Now that she’d prevented him from sleeping with Nóra, did that mean Morrigan wouldn’t show up? God, she hoped so. The alternative was that Morrigan would now see Regan as the threat, and the faerie might then come after her. She veered off the main path onto a narrow trail into the woods, dropping him to catch her breath.
Regan glanced through the woods. What if Nóra came looking for Fáelán? Then what? She huffed out a breath, straightened and arched her back for a second. At least Nóra was a mere mortal like herself. She’d deal with her when and if she had to. Crouching to get a better hold of Fáelán, she continued on. Regan hauled him along until she found a small clearing not too far from her escape route.
It was growing darker fast, and she had to tie his hands and feet while she could still see. She found a tree small enough for her to get his arms around the trunk and made the last exhausting effort to pull him across the clearing to the sapling.
How much time did she have before he came to? Her back aching, she lifted Fáelán to sitting and propped him against the trunk as best she could. Breathing heavily, sweat pouring down her face, she grabbed the rope out of her day pack and snatched the knife from Fáelán’s belt.
He groaned, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Regan sprang into action. She cut the rope in two, hurried around to the back of the tree and tied Fáelán’s wrists together behind the trunk. Then she scanned the ground for a place to secure his feet. A gnarled root stuck up through the soil. Good enough.
She tied his feet together at the ankles and fastened the extra length of rope to the root so he couldn’t kick her. Regan’s mind raced with everything that could go wrong. What if Morrigan came after him anyway? Her throat worked convulsively at the thought of facing Fáelán’s tormentor.
Regan drew her pack around and pulled out the clean washcloth she’d brought. She stared at the unconscious man she loved with all her heart. “Sorry about this,” she muttered, stuffing the gag into his mouth.
He groaned again but didn’t wake. She huddled upon the cold ground and drew her cloak around her. Another thing she hadn’t planned for, a night outside in the cold with no way to build a fire—which she wouldn’t do anyway, because a fire would make it easier for them to be found. At least it was above freezing. Regan did her best to bring Fáelán’s cloak around to cover him, but with his arms tied behind him, her efforts didn’t do much good.
He wore the same thing he’d had on the morning they’d met, and the aching familiarity nearly broke her. She ached all over, and tears filled her eyes. He didn’t know her at all. He might not ever remember her, but at least she’d prevented tonight’s tragedy. She hoped so anyway. No sign of Morrigan.
Regan scooted closer and snuggled against her captive to share their combined body heat. Spreading part of her woolen mantle over the both of them, she settled against his side. His warmth seeped into her, and she hoped hers warmed him as well. She rested her head against his chest and took his scent deeply into her lungs. This might be the last time she ever had the pleasure of being beside him. She’d accomplished her goal, and for now Fáelán was safe. “Well worth the sacrifice,” she whispered, listening for any signs of the faerie or Fáelán’s girlfriend. All was still and silent, not even a ghost stirred. Sighing, she tried to relax.
She must have fallen asleep, because Fáelán’s stirring woke her. Sometime during the long, cold night, she’d draped herself over him, and if his attempts to twist away were any indication, he wasn’t happy about their current positions. She sat up and met his hostile glare.
“Sorry I used my Taser on you. I’m even sorrier you bumped your head. I bound and gagged you,” she whispered, “because this was the only way to save your stubborn ass, since you refused to listen to me.”
Early-morning light filtered through the clearing. Regan pushed herself up from the hard ground. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered, fishing in her pack for a few tissues and one of the bottles of water. Hunger, cold and thirst didn’t come close to the misery of her disappointment at Fáelán’s reaction to her. After all she and Fáelán had shared, his hostility and suspicion were too much to bear. How could she get through to him, dammit?
Regan stalked off to a private spot in the brush and took care of her body’s needs. Listening for signs of anyone searching for the missing Fiann, she rinsed her hands with a bit of the bottled water and then took a drink. Fáelán was probably hungry and thirsty too, and once she’d said her piece, she’d let him go. Her shoulders weighted with sadness, she returned to the clearing.
