That was unfair though, Lacey scolded herself. After all, the girl had shared her food. She straightened her shoulders and resolved to be nice.
“I’m Lacey Ryan, from Minnesota. I guess you’re from around here.” Lacey looked around for a house or a plume of smoke or any signs of life, but there was nothing in view.
She frowned suddenly, remembering she had no idea where here was. The girl eyed her with that smug smile, but didn’t say a word. God, she hated to sound more stupid than necessary, but there was no help for it, that girl looked like she could keep her mouth shut for an eternity.
“Ah, you couldn’t tell me what the name of this lake is, could you? I sort of stumbled across it accidentally.” That was really lame, but it sounded marginally better than ‘Where the hell am I?’
The young woman stroked the goose slowly and its bright dark eyes stared unblinkingly at Lacey. “Aye, Lacey from Minnesota, this is Lough Gur and 'tis my home, for I am Aine. But you won’t find what you’re looking for here.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to snap out a disagreement, but she bit it back. Lacey decided to go with the flow, as always. ”Where can I find what I’m looking for, then?” She asked with forced sweetness.
With a laugh, the girl called Aine stood up and brushed bread crumbs from her long grey cloak. “Walk back past that track you came in on and around the lake that way,” she pointed, ‘until ye come to another, wider track. After a mile or so, I daresay you’ll find what you seek.”
Lacey stared at the girl, her hands on her hips. “Well, I can’t take my car that way, I’ll have to try and back out or something. I can’t just leave it here.”
Aine shrugged and stretched, grinning lazily. “You must be stronger than you look, then. To move a car with three flat tyres.”
With a gasp, Lacey whirled around. The sight was not pretty, three puddles of rubber sat beneath three dusty white hubcaps. What kind of Irish luck was this, anyway?
Maybe she was wrong and her Ryans weren’t Irish at all, but descendants of some awful pillaging English land baron and this was karma’s way of biting her ass. She turned slowly back to the goose girl, completely speechless.
The girl shook her short dark locks in what might have been sympathy in anyone else. “Tsk, tsk, Lacey from Minnesota, don’t look so glum. Help is right around the corner. Perhaps.” Aine murmured the last like an afterthought, though clearly intending Lacey to hear her.
Lacey stamped her foot in frustration. “This is unbelievable! “She fumed.
Aine was already picking her way down the lake shore, the bird gliding silently in the water beside her, but she glanced back over her shoulder, flashing that irritating smile. “Aye,” she agreed. “But life often is.”
Lacey glared after her, wanting to say something mouthy about trite Irish platitudes, but before she could think of anything, the girl Aine and her goose had vanished behind a copse of trees. Sighing huffily, Lacey turned on her heels and stamped over to her sickly-looking car, unable to resist giving it a kick and a curse after removing her carry-on, purse and jacket.
She trudged along the shore line until she found the road Aine had indicated. It was wider than she expected, but still more like a dimly lit green tunnel with dense growth on either side and stretching high overhead. Lacey gave one last, longing look at the lake, before stepping beneath those over-hanging branches. She looked up at the thick trees.
“Well, at least it’s not nighttime,” she muttered, repressing a cowardly shudder.
Aine moved quickly along the pebbly shore line, her lips curving in a secret smile. Being a goddess had it good points, and messing with humans was high on her personal top ten. Unfortunately, this whole situation was a tricky one. She had to be careful, very...
Aine jumped as a dark shadow spilled onto the ground in front of her, obscuring the lough. It was grotesquely misshapen and enormous, quickly growing larger than the trees. It had too many eyes and too few limbs and smelled like a dank cave. One red eye swiveled down to glare at Aine.
"What do you think you’re doing, little sister?" The voice issuing from the creature sounded like it came from a throat that ate fire and brimstone for breakfast. Aine waved an irritated hand and glanced over her shoulder, relived to see the small headland concealed her from Lacey's view.
