Gwen had moved on.
He was too late.
“Come on,” Colin murmured, physically pushing Reilly up the stairs. They were both covered in sweat, their run being more of a race. His win against Colin was a hollow victory.
Colin steered Reilly into the bedroom, then carefully shut the door as Reilly leaned heavily on his bureau and dropped his head onto his arm with a curse.
“How are you going to fix this?”
Reilly’s incredulous gaze snapped up to Colin’s calm one. “Fix it?” he scoffed. “You heard her. She’s moved on. By her own words, she’s happy with Anthony, and she wouldn’t believe me if I told her how I felt. Explain to me how I’m to fix that? Especially as she’s made up her mind.”
Colin grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “She’s your soul mate, Ry. She’s loved you for as long as she’s known you.”
“And I’ve pushed her away for just as long,” he snapped. “By the saints, I am the worst kind of fool.”
“You won’t find me arguing the point. But you can’t let her marry another man.”
Reilly glared at Colin for a full minute before barking out his next words. “If your love wanted to be with someone else, would you force her unhappiness by separating them?”
Colin pressed his lips in a tight line.
Reilly carefully blew out a breath. “Exactly. You should go, cousin. I’m unfit company at the moment.”
“We could go to the lists,” Colin suggested.
Stonily, Reilly shook his head. “Not today. Take your love, and Gwen too, and leave me to my misery. Have a safe flight, and I’ll see you closer to the wedding”
Colin ran a hand through his dark blond hair, unsure. “I don’t think you should be alone.”
Reilly barked out a humorless laugh. “Oh, trust me, nothing untoward would happen to me. The Fates would make sure of it. No, I’m just destined to continue on as I’ve been.”
He didn’t say the word, but it hung in the air, as tangible as the floor beneath his feet.
Lonely.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. But first—” Colin waited until Reilly met his eyes “—think on this.” At Reilly’s continued silence, Colin continued, “For years, I’ve listened to, and taken, your advice. Even when I didn’t want it. Especially when I didn’t want it. But now we’re in my territory, Ry. I’m the professional here, and so here’s some free matchmaking advice. Show her you love her. Don’t use the words, as you know she won’t believe them. Actions only.”
A long moment passed before Reilly finally admitted quietly, “I don’t know how.”
He frowned. “You’ve never had problems romancing a woman before, Ry.”
“Aye,” he agreed darkly. “But this time, I would need to romance a wife.”
Colin’s expression turned thoughtful. “Ah. That is a different beast altogether, isn’t it?”
Reilly let out a frustrated growl in response.
“All right, mate. It won’t be easy. But, as the saying goes, with great risk comes great reward. You have to make her feel special. Make her see that there is no one more important to you than she. It’s in the little things. Put her first in all things, and she will start to see what you don’t say.”
“What if it isn’t enough?” Reilly asked roughly. He slammed his hands on the bureau and pushed off it. “She’s given up on me! By all that’s holy, she’s marrying someone she doesn’t love!”
“And why is that?” Colin finally snapped. At Reilly’s surly glare, Colin rolled his eyes. “To be free of you, you fool.”
“Aye. And free of me she will be, but never I of her.”
Quietly, Colin turned the door handle. “If she truly wants to be free of you, though, with everything she’s gone through…and perhaps you might think a bit on the answer to this one…why, in her greatest moment of need, has your mate come running to you?”
Reilly had no answer, not that Colin seemed to expect one.
The door closed behind him softly, and Reilly sat down heavily on his bed. He’d never been so confused in his life. His mistakes were numerous and unforgivable. He didn’t have to tell the world the name of his soul mate; as it was fully imprinted upon his heart, he’d already claimed her as his own. And now, he was destined to love only Gwen for all time, and she was pledging herself to another man, all because he fully convinced her he was nothing more than a friend.
A friend!
He dropped back, his arm over his eyes, and took measured breaths. She claimed happiness with Anthony, though her eyes told a different story. He knew she would be forced to choose between the two of them, by either Anthony or her loyalty to her husband.
How could he walk away from her?
How could he not?
Colin’s words were like a dagger in his chest. From her reaction in the car park yesterday, she must be suffering some degree of post-traumatic stress. Perhaps also survivor’s guilt, if he knew her as well as he thought he did.
Colin was right. Gwen did come running to him. At the airport, she lost all sense of decorum and leapt into his arms, which he hadn’t been expecting. And she hadn’t been obvious about it, but since the moment she came into his home, she’d been keeping close to him, rarely more than a room away.
However, she’d promised herself to another man. He felt his anger at himself bubble to the surface.
A tentative tap on the door revealed a concerned Gwen, her beautiful face drawn with worry lines.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Colin told me you weren’t feeling well. I’ll bring you some chicken soup, if you want?”
“I want nothing,” he snapped. He sighed. “Sorry.”
She blinked. “Okay, grumpy pants. I was just offering. I’ll be back in a while; we’re going to grab some dinner.”
“Stay at Winifred’s,” Reilly replied darkly, placing his arm back over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. He didn’t want his eyes or his expression to give away any of his turbulent thoughts.
