The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 1-4)

by Tricia O'Malley

  Patrick threw up his hands. "I've had it with moody women today," he shouted through the door.

  "I heard that!" Cait called to him and Patrick winced.

  Chapter 10

  "Why don't we call it a day?" Aislinn said a little while later.

  "But, we still have another two hours…" Morgan protested.

  "I know. I'd like to get some painting done, though, and I think that you could use the break. You know, Fiona mentioned needing some help with a few tonics that she was making," Aislinn said, keeping her eyes trained on the prints that she was stacking by the window.

  "You too?" Morgan asked. What was with everyone pushing her to go see Fiona?

  "It's a nice day for a drive," Aislinn said easily.

  "I can't just drive up there and surprise her," Morgan protested, feeling like her last excuse for hiding from Fiona was slipping away.

  "Sure and you don't think that you can actually surprise Fiona, do you? That woman knows everything," Aislinn grumbled.

  Morgan threw up her hands, frustrated with everything today, and snagged her purse. "Fine, I'll go see Fiona. Happy?"

  "Sure and she'll love the help," Aislinn sang after her and Morgan rolled her eyes as she stepped into the courtyard. Her rusty old van was parked by the fence. The door groaned when she opened it, stepping up to situate herself on the cracked leather seat. A rosary hung around the rearview mirror, though why Morgan kept it there after what the nuns had done to her was beyond her. She supposed there was a small part of her that still believed in some sort of otherworldly presence…be it the Catholic God or not. Some nights, when things had been really tough, she would take the rosary down and run the smooth wood beads between her fingers while she tried to sleep in the back of the van and pretend like everything was going to work out just fine.

  She supposed it had worked out so far.

  Something in the engine squealed its protest as Morgan started the van and she waited a few minutes until the motor chugged to life. She knew that she should probably look at more reliable transportation, but this van had been the first home she could call her own and Morgan was reluctant to part with it.

  The day played through her mind as her van lumbered down the road leading out of the village and along the cliffs that jutted so proudly from the sea. Aislinn was right, it was a beautiful day for a drive. The warm light from the sun kissed the jagged edges of the cliffs and the sea gleamed a bright turquoise that begged for people to swim in it.

  Morgan had learned long ago not to be fooled by the whimsy of the water. It was still too early in the season for a true swim, though she loved watching tourists squeal in shock when they jumped in this time of year.

  She nibbled at her bottom lip as the events of the day caught up with her. After a session with Baird, she always felt a little emotionally depleted, as though a wound that was healing kept reopening. Though Morgan knew it was part of the process, it often left her on edge for the rest of the day. The situation with Patrick had just topped off the emotional upheaval that she could handle for the day.

  So what was she doing driving out to see Fiona? Morgan shook her head at herself. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.

  Or maybe she just had nowhere else to turn.

  A weathered sign tucked in a low stone wall indicated the turn for Fiona's lane and Morgan took it, bumping slowly up a gravel road as she approached a pretty gray cottage. Cheerful flowers were tucked in window boxes even though it was a bit early in the spring for them. It spoke of home and welcoming.

  Her eyes trained on the cottage, Morgan turned off the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition, tucking it in her sun visor. She stared at the front door as she got out of the van and stood there, not knowing what to do. On a sigh, Morgan turned and for the first time, she saw the view.

  It was like a punch to the gut. So raw, so stunning, that Morgan could understand the need for isolation. And yet, she'd never be lonely here. There was so much to see. Acres of green meadows rolled away from the cottage before falling off the edge of steep cliffs that thrust arrogantly into the sky. It was as though she stood at the edge of the world, and anything and everything was possible.

  Mist clouded her eyes and Morgan pinched herself, surprised to find that tears were welling up. A bark startled her and she turned as sixty pounds of fur and slobber bounded around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her feet.

  "Oh, aren't you just a darling?" Morgan choked out, swiping the backs of her hands against her eyes. Helpless not to, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the dog. When he stayed still and turned to lick her face, something cracked inside Morgan.

