Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four

by Nancy Scanlon

  Gwen, for her part, didn’t try to distract him. She merely watched silently, waiting for him to make the next shot.

  He held his stance, the arrow nocked, and an idea came to him. He caught her eye. “What’s your prize, if you win?”

  She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’m still thinking on it. What’s yours?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “If I hit the center, I’ll show you.”

  “If you hit the center, it means we’re tied.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Oh, nay, lass. You roundly beat me when you ruined two arrows. I’ll still show you what I would’ve won.”

  She shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to hold a sign reading I’m a loser, okay.”

  “I’d never make you wear a sign,” he retorted. He lined up his arrow, pulled back the string, and released.

  The arrow hit home, and for possibly the first time in his life, he felt that this was something that wasn’t driven by anything but his own skill. No Fates behind it, no unseen force determining the outcome.

  A feeling of elation went through him at the thought.

  “Nice shot!” she exclaimed. She retrieved the arrow and brought it over to him. “I figured you’d be good, but—”

  He cut her off by sinking his hands into her hair and slanting his lips over hers.

  • • •

  Reilly was kissing her.

  And it wasn’t a mere brushing of lips or tasting of tongues, Gwen dimly noted. It was a branding kiss, searing her soul, fusing her to him like nothing else could.

  As soon as the shock of his mouth on hers faded, Gwen surrendered to the kiss. She dropped the arrows in her hand and slid her fingers into his hair, her fingertips exquisitely sensitive to the softness. She dragged her nails against his scalp, pulling him closer, pressing her body flush against his. He slid his arms around her waist and easily lifted her, never breaking their kiss. He fitted his mouth more securely against her lips, lazily swirling his tongue with hers. A fire ignited low in her belly, and she growled, half-desperately. He bit her lip, then sucked it gently, and she lost all semblance of control.

  She opened more fully, pouring every ounce of pent-up passion into her response. Years of longing, lifetimes of understanding. This was why she came to Ireland.

  He eased back from her, his eyes dark with desire, and Gwen couldn’t contain the tremble that wracked her at his gaze.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  His breathing ragged, he placed his forehead against hers. “Feel free to slap me at any time.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He closed his eyes. “Many reasons, but the biggest one is perhaps because I probably deserve it.”

  “You probably do,” she agreed. Then, gathering her courage, she quietly added, “It’s probably time we spoke about what happened at Bri’s castle.”

  He searched her eyes with his for a moment. She felt his chest expand against hers with each breath he took; he held her securely, her arms still looped around his neck. A moment passed, and he inclined his head. “Perhaps it is.”

  She swallowed hard, then pressed her lips against his once more.

  His eyes showed his surprise, but without hesitation, he obliged willingly, smiling against her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and allowed the happiness of the moment to overshadow her fear.

  Chapter Twelve

  What Gwen wouldn’t give to have just ten minutes to talk with Ellie.

  That was at the forefront of her mind the rest of the day, walking from event to event, holding Reilly’s hand.

  She. Was holding. Reilly. O’Malley’s. Hand.

  She felt as giddy, and as nervous, as a teenager. She worried that their discussion later would kill whatever this was. And the thought did cross her mind that perhaps this wasn’t real, that perhaps Reilly was swept up in the moment. But her rational side reminded her that Reilly didn’t get “swept up” in anything. He only let show what he wanted to let show, and when he gave his word, it was forever.

  He hadn’t declared undying love, but she didn’t believe for a second that he would’ve kissed her to simply start a fling. In fact, he’d worked so hard and so long to do exactly the opposite, she had a suspicion that maybe he was a little bit afraid of what they could have.

  She knew she was.

  But the thought of forever with him made her insides jump in anticipation of it.

  She wondered if that’s what everyone always talked about when they said, “Oh, you’ll just know when you’ve found the one.” Was this feeling the “just knowing” part? The feeling where she wanted to hop out of her skin and into his, then repeat it for the rest of her days and beyond?

  If so, she was there.

  She steadfastly refused to contemplate that her version of forever might be different than Reilly’s version of it.

  She didn’t want to think about that too much.

  “I wonder,” Reilly murmured to her as the crowd pushed them close for a moment, “how long you care to stay?”

  “Until your mom gets tired,” Gwen said without hesitation. “I could look at this stuff all day.”

  He gave her a meaningful look. “Nay, I mean how long do you want to stay.”

  Oh. In the Middle Ages. “Um, well, I haven’t got a timetable, so…whenever you want to leave?”

  He gestured toward the far side of the fields, and, nodding, she followed him to the edge of the festivities, out of earshot from anyone.

  He looked at her gravely. “My, er, gift failed me once already. After the incident in the forest when we first arrived.”

  Gwen blanched a little at the memory.

  “I wonder, if I were to try again, if it would work the way it always has. I’m hopeful that my purpose here has been served.”

  “We’ve been here for less than two days. You think you’ve done whatever it was you were supposed to have done in that time?”

  “I certainly hope so,” he muttered.

  “Did you go somewhere last night?”

  He shook his head, surprised by her question. “Nay, of course not.”

