its promise of cool refreshment. Feeling drained, she looked forward to the shot of caffeine.
She took a bubbly sip of soda and perched on one of the stools bracketing the kitchen. Her small apartment near the campus of the downtown university was nothing fancy, but it suited her. She didn’t have a roommate, and her schedule was her own. She placed the soda can on the chipped counter and dropped her chin in her hands. There was no one to question her lack of a social life. That was for sure.
Her work was challenging, and she didn’t need to remind herself of this since little Chelsea had been the only child to show any sign of improvement all day. Slowly, so very slowly, these children made their way through the milestones that represented their development. Though the odds were steep, Tara prayed that each of these children would someday master complex communication and form total attachment to their parents and surroundings.
After the handsome man had left the behavior lab, she’d been able to focus fully on her work. But when he’d been there?
She recalled little of their conversation in the hallway, just the pleasant glow she’d felt as he asked her about her work. His eyes were the most amazing shade of blue she’d ever seen, like fresh dew on a violet or something romantic like that. Her hand still tingled with the memory of his touch, which was both strong and gentle. And his body wasn’t bad, either.
Tara stood and crossed to the fridge again, pulled a frozen dinner out of the freezer and popped it into the microwave. The scent of tomato sauce and hot cardboard filled the kitchen and as the microwave hummed she clicked on the TV with the remote and flipped through the channels.
It took little time to down her meager meal and clean up after herself. She turned off the light in the kitchen and went into the living room. She barely glanced at the blank walls, since no family photos hung there as usual. There were no baby pictures either. Her mother never had much time for picture taking when she was straight, not that Tara could remember many times when the woman wasn’t high. She’d overdosed when Tara was four years old, and there had been no father around and no friends to see to Tara or her childhood remembrances. No one had cared enough to take any photos after she’d ended up at children’s services, either.
Year after lonely year, hope after dashed hope, had left her in the dedicated care of those paid for their attention. At least the folks running that last foster home had encouraged her studies, helping with state contests for scholarships and awards for academic excellence.
She reached up and pulled out her ponytail holder, letting her thick hair free. Sighing, she put her feet up on the coffee table and reached for the TV remote again.
A knock came at the door. She eyed the door, puzzled. No one ever visited. And the best thing about her apartment building was that there was no soliciting allowed.
“Maybe it’s the manager,” she said to herself. She flicked off the TV and rose to cross to the door.
She peered through the peephole, shocked to see the man from the behavior lab standing there. How had he found her? Almost as if she couldn’t help herself, she opened the door, but not before sliding the security chain loudly into place.
“Yes?”
“I need you, Tara.”
Her hand trembled on the door knob as he caught her with his gaze. He smiled and that warmth spread through her again. Her heart began to pound with anticipation. As if of its own accord, her hand released the chain and she opened the door.
One of his strong hands gripped something hanging on a strip of leather around his neck, and she thought she saw light peeking from between his clenched fingers. His expression was grave now, his face no longer wearing that teasing grin.
She blinked as he stepped into the apartment and closed the door, suddenly cold. “Hey, I didn’t say you could—”
“You must come with me, Tara.”
He grabbed her arm but before she could manage more than an aborted cry, the room began to spin. Her ears rang from the roaring sound and her head spun with verti
go as her stomach threatened to heave up her frozen dinner. His grip never faltered, though. He held her tight as she felt the world go dark and silent.
The floor came up to meet her and she tried to suck in a breath. She slowly opened her eyes, staring up at the pink sky above her. The wind had nearly been knocked out of her, so she gasped and tried to move. The man’s big body was on top of her, though he quickly remedied that.
“Forgive me,” he said, easing off of her.
She leaned up on her elbows, her fingers clenching in the cool grass beneath her. Grass? What the hell? Looking around, she saw nothing but trees. And the man. He stood above her, a worried frown on his face.
He held out his hand to her. “Are you all right, Tara?”
Damn him and his chivalry, anyway. She pushed away his offered hand and stood. “Where the hell are we?”
“My home.”
