He nodded. “Especially not you. I vow my life upon it, lass.”
“Okay, that sounded totally medieval,” Ellie laughed, a hint of relief creeping into her tone. Someone said something in the background on Ellie’s end, and she added, “Colin said to keep an eye on Reilly, and ensure he doesn’t mar his features for the wedding photographs.”
Gwen relayed the message, laughter in her voice, and Reilly rolled his eyes. “Aye, his concern for my well-being is truly overwhelming.”
Gwen laughed. “Anyway, Ellie, we’re not time traveling yet. So don’t worry, okay?”
“Well, be safe when you do go. Tell me all about it when you see me next week. And don’t worry about wedding details. Winnie has everything well in hand.”
“She has loved this entire process,” Gwen agreed. Ellie wanted a small wedding but didn’t care very much about the details and gladly handed the reins over to Winnie. All she retained control of was the wedding dress, Gwen’s maid of honor dress, and the cake.
Gwen was convinced that Ellie was the easiest, and happiest, woman in the history of brides.
“Have fun, Gwennie, and stay close to Reilly.”
“You bet, El.”
They hung up just as Reilly pulled into a parking lot. “I thought we were going to the supermarket.” Gwen said. She glanced at the sign in front of her. “Finnigan’s Feudal Fashions?”
He nodded and unbuckled. “Stay there.” He opened her door and helped her out. “You’ll see.”
She gave a bemused smile. “You don’t have to tell me to stay in my seat, Ry. I know not to move until you open the door for me.”
“I never assume that what you did yesterday would hold true to today,” he replied gravely, though a ghost of a smile touched his lips.
A moment later, they entered the shop, and Gwen’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Medieval gowns, ancient Grecian togas, Renaissance codpieces, Regency breeches…clothing from every time period filled the walls and shelves. A display of knives and swords sat in the center counter, and spinning stands of period jewelry lined the back wall. A Celtic pipe soundtrack played merrily in the background.
“Reilly O’Malley, it’s about time you showed up!”
A round, middle-aged woman bustled over to them, her ruddy face beaming. “I’ve been awaitin’ you nigh on a month! It’s been ready since I called you!”
Her accent was so thick Gwen had to concentrate on the words the woman was saying, and even then she wasn’t sure if she caught everything.
“Aye, but I’ve been waiting for the right time to pick it up,” he replied easily. “Molly Finnigan, meet Gwendolyn Allen.”
“Aye, she’s a sight, isn’t she? Just adorable, you are, lassie. Wait here, I’ll get it, and you can try it on straightaway!” Molly grinned at Gwen, her face crinkling into smile lines, and disappeared into the back.
“Put what on?”
Reilly didn’t so much a flick her a glance, and Gwen could see he was slightly uncomfortable. “I had a dress made for you.”
Gwen laughed, delighted. “You had a dress made for me? Over a month ago, too, from the sounds of it! Why?”
If she wasn’t watching for it, she might’ve missed the small tick in his jaw. A sure sign he was uneasy, she knew. She waited for him to school his features into a stony mask of indifference.
She nearly laughed when he did exactly that.
She tugged one of his arms free from the tight fold he’d assumed when Molly went into the back. “Tell me, Ry. You know I won’t stop asking until you do.”
“’Tisn’t that the honest truth,” he muttered. He looked at her, and some of the indifference warmed. “I thought it was a possibility that you might crave an adventure or two, after your first one with Eleanor. So I thought I’d best be prepared.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You knew I’d want to go again?”
He snickered. “I would’ve been shocked if you didn’t.”
“I’m that predictable?” she asked, oddly saddened.
He touched her chin and drew her face up. “Never predictable, Gwendolyn.”
The intensity in his stare made her pause, and a small tingle raced down her spine. A bit off-kilter, she licked her suddenly dry lips. “Then, ah, how did you know?”
His smile turned smug. “Sometimes, I simply know you better than you know yourself.”
