Rogue on the Rollaway

by MacLeod, Shannon

  She went to the laundry room and returned with the worn and battered sporran. “If this is what you’re referring to, it was empty,” she informed him, handing over the soft leather pouch.

  “Ah, but things aren’t always as they appear to be,” he teased, his deep blue eyes dancing with delight. “Were ye to look as my gaolers did, ye’d think it empty and worthless.” He held it open, turned the pouch upside down and shook it with a theatrical flourish. When nothing fell out, he smiled and closed it again. “But if I were to say I need coin to pay this kind lady for bed and board–”

  “And clothing.” Colleen giggled, anticipating a magic trick.

  “And clothing,” he amended, lifting the flap and sticking his hand inside, “I would reach inside the bag and pull out…” His hand emerged from the bag with a fistful of shiny gold coins, spreading them out before her on the table.

  Her mouth formed in a silent oh. “Are those…gold? Real gold?” She picked one up and turned it over. It was heavier than it looked, maybe a full ounce or two. She raised it up to eye level to study more closely; if there had been a stamp on it at one time, it had worn away to almost nothing.

  Faolan grinned. “Of course they’re real. There should be enough there to buy aught which ye require.”

  She stared at the gold silently for a long moment then raised a worried gaze to him. “I need for you to tell me who you are, where you came from, and what I’m supposed to do with you now that you’re here,” she said, her voice quavering. “And I need for you to do it now–no bullshit. That bag was empty, sport.”

  He blew out a gusty sigh. “My name is Faolan MacIntyre,” he began. “I was born in the year 1216…”

  Colleen slammed her hands down on the table. “I said no bullshit.”

  “And I’m giving ye none,” he snapped, slamming his own large hands down. “’Tis truth. Now do ye want the whole of it, or will ye continue to interrupt?”

  She jumped at the sharp noise and nodded once. “I’ll be quiet,” she assured him in a tiny voice. He swallowed hard and she responded immediately by jumping up and fetching him a glass of ice water from the refrigerator.

  He drained the glass in one swallow. Taking the glass from him, she refilled it then settled back into her chair. “Thank ye,” he said, his tone cordial again. “As I was sayin’, I was born the youngest of six in a small village a day and a half ride south of Inverness. I was sent to foster with my father’s clan near Edinburgh when I was old enough to learn to fight.”

  Colleen leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. “How old was that?” she asked, getting caught up in his story.

  “Hard to remember, mayhap six, seven. My brother Sawney was already there.” Faolan said. “My mother–Beatrix was her name–insisted we be taught our letters as well. I learned…other skills…later on.” He paused to take another long drink of water and gave a low chuckle. “I had a normal boyhood, I reckon. Lifting cattle, warring with neighboring clans. In time, I was placed in charge of our clan’s garrison, training the men and leading them when the need arose.”

  Colleen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Beatrix is a pretty name, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sawney before.”

  “It’s a nickname, ye might say. Short for Alexander.” He paused for another drink before continuing. “I married when I was but a lad of seventeen. Our union had been arranged, of course, but she was a pretty enough lass. We got on well together for being all but strangers when we wed and over time we grew to love each other. Had three bairns by the time I was twenty four, with another on the way.”

  He fell silent and a shadow passed over his face. “In the early autumn I lost my wife and unborn daughter in childbirth, two of my sons the following winter to fever. My oldest lad Walter had already been sent to foster. I was devastated, my whole family gone in the space of a few months. I left my home and for years sold my sword to any willing to pay my price. On the eve of my birthday, I found myself alone in a tavern in Eire. I saw the most beautiful woman…I was drunk, ye see, and she made certain to catch my eye.”

  His eyes were unfocused as they stared across the centuries. “She lured me to a field, and we…passed the night together. After that, she followed me from village to village until I grew angry and told her I had no use for a wife.” He sighed again. “’Twas then I found out she was no woman at all, but one of the sidhe, the Tuatha De Danann. Hell hath no fury like a scorned fae,” he laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “She placed an enchantment upon me.”

