Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Killian could have wished the cutting remark back for the astonishment reflected on Colin's and Kathryn's faces. And while he literally could wish them back—as well as a hole to swallow his sorry arse—he made it a matter of course to interact with mortals on their own level. "A jest, as 'tis plain to see how adept Lord Keshlea is, evidenced by his vanquishing of that scoundrel Fitzsimmons."

  Kathryn glanced between them, the color rising in her cheeks. "Yes, well. I've taken up too much of your gentlemen's time."

  "Nonsense," replied Killian, feeling the hole he was digging grow. "I would consider it an honor to escort ye to yer destination."

  One brow raised. "Truly?"

  "Aye." He sent a triumphant look to Colin.

  "I was on my way to the dressmakers."

  What?

  "I would love a man's opinion on lace and beads."

  Would she now. A man who's cut his throat? Killian's mind raced. 'Twould go a long way to make a favorable impression, exhibiting interest in her female pursuits. Aye, his inner voice said, ye are quite interested in her female…pursuits. Before he could come up with an answer, Colin spoke.

  "While Killian would no doubt enjoy a day of browsing the shops, I'm afraid I have need of him."

  Killian's relief was palpable, but there was something in the man's tone that put him on guard.

  "A pity," Kathryn said, the pretty moue of her mouth unconvincing. "Will you be attending our garden party?"

  Killian lowered his brows. Kathryn was speaking to them both, but looking pointedly at Colin with a level of anticipation that grated his nerves.

  "Of course." Colin bowed over her hand, brushing a kiss on the silk. "Until then."

  Kathryn remained focused on the Earl Keshlea and, only with an apparent afterthought, glanced at Killian. He thought to grab her hand, too, but chose the safer route and bowed instead. He didn't want to look the fool, no matter that he felt like one. With a nod, she continued on her way.

  "Christ, that was torture."

  Killian frowned. "I beg pardon?"

  Colin faced him. "All that politeness. It's enough to drive a man to Bedlam."

  Killian smirked. "'Tis a strange thing for an aristocrat to be complaining about, seeing as that 'tis all ye fellows know. And I assure ye, I do not favor shopping for fripperies."

  Colin smiled. "Sorry about that, old man. Part of the chat-up. The ladies seem to enjoy that sort of thing."

  Not his Kathryn. She would think it rude and surly.

  His Kathryn?

  Colin barked out a laugh. "At any rate, I was indeed, on my way to find you."

  Strolling the streets of Keshlea? "Were ye now? Just wandering about, hoping to stumble upon me?"

  Colin tilted his head. "That's the usual manner in which I locate you, as you've never shared where you reside."

  Killian scowled. Aye, he never had. Fae folk had no care for mortals knowing where they made their home. Even if, with a blink of a magic eye, they could move their residences.

  "You have a bit of an edge to you today, Killian. Are you well?"

  Why of a sudden was everyone assessing his health? Leithprachauns suffered no illnesses. Is loneliness an illness? He growled at his inner voice, then registered the startled expression on Colin's face as the sound had been made out loud. He pulled back his rancor. "My apologies. I awoke out of sorts and haven't had time to clear my head." He clapped Colin on the arm. "'Tis good to have ye back in Keshlea."

  Colin returned the gesture. "Aye, I missed the place."

  He bit back a smile at the lilt that touched Colin's words. Raised by his Irish mother in the heart of the isle, he always fell into the natural pattern when he was home, though his British counterparts would be appalled. "The pub 'tisn't open for business, but the widow Riley's establishment would have hot tea and fresh scones."

  Colin nodded. "Sounds like a fine plan. And then you can help me decide how to drive the Crown from Keshlea."

  AN IRISH GIFT

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "How I missed this glorious view."

  Quite a benign comment, coming from a traitor.

  Killian cast a sideways look at his companion. Colin, Lord Keshlea sat as straight and proud in the saddle as a man born to rule. That made sense. That was what he was. Not someone plotting to rebel against the British Empire.

  Killian's horse shifted beneath him, tossed his head as if he, too, were gobsmacked by this revelation. With a gentle tug and a soothing, magical touch, the steed snorted, then relaxed. Killian wished he could settle so easily.

