by JoAnn Ross
“And then the king fell in love with her back,” Zoe guessed.
“Oh, no.” They all shook their heads. “The handsome king loved the queen more than anything, and no matter what female wiles and clever tricks the faerie used against him, he stayed faithful to his wife.”
“Yeah, right.” This really was a fairy tale.
“He really did,” Shea said earnestly. “Because they had a special kind of love. Just like my da and Erin have.”
“And Nora and Quinn,” Celia said.
Jamie wasn’t as quick to jump in this time. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. Remembering what Kate had said about her husband not living with them, and watching the shadow move across his eyes, Zoe decided that he wasn’t all that familiar with happy marriages. Join the club, kid.
“So what happened next?” she asked in an attempt to get the subject back on track so he wouldn’t look so damn miserable. “Did the wicked faerie turn the king into a toad?”
“No. Worse than that.” Jamie seemed to perk up a little. “She put a magic potent in his goblet at the summer solstice celebration, which had him getting drunk so he fell asleep without putting the cap on the stone and the water flowed and flowed all night long until it flooded the whole valley and became this lake.”
“Everyone but the evil faerie drowned? Even the king?” Zoe didn’t think drowning the guy you loved was a real good romantic ploy, but she could definitely understand wanting revenge.
“No. That was the grand part!” Shea shot Jamie a “sorry” look and immediately covered her mouth with her hands.
Jamie sighed. Shook his head with resignation. But the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly as he pulled those small white hands away from those rosebud lips. “Why don’t you finish up telling it?” he suggested magnanimously. “Since you’re the best storyteller anyway.”
Shea beamed. There was no other word for it. Zoe almost laughed.
“The water was magic,” she reminded Zoe. “And the Ancients loved the good queen so much, they made it so the people could live the same way they always had, but beneath the lake. Of course the queen had to give up wearing her beautiful gowns because silk and satin aren’t waterproof, but that was all right, because, you see, the gods also gave her some beautiful green scales that gleam like emeralds.
“And sometimes, if you come here at night, and go out on the lake when the moon is full, you can look over the side of your boat and see the castle and all the people, living just like they always did before the water flooded the kingdom. But I’ve never seen that,” she tacked on, as if feeling the need for full disclosure.
“Rory has,” Celia said.
Zoe shot him a look. “You have not.”
“I’ve not seen the kingdom,” he said, a bit defensively. “But I have seen the Lady.” His chin went up a notch. “I’ve talked to her as well. And her to me.”
“Really.” Zoe wasn’t buying a word of it. What’d they think? That she’d just fallen off the potato truck?
“It’s the truth.” He crossed his arms over the front of his jacket and looked up at her, inviting her to call him a liar. “And if you’d be asking her nice enough, she’ll grant your wishes. Didn’t she bring me Quinn, when I wished for a da?”
“Did you like the story?” Jamie, jumping in as peacemaker, asked.
“It wasn’t exactly The Bold and the Beautiful, but it was okay.”
“But the prince was very bold,” Rory argued.
“And the queen very beautiful.” This from Shea.
“I’m talking about a soap opera. It’s a television show,” she elaborated at their blank looks.
“I like television,” Celia said. “We have one that takes up a whole wall.”
“Quinn bought it for us after he and my ma got married,” Rory backed up his aunt. “It has a sound system that makes you feel that you’re right there with the actors, and we also have video games—”
“And Aunt Nora bought a big popcorn maker just like the ones in the theaters,” Shea broke in yet again. “That’s my favorite thing in the whole room.”
“Perhaps you can come over and watch it with us someday,” Rory said.
“Thanks a lot, but I think I’ll pass.” Being stuck on the O’Sullivan farm while Jake could be riding his Harley to California was bad enough. Hanging out with little kids was just too pitiful to contemplate.
“Oh, you have to visit,” Brigid insisted. “You’re our new pro—mmph.” Her brother slapped his palm over her mouth.
