“This fort is ancient. Perhaps ye’ll find a bit of magic within.” Fáelán gestured toward the gravel road across from the lot. “This way.”
They walked down the lane side by side, and she wished like hell they could hold hands, or even better, that he could put his arm around her. And his cloak. She shivered, glanced at him and frowned. Leaving off the if you’re not a ghost part, she asked, “How is it you’re not getting wet in this rain?”
“’Tis not raining in the void, Regan.”
“I don’t like constantly being confronted with these things I don’t understand,” she groused, unconvinced. Seemed like further proof of his ghostliness to her.
“And I don’t like not being able to shelter ye from the wet and cold, mo a míorúilt.”
Her pulse leaped. “If you could, you would?”
“Of course.” He sent her a smoldering look. “Nothing would please me more than to hold ye in my arms and share with ye the warmth and protection of my body.”
Gulp. Heat coiled low in her belly, and his sinful wink stole her breath. “Double entendre much, oh flirty one?”
“Resist much, oh doubting one?” he said with a laugh. He jutted his chin forward. “Look ye there, lassie.”
A massive circular wall of stones rose from the crest of the hill to their right. “It looks a lot like the outside wall of Newgrange,” she said, in awe of the structure. They climbed the hill and came to a mounted plaque with information written in both Irish and English. “Cahergall Stone Fort. No mortar, and the walls are thirteen feet thick in some places,” she read. “Says here this ring fort was built for defense sometime between the fourth and fifth centuries.”
“Nay. ’Twas here when I was but a wee laddie, and the old folk told stories about the ring being here long afore they and generations of their predecessors were born. Come, let us go inside. From the top of the wall, we can see Ballycarbery Castle ruins across the way, and I’ve a story to tell ye about the site.”
They were the only two visiting the fort. Probably because of the chill and the drizzle, but the precipitation had stopped for the moment. “All right.” She had to crouch to get through the small arched entrance. Fáelán already stood on the inside, waiting for her.
“Must you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Pop in and out like you do,” she grumbled. “It’s disconcerting.”
“My apologies. ’Tis easier for me to will myself into places that might be difficult to navigate whilst I’m in the void.” He swung his arm in an arc. “What do ye think?”
She wanted to ask what that meant, but he’d already moved on. “Impressive. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.” Round stones, like those found in the surrounding fields, had been fit snugly together to form a thick wall. No mortar held the wall together, yet the structure remained intact against the elements after countless centuries. Regan studied the area within. The wall was about twenty feet tall, and the interior yard measured maybe a hundred feet across. Steps leading to the top had been built all along the inside of the ring.
A smaller circle of stones stood in the middle of the grounds, and Regan went over to investigate. A large slab of gray rock, slightly hollowed out in the center, took up most of the interior of the smaller ring. “What do you suppose this was for?” She’d seen similar slabs of stone in the three chambers of Newgrange. Those too had been a flat gray and slightly hollowed out in the center. Faint ghostly orbs hovered above the center stone, none strong enough to manifest their presence. Old, very old, spirits were trapped within the smaller circle, their sentience fading with the passage of time.
“Perhaps humans were sacrificed to the old gods here,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Is that what you’ve heard?” She sucked in a breath. “That would explain what I’m picking up here.”
“What is it ye sense?”
“Traces of spirits too weak to make much of an appearance, and for that I’m relieved.” She shivered.
“’Tis likely the stories I heard whispered in the dark of night about this place were true then. Who can say? The Fomorians were sometimes referred to as the stone people. Perhaps forts like this are remnants of their ancient kingdoms.” He surveyed the interior yard. “’Tis a good place for defense, to be sure, and to perform sacrifices to appease the old gods, I imagine.” He gestured toward the wall. “Would ye care to climb to the top?”
“If you’ll climb with me instead of just popping up once I’m there.” She strode toward the outer wall.
“If you insist,” he said, trailing behind her.
