Was he too late? Dawn was around the corner, and the fact no one was at the gate meant all the servants were busy. Someone had used his Rolls Royce to kidnap Clare, and Pierce would have known about it since he knew everything.
Griffin had to assume Pierce was a traitor, so he grabbed Clare’s Morrigan costume and dashed around the castle to the side door.
Loud voices and shouting echoed through the servant’s entrance. Griffin ducked behind a butler’s pantry to let them pass.
Hulda, the security guard, barreled around the corner, barking at two kitchen maids. “I’m telling you, she had a seizure, and I had to lock her in the bedchamber. The boss isn’t going to like this. You two have to go in there and redo her makeup.”
“We’re not going anywhere near that tunnel,” one of the kitchen maids said. “She doesn’t have to look pretty, and the dress will be ruined anyway.”
“He’s only going to cut her heart out,” the other one said.
“I got off a shot, but she could be a bloody mess,” Hulda said. “You two have to go in there and clean her up. We don’t have much time before the sun rises. The bridegroom is on his way to the bedchamber.”
“Who? That O’Fool character?” the first kitchen maid scoffed. “I’m still betting on Griffin getting back in time.”
“There’s no Griffin,” the second one said. “Pierce locked Duke Gallagher up in his room and said the young one is missing. Seamus is getting dressed and sharpening the knife.”
“Then it’s too late,” Hulda said. “Quick, we must get dressed for the return to the twelfth century.”
The three sets of footsteps passed through the galley.
As soon as they were out of sight, Griffin dashed up the servant’s stairway toward his room. While the castle itself was laid out with multiple hallways and large corridors full of paintings, the servant’s passageways were the quickest, most direct way to get from one place to the other.
Griffin had explored the maze of tunnels and corridors to his heart’s content as a boy. Even though he barely remembered anything, he had to trust the knowledge would come to him, moment by moment.
He cut through one between two walls and ascended a set of spiral stairs, then opened a trapdoor behind the bookshelf and descended a ladder into the storerooms.
From there, he navigated between rows of wine casks to a hidden doorway behind a blind alley.
He stepped into his bathroom from a linen closet and ran into Seamus dressed in a top coat with tails.
“Griffin, you’re late to the party.” Seamus pointed a knife at him. “Get behind me, useless cur, and watch me finish what you could never start.”
“You have the wrong woman,” Griffin said. “It won’t work.”
“We cannot afford to wait for the next time the full moon coincides with the Vernal Equinox,” Seamus said. “Ireland’s waited long enough. Now that we have the Heart of Brigid and the Changeling, we must forge ahead to bring the Otherworld back to our world.”
“Clare is not Brigid. I swear to it,” Griffin blocked the way to the closet.
“You won’t know until you try.” Seamus slashed at Griffin with the knife. “Out of my way.”
“No!” Griffin ducked the gleaming blade and tackled the sturdy, tricky O’Toole.
The two of them tumbled to the bathroom’s marble floor. Griffin twisted Seamus’s arm, but the other man headbutted him in the jaw.
Griffin’s head snapped back against the tub, and he lightened his hold for a moment. A searing pain sliced across his thigh, but he slammed his shoulder against the other man’s gut.
“Oof.” Seamus’s lungs collapsed with a whoosh, and the knife clattered to the floor. Griffin grabbed it, along with the bag of Clare’s Morrigan clothes, and limped toward the walk-in closet. He activated the secret door and rushed through it.
Seamus stomped after him, but Griffin slammed the heavy door and threw down the bolt.
Fists pounded on the door, followed by heavier, cracking thuds. Griffin limped down the corridor toward the bedchamber. Blood seeped from the wound on his leg, and he felt light-headed and dizzy.
He staggered through the rune-covered gate and jiggled the doorknob of the bedchamber.
“Clare, Clare, open up,” he called. “It’s me, Griffin, come to save you.”
There was no answer.
Was she in there? Or already dead?
“Clare, let me know you’re okay. Say something.” He pounded on the door, but there was not a peep from the chamber.
He stuck the knife into the doorjamb to jiggle the latch. It wasn’t flexible enough.
“Clare, please, open up. Tell me you’re alive. I know you’re not my Brigid, but you are my heart.”
