Lucky for her, she was an expert at tuning out white noise. She’d fallen asleep to the surly look on Aidan’s face.
“The west coast,” Aidan answered.
“Why didn’t we fly into Shannon?”
“We were only cleared for Dublin. Tonight, we’ll stay at Reilly’s cottage outside the city.”
“They’re ready,” Reilly interrupted them, sticking his head inside the door. He caught sight of Cian, who was still green from the trip. “Cian, you head out first. Careful.”
Cian managed a nod, then slowly exited the plane.
Emma watched him go. “I feel awful for him. Is he like that every time you fly?”
“Aye,” Aidan said. “You’d think he’d get used to it, but he still claims it’s unnatural to ride about in the air. He’d much rather a beast under him than nothing at all.”
“You mean, like a horse?”
“Aye. Have you ever ridden before?”
Emma grimaced. “Yes.”
Amused, he asked, “Did you enjoy it?”
“Absolutely not. It was a nasty thing, kept trying to bite me. I don’t like horses.”
“How big was it?” he asked.
“Well, I was thirteen at the time, and it came up to my shoulder. So, pretty huge,” she replied seriously.
He laughed. “Oh, Emma. That was a pony. Not a horse.”
She glared at him. “It was big, and it wasn’t worth the five bucks. I didn’t trust it.”
“Perhaps I can take you for a ride. Show you how trustworthy a true steed can be,” Aidan replied.
His eyes told her he was talking about a lot more than horses, but she still hesitated. Yes, she had gone to his room with the hopes of seeing where her feelings led her. But once she came to her senses, her old fears reared their ugly heads.
Aidan was a wealthy, beautiful man. Power and strength oozed from his pores, and he had a killer accent to top it all off. He was sure to have women fall all over him—even if they didn’t know the contents of his bank account, his looks alone made him a marked man. And she had firsthand knowledge that he looked even better with his clothes off.
She wasn’t immune. Aidan was the most masculine man she’d ever met, and her hormones were all over that like white on rice. But she knew where this kind of thing led. She’d seen it countless times—man and woman meet. Man gets woman into bed. Woman finds out man is married. Someone finds out and threatens to tell, and Emma Perkins is there, ready with the pen, to spin it around.
She’d had enough spinning in her personal life to last two lifetimes. She knew, deep in her bones, if she let Aidan in, she’d never be able to let him go.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it when he left, which he certainly would do. Her only relationship was proof enough of her shortcomings. She had thought things with Ben were perfect, and though the pictures of him with another woman had blindsided her, so had the realization that she was more invested in the relationship than he ever was. How would she know when Aidan would tire of her? He was worldly, from a different class than she. He’d get bored with her plain-Janeness, her desire to stay in and read a book rather than go out on the town. She was a homebody, and he was a jet-setter. He was Adonis, and she did not want to end up like Aphrodite in that sad tale. No, it was better if she admired from afar.
She had the perfect excuse. Her temporary insanity this morning aside, she really did work for Aidan. She was contracted not only by him but also by Celtic Connections—of which he was a stakeholder. Therefore, he was totally, completely off-limits to her.
She would not be like Heidi and sleep with her boss.
A voice at the back of her mind whispered that it wasn’t the same, but she crushed it.
“I think I’m safest if I stick with what I know,” she finally said.
“What would that be?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.
She refused to shrink back. “My own two feet.”
“MacWilliam, let’s go. They’re waiting,” Reilly said, popping his head back into the cabin.
Aidan gave Emma a searching look, then apparently let it go. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and walked out of the jet when he waved her in front of him.
“Thank you for flying with us, Ms. Perkins,” Amanda said.
Aidan kissed the back of Amanda’s hand, although Emma noticed it was much different from the kisses he gave her on her own hand.
She tried not to examine that too closely.
“Amanda, give your husband my regards.”
“Of course,” she replied brightly. “Take care, Mr. MacWilliam.”
They walked down the stairs, two customs officials waiting to greet them and check passports. Emma pinched herself when a tiny shiver of excitement ran up her spine.
She really was in Ireland. She couldn’t wait to explore.
Chapter 10
Jet lag was going to be the death of her.
Unable to sleep, Emma rolled out of the exceedingly comfortable bed in Reilly’s guest room and padded across the floor, pulling the curtain back. The moon bathed the landscape in a bright blue. She caught her breath at the beauty surrounding the cottage.
Reilly was blessed, indeed. He lived down a private drive, surrounded by trees. The drive opened up to the cottage, like something out of a fairy tale. Inside was just as perfect—the slanted walls, uneven floors, bright paint, and, most of all, the thatched roof.
How she adored thatched-roof cottages.
The back yard (garden, she reminded herself) was marked with a low stone wall that extended from either side of the building and straight back, squaring off to create a neat rectangle of perfectly manicured lawn. Beyond the far wall was green, as far as she could see, sweeping gracefully over hills, up to the tree line in the distance, perhaps half a mile or more away. Directly outside the back door was a neatly tilled vegetable garden; empty pots, tools, and baskets lay on the ground, ready for use.
