Lucky Like Love: The Fae Legacy #1

by Rachelle Ayala

  How would she restore his gem and get away unscathed when deep inside, she knew she’d never want to leave the castle or the man—if indeed, she turned out to be the Brigid, Queen of the Fae, and Griffin Gallagher’s one true love?

  She had The Heart of Brigid to stake her claim.

  Should she?

  Chapter 10

  Griffin found himself marveling at the double curling staircase of his own castle. Its graceful curves floated from the entrance and spiraled below a rotunda dome filled with stained-glass images. The green, verdigris wrought-iron bannisters were styled to appear like green, ropy vines, and the steps were made of the same gray granite gneiss rock on the headland cliffs.

  He must have seen the grand entrance a thousand times since birth, but his recent memory loss, coupled with the enchanting woman who was seeing his home for the first time, stoked a slow burn of excitement and wonder.

  “Everything is very naturalistic,” Brigid said. “I can almost imagine we’re still hiking outdoors. The form and the movement are organic and flow like the way a plant grows.”

  “My ancestors decorated the interior to be an extension of the natural world,” Griffin said. “They used the materials we had on hand, but made it functional. They didn’t believe in cluttering up the place with knick-knacks.”

  “This is like a giant wand.” Brigid smoothed her delicate fingers over the handrail which still held a flowing, branch-like contour. “I love how the knots in the wood still show, and they didn’t make everything exactly square, round, or uniform.”

  “It’s well worn by many generations of hands,” he said, noticing for the first time how the stone steps were also worn in the center. “Let’s go to the top of the keep. You’ll be amazed at the view.”

  Actually, Griffin needed to refresh his own memory. How could he predict this Brigid would be amazed at the view? Had he had another Brigid in one of his past lives? Did he fall in love with her, only to forget her, and eventually she’d left him?

  Ever since this most recent reawakening, he’d been diligently studying his past life. A lot of it was contradictory, but Pierce had been ever so patient to explain away his doubts.

  One thing he knew.

  He needed a talisman called the Heart of Brigid to identify his true love. Once he found her, he could entrust her with his memories. Unfortunately, he had to deal with an evil woman first. If what Pierre said was correct, he’d exchanged the real Heart of Brigid for a lump of coal. The only way to get it back would be for him to meet the Morrigan, get her to fall in love with him, and give the Heart of Brigid back to him.

  Easy as pie.

  Except he’d much rather fall in love with Brigid. After reading all about their past lives together, he was already smitten.

  Griffin let his hand slide down Brigid O’Brien’s arm until he grasped her hand.

  She returned his clasp. That simple gesture sent an arrow straight to his heart, and the feel of her hand in his was warm and comforting.

  “I can’t wait to see the view,” she said. “This castle is like an enchanted place.”

  “How so?”

  Together they walked up the spiral staircase leading toward the rotunda.

  Brigid dragged her other hand over the silky-smooth handrail. “I have the strangest feeling that all of this is a fairy illusion. That somehow, I’ve stepped behind the veil into the Otherworld.”

  Griffin heard tiny bells ringing in his ear and tilted his head. “Do you hear it? The sounds of the Otherworld?”

  He didn’t dare make a sound. If she also heard the bells and the laughter, then it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

  “I don’t just hear the fairy sounds,” she finally said. “I think the correct term is tintinnabulation, is it not?”

  He nodded. “I thought I was the only one to hear the tinkling bells and sweet, high-pitched laughter.”

  She reached for him with her free hand and touched his ear. “I not only hear the bells, but also the music.”

  “Music? What does it sound like?”

  “Tiny xylophones chiming, mostly. A strain of silvery violin, thin and birdlike warbling, and laughter with whispers.”

  “I heard the laughter like water dropping on bells,” Griffin said. “But not the whispering. Do you understand any of it?”

  Brigid put her finger over her lips and closed her eyes. He also closed his eyes, but try as he might, he couldn’t hear words. As far as he could make out, the ringing sound dominated.