He pressed his ear to the door, hoping to hear a sound, anything, that let him know his beloved was alive.
Instead, several sets of footsteps clambered up to him, and he was grabbed and tackled by two pairs of hands.
“Got you, Gallagher,” Mack said while Seamus unlocked the door to the bedchamber.
“We’re here to make sure you complete your part of the deal,” Seamus said. He picked up the knife and slapped it into Griffin’s hand. “We’re your best men.”
“Dum, dum, dum, dum …” Mack hummed the Bridal March. “Dum, dum, dum, dum.”
Seamus joined in, and the two of them propped Griffin in front of the bed.
A skeleton dressed in full wedding regalia lay on the bed. Alone.
Chapter 30
Clare was completely naked. Not quite. She was wrapped inside the folds of the lush, velvet drapery that covered one of the walls of the bedchamber.
While Griffin, Seamus, and a musclebound guy stared at the skeleton on the bed, she relaxed every muscle in her body and focused on slithering behind the drapes toward the door.
Griffin was bleeding from his leg and none too steady, and the other two looked shocked. Clare felt a pang in her heart at seeing him hurt, but she didn’t know whose side he was on. She wanted to keep the faith and believe in him, but he’d only known her a few days, whereas he’d been brainwashed his entire life to his duty of this Brigid ritual.
“Bloody hell,” Seamus said. “Where’s the changeling? Hulda swore she left her here.”
“With the Heart of Brigid,” the other man said. His piercing blue eyes reminded Clare of the young man who’d said he was from the Garda.
“Find her,” Seamus said. “We need her blood. Dawn is coming, and there’s no more time.”
“We also need the Heart of Brigid,” Griffin said. “Where could it have gone?”
A squirrely feeling roiled the bottom of Clare’s stomach. He cared more about the diamond than about her. If she wasn’t in so much danger, she’d stuff his stone in his boxers and kick him in the nuts.
“We have to find it.” Seamus shined a light on the skeletal bride. “It has to be here somewhere.”
Seamus patted the bed. Griffin bent down and looked underneath the bed, while the other man peeled the bedspread and lifted the mattress.
Clare slid undetected behind the drapes and spotted a plastic dry-cleaning bag on the floor near the door. She was shivering with cold and could use any clothes it might hold. She reached out, her naked arm exposed, and hooked it with a finger.
She slowly dragged the bag toward her, stretching the drapes to cover her. Griffin lifted his face from looking under the bed, and their eyes met.
He was still holding the bloody knife, and it looked like he was going to complete the sacrifice.
She was caught like a rabbit in a snare.
Weakly, she smiled and yanked the bag of clothes, expecting him to pounce on her and announce her capture.
“I don’t think the diamond is here,” Griffin said. “The Morrigan has tricked us again.”
“What do you mean?” Seamus grabbed the skeleton and yanked up the bridal gown, peeking between the skeleton’s legs.
“Where is it?” the younger Garda guy shouted. “You swor
e you’d get it back from that Morrigan.”
“I did, but someone kidnapped her.” Griffin pointed a finger at Seamus.
Clare took the opportunity to rip the dry-cleaning bag and remove the Morrigan costume she’d packed for the honeymoon. She snuck a look at Griffin, hoping to catch his eye and thank him for helping, but of course, he was in the middle of gesturing and denial, blaming Seamus for losing the Heart of Brigid.
“I personally saw to it that the changeling wore it around her neck,” Seamus said. “Maybe she’s already turned into Brigid.”
“Then why is Brigid still a skeleton?” Griffin waved the knife over the prostrate figure. “Why isn’t my love alive and dancing around?”
“She must have changed,” the muscular guy said. “She’s wearing the wedding clothes. The Heart has to be inside her.”
“Check her ribcage,” Seamus said. “I told Hulda to prepare the bride. Why isn’t there any blood on the bed?”
“Maybe because she’s not a virgin?” Griffin asked and flashed a wink at Clare.
Heat flooded Clare’s face as she wriggled into the cone-shaped bra she wore underneath her feathers. Why would Griffin hint she wasn’t a virgin? Was it to save her from being the sacrificial victim? Maybe.