"Damme, Aillen! Have a care, you fool!" Immediately, the shadowy form begin to shrink and take on far more normal proportions that it had previously. Finally an unremarkable man with smooth walnut hair and pale blue eyes stood in front of her. Unremarkable that is, except for the voice that issued from his thin lips, it was the same demonic growl that had addressed her before.
"Consorting with mine enemies? Sounds like you are the fool here, Aine!"
Her bird began to swim in agitated circles, stirring calm waters of the lough into masses of overlapping rings. The man gave it a glance, his expression one of disdain.
She ignored this and laughed, her blue eyes purposefully merry. Time to pull out all the stops.
Curtain up.
"Are you really so blind as all that? That woman is your best chance yet at eliminating Lugh's pet werewolf." Her tone dripped with unfeigned bitterness on the last words. The faoladh were her servants, hers! Even after all these years, it rankled that the sun-god had been able to play her little trick to his advantage. She could have done so much if Ronan Fitzpatrick had truly become hers…
Aillen was giving her an impatient look. "Make your point and be quick about it. My seers tell me the woman can break your curse, baby girl. You failed to mention that in your report."
He enjoyed watching her anger flare. Aine had been getting far too placid these last few centuries, rather like her damn lake.
"Did they tell you she can also break him?" Aine smiled grimly as her brother's face took on a considering look. "Oh yes, think on it with whatever brain cells you have left. It's a two-edged sword, is it not?"
Aillen winced at the mention of the word 'sword.' The only thing her brother feared in this world was the claíomh na gréine, Lugh’s sword. But her words did have appeal. He hadn't thought of that particular outcome. She was right, it could happen so easily. If they worked together…
Her smile widened at his calculating expression. "I'll monitor the situation, coax it along, perhaps. And when the moment is right... Aillen, consider the sweetness of having your foot on Ronan Fitzpatrick's throat, as his has been on yours all these years." She laughed again, the sound a light chilling trill.
"He might even beg."
Aillen's hands clenched at the tantalizing thought, his curiously sharp nails digging into his palms. Thick drops of blood began to dot the grass, withering the delicate green stalks where they fell to leave patches of smoking blackness.
"Fine. Play your games, sister mine. But if they don't work out...it's been a long time since I've tasted the blood of a sibling. And I've been told yours is especially sweet." His lips drew back as his form faded, giving her a glimpse of jagged, monstrous teeth. Like the Cheshire cat, that menacing grin was the last thing to vanish.
She let out her breath with a whoosh, sitting on the grass with her jaw on her knees as she watched the goose flap over to her, spraying her with water, its eyes dark and worried.
"Peace,” she murmured and stroked its head.
But if her brother found out the real game she was playing, Aine knew that peace was one thing she'd never, ever feel again.
The sun shining in the grove was welcome, if a little fierce, after the dusky light of the woods. Lacey blinked dazedly. Children were racing around a wide green lawn, banked by enormous flower beds. In the distance she could make out a low, sprawling house, sparkling white in the sunshine. The children were shouting to each other, but Lacey intent on the house, didn't notice when a large ball zoomed toward her knees.
"Oh!" she exclaimed once, before something small slammed into her mid-section, taking her breath and knocking both her and her pint-sized assailant to the ground. Lacey
had barely time to shake her ringing head before a grimy hand was shoved in her face. She followed it to a sheepish-looking and also grimy face, framed by an explosion of bright curls.
"I be sorry, miss!" The little boy waved his hand at her impatiently. "Can't ye get up now?" She got the point belatedly and grasped his hand. He was more help than she'd have figured, a strong little boy, and that was good, considering how exhausted she was. It was a real effort to maintain her feet, once she'd gotten back on them.
"Colin James Fitzpatrick!" A lovely deep voice boomed across the yard, but the man's face that went with it looked more exasperated than angry. "Will ye ever watch where yer going, lad?"
"Aye, Uncle Daire," the boy said solemnly watching the man drew nearer. "Maybe when I'm old as you!" Then he dashed away with a laugh as his uncle made a half-hearted swat at his behind that caught nothing but air.