“Oh, you’re so arrogant,” she exclaimed, pushing his hand out from under her chin. She rolled her eyes at his deep chuckle, but she wondered what that look had been about.
Stop it right now, she admonished herself. She was seeing things that weren’t there.
“’Ere we are,” Molly said, reappearing behind a mound of fabric. “You certainly were right about her stature. Tiny as a fairy, that one!”
“I’m petite,” Gwen said staunchly.
“Like a fairy,” Molly replied agreeably. “Come, come, hold it up. The fabric was a hard one to get, you see, but your gentleman insisted it be authentic. No zippers or buttons, all hand-stitched with wool that was dyed in the old ways.”
“This must’ve cost a fortune,” she murmured, gingerly shaking out the dress. The lush garnet color was accentuated by the gold silk ribbons woven horizontally on the bodice. The tips of the sleeves and bottom of the skirt were all edged with delicate gold lace, and the wool, while warm, wasn’t as scratchy or as heavy as she’d expected.
“Reilly, this is…” She searched for words, unable to convey her gratitude.
“Back in medieval times, this sort of dress would be worn only by the wealthy, or even royalty. Peasants surely had nothing like this, and the woman who wore it would be considered a jewel indeed.” Molly stood back with a smile, admiring her own handiwork. “I’ve slippers to match, but I didn’t make those. Mr. O’Malley wasn’t sure of your shoe size, and isn’t that funny, for he knew all your other measurements!”
“Sinead,” Reilly said to Gwen, by way of explanation.
Sinead was the head seamstress at Brianagh and Nioclas MacWilliam’s castle, and during her trip to the past, the woman had modified a couple of gowns for Gwen to wear. Sinead was magical with a needle and thread.
“I loved the color so much I ordered a few slippers in the same dye,” Molly continued. “Be sure to choose some, aye?”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, reverentially hugging the dress to her. “I adore it.”
Molly grinned, then handed a worn piece of paper to Reilly. Gwen lifted herself on tiptoes to see what it was, but she didn’t have to.
“Your design was flawless, Mr. O’Reilly. It suits her perfectly,” Molly gushed. To Gwen, she added, “May you find many occasions to wear such a lovingly designed dress, lassie.”
Surprised, Gwen nodded.
“Go pick out your shoes, but for the love of all that’s holy, please don’t be all day about it,” Reilly grumbled.
She tugged him down to her and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You deserve it,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Deserve it?” she echoed, nonplussed. “I don’t see how I—”
He leveled her with a look meant to silence her on the matter. “You deserve it,” he repeated firmly.
“Aye, he’s a gentleman, that one!” Moly exclaimed, patting his brawny arm. “He says you never do anything for yourself, and that every woman should have at least one thing made just for her. This one’s mama raised him right, she did!”
She wondered briefly if he knew she didn’t wear an engagement ring because Anthony felt exactly the opposite. Of course he wouldn’t know that, she rationalized. Anthony felt that the money he would’ve spent on a ring would be better served if it went to a family in need, and she outwardly agreed, though secretly, she’d really wanted one. It didn’t have to be fancy…she just wanted to feel special.
She felt her emotions begin to rise.
“Don’t,” Reilly warned, as Gwen looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
She tried to blink
them back, but they both knew it was a lost cause. She sniffed and waved her hand in front of her eyes, as if that would somehow evaporate the emotions, too. She swallowed, then placed her hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. “Then thank you extra, Reilly. That means a lot.”
He grunted in response and waved toward the shoes. “Choose your shoes, wench, and let us be gone from this place.”
She sniffed again, then did just as she was asked.
• • •
Gwen’s finger hovered above Anthony’s name on her phone screen, uncertain.
She knew he was going to be angry. She also knew that if she loved him the way he loved her, she shouldn’t want to spend so much time with another person, particularly the man she’d spent most of her adult life loving.