Regan took the stairs that spiraled around the interior to the top. Fáelán climbed along behind her, even reaching out a hand as if he wanted to ensure she didn’t slip and fall. Her heart skipped a beat, and if onlies danced around in her head. Like . . . if only he were real and not a ghost, one of the fae or a shape-changing whatever. If only she could feel his heat and his lean hardness pressing against her. A kiss would be nice, in a torturous way, because honestly, she wanted more than kisses with her Fiann.
By the time she reached the top step and scanned their surroundings, she’d gone breathless, and it had nothing to do with the climb. She pointed. “That’s Ballycarbery Castle?”
“Aye, what’s left of it.” Fáelán came to stand beside her. “Do ye know the story of Donal of the Feathers?”
“No.” She flashed him a questioning look. “Should I know his story?”
“Mmm. Perhaps. Could be he’s a distant relative. He was a MacCarthy and grew up in Ballycarbery Castle during the sixteenth century. ’Tis said he haunts the area still. He was the bastard son of the last king of Desmond. Donal is famous for the way he fought against the English at the Gap of Plumes. That’s how he got the nickname of the Feathers. He had the reputation of being something of a Robin Hood. He and his lads harried and harassed the English. Worse than biting flies, they were, darting in to sting and out again too fast to slap. They would disappear into the surrounding bogs before the English could retaliate. Donal took back what the English had stolen from his clan and returned the land to its rightful owners, one hectare at a time.”
“Wow.” Regan gazed toward the site with greater appreciation. “I need to start doing a genealogical search on my family. My MacCarthy ancestors are from the Munster area.” She leaned against the wall of stones and gazed at the castle ruins and the river moving past in its sluggish pace toward the sea. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if my family was related to the Ballycarbery MacCarthy clan?”
“Aye. Would ye like to go take a look? Perhaps Donal awaits ye there.”
“I would.” Regan started back down the steps. If Donal’s ghost was there, and they were related, he might be able to tell her something about her ancestor, the first in their line to have the gift of sight.
“I am thoroughly enjoying today, and you are an excellent tour guide, Fáelán.” And he was sexy as hell. Confusion reigned where Fáelán was concerned. Insane as it was, she was developing a mighty big crush. Not good. He wasn’t real, or at least not part of this world, and this world was where she lived. Damn giftedness.
Fáelán gloried in Regan’s praise. He’d pleased her, and that pleased him. Regan’s smiles were like patches of warm sunshine after a long, dismal winter, warming him and brightening his horizons. As they walked toward the car park, he studied her out the corner of his eye. Her face had gone pink from the chill and exertion, and a soft smile played about her mouth. The delicate curve of her cheek had him enthralled.
Her beauty took his breath. The urge to wrap his cloak around her, to draw her close and warm her with his kisses, grew stronger with each passing moment. His need to protect and provide for her . . . ’twas a good sign.
“We get on well when not trying to convince each other of this or that, aye?” he asked, longing to tuck her hair behind her ear, or run his knuckles down her soft-as-petals skin.
She grinned and looked sideways at him. “We d
o.”
“I thought tomorrow we could tour the Dingle Peninsula, and there’s another stone fort to see on our way around the Ring of Kerry. Staigue Fort, ’tis called.”
“I’d like that. So, the castle, the ferry to Valentia Island for lunch, drive around the Kerry Peninsula, see the other fort, and by then it’ll be time for me to check in at the B&B.” They’d reached the car. Regan unlocked the door and climbed in.
He took his place in the passenger side. “By then I’ll need to return to my island.”
Her brow furrowed as she drove the car around to the exit. “The other day, you just kind of disappeared. What happened?” she asked, leaving the gravel lot and turning onto the road to Ballycarbery ruins. “What’s your island like?”
“My island is naught but an illusion,” he said, his tone bitter. “And it exerts a hold on me at all times. I am wrenched back once my energy is spent.” A shudder racked him as memories flooded his mind of the misery Morrigan had put him through in those first weeks of his imprisonment. “Naught but swirling mist exists within the void realm. The fae have powerful magic, and they project whatever they want to exist into that otherwise bleak hell. ’Tis where they make their homes.”
