by S. Young
When she’d begun dreaming of Fionn and his children the night before, she assumed she was in Fionn’s head. But the dream transitioned too smoothly to her running through a forest, free and fast, bounding over tree limbs and bracken. When Rose woke, she remembered that the images she’d dreamed were taken right out of Fionn’s own memories.
Her very sore and shattered heart was reminding her subconscious that Fionn had his reasons. That maybe she shouldn’t assume it was so easy for him to choose revenge over her.
Rose had a plan. She wouldn’t force anything between them. Rose was going to talk, and Fionn, if he wanted An Breitheamh from her, would have to share himself with her.
The shitty weather had broken and Rose was determined to enjoy the crisp, sunny air. She dressed in jeans, a sweater, a jacket, and a scarf she’d found in her wardrobe, along with a pair of black leather ankle boots that fit perfectly. Seriously, the guy had an uncanny ability to pick a wardrobe.
After scoffing down some toast and coffee, Rose had searched the castle for Fionn. Her impatience (and worry) was growing by the second when she caught sight of a lone figure on a cliff top facing the sea.
At the sight of him, that overwhelming ache of want filled her.
She set out of the castle for the first time since her arrival. The main door was inconspicuous. One might expect mammoth arched double doors, drawbridge, and moat. But the single door was in a small vestibule off the main hall.
Well, not just a single door but a heavy, solid, wrought iron door.
Probably heavy to a human, Rose thought. She could push it open like it was made of cardboard.
Rugged stones acted as a stairway, leading her down to level ground. A garden that was probably spectacular in the spring surrounded her. Neat flagstone paths led off in all directions toward the high, defensive stone walls that encompassed the castle grounds. One huge wrought iron door seemed to be the exit. To her right, near the base of the castle, was an archway carved into the stone, leading out toward the cliff top where she’d seen Fionn. She was just about to walk that way when he appeared through it.
Rose shivered in the late November air.
The fae walked toward her, his expression unreadable. He wore only a black cashmere sweater with a shawl collar, dark blue jeans, and walking boots. Rose liked him like this. Sure, he was all kinds of hot in his suits and overcoat, but the more casual look worked well with the rugged unkemptness of his hair and stubbled cheeks.
Attraction awoke inside her. It was always there, ready to be prodded to consciousness with Fionn’s arrival.
Jesus Christ, she realized she would never escape this mating bond.
Which was another thing she wanted to talk to him about.
As Fionn slowed to a halt before her, Rose gestured to the door leading out of the grounds. “Is it safe to go for a walk?”
“The spell reaches miles beyond the castle.”
“So that would be a yes?” When he continued to watch her, Rose stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Would you like to come with me?”
Fionn studied her, as if trying to work out her motivation. Finally, he nodded.
To her delight, Rose saw there was a little bridge outside the wrought iron gate. It was built over a small stream that ran past the castle and out into the ocean. “Where is it from?”
“Water finds its way throughout the hills here, moving over valleys, either funneling out toward the sea or downward to the faerie pools.”
“Will you show me the faerie pools?”
She felt his perusal again before he answered in the affirmative.
Beyond the bridge was the coastline to their right and forestry to their left. Fionn pointed out dips in the cliff edge that led down to the dunes.
“There’s not a lot of beach here, and it’s pebbled, not golden sands. But, if you feel like dipping your toes in the water, that’s where to go.”
Rose nodded and then followed him as he led her to a worn path through the woods. The sun shone through the seminaked trees, the forest floor covered in a carpet of autumn leaves soggy from the last few days of rain.
“How did you come to own a castle?” She broke the silence, looking up at him, a towering figure walking beside her with the grace of an athlete.
“I bought it roughly a hundred years after the Blackwoods woke me up. It was built in the fourteenth century for a lord of Ireland. I’d discover upon awakening that Ireland had been invaded by England in the late twelfth century, and the reign of the high kings was over.” There was a hint of grim melancholy in his voice. “Ireland would never be the same again.” Fionn glanced down at her, his expression softening a little. “Almost two centuries before I’d awaken, the title of lord of Ireland would be abolished. By the late 1800s the castle had been added to over the centuries and was now under the ownership of an English lord whose coffers were rapidly dwindling. Such situations were commonplace among a dying aristocracy that refused to get their hands dirty by investing in the Industrial Revolution. I discovered this earl had financial troubles and offered a lot more than the castle was worth. He sold it to me.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because …” He seemed to hesitate. “The gate to Faerie is on this land. I wanted to be able to protect it.”
“Until you could use it.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory. Just matter-of-fact.
“Aye.”
“You bought this place and spelled it. But you don’t stay here all the time.”
“No. But it is home.”
“Is it near your old home? When you were human, when you were king?”
Fionn shook his head. “No, my homestead was in what is now Northern Ireland. Near Enniskillen.”
Letting silence fall between them, Rose followed Fionn through the forest, wondering if he was taking a path buried under the leaves. When they reached a fallen tree, he held out a hand to aid her over it, even though they both knew she didn’t require anyone’s help.
