by A. S. Green
“Do you know them?” Niall asked, suddenly turning to Rowan.
So, here they were. Well, honesty was the best policy. Partial honesty was probably even better.
She swallowed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin before laying it in her lap. “Yes. One of them is a patient of mine.”
He stared at her for a long second, and Rowan fought against the rush of blood that threatened to flood her cheeks. She turned to her right and reached for the bowl. “Would you like some more potatoes?”
Niall held up his hand to decline, then turned toward her father. “This cú sídhe family must have been the same who called the council this morning.”
Her father nodded. “Rabble rousers. They sit on a pile of money their father made gambling. These days they have nothing else to do but cause trouble.”
“How so?”
“Perhaps…” Rowan’s mother interjected uncharacteristically. “Perhaps we can find a more pleasant dinnertime conversation?”
Sean McNeely ignored his wife. “I assume your father has educated you on our history, so you know that the cú sídhe served us loyally for millennia. We had little trouble, but then the riots began, the petitions, the bids for liberation…”
“Are you suggesting the trouble we’re seeing today is because of that history?” Niall asked.
“First, I’m not suggesting we’re seeing any trouble whatsoever. The area is safe. So safe, I have no concerns about walking alone at night.”
“That’s very good to hear, sir.”
“What I’m suggesting—” her father continued, “and this is more than just a suggestion—is that the cú sídhe have realized their demand for independence was a colossal mistake.”
Rowan’s spoon clattered against her plate. She thought she was going to be sick. How could her father say such a thing? The very idea of Declan and his brothers not having their independence… It was unconscionable.
Niall leaned in intrigued. “How so?”
“You can’t deny breeding,” her father said smugly. He pointed at Rowan with his fork. “Look at my daughter.”
Niall did as instructed and this time, Rowan could not fight the heat that crawled into her face. He smiled at her, but she still could not return it.
“My daughter is the pinnacle of good daoine breeding. She is everything a daughter should be. She will be everything a good wife should be. She can’t deny that any more than she can deny the need to breathe.”
“Clearly so,” Niall said. “Anyone can see she is exceptional and would make a beautiful bride.”
Rowan reached for her water goblet with a shaking hand. She didn’t manage any better when she tried to take a drink.
Niall leaned against the edge of the table and said to her father, “But what does that have to do with the posters in Babbitt, or the council this morning?”
“The cú sídhe can’t deny their breeding either.” Her father stabbed a piece of meat and took a bite.
“Okay,” Niall said, drawing out the word to prompt further illumination.
Rowan’s father sighed as if he were exhausted. He swallowed then said, “What I’m trying to explain to you, son, is that they are lying to us about imagined dangers.”
“Daddy,” Rowan scolded, while her hands twisted the napkin in her lap. “Those men in the woods were real.”
Sean McNeely turned his angry gaze on his daughter. “Princess, did those men say they were Black Castle?”
“Well…no.” Not in so many words, but it seemed pretty obvious. Declan was quite certain.
“Did you see them trying to break into the MacConalls’ home?” her father pressed.
“No, but—” She’d heard the rocks hitting the brick. She’d heard the window break. Hadn’t she? Granted, she’d just been awakened from a dead sleep, but—
“Did you ever treat any of the MacConalls, or that halfling of theirs, for any injuries sustained at Kawishiwi Falls?”
“No, Daddy.” Now that was weird. The brothers might have healed well on their own, but they said Meghan had been attacked.
“Do we have any proof that the girl was assaulted at all?”
Rowan’s heart sunk. “I guess not.”
“But, sweetheart,” her mother asked her father, “why would the MacConalls lie?”
Her father brought his fist down on the table and her mother jumped. “Because lying about the danger is their only chance of staying relevant. They are intentionally putting fear in our hearts just to give themselves something to do.”
Niall breathed out a long breath. “That seems reckless.”
Reckless.
Rowan furrowed her brow. She had accused Declan of that herself, right after the incident in the woods. Was her father right? Had the MacConalls made this into more than what it was? Were they intentionally provoking pádraigs just to stir up trouble?
Her father stabbed another piece of meat with his fork then held it up in front of his face, making little pulsing movements with it in the air to drive each of his points further home. “The MacConalls have no education, no industry. They have made no effort to blend with pádraig society and thereby have made themselves stand out like sore thumbs. It’s no wonder trouble finds them, and when it doesn’t, they get bored and go looking for it.”
Niall nodded. “I see.”
No, Rowan’s first instinct was to keep arguing. But… wasn’t that exactly what Declan had done in the woods? They could have walked away, but he walked straight up to them. He’d sounded almost gleeful while describing to her what Branna was doing, messing with the shotguns, harassing the pádraigs… Had he been cooped up in the house for so long that he wanted to join in the fun? For all that fun, Rowan had ended up with a shotgun pressed to her temple.
“Did you know the oldest MacConall left home, abandoned his family for fifty years, just to go looking for someone to fight?” her father continued.
Rowan had never looked at it that way before. Cormac’s abandonment was part of the reason Declan had turned to salvia as a coping mechanism. If her father was right, their base instincts not only made them troublemakers, but completely heartless. How could you turn your back on your family like that? A daoine would never do something so cold.
