by Lily Silver
“I was afraid they would take you away from me, drag you away to jail and hang you, even after you were shot. The constable kept coming around and asking more questions.”
“I’d walk across the fire for you, I’d walk on the wild for you, if you’ll just believe in me.” Adrian whispered against her temple, continuing to woo her with the words to her favorite ballad. “Sweet Tara, don’t leave me. I would never, ever leave you. I love you. Stay, lass, let me love away the hurt. Let me make it up to you.”
His fingers brushed away her tears. Slowly, his lips graced her eyes, and then her cheekbones and her nose, until their mouths joined. His lips were soft, enticing. They begged, they promised. They urged her on in a head long rush of passion as Tara pulled him with her toward the bed. They fell together on the feather mattress, kissing with an urgency that could not be denied.
“I’ll stay.” Tara answered between kisses. “But I do expect the moon!”
He laughed. Tara laughed with him and gave herself up to his loving, savoring every touch, every patient caress as they danced the enchanted waltz of lovers.
Chapter Thirty Nine
“One Thousand Pounds for the Apprehension of Lord Edward Fitzgerald.”
They were seated in the parlor, one week later. Adrian held up the paper in front of them as he read the headlines aloud.
Dan groaned his frustration. Lady Fiona sniffed with indignation. Dr. Magnus remained unmoved. Tara felt a lump rising in her throat, knowing Fitzgerald’s demise. Adrian looked ill. He sat in the chair with a dejected look, allowing the paper to dangle from one hand. Standing behind him, Tara stroked his shoulder, wishing she could assure him that his friend would be all right.
“Be thankful it isn’t you hiding in attics and warehouses, being forced to dress as a woman to elude the authorities. If Edward had tended his own little family, instead of abandoning them in his zeal for freedom.”
“Yes, Mother.” Adrian waved a hand at her, as if swatting an annoying fly buzzing about his head. Tara caressed his raven locks as she stood behind him. She wished Mrs. Dillon would take herself off now that Adrian was recovering. Her gloomy, sour attitude was not helping him at all.
After a brief rallying of his spirits due to their recommitment to each other, Adrian became pensive and withdrawn again. This time, rather than snapping at everyone, he moped silently about the townhouse with the ever present cane, dragging his injured limb stiffly behind him. Tara wished he would turn his face from the newspapers giving constant reports of troop movements, that he could stop tormenting himself for not being able to help his comrades.
“I’ve an announcement to make.” Lady Fiona began in her grating voice. “We are leaving Ireland for a time. I’ve had such dreadful nightmares of late, I fear closing my eyes. Richard has recommended a more serene atmosphere, for my nerves.”
Dr. Magnus fidgeted near the window, looking the schoolboy caught with his britches down. “Milan is beautiful this time of year. We’re off tomorrow, before they truly close all the ports.”
Adrian tossed the paper away from him. “Wonderful.” He snapped sarcastically. “Italy will never be serene again. Not with you in Milan and Napoleon’s troops stationed in Naples. Do send us a note now and again to let us know who is truly the vanquished. I doubt it shall be you, Mother.”
“Let me assure you, young man, I will take excellent care of Fiona. She has agreed to be my wife.” Dr. Magnus offered in a slightly defensive tone as he went to stand beside Lady Fiona. “We would wish your blessing, young man.”
Tara suspected all along that the doctor fancied Fiona Dillon. After all, she was a very attractive woman, in spite of her domineering personality. Dr. Magnus seemed the more passive of the pair, perhaps they would complement one another.
Adrian rose from his chair with difficulty, clutching the cane to gain his balance. “This is unexpected.” He struggled to find the words to express his shock.
“You were so wrapped up in your own affairs, you scarcely noticed us, my boy.” Dr. Magnus offered. “Do you mean to tell me you believed all those visits to Glengarra over the past year were merely of a professional nature? Good heavens, lad, you’d best start noticing the goings on in your own household or you will wake up one morning to find your son is off to the battlefields and your daughter eloped with the plowboy.”
Dan’s hearty laughter echoed in the room, joined by Dr. Magnus and Fiona.