Aidan had, thankfully, backed off her a little. Instead of kissing her senseless in the doorway when he showed her the guest room, he kissed her knuckles and gave a small bow.
She loved and hated how that left her even more breathless than a passionate embrace.
And there was the crux of her problem. She stared out the window, more confused than ever. Never had she been involved in such a complicated nonrelationship.
Drawing the blanket around her shoulders, Emma carefully unlatched the window and pushed it open. The air whooshed in, and the strands of her hair danced on the wind. She closed her eyes and drew in a strengthening breath.
She had no idea what to do next. She had foolishly opened an emotional door, and while Aidan wasn’t forcing it to remain open, he certainly refused to let it slam shut.
Her life was a mess.
A quiet voice caught her attention, and she craned her neck to find its source. Directly below her window, the back door opened, a shaft of yellow light spilling onto the vegetable garden. A shadow appeared, growing smaller as Aidan walked out, ending a call on his phone. He tossed it onto the tiny bistro table on the patio, then drew the sword he’d bought at the auction from its scabbard at his side.
Emma held her breath as he examined it, the steel flashing in the moonlight. He inspected every inch of it, from the hilt to the tip, and then he sat down in the grass, the sword across his lap, a box next to him.
Emma cocked her head, wondering what he was doing. When he pulled out a long metal file from the box, she was intrigued. He slowly dragged the file over first one, then the other edge of the blade, carefully and methodically wiping the metal after each stroke of the file.
He’s restoring it, she realized. She’d figured he’d get a professional to do that; after all, he had paid a hefty sum to possess it. Why take a chance and ruin it?
He pulled a small glass bottle and a large, rectangular stone from the box. He tipped the bottle and a shiny liquid poured into his hand. He smoothed it over the stone, then wiped his hand on the grass and p
icked up his sword again. He dragged the blade against the stone, wiped it, then repeated the motion.
Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she finally understood how he was restoring the blade, and it sent shivers up her spine.
He was sharpening his sword—using a file, oil, and a whetstone. The same way they did in the Middle Ages.
She watched, fascinated, as he rhythmically rubbed the edge of the blade down the stone. He paid particular attention to the tip, honing it to a fine point, then carefully flipped the sword over and repeated the sharpening on the opposite edge. After long minutes, he inspected his work, packed up his supplies, and headed back inside.
Emma stepped back from the window, more confused than ever. Aidan had spent more than a half hour performing a medieval task like he’d been doing it the whole of his life. He could also expertly dress himself in an authentic léine, and he fluently spoke an almost unknown form of Gaelic.
The man had so many mysterious layers wrapped around him, Emma wondered if she’d ever know the real Aidan MacWilliam.
Don’t get involved. She closed the window and climbed back into bed, even more confused than when she’d rolled out of it. Your life is too complicated. Adding a relationship—especially with Aidan—would make it even worse.
She knew she was right. But she didn’t understand why she felt so compelled to ignore herself.
• • •
It had been a full, blissful month of sightseeing.
Aidan had driven her, without complaint, around the beautiful island. Emma had kissed the Blarney Stone, danced after hours in Irish pubs, and roamed the ancient streets of Dublin. She wandered through Bunratty Castle, listening to the tour guide spout interesting facts in one ear while trying to shush Aidan’s constant commentary in the other.
Aidan didn’t agree with the man on most things about medieval life; apparently his love of the time period extended further than antiquities. Emma was impressed by the number of times Aidan quietly corrected the “facts”—and she wondered what his sources were.
She stood in slack-jawed wonder at the Book of Kells, she wandered the grounds of Trinity College, and she meandered across the beautiful, many-hued green fields of Tipperary.
And with each day, she fell a little bit more in love with Aidan MacWilliam.
He made it easy, of course. His words were always followed by action. Are you chilled, Emmaline? He handed her a stunning Aran sweater from the Blarney Mills. Who knows when you’ll return to this castle, lass. Go ahead and have another run up those stairs. I’ll be right behind you. He caught her as she tripped—again—on the uneven stairs at Dunguaire Castle. I’ve arranged a private viewing of the Book of Kells. I thought you might fancy a few hours with it. He sat quietly at one of the tables in the famous Long Room, surrounded by thousands of manuscripts, patiently waiting for her to go through a selection of pages with one of the staff members.
The man was chivalry personified.
But he made no move to kiss her. He held her hand as they walked from place to place. He even held her hand as they drove across the country and back again. He rubbed distracting circles with his thumb, tracing the sensitive parts of her hand, making her hum with pleasure.
But still, he didn’t kiss her.
Maybe, she thought more than once, and more than a bit ruefully, she had been a little too successful in her speech, back when they first arrived.
As spring slowly turned toward summer, Emma had seen more of Ireland than she had ever hoped to in her lifetime. Every new place was more beautiful than the last, and she was hard-pressed to think of going back to the States.
Ever.
• • •
“I vow to you, he insisted,” Aidan said, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes.
“I still feel strange living in Reilly’s house while he’s not here,” Emma replied. “We’ve been here for five weeks, and he’s been gone almost all of them.”