The man was shaking his head, but smiling as he approached Lacey. "I'm sorry, lass, but it's the first fine day we've had in a fortnight and I'm afraid the children are a bit wild with the sun." Now that he was near enough to see her swaying, his eyebrows drew together in alarm. "Gods, the little imp didna really hurt ye, did he?"
Lacey knew she must look a sight; what after an icy-cold midnight nap on the hood of a car, a hike through the woods, being half-starved, jet lagged, lost and just plowed over by five-year-old tornado, and she wanted to assure him his nephew had done the least of the damage, but was struck speechless for the second time that morning.
Lacey had been around many different kinds of men, and in her career, many very, very handsome men. Not once had she lost the ability to talk around any of them. But this man was, in a word... magnificent. Tall, thick brown hair, eyes that would put sapphires to shame and features that danced that delicious line between pretty boy and rugged tough guy. He could out-gorgeous Brad Pitt, hands down. It was too much to deal with on top of everything else. She swayed slightly.
He took this in, the concern evident on his handsome face. "Well, then, let's get ye up to the house."
And without another word, he swept her into his arms and began to walk up the low hill to the house Lacey had glimpsed. He glanced down at her and smiled at the way her eyes had widened.
"Don't take offense, lass, but you look mighty peaked and if ye fainted on the way to the house, me mam wouldna let me hear the end of it. Besides, ya don't weigh more than a dandelion clock, won't even work me up an honest sweat." She couldn't help but smile at his sunny good cheer, and felt less ridiculous than she would have supposed. Until the children came rushing around them, pelting the man with question after question.
"Oy, Unc Daire, did she faint?"
"No, Colin killed her! Didna he, Uncle?”
"Bet Da will kill him, this time."
"Will ye have to kiss her to wake her up, Uncle Daire? I think you should try it." This last was spoken in a very bossy tone by a girl in honey-colored braids that tried to press her face right into Lacey's.
"I am not asleep." Lacey mumbled warningly against Daire's shoulder and felt the rumble of his laugh.
“So, ye have a voice, I see." He said quietly, before barking at the children. "Mind yourself, Chloe. And away with all of ye, noisy heathens! Worship the sun god while ye may and leave us grown folks some peace."
The children laughed at his bluster, but scattered obediently. Lacey peaked over his arm and tried to make a count of them, but it was like counting a flock of hummingbirds on the wing, they were too quick, and bright and many.
By the time she turned back, Daire was climbing a wide, shallow set of handsome stone stairs set into the hillside. He ducked through a pair of out flung wooden doors carved lavishly in some fantastic design, though they flashed by too fast for Lacey to get more than a glimpse of a lake that looked remarkably like Lough Gur and some rather scary-looking forest animals.
"Mam!" Daire called in a voice that rang out ahead of them through rooms that zipped by leaving Lacey with a vague impression of light and wood and flowers. A tall, graceful woman with graying red hair finally peeked out of what appeared to be a kitchen, At least, from the smells that wafted out of it, Lacey dearly hoped it was a kitchen.
From the exasperated look on the woman's lined, but still beautiful face, she'd been about to tell her son off for shouting at her, but she caught sight of Lacey and her mouth closed with a snap. Her mouth made a little 'o', but for a long moment nothing came out of it.
Then she made up for lost time.
"Oh. Oh, oh! Daire, what happened to the poor wee thing?"
Lacey wasn't entirely sure how she felt about being referred to as a 'poor, wee thing', but as the woman had such an air of sweet compassion about her, and was probably going to feed her, she decided not to dwell on it.
Daire carried her into the bright room that boasted a deep window seat on the right and an old sturdy oak table and chairs on the left, beyond which was a sliding glass door that seemed to lead out into a backyard garden. Directly in front of her was the stove, sink and other appliances, before which the woman stood, her hands twisting in her checked apron as she looked at Lacey.
She seemed almost nervous... or maybe it was just excitement at having a visitor.
