“Aye,” the first said with a smirk. “’Tis a pity she spends her days with that horrid little—”
“Shut your mouth!” Tara said through clenched teeth. She whirled on them, her hands in fists. “Say what you will about me, I don’t care. But Devlin is an innocent child. What is wrong with you people?”
Both girls faced her, their lovely faces wearing ugly scowls that struck Tara with their true poison.
“The changeling be Patrick MacDonald’s punishment,” the first girl said with a nod.
“’Tis true,” the other added. “Ask anyone in the dell.”
Tara took in a deep breath and let it out, silently praying for control in the face of such prejudice.
“I know Devlin,” she began. “He’s sweet and smart and worthy of love.”
The first girl laughed, a sickening sound filled with no humor. “How can you say such silliness?” she asked. “Why, the boy’s mother was a—”
“That’s enough,” Mrs. McKay said.
The three young women all turned to face the storekeeper. Mrs. McKay met Tara’s startled gaze with one of understanding and Tara felt the fight leave her. The MacDonalds had one ally here, but she was a formidable one.
“Humph,” the second girl began. “Let’s go home, Mary. There is nothing here I’d want to purchase.”
“Aye,” her sister smirked. “The wares have dimmed in quality, I daresay.”
With that parting shot, the two girls swept out of the store. Tara let out a breath to ease her anger, closing her eyes for a long moment. At last she felt herself cool and turned to the shopkeeper.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. McKay,” Tara began.
“Don’t be worryin’ about those two witches, Miss Tara,” Mrs. McKay said with a wink. “I have the only dress shop in the dell. They’ll be back.”
“But when they spoke of Devlin that way.” She couldn’t put her thoughts into words at the moment.
“Aye. Dorothy O’Grady told me of yer work with the boy.” The woman stepped closer to place a caring hand on Tara’s arm. “And of yer affection.”
Tara nodded, grateful once more for Mrs. O’Grady’s support. “He’s not a devil.”
“How could he be?” Mrs. McKay smiled. “He’s a MacDonald.”
“But what they said.” Tara blew a tendril of hair off her face with a puff of air. “Why do they think he’s evil?”
Mrs. McKay shook her head. “Don’t you be listenin’ to their tales, Miss Tara. You have the right of it.”
Tara knew the lady was right, and couldn’t be more relieved to have a vocalization of her own feelings. Devlin was good, and both her mind and her heart recognized it. There was the mystery of the boy’s mother, but surely if those girls really knew her identity they wouldn’t hesitate to blurt it out to Tara.
“What have you got to show me today, Mrs. McKay?” Tara asked, eager to abandon the subject at hand.
The lady beamed and withdrew a large book of patterns and Tara indulged her newfound hobby of studying Regency fashions.
***
“I need a new pair of dance slippers,” a girl’s voice said.
Patrick looked up from his workbench to see the two yellow-haired chits from the dell. They stood in the front of the shop, their faces wearing identical pouts. What the devil? The silly girls never came to the shop, preferring to send their lady’s maid to buy a few pairs that may or may not catch their fancy.
On his guard, he wiped his hands on a rag and listened closely as Sean spoke to them.
“Aye,” his brother said. “We have some of the softest slippers, miss.”
They giggled, the sound grating on Patrick’s ears.
“Soft slippers made by such manly hands?” one of them cooed.
“Such big hands,” the other girl put in.
Patrick stepped toward to the front, his eyes narrowed. What was their game now? He looked at Sean to see his brother basking in the feminine attention, his grin wide.
“MacDonalds make the best shoes, miss,” Sean beamed. “‘Tis our pride in our work.”
“Hmm,” one of the blond girls said. “Such dedication. Do you think we should purchase something, Carrie?”
“Oh, I don’t know Mary,” the other blond said. “What do you think?”
The other clicked her tongue. “MacDonald shoes are the best, Carrie. That’s what Mama says.”
Sean laughed and gave a nod, his chest puffed out.
“Aye,” he said again. “And nothin’ but the best for your delicate feet, I wager.”