  Colleen sat up. “Fairies? You were enchanted…by fairies?” She shook her head in disbelief and laughed. “Are you on medication for this?” When she saw the raw hurt from her ill-timed laughter flicker in his eyes, she was immediately ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled. “Please…go on.”

  “Her name was Aobhnait,” Faolan said, his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. “She told me if I couldna find love with her, I’d find it with no one. What ye carry around yer neck, Princess, is nothing less than a piece of my immortal soul. In the attempt to bind me to her, she stole it from me while I slept and imprisoned it within that stone. Without it, I canna die. I’ve lived for hundreds of years, and watched everyone I ever cared about grow old and die. I canna even remember the faces of my wife and children.” His face contorted in anger. “She took everything from me to force me to return to her, and I refused. So now I am bound to the necklace, and therefore to ye, Princess.” He lifted his glass in toast. “It’s been missing for more years than I can recall. Truly, I thought never to see it again. How did yer grandmother come to have it in her possession?”

  “I have no idea,” Colleen confessed. “She passed away six months ago, and asked that it be sent to me.” She watched her own hand in amazement as it reached out and gripped his larger one all by itself. “How can the curse be broken?”

  His lips pressed together in a firm line, his face grew shuttered. Abruptly he pulled his hand away, pushed back from the table and stood. “The hour is late and I grow weary. Where may I take my rest?”

  “Uh…yes,” Colleen said, rising in response. Waving for him to follow her, she led him across the living room and into the guest bedroom. “In here,” she called. Tugging the louver closet doors open, she dragged out the folded rollaway she used for company–or would have, if she had ever had company. Her hands flew as she made up the makeshift bed with floral cotton sheets and a down comforter. “It’s not fancy, but it will give you some privacy until we can figure out what to do with you,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  Faolan stood in the doorway behind her and glanced around, his gaze landing on the narrow cot. He sighed. “And here’s me thinkin’ I’d be sharing that grand, inviting bed with ye.”

  She whirled to face him, and he treated her to a devilish wink and grin.

  “Out of the question,” she replied tartly. “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t appreciate that.”

  Faolan tsked at her. “There’s no man living here with ye, Princess,” he said, his voice gently reproving. When she opened her mouth to protest, he gestured to the front door. “There are five locks on yer door and ye carry a club. Had ye a man, ye’d have no need of such protection. A woman as beautiful as ye alone. The men of yer time must be clot heided fools.” He pressed his hand down on the rollaway to test the softness. “This will do me just fine, Colleen O’Brien.”

  She shivered at the way her name rolled off his tongue. Offering him a shy smile she said, “There are more blankets in the closet if you get cold.”

  Faolan bowed graciously. “Thank ye, milady, and I bid ye a good night.”

  “And just help yourself if you get thirsty; there are glasses in the cabinet right next to the fridge, and there’s water and ice in the door dispenser. Do you remember how it works?”

  “Aye. Yer very kind, thank ye.”

  Nervously twisting a strand of hair, Colleen knew inane babbling was imminent but to her complete m
ortification was powerless to stop it. She pointed to the wall switch and said, “You turn the lights on and off here and if you can’t sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room…” her voice broke off. “Wait. Can you read?”

  His chin took a slight tilt upward. “Aye,” Faolan replied, his voice cool, “in English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady’s ears. I can also count all the way up to…” He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, “…twenty.”

  Colleen was mortified at speaking her thoughts aloud. From his tone, she suspected that he may have been a teensy bit offended by the unkind assumption. Her heart sank again at her unintentional rudeness. “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  The twinkle in his eyes told her he was teasing. “Doona fash yerself; ’twas a fair enough question. I’ll be fine, Princess,” he smiled, giving her a charming tilt of his head. “I have to say, yer taking my arrival more calmly than most lasses. In all the times I’ve been summoned, I think this was the first time I’ve landed on my…backside.” He grimaced and rubbed his butt. “Made a hell of a mess of yer table, too. I’m sorry for that.”

