“Ye know by now the widow Nora is missing. And, upon hearing her son’s plot to kill me had failed, Helen took her own life.” He paused to gather himself. Breaking down before his clan wouldn’t do anyone and good. “I’m also certain ye’ve all heard that Rebecca and Grayce have gone missing as well.”
He paused, waiting for the outcry to cease. “None of us doubt Rebecca is responsible for Nora’s disappearance. I harbor no doubts Rebecca intended to murder my wife, and I’ve no way of knowing whether or not she succeeded.” Despite his best efforts, his voice broke, and he had to force himself to take a few breaths before continuing.
“These two men appeared in the oak grove a short time ago. This one claims to be Fionn MacCumhaill, and this one says he’s Fionn’s fae cousin, Alpin. If true, this is the fae who hid our valleys so long ago.”
He had to wait again as his clan reacted to the news. “These two have finally come to us because my wife happens to be a kinswoman to a half-fae princess named Boann, who happens to be the granddaughter of King Lir Beneath the Sea. Boann has inadvertently made the fae kings and council aware of our existence, and I cannot say what that will mean for us.” Absolute silence ensued as all eyes fixed upon the two men.
“Ye’ve obviously no bardic gifts at all, have ye, laddie?” Fionn snorted. “To be ordained into the Fianna, a man had to possess the passionate soul of a poet,” he continued. “In fact, composing and reciting poetry were part of the trials a man had to pass in order to be considered worthy.”
“Aye, and what is that to me?” Brian glared at him. “The Fianna are no more, and nothing remains of your era but dust and ruins.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what ye are about. I’ll not take the bait, Brian. For one, ye cannot defeat me. For another, no one is sorrier than I about what has befallen ye and yours. I’m here to make it right, not to add to your misery.”
A glimmer of hope sparked within him. Would making it right include reuniting him with the woman he loved, or was Fionn referring to reinforcing the magic hiding their valleys? He nodded toward the interior of the pub. “Shall we?”
He, his father, the two visitors, and Ceann Carraig took a table in the already busy pub, and the rest of the druids and villagers packed in as best they could. Some sat on the floor around the perimeter of the hall, and a few perched on the steps leading to the rooms upstairs. More were forced to stand outside the door to listen as best they could.
Alice, her mother-in-law, and several volunteers worked feverishly to fill orders for ale and food. Thankfully, Alice had seen to the needs of their table first, and the two visitors drank and watched as everyone settled.
Even with the door propped open, the interior grew warm, humid, and a bit rank from those who’d labored hard during the day. Brian leaned forward to peer at Fionn. “The sooner ye get on with your tale the better.”
Fionn flashed him an arch look. He rose to his feet and let loose a shrill whistle to gain everyone’s attention—not that doing so was necessary, since he already had everyone’s attention. “’Tis sorry I am that it has taken so long for me and my cousin to fulfill our vow to return to na Gleannta Bhfolach. I truly am Fionn MacCumhaill, and this truly is Alpin, the man who hid our valleys so long ago.” Of course his words set off a clamor.
“’Tis true, and I know the magic hiding our valleys is weakening,” Fionn shouted above the din. “Please, allow me to explain why we could not return as promised, and then let us discuss how we are to go on from here.”
For the next hour, maybe longer, Fionn provided them with a glimpse into their past in true bardic fashion. He regaled them with stories of great battles, intrigue, and the glories of his Fianna army. Everyone was spellbound, and Brian found himself outraged at the injustice done against Fionn’s elite army and to his clan. The warring kings of Éire would have wiped Fionn’s people from the face of the earth, and all out of petty jealousy and greed.
“I was mortally wounded near what today is called the River Boyne. If not for the Tuatha dé Danann warriors who fought beside us, I would have died. They took me to Tir na nÓg, the realm of the Tuatha, and there I was healed of my many wounds and given the elixir of life. This was done on the condition that I never leave the fae realm again.”
