The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7)

by Tricia O'Malley

  Every once in a while, Fiona desperately wished that she could be normal.

  Taking a scone from the basket on the counter, Fiona wrapped it in a cloth and pulled a glass jug of water from the cooler. Putting both in her satchel, she quietly let herself out of the house. She was too keyed up to stay around and talk to her mother or her father. Instead, a good walk over the hills and to the cove might work off some of this nervous energy. Fiona quietly unclasped her bicycle from a hook in the back yard and rolled it out of the courtyard.

  Light was just crowning the horizon of the hills behind the village. A thin strip of light blue illuminated their gentle peaks, the dark blue of the night sky being chased away by the sun. The morning was crisp, with dew clinging to the hills and the smell of spring drifting on the gentle morning breeze. Fiona walked her bike down the hill towards the harbor, the men loading their fishing boats and the baker the only other people awake this early.

  Fiona’s dad should have been up with the fishing crew, and Fiona felt a slice of sadness go through her as she looked at his worn boat, bobbing gently at its dock, waiting to be taken out. She wondered if the boat would even leave the harbor this week.

  Fiona raised a hand to the fishermen; a few of them nodded at her, knowing her to be a fisherman’s daughter. She wondered what they thought of her or her father. She knew it was useless to worry about what other people thought of her, but was still unable to let those thoughts go. Fiona shook her head at herself as she reached the beginning of the paved road that wound around the hills towards the cove.

  Throwing a leg over her bike, Fiona began the ride to the cove. Today she wore khaki pants in deference to riding her bike, a button-down blouse, and a soft grey sweater knitted by her mother. She’d pulled her long hair back in a single braid and wound a scarf around her neck. Even though it was technically spring, the morning was still chilly.

  Fiona pumped the pedals harder as she approached a hill, determined to work up enough speed to zip past the house she knew to be at the top of the hill.

  The O’Brien’s farm.

  If she was lucky, they wouldn’t be up quite yet and she’d pass by without having to acknowledge the family.

  The O’Brien’s were one of the wealthier families in town. Between ample farm acreage and a family of fisherman, the O’Brien’s had many streams of income, from wool to seafood. Fiona had always thought it was smart of them to diversify, considering the unstable economy of the village – there was always a way to make ends meet.

  There wasn’t much diversifying going on at home, though Fiona was determined to fix that with her newly-developed tinctures and elixirs.

  “Shite,” Fiona muttered to herself as she crested the hill and saw John carrying two buckets over to a pasture fence, the little lamb from yesterday happily following him around.

  His back was towards her and Fiona was able to study him for a moment. With a close cropping of thick dark hair, strong shoulders from working on a farm, and a tall lean build, John certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. It wasn’t the first time that she had admired him from afar, though she had often wondered why he didn’t date more.

  The lamb saw her and bleated a cry of acknowledgement. John turned immediately, stopping in his tracks as he saw her on her bicycle.

  Fiona paused for a moment, unsure of what to say, fear curdling in her stomach. The moment hung suspended between them before Fiona pushed the pedals down, moving the bike forward. Just as she was about to head down over the hill and out of sight, John lifted his hand to his head, saluting her.

  A smile split Fiona’s face as she rode the hill down, her braid streaming behind her on the wind, feeling joy building up inside her to the point that she wanted to scream.

  And feeling a giddiness latch onto her heart.

  Chapter 7

  Fiona laid her bike against a crumbling stone wall at the top of the cove. There was only so far she could ride her bike before having to walk the rest of the way to the water.

  She paused and looked around her, never surprised by the needy ache that filled her as she looked over the hills that flowed around her.

  The land she desperately wanted to be hers someday.

  Fiona knew it wasn’t practical to live this far from town. But who cared about being practical, when the land rolled out its welcome mat for you?

  Fiona smiled as she trailed her fingers along the stone wall, her gaze taking in the gently sloping green hills that rolled off into dramatic cliffs jutting out into the ocean. She could just picture it – a little cottage nestled at the base of the hills that rose behind her, the windows situated so they would catch the breeze and offer the best views of the water.

  She felt at home here, more so than in the village, and found herself constantly drawn to the hills that surrounded these cliffs. She supposed some of it was due to her tie to the cove.

  Fiona stopped at the top of the cove, drinking in its beauty and taking stock of its mood today. It was always different, and she’d learned long ago to trust the moods of the water in the cove. Even though her magick and the cove’s magick was the same, she’d been taught to give it respect.

  The cove was a secret that hid along the dramatic cliffs of this coastline. It was what the town was named for, and its enchanter lay deep within its waters. Grace O’Malley had famously walked into the cove’s waters, taking her own life instead of letting the sickness within do so, forever enchanting the waters of the cove and passing along a very real gift of magick to the women of her bloodline.

  Which was why Fiona had the multitude of talents and gifts that she did, and why whenever she was near the cove, her blood began to hum.

  The sharp half-circle of the cove lay beneath her, cutting into the impressive cliffs that sprang from the waters, almost touching at the entrance to the cove. A perfect sand beach, untouched but for the few birds that pecked at its shoreline, lay at the bottom of a trail that wound its way down the cliffs. When the sun set, a ray of light would shoot between the two cliffs, illuminating the back cliff walls and plunging the rest of the cove into darkness.

