HIDDEN IN TIME
Contents
Also By
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY BARBARA LONGLEY
* * *
Heart of the Druid Laird
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Love from the Heartland Series, Set in Perfect, Indiana
Far from Perfect
The Difference a Day Makes
A Change of Heart
The Twisted Road to You
Close to Perfect
* * *
The Novels of Loch Moigh
True to the Highlander
The Highlander’s Bargain
The Highlander’s Folly
The Highlander’s Vow
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The Haneys Series
What You Do to Me
Whatever You Need
What Matters Most
* * *
The MacCarthy Sisters Series
Tangled in Time
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Text copyright © November 30, 2019 Barbara Longley
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo- copying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
* * *
Published by Barbara Longley
ISBN13: 978-1-64764-937-1
www.barbaralongley.com
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Cover Design & Interior Format by The Killion Group, Inc.
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Printed in the United States of America.
This book is dedicated to my readers.
I am deeply grateful for your support.
Chapter One
Present day, County Waterford, Ireland
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The ceremonial grove rippled with tension. For their head druid to call a gathering when it was not a holy day was cause enough for alarm. That Ceann Carraig had called the council of elders and the chieftains from the other two villages only added to everyone’s anxiety. Brian found an empty spot at the end of a bench and sat down.
The sacred fire at the center of the circle popped and hissed just as their head druid stopped pacing. Ceann Carraig’s expression grim, he stood in front of the glowing embers drifting into the gathering twilight. Everyone quieted and turned their attention expectantly upon the old man. Even the youngest boys stilled, their expressions turning to awe-filled curiosity.
Ceann Carraig gazed out at those who had gathered. “My fellow druids and I have called this gathering to discuss a matter of grave concern. Long have we druids been aware of the signs of change.” He paused, glancing at his fellow priests and priestesses before continuing.
“Animals from the outside have made their way into our hidden valleys when it is not the proper time to do so. One of our hunters found a strange item upon the ground near the boundary between the realms, an item that does not belong here.”
He began pacing again. “The very air carries the taint of the outer world, and our sacred oaks cry out to us in distress. The magic hiding our valleys within the weft and weave of time is unraveling.”
Brian’s heart leaped to his throat, and his ears rang with the collective gasp filling the clearing. As if commiserating, the fire once again hissed and popped, sending another shower of glowing sparks into the air.
“What shall we do, Ceann Carraig?” Kilian, one of the upper village’s elders rose to his feet. “Tell us what sacrifices must be made to restore the magic protecting our borders. Are there not druidic spells that can be cast?”
Murmurs and nods raced through the assemblage. Brian tensed. Now more than ever they needed strong leadership, and their village chieftain’s health was failing. Blaine was not even present to hear this dire news. He glanced at Aiden, Blaine’s ambitious son. Was there anything to the rumors that their chieftain’s decline was being helped along by his own wife and son?
“We do not yet know what can be done,” Ceann Carraig called over the din. “In the next several days, our elders, chieftains and druids will deliberate upon the matter. We will gather again a fortnight hence. Here beneath the auspices of a new moon we shall discuss the matter further.”
The druid paused. “Each village should set up a schedule of guards to patrol the perimeter until a solution is found. I ask that the council of elders and the chieftains remain here, so we can decide how to proceed with our deliberations. The rest of ye, go to your homes.” Ceann Carraig issued a benediction, and the meeting ended.
Trepidation hovered like thick smoke over those making their way out of the clearing. Never in their long history had they faced the possibility—no, it was more a certainty—that the magic hiding their valleys for more than seventeen hundred years might fail. Had Fionn MacCumhaill, the legendary commander of the elite army of Fianna, and his fae kin abandoned them?
A hand came to rest upon Brian’s shoulder. “Sup with us this eve, laddie. Your ma and I want ye close after this disturbing news, and we’ve a guest.”
“Aye, I will. Who might your guest be?”
“Monroe. He’ll be staying in the village for a few days while the council deliberates.” His da kept his hand upon Brian’s shoulder as they walked. “He’ll join us for supper once he’s finished conferring with the druids and the elders.”
Brian shook his head. “The other village chieftains do their part while ours lies abed.” Monroe, his da’s closest friend and a staunch ally, was chieftain to the uppermost village. “If only ye were still our chieftain, Da. This is no time to be without leadership.”
“Do not wish that role upon me again. Being chieftain is a heavy burden to carry, no matter how broad a man’s shoulders. As ye well know, chieftains are oft the target of envy and resentment by those believing themselves better qualified, or those wanting power over others. And what of individuals who’ve received judgment against them in a dispute? If there is no scandal attached to a chieftain, the envious will conjure one of their own making,” he said, his tone tinged with bitterness. “Your mother and I are content. I’ve no wish to place either of us in that position again.”