That was enough. Patrick walked into the room and held himself still. “I haven’t seen you two ladies in the shop before.”
They both ran their gazes over him, their pale eyes cold. Together they lifted their chins.
“Sean MacDonald,” the first one began, her back to Patrick. “My sister and I saw that guest of yours at Mrs. McKay’s dress shop.”
“Tara?” Sean asked.
Patrick winced. Shut up, Sean. The fool was playing right into their hands.
“Is that her name?” the second girl asked, her eyes wide. “Pretty girl. But not terribly pleasant.”
“Aye, sister. Quite rude, she was. Why, all we did was ask after that little boy of Patrick MacDonald’s, and—”
“I’ll wager you did!” Patrick growled. “What did you say to Tara, you witch?”
“Witch?” The girl laughed. “Fancy you callin’ me a witch when you laid down with a Banshee!”
Patrick took a step toward them, but Sean put a hand on his arm.
“Easy, brother.” He turned to the girls, his teasing grin gone now. “My nephew is a MacDonald. ‘Twould serve you well to remember that.”
They both blinked at Sean’s rebuff. The older of the two girls bristled.
“Well! I see there’s a streak of rudeness in the MacDonald house.”
“Get out,” Patrick said. “And don’t let me hear you spreadin’ any of your lies about my son. Or about Tara.”
The two girls left the shop, their heads together as they giggled and snickered.
“Bloody harridans,” Patrick muttered.
“’Tis only gossip, Patrick.”
Patrick shook his head. “They could do a fair amount of damage with their sharp tongues, Sean. To us, aye. But to Tara and Devlin most of all.”
Sean smiled once more, his easy nature clearly restored. “Devlin has Tara to protect him, Patrick. Surely she’s stronger than anythin’ those witches could say.”
Patrick knew Sean was right, at least where Tara was concerned. And from what little those girls said, he knew Tara had defended the boy as if he were her own.
It wouldn’t raise her in Patrick’s eyes, though. He knew what she was made of already. He’d suspected her strong spirit and loyal heart back in Indianapolis. She was good for Devlin. Good for all of them, he’d wager. He stilled once more.
“Aye,” Patrick conceded. Sean opened his mouth, no doubt to say more about Tara, but he held up one hand. “I best be getting’ back to work.”
He walked back to his workbench, swallowing the bitterness the two girls had spread. They were indeed witches, and as vile as any Banshee.
“Your work,” he heard Sean mutter. “Your escape, more like.”
Patrick said nothing to that.
Chapter 11
Tara sat in Brianna’s kitchen, watching Bryce scribble in a suspiciously-modern coloring book as his mother prepared some tea. And though he only had a handful of crayons, countless colors appeared on the page.
“That’s very good, Bryce,” she said, peering at the picture. “Those are some very unusual colors.”
Bryce nodded, a wide smile on his face as he shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I make them up!”
To show her what he meant, he blinked his eyes and the crayon in his hand changed color. Tara stared as the child went back to his work. Surely she was seeing things. The boy didn’t just turn that crayon from yellow to a delicate shade
of blue the color of a robin’s egg!
Brianna set a tea cup before Tara and looked over Bryce’s shoulder. “Oh, love! That’s quite—”
Her eyes went round and she shot a look at Tara. Pink colored her cheeks as she spread her hands.
“I suppose you have some questions for me?” Brianna asked.
Tara gulped. “I don’t quite know.”
“I should’ve told you.” Brianna smiled, settling into a chair beside her son. “We’re magic,” she said simply.
Tara gaped at her and Bryce. They looked so normal. Well, it was true the woman traveled to the future and back. Tara had managed somehow to wrap her head about that bit of truth. But, magic?
“H-how?”
Brianna looked at her. an indulgent expression softening her pretty face. “We’re Cornish Pixies, Tara.”
She held her hand over her mouth. Whoa.
Brianna nodded. “It’s true.”
Tara saw that quality about Bryce then, that otherworldliness she had glimpsed in Devlin. Did that mean Devlin was magic, too?
“And Devlin?” she had to know. “Is Patrick’s son also magic?”