  They'd passed the morning huddled together, enjoying sugared scones with jam and honey, and cups of hot, brewed tea. The scene easily one of two friends reuniting, catching up on Dublin gossip. Instead, the lord of Keshlea had evaded queries on what the feck he was thinking.

  It wasn't through any loyalty to the British that Killian feared for his friend, far from it. His home, his isle, had suffered under their rule for decades, and still struggled under the Penal Laws, the end result of the plantations which denied the native Irish ownership of their own land. That was the way Colin's family had acquired Keshlea.

  Many would think it odd that a Leithprachaun have concern for such matters, but the people of this land were deeply intertwined with the lives and culture of the Fae. So it had been since the beginning of time, and so it would continue for eternity.

  Still, the Fae Council long ago decreed that the native Irish could not be directly helped in their causes. And Patric, was in full agreement. Killian glanced at Colin again. Still, it couldn't hurt to deflect a wayward mortal from disaster.

  "'Tis indeed a fine view. A picture of heaven itself." He considered his words. "Colin, I confess I'm still confused on what yer wanting to accomplish."

  Colin spared him a glance. "The government wants to annex Keshlea."

  "To what purpose? Keshlea 'tis but a tiny spit of land—no offense intended, milord—compared to the crown's vast holdings."

  "None taken." Colin heaved a sigh. "Yet, a rumor has taken hold that caverns beneath these hills are riddled with precious gems."

  Killian snorted. "Well, aye, it has been called the Emerald Isle, but because of…" He swept his hand toward the vista of lush greenery.

  Colin gave a harsh laugh. "Aye, but the bastards do not grasp that, their greed is a shield to logic."

  "I'm not keen on these matters, but surely ye wield some influence."

  Colin's jaw firmed. "So I thought, but I fear the family's long absence from the political chamber pot that is the ton have diluted any weight we might have once held." He huffed out a breath. "No earl from Keshlea has participated in Parliament since grandfather."

  "I recall ye told me yer father had been to London."

  "Not often enough. He reviled the sordid dealings and pretentiousness of the ton, and their blatant rejection of my mother."

  There was a twinge of sadness beneath his words. Colin had adored his mother as Killian did his own. The burden of sorrow at her passing still weighed heavily on him.

  "I too, followed in his lead," Colin continued. "After university I spent an obligatory year in London, schooled on how to be an English Lord. I nearly went mad."

  "Aye, as ye say, but how did they come to focus on yer holdings?"

  "Randall Lycingsham."

  He frowned. "He's a member of the ton?"

  "No, a lackey for an undisclosed peer. He started spreading tales last year that Ireland was rich with undiscovered treasures."

  The greatest treasures, aye, beyond any Englishman's comprehension.

  "As to influence, I've been attempting to do just that, spent a good portion of the past six months in London speaking to dukes, earls, viscounts, meeting with of members of Parliament, but my efforts have proven futile. I've petitioned the Prince Regent for a cease and desist ruling, but had to leave London before I received a response."

  Killian shifted in his saddle again. "I do not pretend to understand the force that drives y
e British to own the world." Greed. Power. Arrogance. "But the Romans were driven down the same path and eventually crumbled to dust."

  Colin pinned him with a stern look. "I am concerned only for Keshlea."

  Killian fought to keep his tone casual, but the uneasiness in his gut ratcheted up several notches. "Colin." Christ, he had to remember his friend was a peer. "My lord, ye can't be serious about fighting against the crown. They frown on that sort of thing, and I'd hate to see ye swinging from the end of a rope."

  Colin swung his gaze to Killian, and for a brief moment, he thought he'd made progress, but then that hope was shattered.

  "If done with stealth and cunning, I believe the hangman can be avoided. Let's ride on. I want to get a lay of the land."

  Lips pressed together, Killian spurred his mount after his friend. Get a lay of the land. Christ, the man had grown up exploring the fields and woods, and regaled Killian with stories of its beauty when they first met in Dublin. The young lord had thrived at Trinity, excelling at all subjects, but had eschewed the crowded environs of the city.