Taking a deep breath, Rose accepted his hand, unable to meet his gaze as his fingers closed tightly around hers. She hopped over the fallen tree with Fionn’s steadying touch and immediately let go of his hand as soon as he was over the obstacle.
He stepped over it like it was a puddle.
Tingles sparked all over Rose’s hand and she stuffed it into her pocket, aware of Fionn flexing his before fisting it at his side.
He’d felt it too.
She gathered her courage to say what had been on her mind all morning. “I don’t think I ever properly said how sorry I was about Caoimhe and Diarmuid.”
His head whipped toward her so fast, she was sure he must have gotten whiplash. Green eyes blazed intimidatingly at her, searching her expression.
She allowed her sincere empathy to show. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to you. That you lost them.”
Satisfied Rose was telling the truth, he gave her a clipped nod and focused his attention forward again.
Feeling brave, she continued, “I’ve had time to think about that. Kids weren’t ever something I thought about. They were this possibility to consider way off in the distant future. However, they were a possibility … and now they’re not.” Loss filled her. “It’s not the same, I know that. But I feel like I’ve lost something, anyway.”
Fionn cut her an unreadable look. She half expected him to commiserate, offer comfort, but that muscle ticked away in his jaw and he seemed to glance away guiltily. Why? It wasn’t his fault she was fae.
“What age were you when you had Diarmuid?”
At first, Rose thought he wouldn’t answer. Then …
“Sixteen.”
“What?” Her eyebrows must have hit her hairline.
Fionn smirked at her. “You’re reacting as a modern woman. Back then, I was a man at thirteen, already warring. The fae invasion distracted the clans from their wars for territory. They hadn’t come together as one just yet, but each were doing what they could to keep the fae from hurting
their people. Aoibhinn and I grew up in the same village and as soon as she had her first bleed, she was considered a woman. She was fourteen when it happened. I was fifteen, almost sixteen. She was beautiful, her father was head of our clan, and she was much sought after. She could have been given to an older, more experienced clansman, but I’d proven myself in battle, her father viewed me as a son, and Aoibhinn wanted me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rose croaked. “You got married when she was fourteen and you were sixteen.”
“Again, Rose, times were very, very different.”
“You were children.”
“No,” he snapped. “That was not a world you could be a child in for long. We’re known as the Celts now. And we were a warring, violent people. You were lucky to hold on to even a modicum of childhood.”
“Okay, okay,” Rose soothed. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Twenty-first-century minds do not belong in the Iron Age.”
Fionn relaxed marginally. “Aoibhinn fell pregnant quickly. Diarmuid was born just before I was about to enter my seventeenth year.”
Rose couldn’t even imagine being a parent at that age. “What was he like?”
His expression hardened but it was at odds with the softness of his voice. “He was my shadow. By the time he was seven, I’d taken over the clan and had started to bring the other clans together. He wanted to be like me, wielding the wooden sword I gave him with skill belying his young age. He even wanted his own wolf. Aoibhinn used to complain that she’d never met a child so focused on the duties of men. Diarmuid was a good boy.” Fionn swallowed hard. “I was taken to Faerie days after his eleventh birthday. By that time, I was king, grooming my son to take my place when the time came. But I missed six years of his life. When I came back, he was already a man with his own wife and child on the way.” His voice grew cold. “I’ll never know what happened to him. Or to my gentle Caoimhe who cried when others cried and laughed when others laughed and felt more deeply than those around her. She was goodness and beauty in a violent, wicked world. She was the sky and the rolling hills and the wondrous sea—she was what made that life worth enduring.”
Tears Rose couldn’t control spilled down her cheeks at his beautiful but haunted words. “I’m sorry,” Rose whispered.
Fionn looked down at her, following her tears. “She was loyal like you, Rose.”
That ache inside her intensified. “No. She was loyal like you. The man you used to be.”
Although she hadn’t meant it as an insult, Fionn winced slightly and picked up his pace.
Rose hurried to follow. “I’m sure she and Diarmuid had a long, good life. They were no longer battling the fae, and they were royalty, right?”
“Which made them targets. A simple man often enjoys a more peaceful life than a chief or a king. Still, the village we built under my kingship was a hillfort. Highly defensible. It was called An Caomhnóir.”
“Like the castle?”
“The castle is named after the village.”
The trees began to clear, water sparkling in the distance, the sound of it rushing filling the silence.
“What about … Aoibhinn?”
Fionn didn’t reply. Instead, he kept walking until the trees fell behind them and they walked over massive, moss-covered rock. Hills that stretched for miles surrounded them. The stream of rushing water disappeared into the hills beyond and fell in a shallow waterfall into a pool separated by an arm of rock. The pool with the waterfall was large, the other small and enclosed.
The water was a startling Mediterranean turquoise.
Magic tingled in the air.
The faerie pools.
“I loved Aoibhinn,” Fionn said, lifting his voice to be heard over the waterfall. “She was fierce and protective of our children. She wanted to able to protect them if I was ever gone so I trained her to fight, with her fists and with a sword. But … not long after our marriage, a fae stole into the village and took Aoibhinn’s mother. The fae used magic to fend us off. A powerful, powerful fae. We failed to protect her, and she was found a day later in the woods, naked and mutilated.”
