“Honey, I don’t have time. Get upstairs!”
Arleigh grabbed Fiana’s arm and pulled her up the stairs. The faeries followed her in a swarm. Addy gave him one last look and disappeared into the stairwell in a swirl of magenta fire.
Ryder pulled open the door to the cottage and stepped outside. Flynn stood about ten yards from the doorway, surrounded by a group of men who would have been professional wrestlers in the 21st century. Ryder knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against one of them, let alone the five who had come to his island. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying.
Mistress Cullen stood next to Flynn. When Flynn leaned down and whispered something in her ear, she headed toward the cottage. Ryder was torn between telling her to stop and knowing that she would do everything in her power to keep the girls from harm. He let her go and faced the wrestlers.
“Gentlemen, I hope you realize you’re trespassing on private property. I’m sure there are penalties for that here. You might want to rethink this whole plan.”
“There are penalties for witchcraft, as well,” Flynn said. “These men are here to enforce the law.”
“Have you told them why you’re really here, Flynn?”
“To deliver a witch unto the proper authorities,” Flynn said. “You know Arleigh Donovan is a witch. These men will take her to be tried for crimes against this colony and the Caindale children.”
Ryder put his sword against his shoulder and glared at Flynn. His gaze swept across the five men. The group moved forward.
“He’s been telling tall tales again, gentlemen. Master Flynn is angry because the woman chose me. Hey, we’re both good-looking guys, but I can’t help it if I’m better in the sack. Poor guy, his pride is all in a bunch because his dick isn’t big enough to satisfy her.”
Flynn drew his sword. “This is going to give me more satisfaction than I thought possible.”
Ryder turned his attention back to the men. “Think about this hard, friends. Kidnapping and accessory to rape are serious crimes. If you add murder into the equation, it all adds up to serious trouble.”
The professional wrestlers glanced at one another and back to Ryder. The largest one stepped forward.
“Sir, we believe you have been bewitched. You need to step out of the way so we can do what we came to do.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Ryder said.
He dropped the sword and charged toward Flynn, swinging the axe and aiming for his throat. Whether he killed him or not didn’t seem to matter, but he needed to prove to these men that Flynn was not what he appeared to be. He needed to take off the mask and show the world what a pansy-assed Ganconor looked like.
Flynn sidestepped quickly, and one of the giants grabbed at the axe and tore it from Ryder’s hand. Ryder lost his balance and stumbled against one of the other men. A hand pushed against his back. He couldn’t believe these men were going to stand around and watch them fight. He turned around, hoping to talk some sense into these strange men, but air rushed past him, and he knew suddenly this wasn’t some kind of game. It was serious business, and these men of Jamestown were going to let Flynn do whatever he wanted.
Ryder spun around as Flynn’s sword rose effortlessly then swooped down and cut him across the side. A sting ripped across his skin, followed by a sharp burning. Back peddling, he howled in anger, grabbed his sword from the ground, and ran at Flynn, cutting through the air with the blade, hoping any one of his blows would find a target. But Flynn was too good, and Ryder could not touch him. Some of the men circled and, from the corner of his eye, he saw two of them enter the house.
“No!”
He turned and ran into a large body. The sword was pulled from his hand. Hands yanked him against what felt like a tree trunk. Arms pinned at his side, he kicked behind him, delivering blows that should have made the man shrink in pain, but the giant didn’t budge. Flynn came toward him as he heard Arleigh scream from the cottage.
“I told you it was futile,” Flynn said. “You could have left Jamestown and saved yourself. But you decided you wanted to be a hero.”
“You thought I would hand over everything I love?” Ryder asked. “Some things are worth fighting for.”
“Lost causes,” Flynn said. “You should learn to recognize them for what they are, Kendall. Do you know what happens to heroes in a crusade they can’t possibly win?”
“They turn into faeries?”
“No, Kendall,” Flynn said, “they die.”