  Tears poured from her as she pressed her face into his soft fur, hugging the dog as though her life depended on it. Morgan didn't know what she was crying for. It was as though everything had come to a head in her life, both good and bad, and she had no idea how to handle people's expectations of her. Or even her own expectations of her. A part of Morgan was tempted to hop in her van and move on, living the life of a transient, never having to form bonds or deal with messy emotional entanglements.

  "Thanks, buddy," Morgan whispered to the dog as he continued to swipe his rough tongue across her cheeks, cleaning her tears.

  "Ronan's a good shoulder to cry on."

  Morgan's shoulders tensed at the voice and, straightening, she turned to see Fiona leaning against the cottage. The old woman wore an oversized men's button-down shirt, work pants, and had a straw hat on her head with a cheerful flower tucked in the brim.

  "Perhaps I should get a dog then," Morgan said stiffly and stroked Ronan's soft ears.

  "Perhaps you should," Fiona agreed, "though that would require you to form an attachment, you know."

  Morgan rolled her eyes at Fiona and sighed.

  "Sorry to bother you, Fiona; Aislinn suggested that you might need help with some tonics so I drove out here."

  "Is that why? Hmm," Fiona said, her warm eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile.

  Morgan shrugged, feeling helplessly uncomfortable and not sure how to proceed.

  "Well, come along then, I've got some bread just out of the oven for you and a nice stew."

  So, Aislinn was right. The old woman did know everything.

  "Can Ronan come inside?"

  Fiona laughed and opened the door; Ronan raced inside and did several circles in the corner before he settled onto a pile of blankets with a bone.

  "He's been a lovely companion for me," Fiona murmured as she stepped inside, motioning for Morgan to follow.

  The cottage was essentially one large room, with two doors off of it leading to what Morgan presumed were bedrooms. It was larger inside than she had originally taken it for. The piece de resistance was a long wood farm table that dominated the middle of the room; it seemed to beckon to her to come sit. Long shelves lined the walls behind it and were cluttered with every size bottle imaginable, all labeled in a delicate script. Tall windows lined the wall to her left, leaving an uninterrupted view of the sea. To her right, a little alcove jutted off where a wood-burning stove and a few chairs were tucked. A few books were stacked next to the chair and Morgan imagined it made for a cozy reading nook.

  "Tea? Whiskey?" Fiona asked, turning from the counter where she was slicing a loaf of brown bread. Steam rose from the bread and Morgan's mouth watered. There was nothing quite like a fresh loaf of Irish brown bread, she thought.

  "Tea, please, though the whiskey is tempting," Morgan admitted.

  "Tea it is, then. Go ahead, have a seat," Fiona instructed and Morgan moved to the long table and sat, looking at the pile of herbs and twine that covered the table.

  "What are you making?"

  "Ah, just drying some herbs for some creams. I've yet to get started on my tonics. Most likely I'll be doing those by moonlight."

  "Why?" Morgan asked, looking up at Fiona.

  "A touch of magick, of course," Fiona said with a smile and placed an earthenware bowl of stew in fro
nt of Morgan along with a napkin-lined basket of brown bread. She followed it up with a crock of butter and a sparkling glass of iced tea. Morgan was in heaven.

  "Go on, eat. I don't have enough people enjoying my cooking these days," Fiona ordered and Morgan did as she was told, grateful for a reprieve in the conversation. She wasn't going to touch Fiona's comment about magick with a ten-foot pole, she thought. Fiona chuckled from across the room and Morgan raised an eyebrow at her.

  The old woman moved with a grace that belied her years as she poured herself a dash of Irish and then brought her own bowl of stew to the table. Easing herself into her seat, she eyed Morgan across the table.

  "Rough day?"

  Morgan was surprised to find that she could smile at that. Perhaps her cry on Ronan had done some good for her after all.

  "Rough life, more like it," Morgan muttered.

  "Not as much anymore though; it seems like things are on the up and up for you," Fiona observed.