  The cove lay in shadows this morning, the sun not quite high enough yet to touch its waters. Fiona reached out with her mind and tested the energy signature of the water and found it calm – nothing troubling it on this morning.

  “Good. I want to try out some of that moss,” Fiona said out loud, turning once more to glance at the expanse of green hills behind her, envisioning what it would be like to wake up every morning and walk here.

  Fiona began the hike down to the cove, trailing one hand along the rock wall as she walked, stopping to pick up stones and a flower bud along the way. When she reached the bottom, she hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the beach.

  She felt so much smaller here, the huge cliff walls enclosing her, making her feel like just another small pebble on the beach. Power pressed against her, the enchantment of the cove rising up to greet one of its own.

  Fiona stepped forward and drew a circle in the sand with a stick. Stepping into it, she held her rocky offerings high into the air.

  “I come to you with nothing but the utmost respect. I’m here to pull some healing moss from your waters, to help others with ailments. I present to you these gifts as a token of my respect,” Fiona called, tossing the rocks into the water. She knew the rocks weren’t really gifts as most people would think, but the cove didn’t care what you offered.

  So long as an offering was made.

  Fiona smiled as she stepped from the circle and began to walk the beach. She never ceased to be amazed at the beauty found here – her own private paradise.

  For years now, the villagers had warned people away from the cove. It was understood that something was off there. Though the official word was that a deathly undertow meant people should stay away, that explanation didn’t really cover what happened on the beach if people didn’t make an offering. Fiona shuddered to think about it.

  She didn’t necessarily blame Gr
ace, either. Fiona would probably want her final resting place to remain untouched too. It was about respect, above all else.

  Lost in thought, Fiona approached a craggy outcropping of stones that formed several small tidal pools. She’d been experimenting with some of the moss that slicked the stones there, adding it to hand creams or putting a pinch into a cough syrup. She’d found it to have some wonderful healing properties and wanted to gather more so she could expand the line of self-care products she was working on. She’d yet to sell any, but word was building as she had begun to give away small jars of this and that for free. Fiona could already see the label in her mind: A pretty white and green logo, wrapped around small white jars she had bought in bulk. If all went well, she’d be able to sell her wares next to her mother’s this summer.

  And provide another source of income that they desperately needed.

  Fiona crouched over a rock, pulling a knife and a jar from her satchel, and began to scrape pieces of the spongy moss from the rock, gently depositing them in the jar. It was only when the waves began to kick up, knocking into the tidal pools, that she looked up and realized she had been working for hours. The sun now hung in the middle of the sky, a few wisps of white clouds covering it. As Fiona shaded her eyes and looked across the beach, she realized the water was getting moody for a reason.

  At the top of the cliffs stood John, the silly little lamb at his side, his hand up to shield his eyes. Fiona swore when he started to come down the path, the lamb clambering along behind him.

  “Sure and that man has no sense of self-preservation? He knows not to come into the cove,” Fiona grumbled as she raced along the beach, her feet digging into the sand, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty. She didn’t want to have to go through the protection ritual with John. She’d already shown him she was strange enough.

  Fiona climbed steadily, her muscular legs gaining ground, years of climbing this path and the hills around her making her quick and light-footed. She reached John in a matter of moments. He had stopped where he was when he saw her ascent, and now she faced him on the narrow ledge of a path.

  “What are you doing here?” Fiona asked, her chin up.

  “It’s a free country, isn’t it?” John pointed out, putting his hands on his hips.

  “You know it’s not safe for you to go down there,” Fiona hissed, looking down at the little lamb, who walked forward and looked up at her.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever really believed that rumor,” John said.

  “Oh? So you think the smart thing is to test it out alone? And here I thought you had a brain in your head,” Fiona muttered.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be alone since you were on the beach, now would I?” John asked, his eyebrow quirking up.

  “Yeah, but…” Fiona trailed off. She couldn’t say it was okay for her to be on the beach but not him. The last thing she needed to do was point out how different they were.

  Again.

  “If it’s so bad in there, should you be going there alone? Maybe I was coming down to save you.” John’s easy smile slid across his handsome face, and Fiona’s breath caught in her throat for a moment.

  “I’m good, thanks. Doesn’t look like I need saving, does it?” she asked lightly, stepping forward to encourage John to turn around and go back up the path. Instead, he stood where he was, forcing Fiona to stop, her face inches from his chest. She gulped, her mouth dry, as she turned her gaze up to his face.

  “You can move now,” Fiona said, as the seconds stretched between them.

  “Ladies first,” John said, a gleam in his eye.

  “Fine, I’ll go then,” Fiona muttered, pushing past him, refusing to think about where her body tingled as it brushed past his on the narrow path. She rolled her eyes to the sky and forced herself to breathe normally as they hiked the rest of the way to the top of the cliffs, the only sound the crash of the waves below them and the little bleats of the lamb following up the path.