  It wasn’t fair. How could Brigid hear such beautiful sounds when all he got was a buzz in his ear?

  He opened his eyes when she again touched his ear. But looking into her bright-green eyes, and seeing the joy lighting her face, he couldn’t begrudge her the gifts she had.

  “Did you hear the message?” Brigid asked in a voice so achingly gentle, it made Griffin’s chest fill with longing.

  “No, unfortunately not,” he said. “Who was it, and what did it say?”

  She threaded her fingers between his. “There is a presence here in this castle. It’s not only the voices and the music, but I can feel it wrap around me like a cloak, a second skin.”

  His jaw dropped, and he couldn’t help placing his palm against her face. “You can feel her? What is she like?”

  Brigid put her hand on the back of his, and her touch raised all the hairs on his skin. It was at once exhilarating and troubling, like being suspended on a rope bridge over an abyss.

  “Let’s go to the top. It’s too noisy here. So much to absorb. Sounds, emotions, visions, scents, and textures.” Her chest heaved as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “It must be overwhelming for you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought you in.”

  “No, it’s all good. The presence is benevolent and kind. But there’s so much I still don’t know. So much confusion and thoughts zipping every which way. I’m sure you can help me sort it out.”

  “Of course. Let’s get some fresh air.” He took her hand, and they resumed their upward trek.

  Once they reached the gallery level with the stained-glass figures, Brigid insisted on visiting each god or goddess separately: Dagda, Áine, Nuada, Morrigan, Lugh, and lastly, Brigid.

  Was she speaking to them? Communing in a language only she understood? She looked up at the stained glass and stood still, as if concentrating.

  Sunlight sparkled over the green, red, and white pieces of glass that illustrated the goddess Brigid. She held her right hand over her heart, and her left hand was cupped, palm up, holding a ball of fire.

  Griffin couldn’t keep his gaze off Brigid O’Brien, lively and vibrant in the flesh. A faint blush brightened her face, and her eyes sparkled with life, hair flowing like fine silk, and her skin was warm, her bones solid.

  She completed the circle and approached him, seeming to float, her white suede boots silent and barely touching the stone floor.

  “I’m ready to see the view,” she said. “To command my domain.”

  “Your domain welcomes you.” Griffin offered this magical woman his arm and led her up the final flight of stairs. They alighted to the top of the round tower.

  The sun had broken through the clouds, and the breeze which had whipped so strongly earlier had calmed into a pleasant caress, allowing Brigid’s scent of apple blossoms and sun-washed linen to tendril around him.

  Instead of looking over the battlements, Brigid turned her back to the view and reached for him. A shock of recognition hit him, and he immediately embraced her fully as he’d done a thousand times before.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and pressed her breasts against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her belly stoked the heat in his. He swayed at the dizzying sensation of his heart dropping. Bright lights flashed behind his eyes, and his nose was assaulted by the smoke of an acrid fire. His tongue grew fuzzy with the coppery taste that was a harbinger of another death.

  His muscles tightened, and he clutched at his Brigi
d, willing her to save him. Shudders jerked his arms, and his legs stiffened. His fingers dug into her flesh, and his chin stuttered on the top of her head.

  “I’m dy-dying.” He managed to form the words with his numbing tongue. “H-help.”

  Brigid shifted her body and moved her hands to both sides of his head, cupping his ears, rubbing the sides of his temples with both thumbs. Her eyes held such love and compassion that if he weren’t about to lose his mind to a storm of thunder and lightning, he would have spent the last remaining time composing poetry and song to declare his undying love.

  Except he was dying, and he couldn’t get the words out. Brigid, he willed his thoughts to transfer to her.

  “Remember me, and how much I love you.” Maybe his mouth moved, maybe he breathed the words, or he only imagined them. “I’ll come back.”