Rose covered her mouth, aghast at what her imagination conjured.
“Aoibhinn hated the fae, but that day something twisted inside her. I vowed to find the fae and kill him. And I did.” He looked down at her. “I used An Breitheamh.”
She pieced together what he wasn’t saying. “He was the fae prince you killed.”
Fionn nodded.
“You killed him for Aoibhinn and in turn started a war with Aine. Everything you did was for Aoibhinn, and she betrayed you for it.”
“Her hate for the fae was stronger than her love for me.”
“No,” Rose said, her voice gentle, free of accusation. “Her thirst for vengeance was greater than her love for you.”
She watched him process this, his nostrils flaring as their gazes held.
Satisfied she’d made her point, Rose took a step toward the faerie pools. “What exactly are these pools capable of?”
It took him a moment but Fionn eventually joined her on the edge of the rocks. “For us? They’re warm and relaxing. Like a natural spa. The water can wash away the trace.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it washes away all spells.”
“Wow.” She stared down into the water. “What’s it like for humans and other supernaturals?”
“Cold.” He smirked. “Uninviting. But it does wash away spells for them too.” Fionn frowned. “I found An Breitheamh buried at the bottom of the largest pool. It was inside the silver box, with a parchment note from the Faerie Queen herself.”
“Instructing that you needed to kill a fae-borne with the dagger to enter Faerie?” Rose guessed, hurting at the thought. “Knowing it wouldn’t be easy for you.”
She understood now, more than ever.
Fionn Mór was a betrayed husband, a grieving father, and a displaced king.
“Aye,” Fionn answered quietly, so quietly she barely heard him over the falling water. “That dagger is the only thing that’s come out of those pools with its spell still gripped tight to it.”
More silence fell between them, the water rushing into the pool a soothing, peaceful sound at odds with the turmoil writhing inside her.
“I forgive you,” Rose announced.
He stared down at her, arrested.
She nodded, a small, sad smile on her lips. “I forgive you for trying to use me to open the gate.”
“Rose …”
“And I get that you’re on a mission that I might not be able to stop. But you have to promise me that you won’t take me somewhere against my will again. Twice you’ve knocked me out. Promise me … never again.”
He nodded, turning toward her. Her breath caught as Fionn lifted one large hand toward her, his fingers tickling her cheekbone before he tucked her hair behind her ear. As he lowered his hand, his fingertips caressed her neck. Rose fought a shiver and Fionn lowered his arm back by his side. “I can promise that, Rose. However”—his expression hardened—“I can’t promise to be something that I’m not. I made a vow long ago that I intend to keep. I’m sorrier than I can say that the vow conflicts with how I feel about you … But I’m from a different time, mo chroí. I’ve lived too long. I will always have one foot on the wrong side of morality. I will never be the man who follows the rules or always does what’s right.”
Rose stepped closer to him, feeling the conflict emanating from his very being. She wished he could see that what they could be was worth giving up the vow he’d made centuries before. If he couldn’t see it now, then Rose was determined to make him.
And she wouldn’t play fair to do it.
She rested a hand on his strong chest, near his rapidly beating heart. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly that woman either.”
A small smile prodded his lips. “No, you’re not. You follow your impulses, Rose. You embrace what you are with a freedom I admire.”
>
“I can teach you.” She grinned, only half teasing. “I can teach you to embrace being fae. To make it an existence you find joy in.”
“I fear it’s too late for that.” He closed the distance between them, bowing his head toward her. “But I’d be happy to pass our hours here more pleasurably. I’ve never bedded a gymnast before.”
Rose’s lips parted in shock before she could stop herself. She snapped her mouth shut at his smug expression. “You didn’t just say that.”
Fionn’s grin caused a riot of fluttering in her stomach. “Come on, Rose. Show an old man some new tricks.”
Fighting a smile, she cocked her head. “How old are you, anyway? I mean … how old were you before …”
“Thirty-three.”
“So you’re almost a decade older than me.”
This time, he chuckled. “Oh, if only that were true.”
His laughter did more to knot her insides than his flirting. “I liked you better as Mr. Cold and Distant.”
“I liked you better when you were flirting with me all the time. Ironic, that.”
“I flirted because I liked you.”
“And now you don’t?”
Instead of answering, Rose retreated a few steps and crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know we’re mated? Niamh told me but how do I know she’s right? How do you know?”
If Fionn was surprised by the turn of conversation, he didn’t show it. “I didn’t know at first. However, there were signs. To begin with, the way we were drawn to each other at the club in Zagreb. That sense of familiarity and attraction are symptoms of a mating bond.”
Rose looked down into the faerie pools, considering this. When she first set eyes on Fionn, it was like someone had lassoed a rope around her, pulling her body toward him.
“When you told me you sensed what I was feeling, it surprised me. It’s rare that a fae can do that. Yet it’s not rare between mates. In fact, it’s well known on Faerie that fae mates can sense each other’s emotions. It’s an ability that fades with time. Something that helps the mates find their footing with each other in the first flush of their relationship.”