Adrian looked from Dr. Magnus to his mother, then to Tara with bewilderment.
“That’s wonderful.” Tara smiled, urging him to say as much with her eyes.
“Yes, yes.” Adrian said slowly. It was good that his mother remarry. And Dr. Magnus was a fine fellow. He just hadn’t noticed they were developing feelings for each other. “Are you to be married in Dublin?”
“No.” Mother smiled. Dr. Magnus took her hand in his. “We will wed in Milan. Will you accompany us? It would mean a great deal to me to know that my son and his family are safe, away from this madness.”
“I cannot. I have responsibilities here, an estate to run. I wish you all the best.”
What followed were protests from mother regarding his refusal, which sparked an argument between them. Mother dissolved to tears, and Dr. Magnus escorted her out of the parlor. Dan, too, took his leave of them after tempers flared between mother and son. Tara remained at Adrian’s side, giving him a look that tugged at his heart.
“You look tired, my love.” He offered her a tender smile. “Perhaps you should lie down.” His wife looked worn out, worried, not jubilant and glowing, as an expectant mother should be. The stress of living in a city under siege was not helping matters. At least her morning sickness had ceased.
“Yes, I think I will go upstairs for a while.” Tara answered in a strained voice, no doubt upset over his altercation with his mother. There was nothing to be done for it. As long as he and his mother resided under the same roof there would be disagreements. It was best she took herself off.
Adrian opened his arms to her. Poor dear, she looked so forlorn. This would not answer. Tara needed rest and as little strain as possible to be able to deliver their child into the world hale and hearty. She came to him, allowing him to hold her for a brief moment before planting a kiss on his cheek and retiring to their room upstairs.
I love you. Adrian thought as he watched her retreat. He rubbed his temples, weary from the fight. Weary of the long battles with his mother over the past year. He was still torn between his oath of loyalty to the Irishmen and his pledge to his wife.
Regardless of where his political loyalties belonged, he knew he had to get Tara out of Dublin—as soon as possible. He couldn’t stomach the idea of his child being born into a world trapped by military rule. The outcome looked bleak. It was best to see her safely away from the coming storm. The ports were still open, but few ships were coming in these days, save the British navy. The commercial ones leaving were rare, and their price steep to offset the danger. Many of his comrades were fleeing.
The prudent ones, at least. His old friend, Edward refused to abandon the cause, determined to see it through, be it victory or death awaiting him. Adrian rose, shuffling to the fireplace on his stiff leg. He bent with difficulty, nearly losing his balance as he braced himself against the marble mantel. The paper lay crumpled at his feet. He smoothed it, studying the headlines. A thousand pounds for Edward’s life.
Would his life be on the auction block next? If not for Tara, it would be now.
A cause destined to fail.
Those had been Tara’s exact words. She knew the outcome, the future. She had been sent to him for a purpose; both Tara and her father, the Fairy Doctor. They saved his life more than once. Tara saved him from prison on the morning of the arrest, and Dan saved him from the Coiste-Bodhar, the death coach when he’d been shot.
Adrian straightened, realizing for the first time where his deepest loyalties belonged. He owed them his allegiance—he owed them his very life.
&n
bsp; A cause destined to fail.
Adrian’s comrades were either in Dublin Prison, in hiding with a price on their head or fleeing the country. France had yet to commit to supplying aid. Wolfe-Tone was certain Napoleon would come to their aid if they began the thing themselves, but nothing had come of it, they were still waiting for France to appear.
A cause destined to fail.
Tara’s words echoed in his mind. He couldn’t ignore their ominous foreboding. If the Irishmen were to fail, Edward and the others would die. He would die, either in the struggle or by execution should he be captured alive. He closed his eyes, imagining his family picking up the pieces after his execution. Would Tara flee, disappear in the mists? Would she leave behind their babe to be raised by his mother? God Forbid that any child should suffer such an unstable guardian.
One Thousand Pounds for the apprehension of Lord Edward Fitzgerald.
