by Lily Silver
“Yes.” Father murmured, adding, “My point is they won’t be able to accept the truth. Tara, we came from America, yes, but from two hundred years in the future.”
“The future?” Tara whispered with shock. “Did magic send us here? I do remember a man with long grey hair and a beard dancing about the room in a jig, with a strange gleam in his eye and a devious smile. We called him The Gnome … ?”
Her father chuckled heartily, rolled his eyes heavenward, and then waved his hand dismissively. “That was just Steve.” His face reddened as he continued to snicker and chortle, finally dissolving into deep belly laughter that echoed about the large chamber and brought tears to his eyes. “Christ, that’s a good one! We called Steve ‘The Gnome’ because he resembles the Roaming Gnome on the Travelocity TV commercial. He’s no wizard, just an old hippie who needs a haircut. What else to you remember?”
“A beautiful maiden named Arwen with pointy ears and long dark hair. And a man with long blond hair, Legolias, they’re either fairies or elves. And there’s a wizard dressed in a long robe and a pointy hat. Like you, he smokes a pipe all the time. And I remember a quirky dude with white hair in a lab coat. Everyone called him Doc. He kept talking to some kid on a skateboard about flux capacitors and screwing up the time-space continuum—” Tara stopped as the man her before dissolved in a fit of unbridled laughter.
Not knowing what set him off she could only stare at him with helpless confusion.
“Oh-ho-ho.” He slapped the table, shaking the crystal between them. “Oh, God … He-he-he—gotta love Hollywood! Those are movies, my dear girl. Television—the black box with moving pictures. Grey haired gnomes, wizards and elves! Oh, you poor girl. No wonder you’re confused. Sorry, aside from Steve, all those people you just mentioned are fictional characters from books that were made into movies to entertain us. Gandalf and Legolias are from Lord of the Rings, your favorite movie. You had a serious thing for that Stryder fellow who plays the lead warrior.”
“Aragorn. He’s in love with Arwen.” Tara informed him.
Her father shook his head. “Yeah, but—“ He raised his finger, as if to make an important point to her. “Not real. Remember that. They’re fictional characters. And Doc and Marty—from another movie entirely, Doc’s a scientist, not a gnome or a wizard.”
His explanations failed to untangle the jumbled images in her mind. Tara frowned at him. “What are movies?”
“Pfffff.” He exhaled slowly, sizing her up as if to measure her ability to comprehend what he was going to say. “They’re … sort of like books set to life–no. Scratch that. It’s more like Shakespeare’s plays, if you went to one, and had a device to capture the actors playing their parts, and then replayed it on the black screens–oh boy.” He placed a hand to his brow and closed his eyes, groaning. “I’d have to show you.”
“Is it like an iPod?” Tara tried.
“Yes!” His silver blonde beard split into a broad grin. “An iPod is like a little mini-computer-TV-music player thingy.”
“It sounds like magic.”
“Yeah, I guess it would around here. You’ve come to think like the locals while being stuck here in Oz, haven’t you?”
“There’s a wizard in Oz … well … in the Emerald city.” Tara added.
“Uh-huh.” Her father’s eyes grew wide as he studied her with consternation. “And flying monkeys, too.” He said in a serious tone and then bowed his head, chuckling to himself. He placed a palm over his stomach as ribald laughter threatened to claim him again. He scrunched up his face, wiggling his lips a little, and forced the mirth back down. “That’s another movie, not real life. Let’s not go there, kid.”
A stumbling movement from behind them caught their eyes. Expecting the serving lad to have returned with his pipe, Papa started, unnerved by the dour presence of Lord Dillon standing just inside the dining hall.
“What is this talk of magic? What mischief might the pair of you concocting with your heads together?”
Papa rose with a majestic flourish and gave Adrian a stern look of reproof. There was no mistaking his condition with the fumes of brandy emanating from across the room. Adrian smelled as if he’d bathed in the fiery liquid.