“Your new what?” Not one of them would meet her eyes. “Well?”
“Our project,” Jamie admitted reluctantly, color flooding into his freckled face.
“What kind of project?”
Another long silence. Then …
“Our angel squad project,” Shea finally offered.
“What the hell is an angel squad?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Celia’s temper flared, just a little. Of all of them, Rory’s aunt appeared to have the shortest fuse. “And you ought not to be cursing.”
Zoe folded her arms and tossed up her chin. “I’ll do and say whatever the hell I want.”
Jamie leapt into the lurch again. “Mary Margaret told us to practice acts of kindness. So that’s what the angel squad does.”
“Who’s Mary Margaret?”
“I told you. She’s my guardian angel,” Shea reminded her helpfully.
“Let me get this straight. You all have some invisible imaginary guardian angel who talks to you?”
“She’s Shea’s angel. Which is why she only talks to Shea,” Rory explained as if there was nothing at all weird about talking angels. “Then Shea tells us.”
“Like a medium.” When she got only blank stares in return, she tried again. “A channeler. You know, one of those crazy people who claims to talk to the spirit world.” Thinking of Kate, who’d been pretty nice to her and had shared that cool story about her dead brother coming to say good-bye, Zoe felt another unfamiliar little stab of guilt at having inadvertently included her in that group.
“Shea isn’t crazy!” Celia’s face turned nearly as red as her fiery hair.
“That’s true,” Shea said easily. “Some people thought my da was mad, but they were wrong.”
“The same way they were wrong when they said you were possessed,” Rory reminded her.
“That’s right.” Bright curls bounced as she nodded her head energetically. “I only had my brain tumor. And my da may have seemed a wee bit mad for a time, but then I came to live with him, and he fell in love with me—”
“And Erin,” Jamie reminded her.
“I was getting to that. My da used to take pictures of wars and people dying, so he was real sad and wanted to be alone all the time. But Grandmother McDougall brought me from Belfast to live with him after me mum was shot dead by the Unionists, then Erin came from America, and we both loved him so much and he loved us so much, he got happy again.”
She beamed another of those smiles that reminded Zoe of the cherubs smiling down from the ceiling in the Swiss convent church. “And now he smiles all the time and takes nice pictures to show people what life in Ireland is really like. But he says his favorite pictures are the ones he takes of my new mum and me.”
Zoe guessed those photos on the bedroom wall must have been taken by Shea’s father. As she rode back to the O’Sullivan farm in the pony cart, Zoe also decided that she’d just hit a new personal low when she actually found herself horrendously envious of a nine-year-old brain tumor survivor whose mother had been murdered.
Kate was silent on the drive back to the stud, appearing to be deep in her own thoughts. Her scent, an intriguing blend that had him thinking of ancient spice routes, warm summer rain, and mysterious incenses burned over pagan fires, bloomed in the warmth blowing from dashboard heating vents.
“Pull over,” he said when they reached a crossroads.
She took her eyes from the narrow, twisting lane long enough t
o flick him a glance. “What?”
“I said, pull over.”
She hesitated, then pulled the truck over to the far left side of the lane, cut the engine and turned toward him. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah.” Dammit, he still wanted to throttle her. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“You took a damn-fool risk today. I don’t want to ever see you do such a stupid thing again.”
Her eyes flashed like blue fire. Displaying a bit of temper of her own, she tossed up her chin. “It isn’t your place to be telling me what to do or not do.”
“Someone has to. Since you don’t seem to have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”
“Ha.” She tossed her glossy dark head with blatant disdain and not a little scorn. “If I were to stay out of the rain, I’d never be going anywhere. This is Ireland, after all,” she reminded him pointedly.
“I was speaking metaphorically. You know very well what I meant.”
“If you’re referring to my little exercise with the horse—”
“You’re damn right that’s what I was referring to.” He took hold of her upper arms, but refrained from shaking some sense into her as he wanted to. “You could have been killed.”