He pulled the sword back, holding it like a dagger, and plunged it into Ryder’s chest. As the blade pierced his chest, Ryder gritted his teeth to hold the scream inside, but there was no air in his body to create a scream. When Flynn pulled the sword away, Ryder’s blood oozed down the metal. A massive pain settled on his chest, and he struggled for a shallow breath, wheezing as the oxygen tried to fight its way into his body.
Two men emerged from the cottage. One of them carried Arleigh, screaming and twisting in his arms. She looked so small, so helpless.
“Don’t do this,” Ryder gasped. “Don’t kill her.”
Flynn laughed. “Is that what you think my intention is? No, no, Kendall. Arleigh Donovan is going to be mine. Totally, absolutely mine. Master Allen, bring the witch to me.”
The man walked across the yard and put Arleigh down. She started to run, and for one small moment, Ryder thought she might succeed, but she stopped short and turned. When she saw Flynn, a soft smile spread across her face. She went to Flynn and put her hand in his.
Ryder hacked blood onto the ground. Arleigh’s glance touched him, but her eyes seemed empty, holding no recognition. The giant released his grip, and Ryder dropped to his knees. The pain in his chest was huge. He could barely get a breath, and dizziness overwhelmed him. Nausea wormed its way through his stomach and up his throat. When Flynn pulled Arleigh toward him and kissed her, Ryder vomited on the ground, his hand pressed hard against his chest. Weak coughs erupted from his throat.
“Master Kendall,” Flynn said.
Ryder raised his head, peering at him through strands of sweaty hair. His body shivered with cold, and yet sweat welled from every pore of his body. He vaguely wondered how long he would live in this time. Probably not very long. There was a lot of blood. Someone should call 911. He wished he could see his sisters. Flynn’s image dimmed slightly, like he was woven inside a bright aura. Ryder tried to stand up, but his muscles weren’t working.
“You have tried your best,” Flynn said, “but it was not good enough. And believe me, Master Kendall, my dick is large enough to satisfy her.”
Ryder spit another glob of blood and bile onto the ground.
“Get the fuck off my island,” he gasped.
He fell to the ground. His vision turned black, and he thought he heard the wail of a crying woman. She sounded so sad.
Chapter 32
Ireland
1235
The air shimmered around them with prisms of color. The land was caught in a violent rainstorm. For one moment, there was no air to breathe, then a blast of cold wind hit them full force, and they fell to the rough brown grass. The wet, soggy ground, littered with puddles of freezing water, sucked at their feet. A deluge of icy rain fell from the sky. Lightning flashed off the horizon, behind the hills that circled the meadow, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
Disoriented and dizzy, Flynn struggled to his feet and studied the landscape through the veil of mist and stinging raindrops. It was colder than he had expected, and his body shivered. It should have been the hottest of summers. The last thing he remembered of Ireland had been the blazing heat of the sun, the sweat pouring from his body, the insects that hovered around his dying flesh. Something wasn’t quite right.
He reached down and hauled the girl to her feet. She wore one of Kendall’s shirts, and her bare feet sunk into the boggy earth. Why hadn’t he thought to dress her properly? He had obviously had more important things on his mind, but he couldn’t imagine how he had forgotten something
as necessary as shoes. She trembled. In this weather, she would freeze to death. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Welcome home,” he said.
She peered at him through strands of wet hair and hugged the jacket around her. Something in her eyes bothered him. She looked angry and confused. When he reached toward her, she flinched and stepped backwards.
“Don’t,” she said.
“You belong to me,” Flynn said. “Come here!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you think you have a choice in this?” He had to raise his voice against the thunder. “Come.”
He gripped her arm, and she struggled. She should have stepped willingly into his arms, unmindful of the wind, the rain, the storm that wailed around them. What had those witches done?
“Get your hands off me,” Arleigh said. “Who are you? Where are we?”
Flynn blinked. She didn’t know him and didn’t remember his power, but her memory should mean nothing. She should still come to him. And he was actually cold. He shouldn’t have been cold. The weather had not affected him for centuries, and yet the raindrops were cold on his skin, and his body responded by shivering. Gooseflesh peppered his skin.