Aidan glanced out the back window of Ry’s kitchen, his eyes again scanning the tree line for any sight of his cousin. Reilly had departed a few days after they’d arrived in Dublin, headed back to take care of an issue with Brianagh’s eldest daughter, Claire. Before he left, Reilly warned Aidan that he might be a long time in returning. Aidan understood; sometimes Reilly would be gone for a few hours, and other times, weeks.
This time, though, Aidan didn’t begrudge the man and his abilities. He hadn’t any pressing desire to return to the Middle Ages, not when he finally had a reason to stay in the present.
That reason was currently listing all the reasons why she felt guilty about her current situation.
“Emma,” he finally said, holding a hand up. “Relax. You have no deadlines, no bosses demanding your energy. Just you, and me, and wherever you want to go.” As long as we keep a low profile, he silently added, and draw no attention to us, you’re safe.
She blew out a breath, puffing strands of her hair outward. “You keep saying that.”
“And you keep ignoring it.”
She smiled then, and Aidan felt his heart constrict. Had any other woman of his acquaintance ever moved him in such ways? Her laugh, which was frequent now that she had managed to distance herself from her New York life, was the sweetest sound his ears had ever heard. And her face had softened as the worry lines and tension left her.
If he’d thought her beautiful before, now, as she settled into Ireland, she was absolutely radiant.
“We’ve discussed this to death. You are on a much-deserved holiday. A sabbatical, if you will. Colin’s in agreement; he wants you fresh-faced and excited, not drawn and dispassionate.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re wrong.”
“And you’re stunning. Finish your breakfast, love, as we’re headed to a special place today.”
Her eyes brightened, and his chest grew even tighter. The wonder in those violet depths stirred something in his soul, and though he’d been holding himself back for weeks, his heart was very nearly lost to Emma.
If only she felt the same way.
But she had made her intentions clear. They worked together—or would, once Aidan determined she was safe enough from MacDermott to do so—and that was enough for her to put the brakes on their relationship.
He promised himself he wouldn’t touch her again until she asked for it. Begging would be ideal, but he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t think Emma begged for anything.
And though he tried, he couldn’t help but hold her hand. It was a simple pleasure, one he refused to deny himself. She didn’t pull away, nor did she seem averse to it, so he continued to hold it, embracing the little bolt of electricity each time they made contact.
Never before had a lass so undone him with a look, or a laugh, or—the saints preserve him—a happy sigh.
“So where are we going? And are we taking the Mercedes?”
He chuckled. Her love of that automobile had been obvious from the moment she slid into it. “Aye, we can take that beast. I’d like to show you my home.”
“You mean the place you’re renovating?”
He nodded, clearing their dishes from the table.
“Reilly told me it has a thatched roof, like this one.”
“That it does.”
“And that it’s bigger than this house, although I think this is charming.” She looked around her and smiled. “Though it be small, ’tis mighty.”
He laughed. “You’re sounding more Irish every day.”
She flushed. “I can’t take credit for that one. I read it somewhere.”
Aidan glanced out the window, and his gazed locked on the lone figure loping across the garden, a sword resting against his shoulder and his boots strapped with knives. A movement further out caught his eye, and he squinted at the second person in the distance, who melted back into the trees almost as suddenly as he had appeared.
“Change in plans,” he murmured. Louder, he said to Emma, “Would you mind checking the car for my jacket while I finish up
in here?”
“Sure.” She headed out the front door, swiping the keys off the table in the living room. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Aidan stepped out the back door and gave Reilly the signal that all wasn’t yet clear for him to return.
Aidan scanned the tree line once more, but he saw nothing. He headed back inside as Reilly made himself scarce, and rubbed his jaw.
Reilly was back. But who the hell had followed him home?
• • •
Aidan pushed back from the table, his belly pleasantly full. Flagging the server, he ordered another glass of wine for Emma and whiskeys for him and Reilly.
“Are you trying to liquor me up?” Emma asked, placing her napkin on the table next to her dish.
Which, he noted smugly, was nearly licked clean.
He had a lot of pride in this restaurant. It had been his first foray into the unknown world of food and food service; Colin and Colin’s brother, James, had pushed him to take a risk with it. At the time, he needed to do something more than land ownership (which in modern times had a completely different meaning than it did in his own). After he sold most of his belongings for coin (people paid a lot of money for things he used in everyday life), he figured the next step was to become a landowner. He thought he’d be managing a clan, or at the very least allowing people to live a comfortable life under his lairdship when he purchased a large parcel of land on the coastline of the North Atlantic.
He didn’t realize that, in modern-day Ireland, a landowner was not a laird. It merely meant unpopulated acreage and an overpriced tax bill.
James understood Aidan’s need to do something important. Growing up, Aidan’s own brother had regularly placed him in charge of obtaining food for their clan. Aidan would ride out, see what he could do to rope a beast or steal cattle, and help feed his people. James thought it might be a good idea for him to invest in a failing restaurant, as it would save jobs, giving employees financial stability. It would also feed others, giving them nourishment.
An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two Page 14