  She watched his hand with something akin to envy as it massaged that perfect, muscled…stop it… “Don’t worry about it. I hated that table,” she assured him between clenched teeth, “but it’ll be back by morning anyway.”

  Faolan’s dark eyebrows flew up in surprise then dropped into a frown of unmasked suspicion. “And how will that come to pass, mistress? Have ye magic of yer own, then?”

  She beamed, waving a hand nonchalantly. “I’m dreaming, of course. And in the morning when I get up, I’m going to write all this down so I can remember it. This is one of the best dreams I’ve ever had. Just call me Alice and you’re my white rabbit,” she said, ending with a high pitched giggle.

  His look clearly said he questioned her sanity. “Ye said yer name was Colleen,” he reminded her, “and I wouldna have thought I resembled a rabbit at all, much less a white one.”

  “My name is Colleen,” she laughed. “Alice is a character from a book by…” she paused, then waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re just a dream.”

  “I’m no dream, Colleen,” Faolan said. Like a stalking animal, he closed the distance between them with fluid, purposeful grace. She took one step backward then another and another until the wall against her back prevented further retreat. He braced his hands against the wall palm down on either side of her, fencing her in with his body. His darkening eyes locked on hers, he whispered, “Ye called to me and I answered, lady. I’m here to fulfill yer slightest whim, give ye yer heart’s desires, satisfy yer…” His gaze dropped to her mouth, “…every need. Ye need only tell me what ye wish of me.”

  Her face flaming bright red, she ducked under his arm. “Good to know, thanks. Okay, then…umm…good night.” Giving him a quick smile she backed out of the room fast enough to leave skid marks on the carpet, fumbling for the knob and slamming the door closed behind her.

  * * * *

  “Going to ground like a frightened cony,” Faolan whispered with a grin, “but it’ll do ye nae good, my lass.” He stretched out on the padded cot just barely big enough to accommodate his bulk. Crossing his long legs at the ankles, he laid his head down, luxuriating in the softness of the sweet smelling down pillow. With one dangling hand, he felt around on the floor under the makeshift bed until he found his boots. She had cleaned them, he noted. Feeling around a little more, his hand came to rest on the empty sporran, which–heaven be praised–Colleen didn’t notice had followed him to his room all by its wee self. Lifting it to his lips he whispered, “My sgian dubh, if ye please.” He reached inside, pulled out the razor sharp knife tucked safely away in its leather sheath and slipped it under his pillow.

  With another softly spoken word, the bedroom lights were extinguished. He sighed with utter contentment and smiled into the darkness, pulling the sheet and blanket up over him. He was thankful this new owner of the amulet was a comely lass. The last had been Elizabeth, a vain, older woman who was as bitter within as without. His service to her did not extend to her chambers, a fact for which he had fallen to his knees daily and given thanks to any gods who would listen.

  Before her, there was the French madam Claudette, owner of the most prosperous whorehouse in Paris, frequented by nobility and gentry alike. He ran the games for her–cards, dice–whatever the vice du jour, occasionally pressing him into serving as a determent for drunken or abusive guests. She was a good woman, he remembered, fair with her girls and possessed of a sparkling wit. He had truly been sorry when she died, for he had grown fond of her over the years. It also meant having to leave again to wander aimlessly until summoned by the next owner lest his secret be discovered.

  It was a meager existence to be sure, and one so lonely that many nights he deliberately put himself in harm’s way hoping to end his torment. No matter where he traveled or who he served, the fact was inescapable. The amulet had to fall into the hands of a woman who would fall in love with him if he had any hope of breaking his enchantment. So much in love, in fact, that she’d be willing to give him the amulet to lift the curse. A noble thought, that, but within seconds of presenting him with the gift, the poor woman’s soul would take the place of his in the stone. Wishing the jealous faery straight to lowest hell for the millionth time, he turned over and punched the pillow, resolving to put her from his mind before sleep claimed him.