“If you want me to,” she replied, her voice soft. “But I’ve been able to sleep through the night when I’m here.”
He shrugged. “Fine. I’m going to shower. Have a nice dinner.”
“I’ll be back after I drop them at the airport,” she said as he shut the door to the master bathroom behind him, cursing himself for his curtness, but wishing all the same she’d stay home.
Home, he scoffed silently. Her home was back in the States with her fiancé.
A few moments later, he heard Colin’s car start, then head away from the house.
He swore when he realized he was out of towels, and headed toward the stairs to grab some from his dryer. On the way, he passed Gwen’s room, and her scent wafted out of it.
Gritting his teeth, he blasted down the stairs, determined to ignore any more thoughts of her.
In the living room, her sweater lay across the couch. He turned his back on it, nearly grinding his teeth into powder, only to encounter a note on the kitchen table.
I forgive you, you big grumpy bear. And I’m bringing you chicken noodle soup, and you’re going to eat all of it because that stuff fixes everything. Get some sleep, Grumplestiltskin. -G
A reluctant smile tugged, and Reilly knew he couldn’t watch her marry someone else.
Feeling as though he was struggling for air, Reilly discarded the idea of a shower. He needed to be outside, to get some air and ground himself. He needed to get control over himself. And, he admitted, slipping her note into his pocket, he needed to make amends with Gwen. She didn’t deserve his black mood.
• • •
“Do you ever think, sometimes, that the Fates are just messing with you?”
Reilly choked on his beer mid-pull. When he could breathe again, he gave Gwen an incredulous look. “What?”
She shrugged, toying with her fork. They sat in the middle of a nearly empty pub, a fire giving off a pleasant warmth in the hearth nearby. The rain outside cam
e down just hard enough to give the world outside the windows a fuzzy facade.
“I wonder if those Fates that you know are always pulling the strings just because they’re bored, as though they see someone swimming along in life and think, Hey! Let’s make her life suck a little bit, just for giggles.”
He shook his head. “They’re too self-absorbed for that.”
She sipped her soda, nonplussed. “How can they be self-absorbed if their entire purpose is to ensure the life span of others?”
Reilly pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dislike speaking of them.”
“Why?”
He looked at her through his fingers. “Because it feels like giving them an open invitation to my life.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought you said they dictate your every move?”
“If I said such a thing, it was said with contempt and distrust, and a bit tongue-in-cheek. They don’t control everything.”
“So what part of your life is destiny, and which part is fate?” she wondered.
He finished his meal and pushed the plate away. “They’re the same thing.”
Gwen studied him for a moment. He looked tired and a little stressed. How unlike him. She’d never seen him as anything but composed.
Well…except for the time he almost took her to bed. He was quite the opposite of composed then.
Rationally, she knew perfection didn’t exist. Reilly had his faults as much as the next guy. But he was always self-assured, never seeming to doubt his actions or decisions, and always looked as though he was as fresh as the day was long.
The exhaustion lines on his face were concerning. “They’re not, not at all. Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”
“Your illogical line of questioning has once again muddled my inept brain.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. Your brain is the furthest thing from inept. You look tired.”
He rubbed his face. “Aye, I am. A temporary thing, that. I’m still able to best anyone in a sword fight.”
“Always thinking of steel.” She finished her soda and slowly swirled the straw in the ice. “So why do you think fate and destiny are the same?”
The gold flecks in Reilly’s eyes sparked with interest. “Perhaps you ought to tell me why you think they’re not.”
“Nice evasion,” she said, then promptly ignored his question and pressed, “But why do you think they’re the same? And did you come to this conclusion on your own?”
“Are you a shrink now?” He pulled out his wallet and began counting bills. He shot her a dirty look when she reached for her purse.
“I can pay my own way,” she protested, though she put her hands up in immediate surrender.
“We have this conversation at least every other meal,” he replied patiently, placing the money on the table. “Consider it a blight to my honor.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Reilly raised a mock-supercilious brow. “Calling my honor into question, my lady?”
Gwen shook her head, wondering why she even bothered to attempt to pay. In all the years of trying to sneak the bill, she’d won only once. He’d been so distraught, she actually felt badly about paying. But she still felt the need to offer. “You know I hate feeling indebted to you.”
“Gwendolyn.” His suddenly serious tone had her looking up in surprise; the sincerity in his eyes was intense. “Believe me when I tell you that your presence is more than enough in return for a simple meal. To be honest, each time you deign to share your time with me, I am struck anew with how honored I am to be there, with you, in that moment. So no, you are not indebted to me, ever. The truth is, I am indebted to you.”
Her heart melted into a puddle at her feet.
This. This is why you can never have a normal relationship. You’ve been spoiled by honest-to-God chivalry by an honest-to-God medieval warrior.
If she was anyone else, she’d be jealous of herself.
He didn’t seem to expect her to say anything as he continued, “Aye, I came to the conclusion on my own. Fate and destiny are interchangeable terms, no matter the language.”
She leaned forward. “It’s hard for me to remember that English is your second language.”