“Your home? You abducted me? I’ll call the police. You can’t just come and take women from their homes to satisfy your… your…”
She couldn’t finish the thought, could hardly catch her breath after falling here in the woods.
“I need your help.”
She brushed off her jeans and placed her hands on her hips. “Listen, Mr… What’s your name?”
“I’m Patrick MacDonald.”
She ignored the gallant tip of his head.
“Well, Patrick MacDonald. Take me home right now.”
“I can’t, lass.”
She turned around then, seeing nothing familiar about the woods. She’d learned about self-defense, and recalled that once taken by a killer a woman’s chances for survival dramatically decreased. Secondary murder scene, or something like that. She turned to face him, backing away slowly.
Would he kill her and leave her body for the raccoons? She eyed him. She didn’t sense anything so vile about him. In fact he seemed deferential at the moment. Cordial, even.
“Well, I’m going home,” she told him.
With a bravery she hoped would fool him she stomped toward the sunset. She prayed it would lead her back to Indianapolis. He grabbed her wrist in a flash and held on tight.
“You can’t walk home, Tara.”
Wrenching her wrist out of his grasp, she asked, “Why the hell not?”
“We’re in Ireland.”
She stared hard at him. “Ireland? Listen, Patrick MacDonald. I don’t know what your game is—”
“It’s no game, Tara.” He raked his fingers through his hair, a show of frustration she could understand. “It’s important you stay here.”
She quirked a brow at him. “In Ireland?”
He smiled. “Aye. Meath Province, to be precise.”
She rubbed her hands over her face. “O-kay”
“There’s more.”
She slanted him a look. “Gee, why did I think there wouldn’t be?”
He held on to her shoulders and for the first time in this ridiculous exchange she felt fear. Real fear, not of murderous captors or crazed sex fiends. Not of him, but of what he would say. She braced herself.
“You’re in my time, Tara,” he said. “1814.”
That rushing sound came again and then she felt nothing.
***
Patrick caught Tara as she fainted into his arms. He feared the time jump was too much for the lass. It would be easier now to take her to the dell, though. And she wasn’t eyeing him with that combination of pique and fear. He scooped her into his arms and carried her home.
He brought her to Luke and Brianna’s, thinking it was the best place for her at present. He hadn’t asked her to see to Devlin yet, and surely his uncle wouldn’t be pleased to learn Patrick had made use of the amber without his permission. There would more than enough time for that scolding later.
He gazed down at the woman in his arms. There was nothing to her, yet she was curved in all the right places. Her hair, free of its ponytail, brushed over his arm. Thick and silky-smooth, the mass tempted him to run his fingers through it. Her smooth cheeks were pale though, and guilt slashed through him. No matter. The girl was strong, in spirit and body. She would weather this challenge. Hadn’t she clearly stated her wishes back there in the woods?
A smile tugged at his lips. Aye, she was pretty in her ire. All trembling and rosy. But her appeal didn’t matter. Devlin was the reason for all of this. And he prayed that when she met the little boy her heart and dedication wouldn’t allow her to leave.
He came to Luke’s house and shifted Tara in his arms. He knocked on the door, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for an answer. Brianna opened the door, her smile of greeting swiftly changing to an expression of surprise.
“Patrick! Who is this?”
“Pray let me in, Brianna.”
She stepped aside and closed the door behind him. “Patrick.” She braced her hands on her hips. “What have you done?”
“She’s from your time, Brianna. And when I told her where and when she was now, she fainted.”
Brianna’s blue eyes widened. “You took her? My God, how?”
“That’s of little consequence now. Pray, see to her?”
To his relief, Brianna nodded. “Yes, yes. Bring her into Bryce’s room.”
Patrick turned down the hallway. “Where’s Luke?” he called over his shoulder.
“He took Bryce for a walk after dinner,” came her answer from right behind him.
Patrick nodded and laid Tara on the narrow bed. He brushed her hair out of her face and ran his finger over one cool cheek.
“I need her, Brianna.” He faced his sister-in-law. “For Devlin.”
Brianna said nothing, her brow furrowed in question. Patrick straightened and gave her a nod.
“She’s Tara Connor, from Indianapolis.”