After the scare she had at the pub the other day, Gwen realized why she came to Ireland. It wasn’t to spend loads of quality time with Ellie before the wedding, as she had been telling herself. It wasn’t that she needed a break from Anthony, which had crossed her mind a few times since she’d been back from Venezuela.
She needed a safe place.
When Reilly’s was the face to greet her at the airport, a weight had lifted from her shoulders. When he’d left her alone in her house that night, it had fallen back into place. When he’d left for Ireland the next day, the weight grew, pressing against her chest until she couldn’t breathe.
Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into?
She put the phone on the bedside table and chewed her thumbnail. She wanted to get married. That stability and security was appealing to her; she’d spent such a long time in dangerous places, devoting her time to people who needed it, but that kind of work drained a person. She needed a break from the insanity, some time to simply enjoy her own life. Have children, and a house filled with noise and joy.
Anthony thrived on his charity work. She understood the drive; the recipients were usually so wonderful and the feeling of accomplishment was unlike any other. The rush of feeling useful, of feeling like she’d done some good in a world full of bad, was addicting—but she wanted to begin her own life.
There was nothing inherently wrong with that, Gwen knew, but the guilty feelings were hard to overcome. Reilly had once pointed out that there would always be another family in need, another orphanage to build, and she could only do what she could do; any more than that was unfair to herself.
At the time, she thought Reilly didn’t understand. Now, she got it. If she only had this one life to live, giving of herself was important. But giving herself? That was a long, lonely road. A noble one, to be sure, but one she was increasingly seeing wasn’t the path she wanted to stay on forever.
Anthony thought they were on that long path together. He always spoke of where they’d be in twenty years—maybe living in Ecuador, teaching the poorest communities how to become self-sufficient, or in Uganda, working alongside the local governments to get fresh water to everyone.
Gwen felt selfish for thinking that in twenty years, she’d like to attend her child’s high school graduation.
But it’s not, she reminded herself. It was not selfish to want a family, and stability. She’d spent all of her twenties working to ensure others could have just that; why couldn’t she want those things, too?
She glanced out her window and saw Reilly sitting on one of the low stone walls that surrounded his garden, talking on his phone. He looked at ease with the world around him. She smiled a little to herself. Even his clothing was made for comfort; his faded tee shirt strained at the arms but hiding what she knew was a washboard stomach and muscular back. Every pair of jeans the man owned was soft, fitted exactly to his body, with the back right pocket bearing the outline of his wallet.
Gwen sighed. She knew more about Reilly O’Malley than she did anyone else, save Ellie. But then he dropped the bombshell that he could actually move time, and it took her a while to get over the shock of that omission.
When she and Ellie found themselves in medieval Ireland last summer, and Reilly’s secrets were blown wide open, Gwen was hurt that he’d never told her. His entire facade to her had been a lie; he had claimed he was a simple woodworker from Ireland, with a close extended family who lived in America. His parents were dead, he lived alone in the woods on the outskirts of Dublin, and he was a simple man.
Of course, by simple, he meant a time-traveling, sword-swinging, medieval bodyguard.
But it was Reilly, and really, she understood why he’d kept it from her. And she’d loved him anyway.
If only he wasn’t so handsome. If only he wasn’t so good to her. If only he wasn’t such a good man. If only…
If only she could stop loving him, and give all that love to another, to someone who wanted it.
She watched Reilly continue his conversation, oblivious to her inner turmoil, and she wished things were different.
Why did I come back here? she wondered despondently. Did she enjoy torturing herself with Things That Could Never Be? She could be tucked into a nice hotel in Atlanta, enjoying the heat and all the wonderful things that city had to offer, with a man who was devoted to her.
But instead, she chose rainy Ireland, with a man who enjoyed her company, but had no desire for anything more than that.
I’m such a coward.
Gwen knew deep down that she shouldn’t marry another man while her heart was so firmly attached to someone else. But that man wanted nothing to do with a forever with her. She had a chance at stability, at security. She could grow to love Anthony the way she loved Reilly.