“Not how you’re supposing,” Brianna said quickly. “The MacDonalds aren’t from Cornwall.”
Tara clicked her tongue. “That’s not what I meant, Brianna. Is Devlin also magic?”
The worry creasing Brianna’s brow caused a flutter in Tara’s belly.
“Look, Tara,” Brianna said. “It’s not my place to speak of the MacDonalds to you. Patrick should be the one to tell you.”
“But they’re magic, too?”
Brianna laughed, a shot of warmth in their odd conversation. “Oh, not like you’re thinking. But they are blessed with a heavy dose of charm.”
Bryce looked up as if on cue and Tara could swear she saw a sparkle in his eyes. She pulled back, blinking rapidly. She suddenly remembered that long-ago talk with Patrick in the Children’s Hospital, recalling the warmth that had filled her then. Her mind had been confused and her tongue loose. And hadn’t he found her apartment with no trouble? The realization struck her hard.
“Then Patrick…” She put her head in her hands. “He charmed me?”
Brianna shrugged. “It’s their gift, Tara. And if Patrick hadn’t been so desperate to bring you here, he never would’ve used it that way.”
“Huh!”
But Tara couldn’t summon any real anger at the man, not knowing now what she did about Devlin.
Brianna touched her hand. “Your work with Devlin, Tara,” she began. “It’s a kind of magic too, isn’t it?”
Now it was Tara’s turn to shrug. There was something she longed to ask, to find out what was at the center of Devlin’s troubles. His progress was indeed accelerated, in her opinion. Like nothing she’d ever encountered. And yet?
She couldn’t ask about the boy’s mother, not with Bryce sitting there. The image of the smirking girls from the dress shop was still fresh in her mind. She drained her tea cup and stood.
“Thank you for the tea, Brianna. I should go.” She ruffled Bryce’s auburn curls. “See you later, Bryce.”
The little boy grinned, the light reflecting off his perfect white teeth. She blinked again. How could she have missed it? MacDonald charm.
Luke MacDonald came in then, a smile on his handsome face for his wife and son. He stopped when he saw Tara, and nodded his head in greeting.
“Hello, Tara.”
“Hello, Luke,” she returned.
He turned to kiss Brianna and then tickled Bryce beneath his chin.
Feeling out of place, and a little envious of the family’s obvious affection, Tara began to turn from the scene. “Well, I’d better get back to Devlin.”
“I hear you’re workin’ a miracle with the boy, Tara,” Luke said. He grinned as brightly as his son. “Uncle Seamus says you’re more valuable than all the Macdonald gold.”
Gold? What the heck? Tara’s head began to spin.
“Luke,” she heard Brianna say. “Tara doesn’t know.”
Luke’s green eyes widened. “Ah, lass. I’m sorry.”
Tara slumped back down in her chair. It all made sense now. Seamus’s burly stature and shock of bright red hair, his fondness for green clothing, the charm all the MacDonalds had in such abundance. And now gold?
“The MacDonalds,” she began. “You’re all Leprechauns?”
“Braunachs,” Brianna corrected.
Tara let the information settled. “Braunachs? What’s a Braunach?”
Brianna nodded. “Their akin to Leprechauns, but bear very little physical resemblances.”
Tara through for a second. Yeah, she couldn’t see any of the tall and strong MacDonalds on a box of Lucky Charms. “But, how can Braunachs be so…?”
“Handsome,” Luke teased.
She laughed and shook her head, coming to her feet again. “No. I mean, they are. You are.” She waved one hand through the air, giving up the battle. “I must get back to Devlin. A Braunach?” The three of them nodded. “Braunachs.”
“Do call again, Tara,” Brianna said, walking her to the front door. “I enjoy the company.”
Tara absently smiled and nodded her agreement. She walked out onto the wide street bisecting the dell, ignoring the stares and slights she received from the people there. Her mind worked around the puzzle of Devlin’s trouble.