The headlines screamed at him. He scanned the paper for the date. May the tenth. They had less than a fortnight before the appointed day of the revolt. Everything was ready to be set in motion with the rising sun on May the twenty-third. At dawn, the mail coaches leaving Dublin for Belfast, Limerick and Cork were to be seized by the rebels, signaling the charge to take up arms throughout the country.
Adrian crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire. He understood what course he must take to ensure their survival in the coming days.
“Tara.” A voice insisted in the darkness. “Get dressed, we’re leaving.”
“Now?” She shook off the winding tendrils of slumber. Adrian’s voice was urgent, insistent. “Where are we going? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Don’t talk, get dressed.” He pushed a gown into her hands. As he shuffled to the window, she could see by his outline that he was fully clothed. He lifted the curtains, gazing furtively to the left, then the right.
“What happened?” Tara was frightened by his strange request, and by the darkness of the room. He hadn’t even lit a candle for her to dress by.
“Edward’s been captured. Jasper and Horace Sheares as well.”
Tara sucked in her breath. “Oh, God. Is he …?”
“Dead?” Adrian’s husky voice whispered. I don’t know. Edward was shot. They’ve taken him to the prison. That’s all I know. Jasper and Horace are under arrest as well. They know me, Tara. They know my secret.”
“You don’t think they’ll betray you?” It didn’t seem plausible. They had been loyal friends for many years.
“Not intentionally, dearest. But no man can withstand England’s methods of interrogation for long. They’ll break. Hurry—the others are waiting in the kitchen.”
“Where are we going?”
“France. Mr. Lawless is below, along with Doc Riley from Glengarriff. They are fleeing with us. If we can get past the English watch at the harbor and make it out to the Sea Sprite, Mick Gilamuir and the boys will take us there by his schooner. They’re going with us to Paris. If all goes as planned, we can be in Paris before dusk tomorrow evening.”
“How do you know you can trust this Lawless character? He might be setting a trap.” Tara jerked the dress over her head and shrugged into the sleeves.
“There is a price on both of our heads, mine and his. One Thousand Pounds for each of us. For me is as Quentin Hardwicke. With Edward and the Sheares brothers in custody, it’s only a matter of time before they learn the truth about my cousin and about me.” Adrian moved to stand before the bed. “Are you ready?”
“Are we leaving with only the clothing on our backs?”
“I had most of my funds transferred to Paris this week while awaiting news from Mick Gilamuir regarding our escape.”
“Gilamuir?” Tara repeated wistfully. She had a Fey brother by that name. She recalled the Niaal telling her at the empty palace. He was in hiding, so they said.
Adrian placed a dark cloak about her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her neck. “There now. We’re off.”
Dan and Mr. Lawless slowly rowed the small skiff into the fog as Adrian sat holding Tara against him. Doc Riley, a younger man than Tara expected, with beautiful translucent pale skin, dark russet hair and emerald eyes, sat opposite Tara and Adrian, clutching his physician’s case on his lap. Something about the young man disturbed Tara. She couldn’t put her finger upon what it was. He wasn’t creepy, quite the opposite, he was so attractive, almost unnaturally so, drawing others to him as if by magic. She stared at his dark form, puzzling over the strange attractive quality emanating from him.
Silently they passed great naval ships in the ghostly, grey mists.
They could hear snippets of conversation from the decks above as they passed the British naval vessels in the thick, rolling fog.
The five fugitives held their breath so as not to cause alarm from the watchman.
At last, they were beyond the ships, floating blindly toward the open waters of the Irish Sea. A faint light further out flashed three times and then disappeared. They rowed silently toward it. After a brief interval the light flashed three more times and then was extinguished.
At last, they were alongside the hull of the Sea Sprite. Dan reached forward, pulling them along the side to the ladder. He held the small craft fast as Adrian rose carefully, then grasped Tara for support in the unsteady craft. He pushed her toward the ladder, insisting silently that she ascend it first. It was slippery in the damp night air. She climbed up one wrung and wiped a hand on her cloak with distaste. It felt disgusting in the darkness. Adrian moved slowly behind her, whispering encouragement.