“Fourth.”
She blinked. “Come again?”
“Old Gaelic, modern Gaelic, French, then English.”
“You know French?” she exclaimed.
“Oui, mademoiselle. J'ai apprécié le son, alors j'ai appris cela.”
She had no idea what he said, but she didn’t really care. Reilly speaking French was doing inexplicable things to her insides.
He gave her a slow, seductive smile. “Et cela en valait la peine, pour voir votre visage ce moment.”
Reilly was giving her a seductive smile? No way. Imagination overdrive. Apparently, the smooth sounds of a romance language addled her brain into seeing things.
She glanced at him from under her eyelashes, noted his smile again, and shivered.
For the first time in a very long time, hope flared to life in her heart. Before she could process that strange turn of events, he (unfortunately) switched back to English.
“I interrupted you. You were saying ’tis hard for you to remember that English is not my first language. Why does that matter?”
She shook her head to clear it. “Right. Well, in English, those terms—fate and destiny—aren’t interchangeable.”
He smiled, a bit indulgently. “Perhaps interchangeable is the wrong word. In Celtic lore, we’ve two distinct deities for them. The Fates, of course, and from ancient times, the Morrígan. Goddess of destiny. Her legend didn’t last very long.”
“Is she a real thing?”
He scoffed. “Nay, she is just a made-up story, told to frighten children at bedtime. Back to what you were saying, about what you think fate and destiny are. Enlighten me.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he rumbled out a laugh. “Well,” she said slowly, “fate is more the idea that someone else is, for lack of a better term, pulling the strings.”
He rolled his eyes.
She chuckled. “Well, with fate, there’s nothing you can do about it. Something—or someone—else is controlling your life. All the choices you make have already been decided for you. But destiny, that’s controlled by you.”
He sat forward a little, his shoulders bunching as he leaned his forearms on the table. “Lass, ’tis madness.” He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. “I know the Fates. I have lived with them. They, unfortunately, are not a made-up tale.”
“I know, I know. Hear me out,” she insisted. “Destiny is when we have control. Full control, as in, every decision we make results in an action, and that action directly results in another decision, and so on and so forth. Everything is decided by us; every choice is made with free will.”
“Fate allows for free will,” he argued. “But the end result is the same. You’ll get to where you’re going, regardless of the path.”
She nodded her head. “Sure, to a point. But if the path always leads to the same place, what does it matter what the choice is?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but halted. Gwen watched, fascinated, as he internally debated some point with himself.
She’d seen him do so on only a few occasions prior. Normally, he was so convinced in his thoughts that trying to sway him to a different opinion was a waste of time. He called it experience; she called it stubbornness.
But when she did manage to give him food for thought, watching him war it out with himself always proved captivating.
Finally, he inclined his head. “You make a valid point. But I find it hard to come up with any example of your definition of destiny. I have plenty of them for fate.”
“There isn’t anything in your vast repertoire where you made a decision you knew would displease the Fates?” she asked skeptically.
“You remember Emmaline, from Celtic Connections, aye?”
�
��Of course. She’s married to Aidan.”
Reilly nodded wearily. “Aye, she is. A while back, Emma had her own adventure in the past. You know Aidan is Laird Nioclas’s brother. When Emma returned to the future, Aidan remained in the past, as was his fate. And, as he’s not a Protector, he had no way to return to her.”
She knew her eyes probably looked like saucers, but she couldn’t help it. “But he’s in the future now! How did he get there?”
Reilly frowned. “I went back and got him, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed. “That would be destiny, Reilly. You changed fate’s plan for them. You helped them to create their own destiny.”
In the second before the mask of indifference slipped back over his features, she saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. “I’m not so romantic as all that, Gwendolyn.”
Yes, you are, she almost said, but held her tongue. Her point had been made; he either accepted it, or he didn’t.
Chapter Six
“I will be back sometime next week,” Ellie said. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”
Gwen adjusted the phone to her ear and pointed down a road, indicating Reilly should turn that way. “Honestly, El, it’s no trouble. You know I could spend years in Ireland and never get bored. No, Ry, you were supposed to go that way!”
“I do know where to go,” Reilly pointed out.
“I know, but you came all the way to Ireland just to be with me before the wedding,” Ellie replied, “and I end up going back to where you came from. Will you be quite bored over there?”
“Reilly has some plans to keep us busy,” Gwen replied noncommittally.
“What kind of plans?”
Gwen wasn’t sure how to tell Ellie without sending her into spasms of anxiety, but her silence went on too long, and Ellie gasped, understanding immediately. “Gwendolyn! I know your sense of adventure is well-honed, but really? There’s no indoor plumbing! You were climbing the walls last time! What happens if you end up in a dungeon? Or kidnapped?”
The fright in her friend’s voice had Gwen wishing she could reach through the phone and give her a hug. “Ellie, I’ll be with Reilly. He’d never let anything happen to me.” She turned to look at him, and noticed he sat up a little straighter. “Don’t puff out your chest, caveman. You wouldn’t let anything happen to anyone on your watch.”
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 11