“Yet, here you are,” Brian muttered under his breath. Fionn’s gaze flicked to him for the merest instant.
“As ye know, we lost the war. Part of the treaty formed between the kings of Éire and the fae was that the Tuatha dé Danann were forbidden to become involved in human affairs ever again. Being part fae myself, and having sworn never to leave Tir na nÓg, you can see how my hands were tied. At least they were until King Lir’s granddaughter became involved.”
Fionn paused dramatically, and Brian rolled his eyes. Seeing as how Fionn’s cousin never had permission to hide their valleys in the first place, surely he could’ve broken a law or two and returned from time to time to check on them. From what Grayce had told him, Boann had certainly taken chances, as had her mother, Morrigan. Mortal laws meant little to the fae, and Éire no longer had kings. He took a long draught of his ale and reached for the pitcher to refill his tankard.
Alpin leaned toward Brian as Fionn droned on. “Your wife is well. Boann reached her in time, and Grayce is with her family.”
A wave of shocked relief coursed through him. “Can she return to me?”
“That I cannot say, for I have no control over the decisions made by our council.” Alpin crossed his arms in front of him.
“Marriage vows are sacred even to the fae, are they not? Separating us would also be against your laws, aye?”
Alpin nodded. “Aye.”
“Then my wife and I have been wronged. We’ve been separated against our wishes, and the fae are responsible. It’s meddling, pure and simple. Restitution is warranted.”
Alpin arched a brow. “Would you care to air your grievance before our kings and the council?”
“I would.” Brian’s pulse raced. His mouth went dry at the prospect of facing the Tuatha dé Danann, but to reunite with Grayce, he would risk it. “Is such a thing possible?”
“I might be willing to bring the matter forth, however ...” Alpin fixed his piercing gaze on Brian.
The fae’s eyes were an unnatural color, so blue they almost glowed. Brian held his breath and waited in vain for Alpin to finish the sentence. He didn’t. “Ye want something from me in exchange. What might that be? I’ve nothing of value, unless it’s wool and mutton ye seek.”
Alpin shrugged. “Fionn deserves your respect. You’re this village’s head man, and your clan will follow your lead. If we are to find an agreeable resolution to the difficulties your clan faces, we must be on the same side.” He pinned him with a glare. “Cease being such a pain in the arse.”
Heat surged to Brian’s face. “I can do that.”
The house was quiet as Grayce made her way down the stairs. Everyone had gone to bed a few hours ago, and so had she. Unfortunately, sleep refused to come to her. In a few days she’d board a plane that would take her home. There she’d pick up her lonely life right where she’d left it. The grief stretching out before her was too much to bear, and missing Brian was a constant dull ache.
She crossed the foyer and entered the family room. “Have a few drinks, and then you’ll be able to sleep,” the siren inside her head whispered. “Have a few drinks, and you’ll feel better.” The siren was right, and Grayce desperately longed for a break from the emotional turmoil and the aftereffects of the trauma she’d suffered.
Perhaps she’d adopt a cat when she got home—maybe three or four. She’d find a new, equally boring and uninspiring job, go to work every day, and come home to the emptiness of her existence. Eventually she’d slide into middle age. She’d be that weird woman who lived alone and never talked to anyone. By then she’d have five cats, maybe ten. Her neighbors would whisper about her. They’d warn their children not to knock on her door for treats on Halloween.
Grayce crossed the room and made her way to the bar. She slipped behind the counter and flipped on the overhead lights. There she surveyed the many choices before her, all of them toxic. Yes, she’d succumbed to self-pity, and she was on the rapid slide down the slippery slope toward a self-centered, cowardly escape. Grayce crouched down to see what very expensive something or other she could use to douse her misery.
“Drinking won’t help,” her father said from the other side of the bar.
Startled, Grayce jerked up, bumping her head on the edge of the bar in the process. “Ouch.”
“In fact, alcohol will only make everything worse,” he added, his expression sympathetic.