“If you’re confined to an island, how do you know all that?”
“Do ye recall I told ye Morrigan tried to persuade me to become her consort in the beginning?”
She opened her mouth as if to say something but then closed it, nodding instead.
He couldn’t help but smile at her restraint, knowing the urge to confront him with his supposed death drove her to do him good. He too refrained from commenting. He was cursed, not dead.
“Morrigan explained the void to me. She brought me to her castle, promising to remake it however I desired if only I’d agree to be her plaything for all eternity. She bragged about how the fae could change the void into anything they wished. With my own eyes, I watched her create a garden to rival Eden, and still I refused her.” He flashed her a wry look.
“After that, she took away the island and the lake, leaving me stranded to wander in the mist for weeks. Were I not one of Fionn’s best, my mind would have broken. The void is not a pleasant place, lassie.”
“But you live on the island now, right? How did that happen?”
“Eventually Morrigan must have relented, because one day my island and lake were restored to me, and I’ve dwelt there ever since. ’Tis not overly large, and besides the plants and trees, I’m the only living thing there. Not even fish exist in the lake.” His jaw tightened. “Still, I used to pretend. I’d go through the motions of hunting and fishing, just to occupy my time, ye see.”
Regan’s expression filled with compassion. “Sounds horrible. I’m sorry, Fáelán.”
“My thanks. After some time, I set my mind to finding ways to leave the island, hence my ability to spend an entire day away.” He grunted. “’Tis likely Morrigan tolerates my wandering so she can claim she’s honoring the curse’s only way out. If I’m to be free, I must seek one who sees me, aye?”
“I know we agreed not to talk about the curse, but doesn’t it strike you as improbable that the way to end it is so simple?” she asked. “Given all you’ve told me about Morrigan, it doesn’t seem likely that the minute you fall in love, zap, the curse will be over, and you’ll go on your merry way.” She shrugged. “I mean, there’s the part about being willing to give your life for your lover’s.”
Had she been worrying over that bit for some time? “I expect there will be some sort of challenge, yet another test I must pass, but the fae have laws they must follow when dealing with mortals.”
“Is it against their laws to commit murder?” Regan whispered, her voice shaky. “Because if it is, how did Morrigan get away with—”
“Aye, I take your meaning, mo a míorúilt lómhar.” It killed him that he couldn’t hold her and put her mind at ease. “So many years have passed since Morrigan first cursed me. ’Tis my hope her wrath has diminished, for there was no cause for it to begin with. Let us put it aside for now. When the time comes, I shall endeavor to overcome whatever challenge she places afore me to the best of my ability. ’Tis why I still train.”
Regan nodded slightly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You said your family sees you and can talk to you. Does your family have fae blood? Are they gifted like I am? Because I really want to find out more about that.” They’d reached Ballycarbery, and she parked alongside the lane. “If there’s a way to turn my abilities off, I’d sure like to know how.”
“Nay. ’Tis sorry I am to disappoint ye. After I was cursed, I sought Fionn’s help. He’d been granted many gifts, so I hoped he’d be able to see me. More likely ’twas because he’s part fae that he could. Anyway, I told him what Morrigan had done. He appealed to his fae kin on my behalf. Though they could not undo Morrigan’s curse, one of them did grant me a boon and made it so my family could see me through the veil between the realms. Not all, but at least one or two in each generation, and they’re able to help me.”
“You have an answer for everything.” Regan frowned.
“Newgrange,” he reminded her before popping out of the car. “Ye are the one who brought all of this up, not I.”
Regan snorted as she climbed out of the driver’s side. “That’s once for you, and once for me.” She grinned. “We’re still getting along, so the code word is working.”
He laughed, and without thinking, he reached for her hand, dropping his arm when he realized what he’d done. “By the gods, both old and new.” His heart thudded painfully, and he muttered a curse under his breath.
Regan stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and set off for the castle, and he followed. She’d noticed what he’d done, but he didn’t know what to make of her reaction. Did she feel as he did? Did she long for his touch as he burned for hers? They made their way up the hill toward the castle ruin.