  Now here was a real woman, he smiled, reliving the evening. Colleen O’Brien. He liked the way her name sounded on his tongue. Eyes the color of spring grass, soft hair he ached to put his hands in, and a mouth so lush and full he hardened at the mere thought of tasting her sweetness. He had watched her move about her chambers. Aye, more closely than she may have realized. The fragrance of wild roses clung to her skin, trailing behind her when she walked, reminded him of balmy summer nights in Alba. The gentle curve of her waist just begged for his hands to encircle it. Her breasts, while not overlarge would fit comfortably in his hands and he allowed himself to wonder what else might fit as well.

  A sudden frown creased his brow when he realized how truthfully he had spoken when she asked him where he came from. She was no simple wench to be fobbed off with flimsy explanations, he reassured himself and smiled again, remembering her reaction to his words. On medication, she had said. He shook his head at the confusing words, and reminded himself to ask her what that meant on the morrow.

  Faolan yawned. Closing his eyes, he fell into an exhausted sleep so quickly he almost missed the silky voice that teased the outer recesses of his conscious mind. “Mayhap she’ll be the one to break your curse,” Aobhnait whispered. “Or mayhap not.”

  * * * *

  Colleen stared at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. So this was what crazy looked like, she marveled. Giving the bedroom doorknob an experimental wiggle as she passed to make sure it was locked, she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. The necklace she removed and placed on her dresser, but not before she stared into the large center stone again, searching for the movement she thought she had imagined before.

  Shrugging out of her robe and laying it down neatly near the foot, Colleen stretched and yawned. She flung back the covers and crawled into the huge king sized bed she insisted on keeping after the divorce. Her head barely touched the pillow before she was up again to check the bedroom door one last time. After pondering the flimsiness of the locked door for a moment, she dragged a chair against it as an added precaution.

  With the fervent vow she wasn’t getting up again unless something important was on fire, Colleen got back into bed. Giving the handle of the baseball bat a reassuring pat, she turned off the bedside lamp and burrowed under the covers. It was only a moment before she reached out and turned the other unused pillow sideways. With a sigh of resignation, she slid over to nestle up against it and fell as
leep feeling only slightly a little less alone than the night before.

  3

  Early morning sunlight streamed into Colleen’s bedroom. She yawned and stretched when the long rays reached her face. Throwing back the covers, she slipped into her robe and stumbled to the bathroom, casting an uncertain glance at the chair propped against the bedroom door. She deliberated about that for a moment. Weird dream, she remembered with a flush of embarrassment.

  She was still musing about it when she replaced the chair a few minutes later. Blinking like an owl, she reached for the door handle, sniffing the coffee aroma free air in dismay when it swung silently open. Didn’t set it up last night, she berated herself, shoulders drooping in disappointment. When she rounded the corner of the living room all thoughts of coffee fled and she let loose a blood curdling scream at the sight before her.

  Faolan sat crossed legged in the middle of the floor, his long hair hiding his face as he poured over one of her college history books. The second her scream hit the air, he was on his feet and crouched in a battle stance ready to face the oncoming attack. They stared at each other for a long moment before Faolan relaxed. “Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that.” He exhaled. “Creeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I’m jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat’s.”

  “I wasn’t creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I’ll creep anywhere I like,” she muttered with a petulant scowl. “But I wasn’t creeping.”

  “Sheath yer claws, puss. Let’s begin again,” he said, giving her a polite bow. “Madainn mhath. Good morrow, Colleen.” He smiled brightly, awaiting her response.

  “Good morning, Faolan,” she sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I really need some coffee now. I thought I dreamt you.” Focusing all of her concentration on reaching the coffee pot without screaming again, she stepped over the books scattered on the floor and skirted past the strange man wreaking havoc on her mental wellbeing.