“I was discussing something private with my girl.” Her father retorted. “Sorry you couldn’t join us for dinner. If you intend to become a hopeless drunk, I think I’ll just take my girl and be off. Next thing you know, you’ll come to believe she’s evil and deserves a beating. Tara, pack your things, we’re returning to Middle Earth.”
“My lord, give me another chance. I love her. Please, don’t take Tara away.”
By God, he really believes all that fairy godfather crap!
Dan stared at his host. Well, so be it. He’d make the best of his new position as elf king and lay down a few rules to ensure their survival here. “Then mind you this, mortal; as far as anyone is concerned, we’re from America. I’ll not have some superstitious rabble come breaking down the doors in their haste to burn us alive. We came from America, Dillon, remember that.”
The inebriated Viscount nodded meekly. Dan closed the gap between them with the intention of giving him a manly slap on the back, despite his theater robe. Dillon stumbled backward, probably fearing he was about to be vaporized or whatever he believed fairies did to mortals who crossed them. Dan caught him before he fell.
Hell, in his condition, he’d believe me if I claimed to be Obi Wan Kenobi.
Chapter Twenty
“There you are, my sweet.” Adrian entered the library. He moved behind Tara as she sat on the divan, wrapped his arms about her and nuzzled her neck. “I was hoping you might ride with me today. Tis a soft, fine day, my darling girl.”
“I would rather stay indoors, near the fire.” Tara replied. She liked being outdoors, but the constant gloom of rain or sleet that punctuated this region in winter was unappealing. She’d rather explore the countryside when she could do so without having to don heavy clothing.
Adrian caressed her hair. She’d left it down this morning, and he seemed entranced with it. His hands kept brushing over it and then lifting it. “We won’t venture far, love.” He whispered, disappointed by her refusal. “And the rain has stopped for a time.”
“The damp air makes me cold. And my sinuses are bothering me again today.” Tara informed him. She had a terrible headache today again. She tried a few times this past week explaining her chronic sinus difficulties to him, to no avail. He murmured a few sweet words of commiseration and dismissed it much as he would her period if she told him she were suffering from cramps. She expected it was because she did not have a fever, sniffles or any physical symptoms aside from the pain and pressure behind her eyes and along her cheekbones that everyone with sinus problems knew all too well.
Tara hated the damp, cold weather as it only brought her misery. And as she was cozy at the moment, enjoying the warmth of a roaring fire and an excellent book, she didn’t have any interest in following the handsome rogue out to the stables, or become entangled in a quickie out there, as was likely the outcome if she said yes, given their current intrigues. “Father is in the great hall reading the newspaper. Why don’t you ask him to go riding with you? He’s restless. He needs something to distract him.”
“I asked him yesterday. He declined. By the Saints, I’ve never heard the like, both father and daughter unable to ride a horse?” Adrian frowned, looking at her with quizzical eyes again. Since her father’s arrival he had become somewhat moody and silent, often regarding Tara or her parent with a perplexed expression that made Tara uncomfortable.
“Why do you look at me so? I don’t care for it.”
“I know not what you are implying.”
“You stare at me as if I’m a sideshow oddity you don’t understand or know quite what to do with.”
The gray orbs swept the room before returning to regard Tara with unveiled worry. “Truth, your father’s appearance has given me a turn, nearly two months after we believed hi
m dead. And the man’s sheer size and girth is intimidating, even for me. The servants fear him. It brings disorder to the household. Forgive me if I seem anxious for him to return to the land of Middle…” He stopped, sending an uneasy look at the portal, as if he feared they were being overheard. “To his home. It is difficult to feel at ease with him about, watching my every move, glowering at me in that odd way of his.”
“He thought he lost me, and I him. Do you expect me to ask him to leave? Good God, you are a cold blooded, selfish jerk!”
“I said nothing of the kind. ‘Tis you who imply things which are not intended in my speech.” Adrian leaned over the back of the sofa where Tara sat. “I only meant that I had been enjoying our solitary confinement before he came. We’ve scarce had a fortnight alone to savor between my mother leaving and your father arriving.”