“If you promise not to call out for help, I’ll take the gag from your mouth.” She pulled the protein bars from her pack. “I have water and food, and I’m willing to share if you’re willing to listen to what I have to say.” She shoved her disappointment and hurt aside. Once she was back in Howth, she’d have plenty of time to weep. “That’s all I want, Little Wolf. Just hear me out, and then I’ll let you go. Do we have a deal?” She met his gaze. He was still angry, but she also caught a hint of resignation in his expression. He gave her a single nod.
“I can always stuff this gag back in place if you break your word,” she said, taking the cloth from his mouth. He didn’t call out, and she brought the bottled water to his mouth and let him drink. Then she tore the wrappers from the protein bars, and while she ate hers, she fed him bites of the other. All the while, she began the story of how they’d met.
“I was doing yoga and meditating at Newgrange, and you made a comment. Turns out, I was able to see and hear you while you were in the void,” she said, her voice cracking. “I was sure you were a ghost, and you kept insisting you were not dead but cursed.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
All impossible and unbelievable experiences she couldn’t have imagined in a million years. Yet here she was in third-century Ireland, trying like hell not to fall apart. Judging by his skeptical expression, the man she’d given her heart to didn’t remember a single thing she had mentioned. They were going to be parents, and not a glimmer of recognition registered in his gaze.
“You even recited Morrigan’s curse for me.” She repeated what she could remember, watchful for any sign she was getting through to him. His expression gave nothing away. “So you see,” she whispered, “I’ve come to you from the twenty-first century for the sole purpose of saving you from centuries of captivity and oppression under Morrigan’s thumb.”
She sat back. “For now anyway. I don’t know what you can do to protect yourself in the future, but you need to figure it out. Believe me, Morrigan isn’t going away, and you won’t be free until this thing between the two of you is resolved.”
He grunted but didn’t say a word. Sometime during the night, she must have taken off the belt holding Mananán’s magic sword, because it now rested on the ground beside the sapling. “There’s more,” she said, picking up the scabbard and drawing out The Retaliator. “You and Morrigan conceived a daughter together, which is why the princess is obsessed with you. She will keep your daughter from you out of spite.”
“The hell you say,” Fáelán hissed. He’d kept silent and sullen throughout the tale. His expression was as hard as granite, and his eyes were filled with wariness, but this at least got a reaction.
“It’s true. Her name will be Boann, and she will have your nose and mouth. I guess fae women bond irrevocably with the biological father when they conceive. That’s why Morrigan has held on to her anger and won’t let you go.”
Fáelán leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. Tension radiated from him. His jaw muscles twitched, and his mouth was drawn into an angry, straight line. She’d known hearing he would have a daughter he would never meet would get to him, and it hurt that she’d been the one to cause him fresh pain.
“Boann has been helping me in the twenty-first century, and it was her uncle Mananán who suggested the best thing to do would be for me to come to you in your century. This way, I could prevent the curse from happening in the first place.
Which I did. You’re welcome.” Thank whatever powers that be, Morrigan hadn’t appeared last night.
Regan placed the sword in his lap. “Do you recognize this? It was loaned to me, so that I’d have some kind of proof if I couldn’t convince you.”
He opened his eyes and stared at the weapon. “Aye, ’tis Fragarach, a fae-forged blade, belonging to Mananán, son of King Lir Beneath the Sea. If what ye say is true, then ye consort with the fae and carry a sword belonging to one of their princes. How do I know ye aren’t fae yourself? Why should I trust ye?”
“I’m not fae, though I have a trace of fae blood. You should trust me because I was willing to put my life at risk to warn you. I’m here to save you from the agony of being cursed for nearly two millennia. Is anything I’ve told you helping? Are you convinced yet?”