“By the gods, both old and new,” she mimicked, peering at him. “Why both the old and the new gods?”
“Hedging my bets, is all.” He winked at her, pleased by the responding flare in her eyes. Aye, she wanted him. His blood heated, and he counted off the days until the solstice. Thoughts of Regan, naked and in the throes of passion, filled his imagination, and he fantasized about what he wanted to do with her.
They’d reached the summit where the ruins stood, and Regan closed her eyes and raised her chin. “I don’t sense any ghosts here,” she murmured.
“Are you disappointed, mo Álainn?”
“A little.” She moved to peer down a set of stone steps leading to a chamber beneath the castle. “It would’ve been nice to meet Donal of the Feathers. Who knows? Maybe he’s a cousin.” She gestured toward the stone steps. “I wonder if there’s a dungeon down there.”
“More likely ’tis where the castle guard billeted. This is rather a small keep to have a dungeon.”
“Mmm.” She backed up several paces. “I think there’s a hall above.” She pointed. “Want to climb up there with me and take a look?”
He studied the decrepit steps, which were overgrown with weeds. “I’d rather will myself there. Climbing the stairs at the fort was no easy task, and these stairs are in much worse shape. ’Tis disorienting for me to climb anything in the earthly realm.”
She canted her head and studied him, her gaze sharp. “How so?”
“I’m in the void. There is a boundary between the worlds. I cannot set my foot solidly upon a step for the same reason I don’t get wet when it rains upon ye.” His pulse raced with wanting her. “Or for the same reason I cannot touch ye. Though I long to touch ye, mo a míorúilt. Do ye doubt me in this?”
“Which part?” she asked, her cheeks blooming with color. “The boundary or wanting to touch me?”
“Both.” He held out his hands, palms up. “As to the boundary, see for yourself.”
Her expression skeptical, Regan turned to face him. She took her hands out of her pockets, held them over his and applied
pressure. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes widened. “It feels like I’m pressing against an air mattress, only . . .”
“Press harder.” She did, lifting her eyes to his in surprise. He flashed her an I told you so look. “Opposing forces. ’Tis similar to two like poles of magnets repelling, aye?”
“Oh, my God, this is . . . I’ve never encountered anything like this before, and I’ve had some pretty weird things happen.” Her gaze bored into his. “But I’ve seen you lean against my car, Fáelán. How do you explain that?”
“Nay, ye only see a dysmorphic representation of what is truly happening.” He paused, trying to come up with a way to explain what he experienced so she’d understand. He didn’t fully understand himself. “’Tis like when ye look through thick glass, and things become distorted,” he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Have ye ever dropped something into a pool of water, and when ye reached for it, ye missed the thing completely?”
“I have!” Understanding dawned, and her brow rose. “Refraction and distortion.”
“Aye. ’Tis the best way I can explain the phenomenon. It only appears as if I’m leaning against your car, but what I’m really leaning against is the veil between the coexisting dimensions. Lean into me, Regan, and ye’ll see what I mean.”
Slowly, she let herself go, pressing against him from head to toe. The boundary between the two planes of existence separated and cushioned them. Not his best idea ever, because having her so close while not being able to hold her drove him to distraction.
She gasped. “The surface is not completely stable, is it? It’s like lying on a waterbed.”
The smallest movement caused ripples and waves between them. “I’ve never encountered a bed of water, but I get what ye mean.” Thoughts of making love to Regan on a bed of water, the waves rocking them against each other, intrigued him.
“About the span of my palm separates us today. Two months ago, the boundary would’ve been twice that. As we get closer to the solstice, the space between us will decrease until there’s naught left. Make no mistake, Regan. I will be with ye when the veil between the realms lifts.” And for the rest of my mortal life. Hope swelled like the tide within him, and a lump rose to his throat. “Mo a míorúilt ansa,” he whispered. His dearest miracle.
Tangled in Time (The McCarthy Sisters) Page 8