When she reached the top, hands grasped her arms and pulled her over the side. Within seconds, Adrian was beside her on the small ship. A dim lantern hung from the quarter-deck above them, blanketed by thick fog. Dan groaned as he was hauled over the rail, then Doc Riley and Lawless thumped to the deck.
“Release the main sail, haul anchor—quietly lads. We’ve no need of an escort from our friends at port.” That voice was instantly and distinctly familiar.
Tara’s heart soared as the intuitive connection sprang forth.
“Welcome Aboard, Captain Midnight. One last run for the Fianna, aye?”
Bless you, Mick. You’re a life saver. You knew we needed you and you appeared just in time.” Adrian acknowledged. “To Freedom–ours this time, lads.”
“Mick?” Tara stepped forward in the dim light, squeezing her eyes to focus on a fair man with white blond hair who was curiously illuminated by the golden glow of the lantern. “You carried me from the barn that night—you helped save me from the soldiers.”
“Aye, he did.” Adrian admitted, smiling at his comrade and slapping his back. “Mick Gilamuir, or Gilamuir as he’s called here; captain of the Sea Sprite, Smuggling King extraordinaire, Ladies Man with a golden tongue and the rare gift of glamoury, hence his name, Gilamuir.”
“Gilamuir!” Tara exclaimed, stepping forward to take his hand. The moment their skin touched, a silvery, metallic sizzle ran along her arm. “I thought I’d never find you!” Tara murmured as she gazed into her elder brother’s pale, bright blue eyes.
“I was here all along. Watching over Lord Dillon and now you as well.”
“Where are the others?” Tara asked with awe. “Kerry, Riley?”
“Oh, now, don’t be using your glamoury gifts on my wife, man.” Adrian stepped forward possessively and made to extract her hand from her brother’s.
Gilamuir held up his hand, stopping Adrian’s approach. Adrian and the others froze, like statues. Tara looked about at the men, and then at her brother.
“Aye, I can freeze time, but not for long, a few moments. Young Riley is behind you.” He answered Tara’s question with a grin. “His gift is healing, so he’s become a doctor in this realm.”
The young doctor with the serious ‘creepy’ effect stepped forward. Tara knew now why the mortals of her time found her ‘spooky’; it was her fey nature coming through. Gilamuir, their elder, seemed more adept at controlling his magical aura.
>
“Tara, our sweet little sister.” Riley’s voice was soft, like the wind whispering through faint chimes. “We hid you well, did we not? Safe behind the magic stones of Glengarra Castle.”
“And Kerry?” Tara asked again, fearful of the answer.
“He’s off to foreign places, always was the vagabond, that one. Seems to run in the family.” Gilamuir winked at Tara. “And you, deifiur, sweet sister, you have the gift of the traveler.”
“The traveler?”
“Yes, you can transport through time and over great distances. You’ve only to think of a place and be transported there, through the lightning arcs. You can tap into the power of radio magnetic energy and that of storms, using them to enhance your power.” Riley informed her.
Gilamuir laughed, and the musical laughter made him glow with golden light. Riley, too, began to chuckle, and his light was emerald green.
“’T’was hell when ye was a wee babe!” Gilamuir informed her. “Yer tantrums, why the lightning storms nearly singed the foliage bare above our mountain palace during your first year. Mother paid the minstrel dearly to soothe you and keep you calm. We could all breathe a sigh of relief when you learned to control your gifts more.”
Tara’s mind was racing at their words. The Darkling Fey threw her into the lightning storm—but she had control over it? She was the one who singed his feathers, yes, as a toddler in distress she must have instinctively used the power of the lightning whips to try to free herself from him, and he’d been burned as a result. His face and neck were disfigured, his wings destroyed, and he was stuck in the same time as she had been, as he’d travelled with her to the future.
“Ship’s approaching.” Riley whispered, “We need to leave, now.”
“Are you telling me I had the power all along to come home? I had the power within myself to travel through time?”
“Yes. But you were so young.” Riley answered. “You didn’t understand your gifts as yet. And once you were gone we didn’t know where you’d gone off to or how to find you. Kerry was looking, he searched, to no avail. He shares the same gift, does Kerry.”