  He couldn’t remove his dying gaze from the bewitching green eyes of the one he’d come back for each and every time. Except, of course, he lost control, and his eyes rolled back. Colorful lights jumped and shimmered; lightning zapped across the dark.

  “Ahh, reee, saaa, wooo, feee, saaa, beee, haaaa, mooorrr, heee, sa-ah-oh-ri, eehhh, faaaa, mooorr, reee, toooor, raaaah.” She sang gently with a voice so thin, it sounded like it came from way across a misty valley, echoing through the realms of time and space, calling him back from his doom.

  The metallic taste in his mouth turned as sweet as honey, and the hoarse buzzing calmed into the sound of harps and bells. A warm current wrapped around his body like a blanket of soft flesh, massaging the knots and tension from his bones. He regained control of his muscles and breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the life-giving fragrance of the seaside breeze.

  He opened his eyes, and there she was, as she’d always been throughout the centuries, the millennium, from beyond the start of time.

  Brigid of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. His true love.

  Angelic choruses filled the air around the tower, and he could hear the fluttering of wings, the snapping of energy, and the steady, low beat of his heart.

  “You’re real.” He touched his forehead against hers. The backs of his fingers feathered over her cheek, and slowly, too slowly, he turned his head and inhaled her breath. Like a magnet to a lodestone, his lips found hers, and he let himself savor the magic of first contact by lightly kissing the air between them.

  She was still humming the healing fairy song, and the air vibrated between them with expectation. He kissed each note, brushing her lips to feel the incantation. Each kiss lingered a little longer and closer, so that when their lips finally joined, they were resonating on the same frequency.

  Joyous rapture exploded like fireworks in a dream, and a floating sensation caught Griffin, lifting him so that he no longer felt he was on solid ground. The songs and chimes surrounded him and Brigid like a cloak of concealment, and his entire existence distilled into the essence of the never-ending kiss.

  Chapter 11

  Clare could so easily get lost in the arms of this man, Griffin Gallagher. His heart was open wide and oh, so vulnerable. Not to mention the ardent kisses, full of emotion, both tender and passionate.

  She’d never been kissed with such focus and attention. It was as if nothing existed but her lips and mouth, and he was dying to taste and explore every bit of her.

  He was a powerfully built man, oozing with sexuality. His body heat blanketed her, and his hard chest against her breasts made her nipples tingle with excitement. He held her firmly, possessively, and at the same time, protective. His hands guided her body in a fervent dance, a twisting movement of deep passion like two giant cobras spiraled around each other. Their mouths locked together in a breathless embrace, tasting, dipping, and devouring.

  Every patch of Clare’s fair skin glowed with incredible heat. Her knees weakened, and she was melty and hot, barely able to stand.

  As if sensing her weakness, Griffin lifted her onto the lower part of the battlement. He bent her backward and nibbled and sucked on her neck, right below the jawline.

  Clare was faintly aware that she was hovering over the top of the castle tower, but the sensations coursing through her bloodstream were so exciting, she didn’t care. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let herself lean back farther, reveling at the heady feeling of hanging in thin air in the arms of a strong and protective lover.

  Griffin Gallagher played the part well. Dark hair and eyes, a five o’clock shadow at noontime, and large strong hands. And the heat. He had so much heat, he burned her everywhere they touched.

  His hands branded her back, and a hot poker jutted from his crotch, right up against her sensitive nest of sweet pleasure. In her imagination, he’d already ripped her white gauzy dress to shreds. The mouth that was sucking on her neck would be over her breasts, licking and circling her nipples, and one hand would be slipping off her panties.

  Her flesh would be glistening wet, begging to be breached. He’d caress her mound with his finger, teasing her into a frenzy of desire.

  And then …

  Holy goddess of fire. Unable to hold back his fierce passion and need for her, he’d unsheathe his thick and throbbing weapon.

  “Take me,” she cried, transporting herself into a dream that seemed so real.