Grayce rubbed the spot on her skull that had connected with the bar. “Shouldn’t you be in bed asleep?”
“Shouldn’t you?” His brow rose.
At an impasse, they stared at each other for several seconds. Grayce looked away first. Her eyes stung, and shame burned through her. She’d been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
“Don’t, Grayce,” he said, his tone low and firm. “I know what you’re thinking and feeling right now. Let it go.”
“No, you don’t, Dad. You couldn’t possibly.”
“You’re feeling ashamed at being caught behind the bar with your hand on a bottle.” He tapped the glass surface with a finger.
Well, look at that! She had brought up a bottle, and there it was, gripped in her very own hand, attached to her very own arm. She read the label, Redbreast Irish Whiskey, aged twenty-one years. That had to be expensive.
“You don’t need to feel that way. I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”
“You aren’t?”
Her father shook his head, his smile bittersweet. “It doesn’t take giftedness to see you’re in a lot of pain. I only wish you’d let me help. It’s hell to see you hurting.”
“I somehow fell through solid rock into a hidden world, and I lived there for three months with no way to get home or even to contact my family. A crazy woman tried to kill me a couple days ago. She beat me up, stabbed me, and broke my nose. I’ve been traumatized in more ways than one, and I can’t even see a therapist about what I’ve been through, because who’d believe me?”
“I believe you, and I’m well aware you told me and your mother only part of the story.”
“Because I knew you’d …” She bit her lip.
“Worry?”
She nodded, still gripping the unopened bottle of whiskey.
“Grayce, we worry about Meredith and Regan too. Worrying is part of what we signed up for when we decided to have a family. The struggles you went through several years ago were difficult, but we knew you’d pull through.”
“How can you say that? I caused everyone so much grief with the sneaking out, lying, getting so wasted it was a miracle I made it home safely.”
“I’ll admit we worried more for you than your sisters. Especially about the getting home safe part.” He shrugged. “We knew why you were doing the things you were doing, and we also knew you’d work your way through your problems. You’ve always been strong-willed, Grayce, even as an infant. We had faith that your strength would see you through. Plus, you’re an intelligent young woman. You were bound to figure out the chemicals weren’t really giving you what you thought you needed. That’s what made the difference, sweetheart. Once you decided the chemicals weren’t working, what did you do?”
“First of all, that’s not generally how chemical dependency works, Dad. Many intelligent, strong individuals can’t just work through their problems. The chemicals change how a person thinks. I … I was …” Determined? Disappointed that getting high hadn’t stopped the visions, blocked others’ emotional fallout, or made anything better? Sick of feeling sick? All of the above. She’d tried something, many somethings, and none of what she took to self-medicate worked, so she gave it up. She’d been the one to intervene on her own behalf. Wow. Why hadn’t that ever occurred to her before?
She looked at her father while the revelations his words had triggered circled through her mind. He met her gaze, nodding as if he knew she’d come to the conclusion he’d intended. His eyes shone with love and pride. Her father was proud of her.
Love for her father filled her with warmth. “What made the difference is that I asked for help, and you and Mom made sure I got what I needed.” She removed her hand from the bottle, drew in a long, shaky breath, and let it out slowly. “So, do you want to know what’s really bothering me?” she asked.
“Only if you wish to tell me.”
“Let’s sit down,” she said, coming out from behind the bar. She and her dad moved to the sectional couch and settled. “I may as well start with the biggest shocker,” she began. “I’m married.”
“Ah. Well that is a shocker,” her dad said. “Go on.”
“You don’t seem surprised.” She frowned as she studied him. “Meredith told you.”
“She did, but only out of concern. She ordered me and your mother to tread carefully and not to hover.”
“Figures.” She told him everything then, describing the stupid he-man tournament, how she learned to card and spin wool, all about Brian and how much she loved him. She even described the druids, and finally, she told her father about her vision and the plan to capture the would-be murderers. “The problem is, I don’t know if our plan worked. I don’t know if Brian survived the attempt on his life.”