  If time were to be counted in heartbeats, then it took them 111 heartbeats to reach the top, the significance of the repeating number not lost on Fiona. Forcing herself to focus, she stepped back from the top of the path and turned to face John.

  And caught him looking at her bum.

  Putting her hands on her hips, she raised an eyebrow at him.

  A rush of pink colored John’s face and he shrugged sheepishly, as the lamb wandered away to graze in the green grass.

  “How come you can go down there, anyway?” John asked, distracting Fiona from the way his shoulders filled out his shirt.

  “Because I can,” Fiona said simply, refusing to explain more.

  “Does it have to do with, you know, the stuff you did yesterday?” John asked, not meeting her eyes but instead looking over her head.

  “It’s really none of your business why I can or can’t do anything in my life,” Fiona pointed out hotly, and John held his hands up.

  “Hey, easy, I was just curious.”

  “Well? I don’t owe you an explanation, do I? I’m not hurting anyone. In fact, I was digging up special moss to put in healing elixirs, if you must know. All I want to do is help people. I don’t care if you think I’m strange or weird – I’m not here to please you, am I? Sure and it’d be nice if you didn’t give me third degree and follow me around like I’m some suspicious criminal,” Fiona said, her heart picking up its pace as anger ratcheted through her. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, which made her even more furious and she turned away from John, kicking at the grass with her toe.

  “I wasn’t trying to scare you,” John said from behind her. “I was just curious, ‘tis all. I’ll go now.” Fiona didn’t turn, instead keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. She heard the lamb’s calls getting softer as they moved away and in moments, Fiona knew she was alone.

  It was better that way. Alone, that is. Fewer questions. No expectations.

  Suddenly Fiona gasped and tore her eyes away from the horizon just in time to see a brilliant blue flash of light, shining from the depths of the cove, like the waters were singing to her in joy. She stood frozen, her eyes riveted on the sight, as the wind picked up and kissed her cheeks, seeming to whisper a song of love and promises to her.

  It was too bad Fiona had stopped believing in promises a long time ago.

  She turned her back on the cove and walked away.

  Chapter 8

  It had been two weeks since that day at the cove, and Fiona felt like she saw John everywhere now. She did her best to avoid him, but it was just the way the universe worked sometimes. The law of attraction. The more she thought about him, the more often John showed up in her path.

  It wasn’t something she was used to, the way he looked at her. Like he had a question that only she could answer.

  Her fear of him saying something about her healing abilities had died down as the days passed. The village was just too small. If he had said something, Fiona would have heard about it by now.

  “Will this spot work for you?” Bridget asked, and Fiona snapped back to reality. They were setting up at the local market, for today was one of the first nice weekend days in ages and tourists would be making their way through.

  The market was set up along the harbor walkway, with a few trees canopying them for shade. Tables were scattered throughout with a feast of homemade goods to sell, but Fiona noticed nobody pulled their table close to Bridget’s.

  “Yes, this is lovely, mum. A great spot,” Fiona said, catching the eyes of two women standing over jars of honey, their heads leaned close in order to whisper to each other. When they realized that Fiona was staring them down, they snapped their attention back to rearranging their jars. Fiona rolled her eyes.

  “Will people ever just accept us?”

  “Who? What happened?” Bridget asked, pushing her braid behind her shoulder as she glanced around.

  “Nothing. Two women whispering about us, ‘tis all,” Fiona said, putting her basket on the table.

  “That’s t
heir problem, not ours,” Bridget pointed out as she pulled out tapestry after tapestry, separated with sheets of tissue paper, and began to lay them across the table in a colorful display.

  “They’re probably jealous. Just look at your work, would you? Mum, you’ve outdone yourself,” Fiona gushed as she ran her hands over a particularly brilliant blue tapestry.

  The same blue as the light from the cove.

  Fiona had told no one about what she’d seen. Not that she had anyone to tell secrets to, anyway, really; her mother was pretty much her only confidant.

  “You’re woolgathering today, aren’t you?” Bridget asked, and Fiona shook her head, realizing she had missed what her mother had said.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “I said, thank you – I designed it after the cove.”

  “I can tell, it’s stunning,” Fiona said, running her hands over the tapestry once more before turning to her basket and pulling the towel from the top. Nestled inside was her first run of creams and elixirs. She’d decided to keep her offerings simple and had stuck with four items today: A face cream, a hand cream, a cream to soothe sore joints, and a tonic for chest colds. If they sold well, she planned to expand into other areas. She’d learned from watching her mother, though, and knew it was best to start small and carefully build a reputation for herself.

  Pulling the jars from the basket, she hummed softly to herself as she lined them up, biting her lip as she considered angles and the best presentation. Her pretty hand-drawn labels made her smile; she’d spent hours late at night perfecting the look until it was precisely what she was going for.

  Fiona’s Magick Face Cream.

  At first, Fiona had been resistant to the idea of adding the word ‘magick’ to her labels. But Bridget had insisted upon it, pointing out that perhaps their reputation could work in their favor. Plus, who wouldn’t want a face cream charmed by magick? Bridget’s persistence had paid off, and the word had gone on the labels.