She just had to admit she wanted that sure thing more than she wanted Reilly.
I do want that. I want to make a life with Anthony.
She picked up the phone and dialed. He answered on the first ring.
“I’ve missed you, Red. Tell me you’re calling to come to Atlanta?”
“Still in Ireland, Anth. I had my dress fitting, and Ellie and I went out the other night. It was fun.”
“Sounds like it. How’s the hotel? Is it posh?”
She fiddled with her necklace. “I wouldn’t know. They canceled my reservation.” She told him all about it, and when she finished, there was a lengthy pause.
“So you’re staying at Ellie’s aunt’s house?”
Well, Ellie and Colin had departed for the States, and Winnie had gone back to London…So, there was no reason for Gwen to be where she was. She knew that, but staying anywhere else was…
It was smart.
She was a smart woman. Truly, she knew she was. But her stupid heart kept getting in the way.
“No, I’m not at Winnie’s. It was after midnight, so I stayed at Ry’s. I didn’t want to intrude on Colin and Ellie.”
Anthony’s silence was deafening. A moment passed, then another. Gwen’s chest constricted, and she finally said, “Please don’t be upset with me. I needed a place to stay, and he—”
“Is always there for you? Willing to drop everything in the middle of the night to rescue you?”
She stayed silent, though she agreed with him.
Another moment passed, and she could almost hear him gather himself. “Gwen, be honest here. Just, for once, be honest with me about this guy. If he asked you to leave everything behind, if he asked you to love him, to make a life with him, would you?”
She allowed herself to get caught up in the fantasy, and she hesitated a millisecond too long. “No, of course not.”
“Gwendolyn.” The heartbreak in his voice had her eyes filling with tears. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. We work so well together, we get along so well. God, Gwen, we could save the world!”
“I want children,” she blurted out. “And a home with a lawn, and maybe even a fence.”
“I will give you all that and more.”
“I don’t want to travel around the world saving everyone else anymore. I want to save me.”
He drew a sharp breath. “It’s our lifeblood, Gwen. People like us were meant to he
lp others, not ourselves.”
“People like you,” she amended, her voice wobbling. “I want something different. Something stable.”
“And stability can be found in Ireland, in the home of a man who’s kept you close enough to pine after him, but far enough to not love you the way you deserve to be loved? Solid logic, Gwen.” The bitterness and anger lashed out of him, and Gwen felt the blows.
“This has nothing to do with Reilly,” she said softly.
“You’re damn right it doesn’t,” he shot back. “It has to do with you, and your refusal to be honest with anyone, yourself included. I can’t do this. I deserve more than to be the next best thing.”
She gasped. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’re in love with someone, and it isn’t me.” She drew in a sharp breath, but he barreled on. “I’ve known it, but I thought I could change your mind. Make you love me instead.”
“I do!” she exclaimed.
He barreled on, “How long have you been in love with him? Months? Years? Since the moment you met him?”
“Stop it, Anthony.”
Anthony snorted angrily. “You’re refusing to answer the question. How long have you loved him?” he pressed.
“I used to love him,” she said forcefully. “But we are just friends, Anthony. This is more about your insecurities than mine.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
He remained silent for one heartbeat, then two. “Do you want to marry me, Gwen?”
“Yes!” Gwen swallowed hard, knowing her answer had come out just a little too strong.
“Then you have a choice to make. Me or him. You can’t have both.”
“That’s unfair! He’s my friend, and you’ll be my husband!”
“Life’s unfair. I want to know that my future wife chooses me.”
“I’ll make a choice when you choose me over your charities,” she shot back. She clamped her lips together, shocked that she’d said it, but unwilling to take it back.
“Done. After this, I’m all yours. If you want me to drop everything, take a nine-to-five job, I will. But I’m finishing here, because I’m a man of my word, and I promised a family that their house would be built.”
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 12