Anger churned deep within him for his parents’ sake. “Still, I wish we might find a way to—”
“Stir up old wounds? Foment animosity?” His da gave Brian’s shoulder a squeeze. “Nay, laddie. Let it go. Your mother and I have.”
Golden candlelight glowed from the window of his parents’ cottage, and the delicious aromas of his mother’s stew and freshly baked bread beckoned. Their two dogs shot out of their shelter, barking a greeting and wagging their tails furiously. Brian leaned down to scratch the two behind their ears. “What do ye think would become of us should the magic hiding our valleys cease to exist?”
“Who can say? We have the stories told by our women about how things are in the outer realm. Perhaps we’d be allowed to remain where we are as we are. Perhaps we’d be forced to relocate and adapt.”
“I sw
ear to do everything within my power to see that our world remains hidden. That is what Fionn MacCumhaill and his fae kin promised. If need be, we should try to summon the Tuatha dé Danann and force them to keep their promise.”
“Force the fae?” His da’s brow rose. “And how exactly do ye suggest we go about summoning them? ’Tis likely they no longer concern themselves with na Baiscne. Ye can no more force the fae to do anything than ye can prevent the sun from rising.”
Could their druids find a way to reach the Tuatha dé Danann? Brian couldn’t bear the thought of leaving their mountains and valleys. His entire being rebelled at the notion of adapting to a world he knew not at all. His own mother had shared horrifying tales of how the outer world was being choked with poisons. She and others from that place told how the air and water, necessary for life itself, were becoming contaminated. The women explained how wars were fought with unimaginable weapons able to wipe out entire villages in a trice.
Nay. He could not adapt to a place prone to such folly. He’d dedicate the rest of his life to maintaining and protecting their hidden vales. Whatever it took, he would give, even if it meant his very life.
Grayce stood in the midst of her family, along with her sister Regan’s in-laws, as the minister droned on and on about the responsibilities of being a godparent. Her nephew’s christening was being held in the same ancient church where Regan and Fáelán were married less than a year ago. Their son, indifferent to the proceedings, slept peacefully in his father’s arms. He even slept through being passed to his godfather’s arms, one of Fáelán’s many relatives.
Conan Breck O’Boyle slept soundly until the water from the baptismal font was poured over the soft tufts of bright red hair sprouting from his mostly bald head. Then the adorable little bundle of eat-sleep-pee-poo let loose a wail worthy of a banshee. Grayce knew exactly how her nephew felt—uncomfortable and unhappy about the sudden way in which he’d been awakened.
Except for the indignant part, she too had been suffering discomfort and unhappiness, which made no sense. For years she’d wished like hell her ability to see the future would somehow disappear. She hadn’t had a vision since visiting Regan in Ireland a year ago last June. She ought to be ecstatic, yet disconcerted would be a more apt description of her state of mind. Anxiety factored in as well, and of course loneliness chose that moment to raise its hand in a me too gesture. She feared the visions would return with a vengeance at any moment, and she spent her days metaphorically peeking around corners, waiting for the inevitable ambush.
Conan’s baptism over, Grayce followed her family out of the old stone church and into the drizzly June morning. Guests stood around under umbrellas and the eaves of the church, giving the O’Boyles a head start home where they’d host the celebratory brunch.
“I’m glad Conan has a touch of something special,” Meredith, Grayce’s identical twin, whispered beside her.
Grayce snorted. Something special was Meredith’s code for giftedness. The MacCarthy family carried a bit of Tuatha dé Danann DNA. They had their many times great-grandmother to thank for the affliction. That ancestor had not been able to keep her weak knees together when it came to a certain promiscuous fae seducer of mortal women. “Can you tell what his gift involves?” she asked.
“More than one, I think.” Meredith canted her head as she always did when concentrating. “He’s an empath, and I sense the gift of foresight.”
“Poor little guy,” Grayce murmured. “At least he won’t see ghosts.”
“They are called gifts for a reason, Grayce.” Meredith let loose an exasperation-laced sigh. “Let’s not have this argument today.”
“Fine. I’m right, and you’re wrong. We’ll leave it at that.” She and her family left the shelter of the eaves and set out for the rental car they shared. “Do you want me to drive, Dad?” she asked. Both her parents found driving on the left side of the road challenging, especially at intersections where force of habit had them looking in the wrong direction.
“Sure. Your mother and I could both do without your squeals of alarm and imaginary braking.” Grinning, he handed Grayce the keys.
She slid behind the wheel, buckled up and turned the ignition key while the other three settled into their seats. Still unfamiliar with the area, she set the GPS mounted on the dashboard for Fáelán and Regan’s address before taking her place in the slow-moving line of cars leaving the lot.