  She was no longer outside on the top of the tower, sitting on a rough rock wall, but inside a dark and fragrant bedchamber. Satiny sheets caressed her back, sending shivers of delight from her head to her toes. Faint music, the tinkling of bells, and the smooth tone of a flute filled the octagonal-shaped room. The scent of perfume, cedarwood mixed with lavender, stirred the very essence of her soul.

  Her eternal lover, a man with the wings of an eagle, covered her with kisses. His mouth awakened every begging sensual zone on her greedy body. And the way he touched her, running his fingers over every inch of her body, caressing, probing, and massaging, opened her up in a way that she’d never allowed.

  “I’m yours, all yours,” she whispered, spreading herself on the bed, ready to receive his entire love.

  “Brigid, yes, Brigid, my love, Brigid.”

  Clare bolted upright. A whoosh of air left her lungs. She wasn’t Brigid, and everything Griffin did wasn’t for her.

  She opened her eyes, and she was sitting in a notch of the battlements on the top of a castle.

  Alone.

  She closed her legs and lowered her skirt. Looking over her shoulder, she spied how high up she was. It was a miracle she hadn’t fallen to her death.

  At least no one had seen her acting out.

  Had she fallen asleep or succumbed to an untimely flight of her imagination?

  Or was something truly strange with this castle? Did it cause illusion, or was it a part of the Otherworld?

  Was Griffin a ghost?

  He’d spoken about living a thousand years, then dying and living again.

  How real was he, actually?

  Hugging herself, she jumped off the wall and looked around for any sign of life. The view was expansive and breathtaking. To the north was the wild Irish sea where invaders from the north breached the shores. The headlands where she’d met Griffin jutted below, craggy and rugged cliffs battered by fists of frothing waves.

  The surrounding country was barren and rocky, covered with patches of heather, thistle, and grass. Legend said Ireland had been densely forested before the British denuded vast acres of trees to support their shipbuilding.

  Clare tried to picture how the valleys would have appeared to the Tuatha Dé Danann invaders. What would Brigid have seen when she stepped ashore?

  A footfall sounded behind her, and Clare jumped, whipping her head around.

  “Hey, you okay?” Griffin asked. “I apologize for disrespecting you.”

  “You left me sitting on the wall?” Clare asked. “I could have fallen.”

  “Only into the safety nets. You were okay, but I wasn’t,” Griffin said. “You don’t know what was going through my mind. I had to leave before I did something wrong. Forgiv
e me.”

  “No, it was I who—”

  He took her hand and got down on one knee. Bowing his head, he said, “I am unworthy of you, dear Brigid. I’ve lost your Heart to your enemy.”

  “What do you mean?” Clare asked. “You—”

  “No, hear me out. I know you’re an illusion, not flesh and blood, because you are still waiting for your heart. Instead of applying my every waking moment to searching, I took advantage of you and wished to ravish you. I was wrong.”

  Clare’s mouth gaped, but she shut it and swallowed. She was the one who was wrong to take advantage of a man who’d lost his memory. The sooner she fessed up and gave his gemstone back, the sooner she’d be done with this mess.

  But how could she confess when he thought of her as his beloved Brigid? She couldn’t ruin the illusion, or he’d be sorely disappointed. It could send him back into another seizure. She’d saved him from one already, by rubbing his temples and singing an imagined fairy song. She hadn’t known it would work, but she couldn’t let him fly off into another unknown world when it looked like he’d already forgotten major events—if meeting her on the airplane was a major event.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Griffin said, mistaking her silence. “You are the loveliest creature who ever walked this planet. You are not a vessel for my use, but the woman I have always loved. Our reunion must wait for when I find your heart.”

  “What happened to the heart?” The question slipped from between Clare’s lips. It would be useful to ascertain what Griffin thought happened.

  “I don’t remember,” he said, looking down at his feet. “I’ve lived many lives, always looking for you. Some lives, we were fated to be apart, some lives, we were friends, but in one glorious life we had a family, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. It was destroyed when the Normans arrived on our fair shores.”