The whole Braunach thing made no real difference. So none of them were quite human, then? Maybe that helped to explain why Devlin was progressing so quickly in some areas but not so in others. Why the heck not? She’d given up any hope of rational thought when she’d accepted that she was now in the year 1814. To let this knowledge color her perceptions of Devlin and his family would make her no better than the narrow-minded shrews in the village. Devlin needed her, and it didn’t matter if he was different. Or “normal” for here and now.
She turned down the lane toward Seamus’s house and thought about Devlin. When she caught the child’s gaze now and then, clear and bright, it was as if there was something else inside of him. Something that held on to his soul with an iron grip. He was a Braunach. A small Braunach, but Tara knew little of the legend. Apparently they were tall and strong, but akin to Leprechauns. Were they mischievous? Not as much as she’d seen. They did all appear to be charming to a fault, though. She thought about Patrick again. Charming to a definite fault.
She was pleased with Devlin’s progress so far, as it exceeded anything in her experience before Patrick brought her here. But that was strange in itself. She needed to speak to Patrick. But that man had kept himself from her and his family for nearly a month now. Why?
Devlin looked for his father every night when Sean came back from the workshop alone. And though the little boy paid close attention to everything said at the table now, Tara didn’t miss that his keen gaze repeatedly settled on Patrick’s empty chair. As her own often did. Well, in her defense he was a big man to miss. He left a large space in his absence.
Devlin was troubled, yes. But Patrick had issues as well. His family loved him. That was clear. Seamus was a caring and wonderful patriarch. She didn’t know her own father, but she hoped he would’ve been half as loving as Patrick’s uncle was if he’d stuck around. And hadn’t she seen the MacDonalds generously shower Devlin with that same affection?
“I don’t know.” She turned away from the lane and gazed at the woods. Sun dappled and inviting, the needle-strewn path drew her. “I can’t go home right now.”
She flinched at the easy way she used the word “home” to describe Seamus’s cottage. She didn’t have a home. Not really. Not here in the dell. And certainly not back in Indianapolis. A chill tickled her belly even as a prick of heat stung her eyes. She sniffed, forcing her mind from thoughts of home. Any home.
The weather was warm and the day was bright. She’d walk into the lovely woods set not far from the edge of the dell and focus on nothing more than the clean scent of the trees and flowers.
***
>
Patrick stood at his workbench, staring out the window and seeing nothing but Tara before him. He’d heard from his uncle of her progress with Devlin. It amazed him still. The boy didn’t speak to anyone yet, true. But he nodded or shook his head in response to questions. Surely that was something! And it was all due to Tara’s own particular magic.
Both his uncle and his bloody brother spoke glowingly of Tara. Of her grace and spirit and heart. He didn’t need their endorsements. He’d known the moment he saw her at the Children’s Hospital that she had her own brand of magic. Her work with the children, her compassion, her skill. No, he didn’t need Sean’s besotted endorsements any more than he needed his uncle’s obvious disapproval of Patrick’s absence.
Keeping from the house made his days pass easier. His nights were a different matter, however. He couldn’t sleep without her crowding his dreams. After seeing her play with Devlin that day in the gardens, he went back to the house again and again to watch them in secret. His son was a miracle to him. How could one poor creature be so cursed by his mother and so loved by Tara?
Patrick hadn’t spoken to Devlin since bringing Tara here. Hell, he hadn’t really touched the boy except to ruffle his hair a few times since that night when he’d made his promise. But that promise had brought Tara here, someone to give Devlin the attention he wouldn’t and the affection he couldn’t.
He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel Tara’s attention, that warm regard, himself. To see Tara’s lovely eyes sparkling with passion, her body pressed tightly against his as they both found fulfillment.
In his dreams he relived that moment he’d held her in his arms. But instead of releasing her in embarrassment he kept her there, learning all the secrets of her eager body.
His skin suddenly felt hot and his clothes were too tight. He sucked in a breath and let it out in a rush. “Bloody fool!”
“What’s troublin’ you today, Patrick?” Sean looked at him, one brow arched. “As if I couldn’t guess.”
Patrick raked his fingers through his hair. “Don’t start with me, Sean.”
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