“I imagine he’s suffering in much the same manner,” her father said. “Not knowing what happened to you must be difficult for him. Although, he would’ve put two and two together and come up with a pretty good idea Rebecca was involved. She’s gone too, after all.”
“True, and I did tell him, his parents and the head druid about Boann.”
“What do you want, Grayce?”
Tears filled her eyes. “The druid priest said our two paths merged into one the day Brian and I said our vows. I want to be with him—here, there, anywhere.”
“And if that’s not possible?”
“The thought that what I want most isn’t possible is what brought me down here tonight,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the bar. “If I can’t be with my husband, I suppose I’ll live the rest of my life with half my heart in a hidden world, and the other half in this one. Once thing is certain, I’ll never feel whole again without him.”
Chapter Fourteen
* * *
Brian strode through the misty drizzle of a gray morning, his mood a perfect match to the dreary weather. Grief had sapped his energy, and everything that had transpired in the past few days had also taken a toll.
Helen had been buried unceremoniously beside the tree where she’d taken her own life. The widow Nora’s body had been found some distance from the village after animals uncovered her shallow grave. She’d been laid to rest with all the rites, respect, and mourning a good woman such as herself deserved. Brian prayed to any and all gods that justice would catch up with Rebecca Hurley.
Brian’s most pressing concern, however, was his clan’s future. Fionn and Alpin had already been in na Gleannta Bhfolach for three days, and nothing had been said or done to address the issues facing the clan. Fionn had told and retold his tales of past acts of legendary valor to anyone who would listen. Not being a pain in the arse was becoming more challenging for Brian with each retelling. He meant to do something about the situation this morning.
Entering the oak grove by the sacred spring, Brian scanned the area. “Can ye tell me where I might find Ceann Carraig,” he asked the first person he encountered.
“Aye, he’s at the healer’s lodge,” she replied, continuing on her way.
Brian set out for the rectangular structure of fieldstone situated at the edge of the orchard. Woodsmoke curled up from the chimney, disappearing into the fog shrouding the grove. The doors were propped open, and he found Ceann Carraig inside, standing at a long, waist-high table. The druids were preparing medicinal plants for drying, and a variety of herbal scents
wafted over Brian. Another group worked beside the hearth where fragrant steam rose from a bubbling kettle. The head druid had his back turned to him, and so absorbed was he in his task that he didn’t hear Brian enter.
“Ceann Carraig, might I have a word?” Brian asked from the doorway.
“Eh?” The druid turned. “Oh, Brian, of course.” He finished tying the stalks he held and placed them on a pile at the end of the table. Then he gestured to Brian to follow him out the back door. The two of them walked along a well-tended path through the fruit trees and wooden beehives. “What’s on your mind, lad?”
Grayce, mostly, but his loss was not what he’d come to discuss. “I’m concerned. No effort has been made to gather the council regarding the issues facing our clan. Fionn seems far more interested in drinking and storytelling than he is in our welfare. Having all the clan here is putting a strain on our village’s resources, and work in the fields is going untended.”
“Aye, I’ll not deny their presence has caused quite a bit of disruption.” Ceann Carraig grunted. “I imagine Fionn is relishing this time among his clan. How long has it been since he’s had the opportunity to dwell among mortals, many of whom are distant kin to him? To share a pint and visit with his people must be a rare pleasure for one who has been consigned to the realm of the fae for so many centuries. He’s had only the Tuatha dé Danann for company, and their society, their very natures, are vastly different from ours.”
“Hmph.” Brian couldn’t muster even a whit of compassion for the hero from their distant past. “As one of our clan’s chieftains, I am taking it upon myself to call a gathering.”
“That is well within your purview.” The druid nodded. “When?”
“This eve. The other two chieftains are here anyway, and we need to find out what the fae council has in mind.”
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