"Well, other than young Colin's spectacular catch that ploughed her back a good two feet and planted them both on their ar.... Ah well," he continued sheepishly, looking--under his mother's narrowed gaze--remarkably like his nephew Colin, "well, other than that, Mam, I couldna say. She's barely strung two words together and she looked as if she was gonna pitch it in, so I brought her to you right smart."
"Four." Lacey straightened in Daire's arms, thinking it was about time he put her down now, but not sure how to politely address the situation.
Daire and his mother exchanged a bemused glance, then turned to her with such similar looks of anxiety that she had to suppress a laugh. These people were just so damn sweet. Maybe her luck was turning. "I think I actually managed to string four words together," she clarified. "It wasn't easy."
She gave Daire and all his gorgeousness a pointed look.
His mother laughed delightedly, and cast a knowingly proud look at her son.
"Ah, she's alright, lad. Just dead tired, if I were to judge. I'm called Moiré, lassie. Well, set her down, Daire! Nay, not way over there, she looks ready to float away. Come here to the table and we'll have her story."
Daire, shaking his head, was about to comply, when a shadow darkened the glass door and it slid open, another man's voice calling out.
It was very similar to the rich tones of Daire's voice, but somehow deeper and sharper both, with a rumbling timbre that had Lacey restraining a shiver.
"Gods, what's the fuss? The children ran out to the field and were mobbing me and Michael, screaming about Colin killing some American girl ...."
What, do I have red, white and blue tattooed on my forehead, Lacey thought exasperatedly, before Daire shifted his feet and she saw the speaker.
He blotted out the doorway. Obviously related to her rescuer, with all his good looks-but a much darker edge. Black hair instead of brown, unruly and a bit long. Dark gray eyes instead of the warm blue. Wider shoulders, a crueler mouth. And where Daire was merely large, this man was huge. Not to mention there was something intimidating about him that went beyond even his size. He looked dangerous… almost wild.
Lacey felt a warm flutter around her lower belly. Daire might make a woman temporarily lose the power to speak, but this was the kind of man who made a woman forget to breathe.
She immediately was caught by those smoky eyes. Their gazes locked and she saw the most remarkable change come over those eyes. Once second they were open, warm and compelling, the next they started to freeze in unmistakable hatred so viciously cold she gasped and instinctively ducked her head against Daire.
Daire's mother said something sharply in Gaelic, whereby a torrent in the same language flowed from the gray-eyed man.
There seemed to be a decisive argument goin
g on, but Lacey was too shaken to try and pay attention, even if she had been able to understand. Her guide book hadn’t covered Gaelic like this.
What the hell had that been? Nobody had ever looked at her like that in her entire life. Why should they? She wasn’t the type people hated on sight. And crazily enough she was sure that was what had been in his look---pure hatred that felt like he had reached into her chest and wrapped icy fingers around her heart.
This trip was headed back to weird with a vengeance.
Suddenly, someone was speaking English again and she chanced a look. The huge gray-eyed man had vanished and Daire's mother looked strained, but determined to act as if nothing had happened.
"C'mon, lad, put her down here and let me get some tea on and we'll have a cuppa and a proper talk with our young lass."
Finally, Lacey found herself deposited on her own two feet, only to find them promptly crumbling under her. Thankfully, it was only a short fall onto a stout wooden chair. Daire's mom had began bustling around the stove and missed Lacey's trepidious look around the kitchen.
Daire did not.
He stared at her a moment, seemingly conflicted. Then he forced a half-smile.
"My brother, Ronan," he said apologetically. "He's a bit... private, doesn't care for strangers. But dontcha worry on it. I'll just go and have a word."
Daire left the kitchen so abruptly, Lacey hadn't time to blink. She was still staring after him when his mother set the tea things down in front of her with a clatter. Lacey jumped.
The woman tsked and leaned over to pat Lacey's hand before sitting down across from her.
“Ah, lass, do nae look so nervous, we Fitzpatricks is an odd lot, I'll warrant you. But all of us as resides here are a good uns. Some just take more... warming up than others."
Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS) Page 3