“Bloody hell!”
He stalked through the tall grass. The woman watched him, clearly afraid but unsure of where she should go, what she should do. She stood quietly as the rain fell around her and waited for him to scream at the heavens.
“They sent us back too far!” he cried. He gripped her shoulders and shook her. “I’m human again! Goddamn those little brats! Oh, someone is going to bloody pay for this. The Caindale legacy will die here and now. I have waded through witchcraft my entire existence. They have interfered in my life for the last time.”
He stormed around in the meadow, scanning the horizon and the hills. He knew where he was. Several miles to the west were his lands and his manor. Cardew. If they walked beyond those hills, they would soon reach some of the cottages where his tenants lived. He would take what he needed from them and get home, if they made it through this rainstorm without losing their lives. He turned back to Arleigh.
“Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head, and the raindrops fell from her lashes and trailed down her cheeks like tears.
“I’m your new master,” he said. “You belong to me. We’re going home.”
She glanced around the dark, gloomy meadow. He saw her weighing her options.Her gaze flickered across him. Only death awaited her in this place. She lowered her head and came toward him.
“Good choice,” he said.
Chapter 33
The burning pain in his chest pulled him into consciousness. He gasped in small irregular breaths, and he could not seem to suck enough air into his lungs. It felt like someone sat on his chest or had piled rocks on top of him. There were also tiny pinpricks of pain, as though someone knitted his skin with a pair of needles. His eyes fluttered open, but only darkness met him. The pale glow of twilight sat at the edge of the window, waiting quietly to turn to night.
His vision was like peering through a web of hazy gauze, but he saw a figure sitting beside him and gradually, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he recognized Mistress Cullen. Her serious gaze studied him, her eyes peering intently at something on his body. Her dark hair had loosened, and flamed around her face in wild abandon. She looked beautiful, like an aging angel of mercy. Behind her stood Jack Kensington.
He tried to sit up, but a massive pain gripped him, and he slumped back onto the mattress. A hand gently pushed at his shoulder.
“Stay calm,” Cullen said. “We are working.”
He then saw the lights. Tiny pinpoints of silver lights flashed in and out of his skin, threading through the hole in his chest. They had none of the random, swooping movement of Arleigh’s faeries. They were not playful delicate creatures that winked in happiness and flashed in anger. These little creatures were purposeful, intent on one thing. .
They moved in and out of his wound. They appeared to be healing the tiny blood vessels that had ruptured, and amazingly, were cauterizing the veins and arteries that were damaged inside of him. They settled on his body and emitted arcs of fire like tiny welders. They swiftly moved through the cavern of his chest like a surgeon’s laser.
Ryder watched them through half-closed lids, wincing as the lights flashed, gritting his teeth as they tugged and pulled at his flesh.
“Faery doctors?” he whispered. Two simple words nearly undid him. His voice was raspy, wheezy. The faeries seemed to have much work left to do.
“I suppose you could say that,” Mistress Cullen said.
She brushed the hair from his face and ran a cool cloth over his forehead. It felt wonderful, and he closed his eyes.
“Where are the girls?”
“They’re in the other room, sick with worry for you. Young Fiana is beside herself.”
“She’s tough,” Ryder said, “and very bossy.”
“Aye, I like her very much,” Cullen said. “But she fears you will be angry with her.”
“Never,” Ryder said. “They’re witches you know.”
“Oh, indeed,” Mistress Cullen said. “Powerful. They come from good stock. I’ve known some of their brood.”
“Where’s Addy?”
“She is right here, watching over you. She will not leave.”
A pink glow nestled on the pillow beside his face. She pulsed gently, sending out her aura. It skimmed across his flesh like a warm touch. When he touched her, her golden hair wrapped around his finger like a baby’s hand and squeezed as she slept.
“Was I dead?” Ryder asked.