And as much as she hadn’t wanted to see it at the time, being back with her family was bringing a lot of things into clearer focus.
“Any trouble we’ve ever had in these parts is because the cú sídhe have brought it to us. What the daoine need to do is go about our business, put our families first, keep our heads low, and this will all soon blow over.”
“Do you agree?” Niall asked, turning to Rowan. Something in his face told Rowan that her answer would be important. He was deciding something about her, and she wanted that to be something good, something safe.
“My daughter is in agreement with her family,” her father said.
“A daoine of good breeding,” Niall confirmed, smiling at her. “You will make someone a beautiful bride.”
And this time, Rowan finally managed to smile back.
Chapter Seventeen
DECLAN
HWAT! … HWAT! … tip-thunk. HWAT! … tip-thunk … HWAT!
Declan stuck the last dart in the target, then walked across the game room to retrieve them. He yanked four from the board and picked up two from the floor. Then he started the process all over again.
HWAT!
After returning from the council meeting that morning, he’d gone up to his room and collapsed. He thought he’d sleep for hours but, without Rowan, he tossed and turned until noon. When he finally gave up the hope of sleep, he came downstairs, drank more of the thick green tonic she’d left in the refrigerator, then wandered into the game room looking for a distraction.
He’d now been throwing for hours. He figured, at this rate, he might qualify for the World Series of Darts. By next summer, he could be throwing arrows in Las Vegas while Aiden was back here being his usual chucker.
Speaking of Aiden, he
’d been in the game room nearly as long. But instead of asking to join in on a game, he’d been reading a book in the slouchy arm chair in the corner. He’d barely acknowledged Declan’s presence, or how well he was throwing. He hadn’t said much of anything really—though for some reason Declan got the distinct impression that his brother was pissed. Seriously pissed. Probably about the council meeting
Aiden had wanted them to plan it better instead of rushing in. Maybe if they’d done as he said, they would have gotten something out of it. Instead, the whole thing had turned into a melee—having more to do with certain clans keeping their dirty hands off other clans’ daughters than with Cormac’s goal of unity and cooperation.
Declan had a black eye for all his trouble, and Aiden was balancing an ice pack on his shoulder. No bother. These were minor scuffs, and if Aiden had any I-told-you-sos to get off his chest, he’d get around to them when he was ready. He always did. So Declan tried to ignore his brother, as well as the sound of his increasingly violent page turns. Until then, Declan didn’t even know it was possible to read angrily, but his brother was somehow managing it.
Declan threw another dart, but missed. If Aiden wasn’t interfering enough with his focus, the muffled thumps and crashes of Cormac and Meghan getting it on upstairs certainly were. It made Declan’s cock harden, and it made him miss Rowan all the more.
“Sweet Danu,” Aiden muttered to himself, “they’ve been going at each other all day.”
Declan didn’t respond. Obviously Aiden didn’t understand what it felt like to have your anamchara so near. It had been two years of torture keeping his hands off Rowan and now that he’d had his hands on her, and his fingers in her, the future looked impossibly bleak. If he were to ever have her with him again, he imagined he’d never want to leave their bed.
Then he smiled to himself, thinking, Well…maybe I’d let her leave the bed for the shower…
That memory really fucked with his focus and when he threw his next dart, it bounced out so hard it landed back at his feet. Declan cursed under his breath and bent low to grab it off the floor.
“It’s getting dark,” Aiden said, finally slamming his book closed.
“Then turn on a lamp,” Declan responded.
“How long are ye going to keep at this?”
Declan glanced over his shoulder at him, giving him a frown. “Haven’t decided yet. Maybe when I throw a Robin Hood.”
“Aye? Well, you’re going to have to land them closer together if that’s your goal.”
“Bugger off, Aiden, and leave me be.”
“You’re really going to do this all night? Is this really where ye want to be?”
“Where else should I be?” Declan aimed for a triple twenty, but only hit a five.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Why is that being an asshole?” Declan palmed the next dart and tossed it gently in his hand before taking aim. “I’m home with my family. That seems perfectly natural and appropriate.”
“Why aren’t ye in Ely getting your female?”
“Rowan?” He threw, and it bounced out.
“Fuck me. Of course, Rowan. What the hell is the matter with ye?”
Declan shrugged. “She’s with her family, too.”
“So?”
“She’s daoine. Ye heard what her da insinuated about us at the faerie ring. Her family will never accept me. I accept that.”
Declan threw and hit true, though his heart clenched with worry. McNeely had spoken rashly at the council meeting. He should have never given voice to his concern, suggesting in front of everyone gathered that a cú sídhe had deflowered his precious little princess. It didn’t take much for rumors like that to take hold among the sídhe.
“Ye don’t know they won’t accept ye,” Aiden said. “They don’t even know ye.”
Declan turned and faced his brother dead on. “And ye think that matters?”
Aiden pinched his lips together, and they disappeared into his thick, dark beard.
“And I don’t know if ye noticed,” Declan continued, “but the sídhe weren’t falling over themselves this morning to create a neighborhood watch group. When the Black Castle send another wave of asshats, I’m thinking you, Cormac and I are going to be plenty busy. I don’t have time for just some pretty cailín.”