Her eyes were now chips of blue ice, vibrant in a complexion that had turned ghostly pale. “Take your hands off me,” she said in a furious, low tone. “Now.”
She’d turned as stiff as stone beneath his touch. Her scent—half smoke, half spice—became edged with a tang of fear. Hell. He should have remembered what O’Neill had said about her husband. “Look, I’m sorry, but—”
“Your hands.”
Alec released her and held his hands up, palms out in front of him. “Okay.” He drew in a deep breath and wondered what it was about this woman that evoked such primal emotions. “I apologize for manhandling you. But only that. I still think you’re crazy as a damn loon and the best thing for all concerned here is for me to just take Legends Lake back to the States and tell Mrs. Tarlington she’s going to have to retire him.”
“And how would that be helping the horse?”
“This isn’t about him.”
“Isn’t it?” She arched a winged, dark brown eyebrow.
“No. It might have been, in the beginning. But I’ve only been here a few days and things are already getting too complicated.”
“And you’re not a man who cares for complications.”
“Got it on the first try.”
“Then perhaps you should consider getting into another line of work. But whatever your feelings, things haven’t changed. This is still about Legends Lake.” Her voice and her expression softened. “You were right. He’s very distraught. Distraught and frightened.”
“Frightened of what?” Now she had him talking as if he actually believed she could read the Thoroughbred’s mind. Which was, of course, flat-out impossible.
“Ah, wouldn’t it be lovely if understanding were that simple? I wouldn’t be knowing where his fear is coming from. Not yet. But I do believe I can help him.”
“I’m not letting you near that horse alone.”
“Let me make one thing very clear, Mr. MacKenna—”
“Alec,” he reminded her.
“Fine. Alec it will be.” She let out a breath. “It is not your place to tell me what I may and may not do. You may not have noticed, but the last man who attempted to control my life is no longer in it.”
“I’m only trying to keep you from getting hurt. From what I hear, with your husband, it was just the opposite.”
Hell, he’d definitely pushed the wrong button that time. She flinched, almost as if he’d struck out at her with his fists, rather than mere words. “You’ve been listening to gossip.”
“Then it’s true?”
She turned away, refusing to meet his eyes as she pretended vast interest in the crumbling ruins of the Castle Joyce. “That would be none of your business.”
“Then why does it feel as if it is?” Alec was as surprised to have asked the question as she was to hear it. She glanced back at him, her exquisite eyes shadowed, wary.
“I wouldn’t be knowing what’s in your mind where I’m concerned.”
“You’re the one who inherited Biddy Early’s gift of sight.”
“Aye. But I can’t pull it out on demand, like some bloody parlor trick. Besides …” She turned away again. Crossed her legs and folded her arms.
“Besides?”
She shot him a frustrated look. “It doesn’t work that way. I may be able to see things about other people, but when it comes to my own life, I’ve always been mind-blind.”
“Inconvenient.” Despite that little incident in the field, which he’d just about managed to convince himself was a coincidence—a random meteorological event like an earthquake or a tsunami—Alec still didn’t buy the idea of second sight and magic powers.
“Haven’t I thought so, myself, from time to time,” she murmured.
“Perhaps, deep down inside, you don’t want to see your own future.”
“I suppose that’s one possible suggestion.” Her tone was mild, but something in her eyes told him he’d hit close to the mark. “And now that we’ve settled that, I believe it’s time we were continuing on to the stud. Legends Lake could do with a rubdown before his muscles stiffen up.”
“I don’t care what you think of me, Kate,” Alec said as she twisted the key in the ignition. “You can call me controlling, arrogant, or chauvinistic. Or all three. But there is no way in hell that I’m letting you alone with that horse.” He firmed his jaw, prepared for her argument.
“Fine.”
He shot her a look. “Fine?”
“Fine,” she repeated mildly.
Having always been suspicious of things that came too easily, Alec didn’t quite trust her sudden acquiescence, but neither was he prepared to challenge it.