  “So what, exactly, do you think you’ve accomplished?”

  He gave her a small smile. “Well, us.”

  She laughed, right in his face. “Us? That’s your purpose here?”

  “I can’t think of anything else they’d send us back for, can you?”

  “Why does it have anything to do with me?”

  His smile faltered. “I’ve a suspicion, is all. We are together now, aren’t we?”

  “Define together.”

  He sighed. “Together. Us, in a relationship. You’ll move in with me, we’ll get married. I’ll get my time traveling power back. You know. That kind of together.”

  She blinked at him for a few seconds, unable to form words. She crossed her arms and put on her fiercest frown. No mention of love, or any other emotion, actually. And he didn’t even address their past.

  “Once we’re settled, I’m certain everything will go back to the way it was, and I’ll have no trouble moving through time again.”

  “If the only reason for this”—she motioned between them—“was so that way you could get your gift back, then you can rest assured that we are certainly not together.”

  “Well,” he said with a slow smile, “’tisn’t the only reason, lass. You can’t deny, ’twas quite the kiss you gave me back there.”

  Any residual happiness faded. He was using her to get his time travel back?

  A wave of anger, mostly at herself, shot to the surface. When would she learn? “Not that it matters, but it was you that kissed me. And as you’re the one who stopped kissing me the last time…”

  “Aye?” he prompted.

  At his utterly blank, confused look, she stared at him in shock. “You are not serious, Reilly.”

  He seemed completely serious, so she stopped herself from taking him up on his earlier offer to slap him. Though, perhaps it would knock some sense into him.<
br />
  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think now is a good time to have that chat about what happened before. When you and I almost became more than friends, at Bri’s castle.”

  He remained silent, though his expression became wary. “All right, lass. Ask your questions.”

  She stepped back to put a bit of distance between them, and she was jostled from behind by another villager. She refused Reilly’s ready hand and steadied herself.

  “Why did you stop us?”

  He frowned. “I told you then why. I didn’t care to use you that way.”

  “Was that really why, though?” she prodded.

  Affronted, he crossed his arms. “Aye. What other reason would there be?”

  Gwen regarded him for a few seconds before stating, “Ellie told me something.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Sometimes, keeping up with your conversations are powerfully difficult, lass. What has Ellie to do with us?”

  “She said,” Gwen barreled on, “that Colin told her that once a Protector claims his mate, and she claims him back, he can leave his time travels behind and be released from his obligations to the Fates.”

  Reilly nodded, once.

  “You’ve never lied to me, right?”

  “By omission I have,” he muttered.

  She rolled her eyes. “Other than not telling me who you really are. But everything else, Ry. Have you ever lied to me?”

  He shook his head. “Never, lass.”

  “Will you ever?”

  He frowned. “Gwendolyn. Make your point.”

  “If you claim your mate, and she claims you back, are you free from your life with the Fates?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She crossed her arms and stopped walking to face him fully. “Could it be that simple, though? You claim someone, and she claims you back, then Fates give you your life back?”

  “’Tis never that simple with the Fates. But if it were to follow the pattern of all other Protectors, then aye, you have it aright.”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes. “When we first arrived, you told me that you had found your mate.”

  He swallowed hard, but she barreled on.

  “Reilly. Did she not claim you back?”

  He took almost a full minute to reply. “She has not yet claimed me, no.”

  Gwen blinked. That answer made it seem like the woman could still claim him.

  What?

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Gwen’s eyes nearly fell out of her head, and she had to count to ten before she spoke again, lest she wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. “I’m not simple-minded, Reilly. I can understand lots of complex things. Try me.”

  He folded his arms and the all-too-familiar look of stubbornness descended upon his face. “Nay.”

  She almost stomped her foot in frustration. She took a deep breath. “Fine. You don’t want to talk, don’t. But if you’re serious about us, if you’re serious about wanting us to work, you need to answer this.” She took a deep breath. “Who is your soul mate?”

  He swallowed hard before looking away. “I cannot tell you that.”

  “Oh, you look as though you could skin a chicken with your teeth,” Mary interrupted, materializing beside them.

  Gwen gave her a tight smile. “Oh, I’m okay. Truly. I’m fine.”

  “Ah,” Mary replied, understanding in her voice. She looped her arm through Gwen’s. “’Tis like that. I also am fine. Darragh announced to the clan elders that I’ve agreed to marry him, and they decided—without me, mind you—that the wedding is three days hence!”

  “What?” Reilly exclaimed.

  Mary nodded indignantly. “Aye! He took away my right to refuse.”

  “Would you have refused?” Reilly demanded.

  Mary shrugged. “Does it matter? I deserved the chance to, if I so wished it. But now that he’s told the world, I’m beholden to the marriage.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gwen murmured. “Having your future taken away is a terrible thing.”