Seamus and the Garda guy went frantic, searching the “bride.” They unzipped the bridal gown, and their fingers pawed through every bone of her skeleton. All the while, Griffin shouted, “Stop defiling my Brigid. Don’t touch her. She’s the fairy queen. How dare you two disrobe her?”
He was really playing this up, and Clare wanted to give him a high-five. But she wasn’t safe yet. She wet her lips and tucked back a giggle. Wiggling into her lettuce skirt, she attached her hazelnut belt and put on her black feathered vest. Her black ostrich feather wings were crushed and bedraggled, but she tied them over her shoulders, and put on a crown of thorns or black, spray-painted twigs.
Thank goodness, Griffin was acting like a lunatic. He ran around the room distracting Seamus and the Garda guy, railing at them for abusing his beloved Brigid.
“It has to be here somewhere. That Morrigan must have swallowed it.” Seamus moved the flashlight beam around the small bedchamber. “We have to find the changeling. She’s taken Brigid’s Heart. Would she have stuffed it up her ass?”
“I found it,” the Garda guy exclaimed. He stuck his hand into the skeleton’s ribcage and came out with a lump of coal. “Why is it black?”
“How could my beloved’s heart be black? You lie.” Griffin cocked his fist and punched the Garda guy on the jaw. The lump of coal went skittering across the white slate floor.
Seamus tore off the skeleton’s flowing red wig, and he picked up the skull, shaking it.
“You heathen. You pig!” Griffin launched himself at Seamus, throwing a well-aimed punch on his squinting eye. “Out. Out. The goddess will punish you. You two are cursed. I say, cursed.”
Wow. Clare didn’t think Griffin could be such a great actor. With all the noise and commotion, she was able to finish dressing and loop the chain with the Heart of Brigid around her neck. When the skeleton had showed no sign of coming to life, she’d simply replaced the diamond with the piece of coal she’d filched from Griffin’s closet right before Biceps hog-marched her through the secret doorway.
Clare was tying the laces on her long, lace-up boots over her legs when the Garda guy grabbed the curtains and yanked. The rings popped, and she was exposed to his penetrating blue gaze.
“Morrigan. Morrigan,” the Garda guy shouted. He lunged and grabbed her, ripping off one of her ostrich wings.
“Ah, ha. Caught.” Seamus puffed up his chest and raised the knife. “Let me shed her blood over the Heart of Brigid. It’s almost dawn. It can still work.”
“No, wait, we need the Heart of Brigid back in the skeleton in exactly the right place.” Griffin shoved Seamus and sent him sprawling onto the bed.
“You idiot,” Seamus shouted. “She has the Heart of Brigid. Catch her.”
He slammed Griffin to the floor so hard his eyes rolled. His arms and legs twitched, and a loud, feral howl emitted from his throat.
“No, you hurt him,” Clare screamed. “He’s having a seizure. Help him.”
“Mack, get the Heart of Brigid,” Seamus shouted. He slapped Griffin. “Man, come back, man. You have a job to finish. We’re trying to help you.”
Clare spun around and ran smack into a blond, blue-eyed musclehead. The Guardian Seamus had called Mack clamped a hefty arm around her. He grabbed the Heart of Brigid and tried to lift the chain from her neck.
She bit him. Hard. No one was going to take Griffin’s family treasure from her.
“Ow! You bit me,” Mack cried. “Give me the Heart.”
“You can’t take it from me,” she declared. “I’m Brigid and it belongs to me.”
“No, you’re the changeling,” Mack said.
“Duh, what do you think a changeling means?” Clare hissed. “I’m possessed by the spirit of Brigid. You’d better let me go.”
“Is she speaking the truth?” Mack asked Seamus who hovered over Griffin, who was sitting up, rubbing his head, and patting his disheveled, dirty, and muddy Great Gatsby style clothes.
“No, she’s the changeling still,” Seamus said. “She only becomes Brigid when the Heart of Brigid is covered with her blood.”
Clare shuddered at all the blood and gore involved. Why couldn’t they simply dress her as Brigid and be done with it?
“Let me help Griffin.” She struggled against the immovable wall of muscle. “He needs medical attention.”