“Just some pretty cailín,” Aiden parroted under his breath, but he made it sound like he knew Declan was full of shit. “We’ll worry about the Black Castle when it happens.”
“That could be tomorrow.”
“It could be. But you’re the asshat of this evening.”
“How so?”
“Damnit, Declan. Ye have the chance to be with the person ye love, and you’re throwing it away.”
Declan’s face flashed with heat. He hadn’t admitted his feelings for Rowan to his brothers. Was it possible he was so transparent, or was Aiden making assumptions based on McNeely’s accusation?
“There’s nothing between us. She’s just my nurse.” Declan hoped he sounded convincing. He hoped—for Rowan’s sake—that with a little distance, they could get back to that safe—though frustrating—territory they’d lived in for the last two years.
“Bullshit. Ye wouldn’t sleep with just your nurse.”
Declan felt his face go wild with fury, and his hound swiped at the insides of his chest trying to break free. His gums burned with the pressure from his teeth and a red haze fell over his eyes. That kind of talk would confirm any rumors and ruin Rowan if it ever left these walls. “Don’t say that again. Not ever. Do ye hear me?”
Aiden’s face grew stony. He understood, so he dropped his voice low and just above a whisper. “Get your hound in check, brother.”
“I’m checked.” And he felt his hound retreat.
“Then all I’m saying,” Aiden continued, “is that if I had that chance to be with my anamchara, I would not be sitting around, throwing fucking darts. It makes me crazy that you’re sitting here when ye don’t have to be.”
“That’s just it. I do have to be here. Her da would skin me alive if I got anywhere near her tonight.” Or any night.
Aiden wasn’t having any of it. “You heard Branna this morning. Ye need to fight hate with love. Do ye love her?”
“She’s my anamchara.”
Aiden nodded. “Obviously. But do ye love her?”
“I told her what she was to me.”
“But have ye told her ye love her?”
Declan had to stop and think. He called her “love” all the time. He’d made love to her. She had to know how he felt, right? Right?
Fuck. Maybe he hadn’t made himself clear. Maybe she would have come home from the faerie ring with him if he’d been more clear. Was that possible, or was he only being naive and ridiculously optimistic?
“No, Aiden. Not in so many words. I haven’t told her I love her.”
Aiden sighed as if Declan was a supreme idiot or something. But Declan knew better. He hadn’t been an idiot. Now that he thought about it, he’d had good reason not to be so direct. Telling Rowan that he loved her would have only made an impossible situation more brutal.
She already thought of him as wounded. If he admitted his deepest feelings for her and she rejected him, she’d find out how deep that wound really went.
“Maybe, if you’d told her ye loved her, she’d be with ye right now, instead of with her da.”
“McNeely would never allow it.”
“So that’s the end of the story? Ye quit?”
Declan stared at Aiden for several long seconds, but he didn’t answer him. Then, to make his point, he turned his back on his brother and launched another dart at the board, striking a bull’s eye.
From behind him, Aiden suddenly growled so loudly Declan jumped. Then Aiden made his own throw. His book sailed across the room barely missing Declan’s head. The hard corner of the spine dinged the wall, leaving a mark, then Aiden stormed out of the room, muttering something about asshats and the impossible injus
tice of life.
Chapter Eighteen
DECLAN
An hour later, Declan lay naked on the floor of his room, resigned to the monastic life.
As much as he feared that McNeely’s thoughtless insinuation at the faerie ring might have ruined Rowan’s reputation, a part of him felt it was only fair because Declan was certainly ruined too. Ruined by the memory of Rowan’s skilled and healing hands, the way she worried about him, the way she looked after him, the way she laughed…
Not only would he never be able to love another, he’d never be able to sleep in his own bed. He’d figured that out this morning when he tried to nap and saw the indentation of Rowan’s sweet body in the soft mattress. The intoxicating scent of her hair was on his pillow. Every time he opened his eyes, he didn’t see the ceiling. Instead, he saw her looking down at him, her strawberry blond hair hanging like a curtain around them, her sweet cunny squeezing him in a vise-grip.
Lie back. I want to try something. I want you to kiss me there.
He groaned; the memory of her taste on his tongue was maddening. If only Aiden was right. If only it was a matter of her family getting to know him better. If only he was someone they’d want to invite to dinner, to seat next to their daughter at a fancy-schmancy dinner table, to eat their posh daoine food. Probably escargot, or puff pastry, or some shit like that.
Fuck, he’d eat whatever they put in front of him if it meant having Rowan back in his bed. And seriously, now that he really thought about it and his indignation was riled, what father wouldn’t want his daughter to be a cú sídhe’s anamchara?
McNeely had to know that Declan would use his own body to protect Rowan forever, and from every conceivable danger. Especially now with conceivable danger so fucking close.
It killed him not knowing how she was doing at this very moment. Was she safe? Right now, was she safe?
It occurred to Declan he’d never been to Dún Laoghaire Manor. A daoine manor house might not have a púca charm, but it should at least have a first-class security system, right?