“’Tis a fantastical tale,” he said, his tone flat. “Though it may be true, I’ve no recollection. And, as you say, your coming here has prevented any of it from happening.” He let out an audible breath, still avoiding eye contact. “I am grateful to ye, for ’tis a good turn ye’ve done me. But . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he turned to stare into the forest. “What is it ye want from me? I’ve a bit of gold and some amber, and ye are welcome to all of it.”
He wanted to pay her like she was some stranger who’d helped him out of a jam? That stung like hell. “Fáelán, when you told me you loved me, you said you’d rather remain cursed forever than to see me in harm’s way. My welfare was more important to you than your freedom.” Her voice came out strained. “Since I love you just as much, I had no choice but to do whatever I could to . . . to save you.”
Her heart aching, she forced the words past the choking rejection. “And now you’re asking me what I want as payment. Not your gold or your amber, Little Wolf.” She swiped at the escaping tears on her cheeks. “I was hoping you’d remember me, and that I could convince you to come back to the twenty-first century. You have a life there, a family and a home.”
“Do I?” He grunted. “If, as you say, ye’ve altered my fate, all I have in the future would cease to exist, for I was never there, aye?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. Boann explained there’s no difference between the past, present and the future. They exist simultaneously. The time we spent together, the time you spent with your relatives . . . none of it can be erased, only forgotten. I think if you came back with me now, it will be as if you’d never left, only you’d finally be free.”
Sliding her day pack to her front, she pulled out her phone and brought up all the pictures of their time together. “Here’s proof. If my preventing the curse made everything else disappear, then I wouldn’t still have these pictures.” She sat beside him and held her phone for him to see.
Fáelán peered at the screen. This time he seemed more interested than afraid, and hope rose swiftly enough to steal her breath. “Here you are in your house in Waterford with your relatives. This is your nephew many generations removed, James Ahearn, and this is his wife, Kathryn,” she said, before naming everyone else in the photos she’d taken of Fáelán surrounded by his family. “Here we are at your cousin Dan’s restaurant in town, where you took me out to dinner. The waiter took this picture for us. I had the lamb, and you had salmon, and . . . and we shared.”
Fáelán’s gaze was riveted to the images now, and she scrolled through the pictures a few times for him. “Do any of these photos jog your memory? Will you come home with me?”
He shook his head. “’Tis sorry I am, but whatever may have occurred between us in the . . . uh . . . in the future, it matters not. I’ve a sworn duty to my king and to Ireland. I’m pledged to serve Fionn MacCumhaill himself. As long as ye are giving me the choice, I choose to remain here.”
“Giving you the choice? Of course it’s up to you.”
He stared pointedly at his bound ankles and wiggled his feet. “Is it? Have ye not already taken me away against my will, rendering me unconscious with whatever weapon ye brought with ye from the future?”
“You hit your head. The Taser only stunned you.” She tucked her phone back in her day pack. “I had to get you to listen.” A gaping tear opened in her soul, and grief bled out. It was over between them. He felt nothing but fear and suspicion toward her. The only man she’d ever loved this deeply no longer knew her at all. “The choice is yours, and I understand why you wish to stay. This is your home and your era. You were born in this century, and it’s where you were always meant to be. Morrigan messed with your life, and now you have it back.”
She hated to play the “I’m pregnant” card, because it was far too close to what had happened between Fáelán and the faerie. While Morrigan was all about manipulation, Regan had no desire to play on his emotions. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but if this is the last time I’ll ever see you, there’s something I have to tell you. What I’m about to say . . . I’m not telling you this because I expect you’ll change your mind; I’m telling you because you have the right to know.” She blew out a shaky breath. “I’m carrying our baby.”
His chest heaved, and he strained against his bonds, twisting away from her. “Ye lie!”