Tara turned about with outrage, pulling her shawl up closer about her open neck as she did so. “Well, you might try to make him feel welcome rather than avoid him as you do. I had to endure your mother’s cheerful presence for weeks while you busied yourself in the shipwreck, the search for my father’s remains and the affairs of your considerable estate. Would taking him for ride about the countryside be such a trial?”
“Women.” The spiteful sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.
“Oh—there you go, damning women again as the bane of your existence, you arrogant caveman.” Tara shoved her book aside, rose and marched out of the door.
“Perhaps I will take MacNeill for a ride.” Adrian murmured, making a face. “I’ve a few questions I should like to put to him.”
Nearly an hour later Dan found himself perched precariously on a docile old mare as he followed Lord Dillon’s mount through the woods. The stilted politeness between them was a thin veil shielding Tara from the unpleasant truth. It didn’t make for much by way of companionship, with each man eyeing the other suspiciously and waiting for the sword of Damocles to drop.
“MacNeill, perhaps you would clear up a few questions I have.” Adrian began as he pulled his mount to a halt. He gave the hulking giant a curious look, surprised at finding Tara and her father were both so ill at ease in the saddle. The Tuatha an Danaan were reputed to be expert riders, coveting horses almost as much as they coveted gold and the companionship of attractive mortals.
MacNeill nodded, waiting with an annoying patience for Adrian to continue. MacNeill held the advantage in this chess game they were engaged in; he knew his daughter never laid eyes on Adrian before she came here. Yet MacNeill remained quiet over the past fortnight, accepting the charade as easily as if he’d planned it himself.
“Tell me, in your country of Middle Earth, how do men and women journey to and fro without equestrian skills?”
“You’d be surprised.” MacNeill replied with a clever gleam in his icy blue eyes.
“Enlighten me.” Adrian insisted, his pulse quickening as he anticipated the wonder inherent if the giant gave him a truthful answer.
MacNeill spat on the ground, “You’d never believe it. You’d think me mad.”
“Your secret will be safe with me.”
“As safe as my daughter?” The gruff voice chuckled with menace.
Adrian bristled, feeling the sting of double innuendo in the giant’s voice. “I would gladly lay down my life for the lass.” His retort was meant to be said with outrage, instead, his voice warbled with adolescent emotion and passion.
MacNeill digested his words thoughtfully as they moved through the woodlands surrounding Glengarra Castle. They traveled for some miles through the open fields and meandered up the gentle slope to the sacred stone circle. As a boy, Adrian had come here often, convinced this forgotten stone circle nestled before a small lake below the mountains to be a gathering place where the enchanted ones danced in the moonlight.
He dismounted easily, allowing his stallion to drink in the spring. MacNeill watched him, remaining on his mount as they paused near the standing stones. “Your kind is known for its superior horsemanship, yet, one would believe you had never before been astride a horse. If not horses, how does one get about in your world?”
“I blink my eyes like Jeannie and I’m off to parts unknown. What next, the townspeople will drag me into the square and burn me alive.” The giant spat on the ground again as if to punctuate his simmering wrath.
“I meant no harm, good sir! I swear. I would sooner plunge a dagger to my own breast then to see Tara harmed, her or her kin. For harming you would be one and the same as harming my love.” Adrian crouched on his haunches near the stream, surveying the gently swirling water with philosophical wonder.
This place had always affected him so, giving him a sense of magic and awe of things beyond his reason. He brought MacNeill here in the hopes he might be equally inspired and reveal his true purpose in coming to live among the mortals.
Instead, the man was glowering at him with accusations of evil snares and ill intentions toward his daughter.
“I love Tara.” Adrian said simply, tired of the tension and suspicion between them. He stood, turning his gaze to the man towering above him in the saddle.
“We both know you never laid eyes on Tara before that night she was brought to your castle, Dillon. Now, I’m thinking, what purpose would a man have in hastily marrying a lost girl with amnesia? Surely you realize Tara was never on that ship. She comes from a place far, far away from here, a place that cannot be gotten back to with horses or seafaring ships. She doesn’t belong here, any more than I do. So what’s your game? What do you mean by abducting my daughter?”