  Reilly’s expression was tortured, and Gwen refused to meet his eyes as his mother continued, “Don’t worry yourself over it, lass. I probably wouldn’t have refused. But three days! We can’t have a wedding in three days! It takes weeks to plan, to ensure there’s enough food for everyone, that all family is notified. And I thought we’d have a proper hand fasting ceremony! A year and a day, to get me used to the idea of becoming Lady O’Malley!” She sniffed, thoroughly put out, and patted Gwen’s hand. “So, let’s walk for a while longer, then go back home, where I’ve a warm fire, many knitting supplies, and a tasty meal for our supper.”

  “Go on, and I’ll meet you in a moment.” She resisted Mary’s tug for a moment more, then watched as the woman waved down another clanswoman. Gwen turned to the man staring at her.

  “Reilly.” She gathered every last bit of her courage around her, sent a prayer flying, and asked quietly, “Am I your soul mate?”

  Say aye. Tell me I’m the one, that I haven’t waited in vain.

  He swallowed hard. “No more questions, Gwendolyn.”

  And her poor heart shattered.

  • • •

  Reilly had enough.

  After a bowl of cold soup, a silent dinner, and being glared from the room, he was done with being the bad guy.

  He told Gwen that a Protector could have no influence on his mate’s claiming. She either didn’t remember, or didn’t want to know. But he wasn’t sure if he could speak openly with her about it; the Fates were, again, horrendously vague with their details. What would happen if he told Gwen that she was his? Would that be an influence on her decision in claiming him back?

  He was tired of the gray areas; his life had been very black-and-white until recently, and he longed for it to return to that.

  After Gwen was asleep, Reilly stood in front of his mother, placed his foot on the rocking chair to halt its movement, and assumed his most intimidating position. He took a deep breath, expanded his chest outward, and crossed his arms. He stared down at her, his face a stony mask.

  “Your da used to give me that same look,” she informed him without looking up from her sewing. “I remain as unimpressed with you as I did him. And believe me when I tell you, I was quite unimpressed with him. It takes more than brawn to intimidate me, lad. If anything, I should be giving you a talking-to!”

  “About what?” he exclaimed.

  “Honestly, what were you thinking, kissing the lass in full view of everyone like that?! Now the entire village thinks you’re to be married!”

  “That is the point of all this,” he snapped back. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Though I’m not quite sure that Gwen wants to marry.”

  His mother’s face didn’t change. “And why not? She’d be lucky to be married to a strong warrior such as yourself!”

  “Aye!” he agreed.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve too much pride, Reilly O’Malley. She has her choice of many men. What have you done to earn her attention? Simply be you?”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “Ouch, Mam.”

  “Think on it. Have you wooed her?”

  Ah! There it was. Illumination. “Nay, I suppose I haven’t. But she’s my mate. My more pressing need is to obtain her claim on me.”

  Mary shook her head in disgust. “Reilly O’Malley, you are an Irishman.”

  “I’m aware, Mam.”

  “Then how can you be so thick-headed? If you want her to claim you, she must be in love with you first. And more than the kissing-in-the-field kind of love,” she chided. “Were I in her position, after all she did to show you her affections during all of your acquaintance…Oh! Your first language should be romance! Gaelic second, of course.”

  He massaged his temples. “Aye, that is sensible. But Gwen doesn’t like all that romantic drivel. She’s said so, many times. So, do I simply tell her I’ve claimed her?”

  Mary snorted. “Oh, aye, because
’tis every lass’s dream to be told she now belongs to you.”

  Reilly conceded the point. Perhaps he’d taken her for granted a bit. He could remedy that, though; it was a blunder, but she would forgive him for it. Maybe.

  His throat had closed, and a feeling of extreme uncertainty had almost overcome him. If he were a lesser man, he would’ve said he panicked.

  “I’m a bit lost here, Mam,” he whispered.

  Mary placed a gentle, weathered hand on his head. “You’ve got much work ahead of you to convince her that you’re serious in your pursuit of her. Kissing her senseless is a good start, but as you know, that won’t be enough. Not for someone like her. She demands truth, Reilly.”

  “Then I’ll tell her,” he decided, though his heart was beating entirely too fast and his palms were as damp as a lad’s. “And I’ll hope for a miracle.”

  Mary laughed and stood, stretching her back. “A miracle ’tis hardly necessary. The lass loved you once; she can love you again. Use what the good Lord gave you, and what the Fates taught you.”

  He banked the fire. “I’m beginning to realize that I don’t quite know how to do that. And, of late, I find myself wishing that I’d never agreed to any of it. I want to forget so much of what I’ve seen.” He hung his head. “Whom I’ve killed. What I’ve done.”

  Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have shed any less blood as an O’Malley warrior. You may even had shed it for a less noble purpose.”

  “I’m not worthy of her love, Mam. I’ve never been. She is all good, and—”

  She held up her hand. “Stop right there, lad. None of this nonsense. You know you’re deserving of the same love all those other Protectors found. You’ve waited more years than any human should. If there is anyone who deserves the love of a good woman, ’tis you, and not because you’re my son. Because you have a bigger purpose, and love is the only way to fully achieve it.”

  “Do you know what my purpose is?” he asked. He stood, rising to his full height. “Did they ever tell you?” Angrily, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. There were moments he hated his life; always in the service of someone else was indeed noble, but when would he get some happiness of his own?