They’d nearly reached the stud when a small blue car sped past on a tight, blind curve, the rusty back bumper seeming to be held onto the car with equally rusty wire. A faded bumper sticker read: REALITY IS AN ILLUSION CREATED BY A SHORTAGE OF ALCOHOL. The words, which he supposed were meant to be humorous, but weren’t, had him thinking of his own current reality. There was Zoe, who was continuing to both aggravate and worry him. And Kate O’Sullivan, who kept stimulating complex, unbidden feelings that were becoming more and more difficult to ignore. And then there was Winnie, who’d already called twice since he’d arrived in Ireland, and would undoubtedly be calling this evening, as well, wanting a progress report on a plug-ugly horse that probably never could be trusted on any racetrack.
Christ, Alec thought as the truck pulled into the driveway of the stud, could my life get any more complicated?
13
THEY ARRIVED BACK at the stud just in time to see Zoe coming down the driveway in a small wagon pulled by a pony and driven by Kate’s son. Alec wondered what miracle had occurred to get his daughter out of the bedroom.
“So, I see you’ve been playing tourist,” he said mildly.
“We took Zoe to the lake and told her the story of the Lady!” Brigid O’Sullivan’s eyes laughed.
“The Lady?”
“The lough beastie.” Her brother’s tone was a great deal more subdued.
“Oh, yeah. From the movie.”
“You have it the wrong way around,” Kate corrected. “The movie was about our beastie. Though, as exciting as that story was, Quinn used a great deal of creative license, since there’d be not a soul in Castlelough who’d permit scientists to hound the poor creature to her doom, as happened in the book.”
Alec was not at all surprised to learn that she believed in some fanciful Loch Ness creature.
“The Lady used to be a queen,” Zoe surprised him by entering into the conversation.
“Did she now?” He couldn’t decide whether her accepting the faerie tale was good or bad news. Then decided that anything that could get her to open up to him, ev
en a little, couldn’t be all bad.
“Aye,” the pixie in the sunshine yellow jacket said joyfully. “But a bad faerie cast a spell, so now all the people live beneath the water in their magical kingdom.”
“That’s quite a story.” The cherubic child’s enthusiasm had him smiling.
“It’s true enough,” her brother said in a quiet, but firm tone. Jamie O’Sullivan’s eyes were a bit wary, which made sense, Alec considered, if the remark about his father’s abuse was at all true. But his back was as straight as a rod and his steady, unwavering gaze possessed a familiar inner strength. In their own ways, each of Kate’s children bore a striking resemblance to their mother.
“So, did you see the Lady?” he asked Zoe.
“No.” She crossed her arms in an argumentative gesture he’d come to recognize all too well. “But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Kate agreed in a warm voice intended to soothe the tension. “The Lady is a wee bit shy. But if you’re very lucky, and open your mind, you may just catch a glimpse of her before you return to America.”
Adult skepticism warred with a desire to believe the impossible in Zoe’s raccoon-rimmed eyes and on her painted face, reminding Alec yet again that she was at that painfully awkward age between childhood and adulthood.
“It’d be cool to see her,” he said when she remained silent. “Wouldn’t it, Zoe?”
She drilled a hard look at him. “What do you care? You don’t believe in her.”
Just like you don’t believe in me. She might not have said the words out loud. But Alec heard them, all the same.
“I’ll admit it’s difficult to suspend disbelief.” He wanted to touch her, just a stroke of a fingertip against her cheek, or a hand to her spiky hair, but the no-trespassing signs had gone up all around her again. “But I still think it would be neat if the Lady did exist and even better yet if you were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her while you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Kate agreed. Whatever else he might think of her, Alec was grateful to Castlelough’s witch for backing him up. She turned toward her son. “Jamie, darling, why don’t you take Zoe and Brigid in and cut them some of your aunt Nora’s lovely spice cake that’s waiting on the counter?”