His denial cut fresh welts across her heart, but at least she’d been up front. Regan stood up, reached for his knife and went around the tree to cut him loose. “Whatever you do, no matter what you believe or disbelieve, if you care anything for Nóra, then don’t go to her. Doing so will likely cause the curse to happen after all, only a little later. Morrigan will kill her, or any other woman you sleep with for that matter. Find a way to end things between you and Morrigan before you climb into bed with another woman. OK?” She couldn’t help the bitterness seeping into her tone.
He brought his hands in front of him and rubbed his wrists while she cut the binding on his ankles. “You’re free to go, Little Wolf.” She straightened and handed him his knife. “Maybe someday you’ll remember what we had together. Maybe not. Either way, I did my best.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Another denial of everything they’d been to each other would destroy her. Regan’s vision blurred with tears as she stumbled through the forest toward the path. Boann had given her a twenty-four-hour period in which to cross through the portal she’d created for her, but Regan couldn’t bear to remain in the third century another second. She hurried down the trail, veering off on the path leading to the stream. Crashing through the brush, she headed for the copse of rowan hiding her way home.
Just then Regan heard a woman calling Fáelán’s name, and she froze. It had to be Nóra. Two more voices, both male, joined the woman’s. Nóra must’ve gone to the village for help once she’d realized Fáelán was missing. What if Fáelán went to them? What if he reunited with his girlfriend?
Indecision tore at her. If she returned and tried once more to convince him to stay away from Nóra, she’d face third-century strangers whose minds were superstitious and fearful. They’d be apt to kill her first and ask questions later. Not a safe situation. If she didn’t return, would the cycle start over? Fáelán might still be cursed, despite her efforts.
Dammit, she had told him what he needed to know, and he would either heed her warning or he wouldn’t. As difficult as it was to accept, she had no control over what Fáelán chose to do. Regan set out once again, heading for the portal that would take her back to her own time.
She’d done what she could. Fáelán had made his choice, and no matter what happened from this point forward, it was time for her to leave. Her reason for being in Ireland had been fulfilled. All that remained was learning how to continue on with her life now that she’d left her heart behind with a proud Irish warrior who happened to live in the third century.
Chapter Twelve
Fáelán followed the woman through the woods to the trail and watched as she disappeared around a bend. Regan, she called herself, and she had claimed to love him. Even more outrageous was her claim that he loved her. Never once did she look back as she fled, and for s
ome inexplicable reason, his chest tightened and ached. He continued to gaze down the trail in case she might return. She didn’t.
Ye lie! That was what he’d cried out when she’d told him she carried his babe. Impossible. She had to be lying, didn’t she? Then why did those two words strike at him so grievously, and why did regret bite into him the way it did? Mayhap ’twas due to the hurt his denial caused, which had shown plainly upon her lovely face. He shook his head at the strangeness of it all, of her incredible tale—none of which could be true.
Still, ye lie echoed through his mind as if he’d shouted the very same words to someone else but a short time ago—and for the same reason. He hadn’t. He couldn’t have. By the gods, she’d said she was from the twenty-first century! He blew out a breath and returned to the clearing where Regan had forced him to look at images that made no sense—on a device that made even less sense.
Nay, that wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t forced him, for he could easily have turned away or closed his eyes. He’d wanted to look, but try as he might, he couldn’t summon a single recollection of any of the folk she’d claimed were his kin—his family in the far-too-distant future, or so she’d claimed. A shudder racked through him. ’Twas devilry and naught else, and he was well rid of her.
Fáelán crossed the clearing and lifted the fae sword from the ground. He examined the runes etched into the hilt. What magic did the symbols hold? Naught that he could sense, and none that he cared to. Still, he couldn’t help but admire the fine workmanship and the lightness of the weapon. He doubted Regan realized she’d left Fragarach behind. She could not have known what power he now held in his hands. Only a fae-forged weapon such as this could kill one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. And with this sword, Fáelán could not be defeated by any human foe—unless they too wielded a fae weapon. But then, they’d have to be more skilled than he, and there were few who could make the claim.
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