  Morgan shrugged her shoulder and nodded, unsure of how much she wanted to say or what she wanted to reveal.

  "Morgan, I owe you an apology," Fiona said.

  The piece of bread that Morgan was holding dropped from her fingers into her soup and she stared at Fiona in confusion.

  "Whatever for?"

  "I…well, I do my best to find others like us across Ireland. Somehow you slipped past me. If I had known, I would have come for you. I would have taken you in, taught you about your powers. It's my fault that you went through what you did," Fiona said, her lips pressed into a tight line, her heart in her eyes.

  "Oh...oh God," Morgan breathed, pressing the backs of her hands to her eyes as tears filled them again. "It's not your fault, Fiona. It's not anyone's fault really. Sometimes things just happen."

  But it felt good. Knowing that someone would have taken her in. Maybe that would be enough for her, Morgan thought as warmth spread through her.

  "It's not my fault that you were abused by those awful nuns, or that you bounced from home to home, but it most certainly is my fault for not finding you. I pride myself at being more knowledgeable than that. It must be because I heard nothing of your mother. Not a word. I still know nothing. Do you know anything?" Fiona asked carefully, her eyes trained on Morgan's.

  Morgan sat back and wiped her eyes again, forcing her breath to calm.

  "I don't. Not really. Mary McKenzie was her name, so I've kept that last name. They don't even know if she died or not to be honest. I was…I was found wrapped in blankets in a cardboard box on the steps of the Friary. She…she didn't even put me in a basket or anything." Morgan's voice stuttered a bit and she took a deep breath and continued. "A note was pinned to me that had my name on it and that she was giving up all rights to me. She signed it and everything. They never found her or any of my family. I don’t even know if McKenzie is my real name."

  "That may be it," Fiona said, pointing a finger at Morgan. "In fact…I wonder…" Her voice trailed off as she studied Morgan.

  Feeling raw, and not caring, Morgan dipped into Fiona's mind to see what she was wondering. She jerked when she realized she was blocked. Heat crept up her cheeks in embarrassment.

  "Yes, I learned to shield myself a long time ago, dear," Fiona said, dismissing Morgan's attempt to read her mind. She looked lost in thought for a moment and then seeming to come to a decision, she smiled at her.

  "Knowing what I do now, I suspect that I may know or be able to find your mother…or at least what happened to her," Fiona said gently.

  Time slowed for a second and Morgan could feel her heart beating in her chest as Fiona's words washed through her.

  "I could find your mother."

  Chapter 11

  The thought of finding her mother was so incomprehensible to Morgan that she didn't even know what to say. It simply had never occurred to her to try and do so. She'd operated on the assumption that her mother was dead or long gone. It wasn't like she'd ever tried to check on her or see if she needed anything.

  "I think that ship has sailed," Morgan said softly.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because if she was alive and had wanted to find me, well, she could have. It's obvious that she wanted nothing to do with me, so why bother hunting her down?" Anger and accusation laced her words and Morgan struggled to tamp down the deeply buried anger that she held.

  "Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps something prevented her from finding you. Or maybe she knew that you were better off without her."

  "Better off? Being shuttled from home to home? Being abused by the nuns? Running away at sixteen because it was so awful? How in the hell is that better?" Morgan shoved back from the table, standing to pace as she raged at Fiona. "Don't speak of what you don't understand, old woman."

  Fiona rose herself and the kindness in her eyes almost broke Morgan.

  "I know what it is to be a mother. Something of which you have no idea. And I know that sometimes you have to make choices in the best interests of your child. She might have thought that she was doing the best by you."

  "She knew! She knew that I would have a power. She knew that they would consider me a freak. She knew it and she left me. She just left me…" Morgan's voice trailed off as tears overtook her and the walls of the cabin closed in around her. Turning, she pushed towards the door and stumbled outside, blinded by her rage. Rounding the corner of the cottage, she stumbled to her knees before curling in a ball, her back against the warm stones of the cottage, as she buried her face in her knees.