“He’s fine,” Seamus pronounced, pulling him to his feet.
“Where am I? Why am I dressed so funny?” Griffin moaned.
“We don’t have much time,” Mack said. “Get yourself together, Griffin. It’s your time to act. Don’t wimp out now.”
“Griffin, help me.” Clare struggled against Mack’s strong grip. “Get me out of here.”
“Who are you?” Griffin’s eyes were blank like still, black coffee. “What’s going on? Where’s Grandpa?”
Seamus gripped Griffin by the lapels and shook him. “We don’t have much time, so listen to us. We’re guardians. This woman is a changeling. She has the Heart of Brigid. You must make the transformation.”
“Uh, I somehow know that,” Griffin said, still rubbing his head. “It’s supposed to bring my true love back to me.”
“Right, you are,” Seamus said. “Mack, dress the bride.”
“I’m not getting into that dress after it’s been on that skeleton,” Clare said. “You’re going to have to kill me first.”
“You don’t cooperate, you’ll be a skeleton next,” Mack grunted, pinning her with a bear hug.
“She has to want to be the bride,” Griffin’s voice sailed over Seamus’s head. “That much, I remember. She has to be my true love.”
“We’re running out of time,” Mack said. “Let Griffin work it out.”
“His family has failed for over a thousand years,” Seamus said. “I was the one who found the changeling.”
“What Griffin says is correct,” Mack said. “The changeling has to agree to sacrifice herself for Brigid.”
“I know I’m right,” Clare said in a sing-song voice. “You guys are all cursed when I become the fairy queen.”
An alarm jangled from Seamus’s cell phone. He glanced at it and frowned. “Fifteen minutes before dawn. Griffin, here’s what you have to do.”
Seamus whispered the ritual into the newly revived Griffin’s ear.
“Don’t listen to—” Clare called, but Mack slapped his paw over her mouth.
“We need to go now and trust Griffin to do his job,” Mack said. “As for you, little Changeling. No tricks. If Brigid doesn’t emerge from the bedchamber, you will die.”
“Seems I die either way.” Clare’s lips squirmed under his grubby hand. “I’ll take my chances with the amnesiac.”
“Let’s roll,” Seamus said, handing the k
nife to Griffin. “You know what to do. The golden age of Ireland is up to you.”
Clare was tempted to shout at Griffin not to believe them, but if they were leaving, she stood a better chance one-on-one with Griffin who was likely still reeling from his memory loss.
With one last shove, Mack sent her sprawling, arms windmilling, into Griffin. She crashed into him, barely missing the knife, and together they tumbled onto the bed.
The door slammed, and a lock clicked, leaving them alone in the bedchamber.
Footfalls receded, and all Clare could hear was her staggered breathing, her galloping heart, and the blood swishing behind her ears.
“I don’t have much time,” Griffin said, breaking the tick-tock cadence of Clare’s pulse. “If what Seamus says is true, I’m supposed to place you next to the bones of Brigid, put the heart in her ribcage, and slit your throat.”
“I’m not partial to having my throat slit.” Clare focused her gaze on Griffin’s eyes, trying her best to radiate kindness and love. The Griffin before the latest seizure was romantic and heroic—just her type. He’d been trying to run interference for her—to save her. But now? All bets were off. He’d had another seizure and had seemingly forgotten her. Even worse, his personality had undergone another cataclysmic change.
He lifted the gleaming knife and held it over her head. “I need your blood. It will bring my true love, Brigid, back to life. Please?”
Chapter 31
A loud, ringing noise clamped like angry bands of bees around Griffin’s head. His vision blurred, and his pulse swished like someone rubbing sandpaper against his face.
Sweat trickled down the raw skin of his face and dropped onto the cheek of a woman staring up at him. She was the express image of a beautiful Irish woman, with large green eyes, dark-copper hair, a milky complexion, and ruddy, red lips. There was something strangely familiar about her, and even though he was holding a knife above her, she didn’t seem frightened.
He worked to recite the lines he’d been told. He needed her blood. It was his job. His duty. Everything he’d been waiting for. Thousands of years. Ireland.
Lucky Like Love: The Fae Legacy #1 Page 22