Adrian released a long breath, closing his eyes as he offered up a brief prayer. “I did not abduct her.” He said at length. “I rescued her.” He opened his eyes, striding closer to the giant, wishing to speak to the man face to face.
“Rescued her from what?” The deep voice snapped with sarcasm.
“English soldiers. They were debating whether they should ravish her on the spot or tie her to the triangle and beat her until she told them what they wanted to hear.”
His confession had the desired effect; shocking the giant into stunned silence.
“What is this ridiculous talk of being burned alive?” Adrian asked with outrage. “You do go on about it as if it is a common practice. ‘Tis not the Irish way, to mistreat a guest who resides beneath our roof, be it a nobleman or a fugitive seeking shelter.”
MacNeill nodded. “The fishermen sheltered me with the belief I could be an injured member of the Fianna, the rebel militia in this neighborhood. Your gang of patriots, I presume?”
“Aye.” Adrian nodded. “I have my secrets as you have yours.” He walked closer to the man, speaking in a low whisper. “When I rescued your daughter, I believed she was sent to me in answer to my plea. I needed a bride from a foreign land to keep the Sheriff out of my affairs.”
“So, you used her as a pawn when she was weak, unable to defend herself, when she was lost and vulnerable. You owe us a great deal, Lord Dillon. I have a mind to tell her the truth, to call your bluff.”
“You owe me your daughter’s life. I could well have left her to the English soldiers.” Adrian was tired of the pretense between them, and tired of the man’s callous insolence toward him.
“Dismount.” He ordered, reaching for the pistol inside his coat. He never left the castle unarmed. Holding it on the giant, he gestured with it for him to step down from his lofty position. If MacNeill wanted a fight, he was going get it.
“What are you going to do? Shoot me, and tell Tara I returned to Middle Earth?”
Chapter Twenty One
Adrian lifted a brow. It was a thought, but nay, he could not harm a member of the Sidhe Race. He’d be haunted and cursed for the rest of his miserable existence. “I mean you no harm.” He insisted. “If we are to continue to reside under the same roof, I’ll not be treated with contempt. Face me as a man if you have a quarrel with me, and we’ll settle it like men. I behaved honorably toward your daughter. I could have used h
er while she was vulnerable and wounded, as you say, and then passed her along to some other man when I was finished toying with her. Instead, I married her, yet you hold me in contempt for making her my countess.”
The giant swung one leg over the saddle. He jumped clumsily to the ground, stumbling and twisting his ankle as he landed. His backside met the earth with a thud. He groaned and then lay motionless for several moments, his face contorted in pain.
Cursing softly, Adrian bent and offered the wounded giant a hand to pull him up. It was a hopeless gesture. The man was too heavy.
The giant rolled onto his belly and rose on all fours, crawling to the nearest tree. The man swore loudly, groaned and slowly and methodically pulled himself upright as Adrian watched him with a pang of worry.
“Then it appears I’m in your debt.” MacNeill croaked, offering Adrian an outstretched hand while propping himself against the tree with the other.
Taken aback by this hulking goliath being reduced to near helplessness before him Adrian could only stare at him. MacNeill grabbed his hand and shook it solemnly.
“Now … how do you expect me to get back up on that beast? It took three men to get me up in the saddle, and I doubt you’ve that much strength. I don’t intend to walk back to the Castle.”
“We’ll manage. Sit down. Over here.” Adrian led him to a moss covered stone near the tree. After a moment, he added, “Under the circumstances, it is unnecessary to address me formally, as we are family, you may call me by my Christian name.”
Dan gave him a look he found hard to discern. Scorn? Amusement? Not the expected gratitude for his benevolence.
As they talked in the secret glen, Adrian once more turned philosopher. He was not one to hold a grudge once his wrath had been vented and duly acknowledged. “You say you come from a place far away. A place you are unable to return to. Would it take a great amount of magic to send you back to the place from whence you came?”
“Aaaaaghhhh.” MacNeill groaned, startling a brown marten that had been observing them from a safe bush. The reddish-brown rodent darted away from them with panic.