  Finding her mother? How could Aislinn have sent her here to open this wound? Her anger reached out and encompassed Aislinn, Baird…the whole town. It had been stupid of her to come here. Stupid of her to dig all of this up. She'd learned long ago that to be a survivor meant putting her walls up and never showing her emotions.

  She jumped as a tongue lapped her arm. Peeking out of her arms, she saw Ronan, his tail wagging, his nose inches from her face. He nuzzled into her, forcing her to raise her arm so he could push his nose into her face and lick her tears. Beside herself, and feeling emotionally raw, Morgan sighed and wrapped her arms around Ronan.

  A movement to her left caught her eye and Fiona eased herself down onto the grass next to her, leaning against the wall.

  "I'm sorry, Morgan. I can't speak for your mother or make assumptions on her behalf," Fiona said quietly.

  "I…I’m sorry for yelling at you."

  "It's okay. I suspect that you have a few years' worth of anger in there to get out. I'll just say it straight out…you were treated unfairly. But, just because you were dealt a raw deal doesn't mean you need to move forward in anger. Forever untrusting of others, never forming bonds. I want to help you. In fact, I promise to help you. No matter how many times you yell at me, no matter how mean you are to me, you won't be able to push me away. That's a promise that I make to you, here and now. Someone needs to stand for you. I wasn't able to before, but I'll be that person for you now."

  Fiona's words flowed over her, soothing her soul, tamping down the fiery rage that filled her gut. Morgan brought her hands to her face as she all out sobbed, the tears falling down her cheeks and coursing beneath her palms to drip onto her pants.

  She'd never had anyone to stand for her before.

  "I need help," Morgan said, pulling her hands away and turning to look into Fiona's kind eyes. "I need all sorts of help. With my emotions, with learning to manage my powers. I can't even kiss a guy without my powers going haywire!"

  Fiona laughed a little and then reached out, tentatively at first, to wrap her arm around Morgan's shoulders. Hesitant, but enjoying the comfort she provided, Morgan allowed herself to lean into Fiona.

  "Patrick?"

  "Aye, Patrick," Morgan whispered, staring out at the sea.

  "Tell me what happens when you kiss."

  "I…I just lose myself. It feels so amazing. But, that loss of control means everything goes to hell with my power."

  Morgan detailed how the pint went flying and
why she was scared to move forward with Patrick.

  "And this has only happened while you were kissing him?"

  "Well, it also happens when I sleep. Um, during my nightmares specifically."

  "You have nightmares?" Fiona drew away so she could meet Morgan's eyes, concern etched on her face.

  Morgan nodded and continued to rub Ronan's ears, happy for the comfort that the dog provided. Maybe she really did need to get a dog, she thought.

  "The same one. It's all very gothic and dark, much more vivid and scary than the experience was in real life. There is chanting in Latin, candlelight flickering, my wrists are bound, and crosses are held over me. All very 18th century exorcism style, I guess."

  "Yet this happened to you in real life."

  Morgan nodded. "It did, but not nearly as gothic and dark as that. Pretty much every few months or every time I got sent back from a foster home, the nuns would tie me to a bed and pray for me while Father dumped holy water on my head. At first I would yell, but eventually I would just lie there and close my eyes, determined to wait them out. They would eventually give up and go on their way."

  "So, this darker experience…do you think it is your fears from that situation? Or, perhaps you are reliving an experience from one of our ancestors," Fiona mused.

  Morgan whipped her head around to look at Fiona. The old woman had a considering look in her eye. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Morgan studied her.

  "You think that I am channeling someone else's experience?"

  "You might be. You know that some of our ancestors were persecuted as witches. An exorcism would have been right in line with what would be considered a first act of trying to cure them."

  "I just, wow, I'd never even considered that."

  "Yes, you may have been living through a modern-day witch hunt of sorts at the hand of the nuns," Fiona mused.

  All of a sudden, it was as though the memory had no power over her anymore. Fiona had reframed it in a manner that allowed her to distance herself from it and instead of being ashamed of what had happened to her, Morgan could now group herself in with her ancestors.