“Very close to it,” the woman said. “I heard the banshee crying. The dark one. The Caindale spirit. I have seen her before, many times.”
“I’m adopted,” Ryder whispered. “Nice of her to come.”
“Nice indeed!” Mistress Cullen huffed. “I chased her away. I have no time for banshees. They only get in the way. I won’t lose you now. I’ve become quite fond of you.”
“Thought you were neutral.” He tried to smile but found his smile muscles weren’t working very well. He thought perhaps the faery magic had numbed his flesh, but what did he know about faery magic?
“You needn’t spread it around,” she said. “I have a reputation to uphold, but sometimes it is so hard to be neutral. I may be punished, but I’ll deal with that later. Jack here managed to control the bleeding well enough until the others arrived. He has magical hands. One of us, you know.”
Cullen winked. Behind her, Jack Kensington smiled.
“Pretty ugly for a faery, Jack,” Ryder said. “Were you in the wrong line when they were passing out looks?”
“Not much for lines, Master Kendall,” Jack said. “Besides, look at the trouble ya got yourself into for bein’ pretty.”
A laugh caught in his chest, and a massive pain split him in two. “Yeah, well, in my next life I’ll know better.”
“Ya won’t have a choice, lad. ’Tis already been determined.”
The weight on his chest lifted slightly. He could breathe a little better. The burning had settled into small twinges that reminded him of the stitches he had in childhood after a bike accident, itching and burning as they healed. How had these little faery lights worked so fast?
“These guys are good,” Ryder said. “Are they licensed by the AMA?”
Mistress Cullen gave him one of her looks, so he decided to lie back and enjoy being the object of everyone’s attention. He had so many questions, so much he needed to know, but he felt weak as a newborn kitten. He’d had a major ass-kicking. Ryder Kendall had been beaten up by the schoolyard bully and needed time to figure out what to do. But he didn’t think he had much time. Whatever reason Flynn had for wanting him dead probably had other consequences. He really needed to find Arleigh and make sure she was all right.
“Will he hurt her?” Ryder asked.
“Arleigh?” Cullen asked.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He planned a journey.”
“A journey? Is he taking Arleigh away from here?”
“Oh, aye, very far. To a distant time and place.”
“He’s what?”
Ryder scrambled up in the bed, and hundreds of little faery voices chorused.
“Be calm… Work to do… Blood to stop… Flesh to repair…”
Calm? His world had been crumbling for days, and it crashed around him now. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, and the lights on his chest flashed furiously. Adelina jerked awake and hovered near his face, sending out splashes of magenta fire.
His mind raced with possibilities. He thought he might understand Flynn, how he thought, what he wanted, what motivated him. There could be only one place.
“Goddamn it! He’s taking her back to fucking Ireland. Away from here. Away from now. And the girls did that? How can they think that is the answer?”
“I don’t know his intention,” Mistress Cullen said. “Please lie back down. We are not finished.”
“Oh, yes, we are. Get the girls and bring them here.”
“Ryder!” Addy shouted. “Please lie down.”
Jack lifted Ryder’s legs back onto the bed, giving him a stern look and crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “Listen to the ladies, Master. They know best.”
“Are you going to stop me, Jack?”
“If I have to, lad. I’m not wantin’ to hurt you more, so listen to them.”
“Only a few more minutes,” Cullen said. “Fiana wants you well and whole. You will not be able to help them if you are not well. The banshee still lingers on the island. I have kept her at bay, and the faeries have kept her quiet. But if you do not cooperate, she will return for you, and I cannot keep her from you twice. It is not within my power.”
“Jack can handle her,” Ryder said.
“I’ve no power over a banshee,” Jack said. “And to be honest, they scare me.” He shuddered.
Ryder pulled the air into his lungs. He could draw a breath now with very little pain. They were almost done. He could feel that. Fiana had said she would fix everything. He didn’t know what the little witch had up her sleeve, but he guessed he would have to trust her.
Carlton, Amber - Trinity Magic (Siren Publishing Romance) Page 34