Fáelán and her sister owned an amazing nineteenth-century manor house overlooking bluffs and the ocean. Grayce was happy for her older sister, really happy, yet sadness permeated her entire being. The older sister she adored, the only soul who truly understood her, now lived an ocean away. Her eyes stung for the merest instant, and an uncomfortable tightness gripped her chest.
Self-pity could launch a bout of self-loathing, and she wrestled the unwanted emotions back to the far reaches of her mind. Once upon a time, those same feelings had led her down a very dark and dangerous path to a place where she attempted to obliterate her feelings and her visions with drugs and alcohol. It hadn’t worked. She would not go there again.
“So,” her dad began. “I’m curious, Graycie. How long do you plan to keep your hair neon blue?”
“Why? Would you prefer chartreuse?”
“I’d prefer your own naturally beautiful hair color,” he said, eyeing her neon-blue spiked hair.
“Gene,” her mother warned.
“Angela,” he replied. “I’m allowed to state my opinion on the matter.”
“Just as Grayce is allowed self-expression where the color of her hair is concerned.”
Her mother reinforced her support by patting Grayce’s shoulder from her place behind her.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. I’m not crazy about all the piercings though. Someday you might change your mind, and then what? The hair color is temporary; piercings leave scars.”
“So much for the maternal support for self-expression,” Meredith added, huffing out a laugh.
Grayce flashed her twin a smile through the rearview mirror. Of course, little miss parent-pleaser wore her unenhanced, honey-colored hair to her shoulders, and only Mere’s ears were pierced, each with a single spot for tastefully conservative earrings.
“Maybe I’ll let my hair go natural,” she announced, placating her father. “This color will eventually wash out.”
“And the piercings?” her mother asked, her tone hopeful.
“Baby steps, Mom. Baby steps.”
By the time she pulled into the O’Boyle’s circular driveway—she still had trouble thinking of Regan as an O’Boyle—a large number of cars were already parked along the edge of the drive. The entire clan had been invited to the celebration, including Fáelán’s half-fae daughter, Boann.
She parked and climbed out. Sliding her sweaty palms over her denim skirt, she stared at the house. What if this was the day her visions returned, and she suddenly foresaw one of Fáelán’s relatives’ impending death? Why were her visions never about good stuff, like winning the lottery or landing that perfect job?
This is Regan and Fáelán’s big day. Don’t make this about you. Right. Concentrating on that, and on the odds that she’d get to hold her tiny nephew, who generally smelled really
good … until he didn’t, she walked with her family to the front door.
They were greeted by Dr. James Ahearn, another of her brother-in-law’s many-times-removed nephews. James had managed Fáelán’s affairs while the cursed Fiann had still been trapped in the void realm. Jim’s wife Kathryn stood by his side. Both held a Bloody Mary in their hands, complete with celery and olive garnishes.
“Hello,” James said, holding out his hand to Grayce’s dad. “Such a joyous occasion bringing us together again, aye?”
“Indeed,” her dad agreed, a huge smile brightening his features as they shook hands.
“The food is set up in the dining room, and you know where the bar is,” James said, lifting his drink as
they entered. “Help yourselves.”
Grayce surveyed the crowd milling about on the first floor. She couldn’t eat, not while her insides were a tangle of nerves, anyway. Worse, the siren’s voice of temptation urged her to seek out the bar. “Alcohol,” said the siren, “will soothe your nerves and mask all the unwanted emotions. Only then you can relax.” Grayce glared the siren into submission. “Where’s Regan?”
“Upstairs,” James told her. “Young Conan needed a nappy change by the time they arrived home, and I believe this might be his lunchtime.”
“Thanks.” Grayce took the stairs and headed for the suite of rooms Regan and her husband shared. She knocked on the door.
“Who’s there?” Regan called.
“Grayce.”
“Come in.”
Grayce’s heart melted at the sight before her. Regan sat in a rocking chair by the window with baby Conan at her breast, suckling contentedly. “Wow, Regan,” she said, her voice hitching. “Just … wow.”
“I know.” Regan smiled at her. “Have a seat.”
The new parents had added a temporary nursery to one corner of their family room, complete with a basinet, a dresser with a changing area on top, and the all-important rocking chair. Once Conan slept through the night, he’d be moved into his own room next to their suite. Grayce dropped into the upholstered chair facing her sister. “Can I burp him when he’s done?”
“Be my guest.” Regan took the burp-cloth from her shoulder and set the soft square of flannel on Grayce’s lap.
Grayce reached out and touched Conan’s chubby hand, and his tiny fingers closed instinctively around hers. “He’s amazing, Regan.”
“We think so.”
“You look great, by the way.”
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