Brianna’s eyes widened again but she said nothing this time. He left the room, knowing Tara was in good hands.
As he entered the living room his brother Luke came home. He was preceded by a bundle of energy who could only be Bryce. When the boy saw Patrick, he stopped in his tracks. In the next instant he launched himself at him.
“Uncle Patrick!” he squealed.
Patrick bent down and lifted the boy in his arms. Bryce gave him a noisy kiss and hugged him tight. Patrick’s heart clenched. He was so different from Devlin.
He kissed Bryce on the cheek and set him on his feet. “Good to see you, Bryce.”
The little boy beamed a smile. “Mama and Papa and me went to London.”
“Just now?” Patrick teased.
“Nay!” Bryce giggled. “Papa took me for a walk just now.”
“And did you have a good time, then?”
“Aye.” He eyed Patrick’s clothes. “Why are you dressed like Papa does sometimes?”
“Your Mama’s waitin’ for you,” he said, ignoring the boy’s question.
Bryce nodded and ran down the hallway.
Patrick stood and faced his brother. “Hello, Luke.”
“How are you, brother?” Luke looked at him with concern. “How’s the boy?”
Patrick shook his head. “He’s not well. But I think I found a way to—”
“Papa!” Bryce ran back into the room. “There’s a lady in my bed!”
Patrick felt his face flush as Luke stared at him.
“I have something to tell you, Luke.”
Luke reached down to ruffle Bryce’s auburn curls. “Go see your Mama, son.” He shot a look of meaning at Patrick. “Your uncle has something to tell me.”
Bryce nodded and skipped back down the hallway.
“Now, Luke—”
“What did you do, Patrick?”
Patrick swallowed. “I took Uncle’s amber and went to Indianapolis.”
Luke snorted. “That explains why you be wearin’ my clothes. Why?”
“I had to find help for Devlin. I promised him.”
Luke shook his head and paced the length of the room. “You went to the future.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And you took a wo
man?”
“Aye, but not just any woman. She’s gifted, Luke. She works with children like Devlin. Well, not precisely like Devlin.”
Luke stopped pacing and faced him. “But you took a woman from the future against her will?”
Patrick nodded, his fists clenched. “Aye. And I’d do it again to give my son the chance at a real life!”
Patrick slumped onto the settee beside the hearth and buried his face in his hands, the fight in him gone as soon as it came.
“Tell me, brother,” Luke said in a low voice.
“You didn’t see him, Luke,” Patrick said. “The boy begged me to help him.”
He could hear Luke’s footsteps as he approached. “Devlin spoke to you?”
“Nay. If only he would.” He raised his head to face his brother. “But I know what he wants. His poor tortured heart spoke to me.” He placed his hand on his chest. “Here.”
Luke sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You love the boy.”
The truth of it wrapped itself around Patrick’s heart. “Aye.”
Luke gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He’s a lucky boy.”
Patrick gave a curt nod and stood. “Pray, keep an eye on the girl? She fainted when we leaped here.” A smiled tugged one corner of his mouth. “Well, after she blistered my ears, she fainted. She’s a strong lass.”
“She’s welcome here,” Luke said.
“Patrick,” Brianna said from the hallway.
Patrick looked at her. “Aye?”
“She’s coming around.”
Patrick wanted to run to Tara’s side, to convince her to stay and help Devlin. He was selfish to wish he could make her see reason tonight, after all he’d put her through.
“Well, she won’t want to see me at present.” Patrick stood. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Before Brianna could add her protests to Tara’s, Patrick left the cottage for home. That night the Banshee came to Patrick in his nightmares, as vague and as sharp as that first night of his sin.
”Aye, Patrick,” the Banshee cooed. “Make me scream…”
Patrick stood stock still as the witch ran her hands over the front of him. His shirt fluttered to the ground behind him and she began to work the buttons of his breeches free. She was beautiful as she smiled up at him, her violet eyes sparkling and her teeth gleaming straight and even. Her skin was smooth and luminous, and if she didn’t have her hand curved around his shaft he could almost imagine her an angel.
Patrick's Promise Page 4