  Killian hadn't minded. While the lure of rousing good times had led him to the center of college clubs and gaming hells, he was a solitary Fae—and could identify with the peace and quiet craved by his friend. He contemplated his companion as he expertly guided his horse along the narrow hillside trail. He'd been a man full grown when Colin had been a youth, a warrior already caught up in the intrigue and duplicity of curses and Fae politics.

  "Ah, exactly as I remember it."

  Killian pulled his thoughts back as his horse, more present then he, veered to avoid collision with Colin's mount. They had traversed down the steep hillside to the mouth of the Valley of Ainmhi, the valley of animals. An apt name, as many shifters called this home. A chorus of twitters drew his attention to a clutch of fluttering sparrows. He spiraled magic in their direction, and quickly identified three cousins.

  He smiled to himself. Colin would probably shite his pants if he knew many of the animals hereabouts were actually shifters. He also would look askance if he knew Killian was one, too. Of a sort.

  Well, his mother was a shifter. Killian was a half-blood, the consequence of one night of passion. A blessing he'd been, his mother had assured him, even as he'd struggled to find his place among her kin.

  Oh, 'twasn't because his parents had been unwed—shifters held no societal restrictions as the mortals did. No, Killian had struggled when it became clear his Leithprachaun cumhacht was incompatible with shifter magic. He could not shift into animal form, only project himself into an actual animal. Involved a lot of energy on his part, and often put the selected creature into a very foul mood.

  "There is a system of caves on the other side of the hillock," Colin said, pointing into the distance. "That's where we'll center our efforts."

  Killian shook his head to clear it. He needed to leave the past in the past and stay focused on the present, if he were to divert Colin from disaster. "Are ye planning a military campaign then? Ye know those are historically unsuccessful here on the Isle."

  Colin grinned. "I don't know. Brian Boru gave it a good run." He considered the valley. "It's not military action I'm planning."

  They rode on until they reached the entrance to the caverns. Killian knew them well—it marked the entry to the shifters Faery mound. He heaved a sigh. This was getting more complicated by the moment.

  Dismounting, Colin peered into the opening. "How far back do you think it goes?"

  Farther than any mortal could imagine. Killian shrugged, feigned boredom. "Far enough to make a rat a good nest."

  Colin glanced at him, then back to the dark entry. "I used to explore them as a child, but always got turned about before I'd gone very far." He straightened and scratched his head. "Every time, an animal of some sort would appear and harass me. It was almost as if they were warning me away."

  Aye, they would have been. Shifters were marginally tolerant of mortals, despite their ability to exist in that form. Shifters tended to select a single, sacred animal to emulate, assuming other creatures only if needed. His mother favored a falcon. Caitronia came from a long line of predators. By all accounts, it was that fierce spirit that had drawn Finn's attention. Two people driven by like temperaments forged a bond difficult to bend much less break. Yet his Da had managed it, abandoning her and his child unscathed, while his mother struggled with the rip in her soul. Insanity, the fucker drives them all mad. Killian pushed Brady's observation from his mind. "I've not a keen mind on geology, that's for you university fellows, but I doubt it runs very deep."

  "Aye, it may not," replied Colin, "but it'll serve my purpose."

  "Which is?"

  Colin grinned. "Behold, the haunted caves of Keshlea. No man has ever survived the flesh eating trolls who dwell therein."

  Killian pursed his lips against his amusement. Aye, trolls were loathsome creatures with sore tempers and disgusting hygienic practice, but they were also quite lazy. Nothing about a troll would scare off mortals. "Yer stretching things a wee bit."

  Colin fisted his hands on his hips. "Perhaps, but the exploration party was scheduled to depart London three days after I left. And since I haven't received a response from the Prince, I need to stall until I hear from the appeal. Can you think of anyone who might be able to assist?"

  No, but he knew someone who did.

  AN IRISH GIFT

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "What the feck are ye wantin'?"

  Killian kept his gaze level on Rua, Chieftain of the shifter clan. He'd always been an arrogant arse. 'Twas good to know nothing had changed.

  The man waved a dismissive hand and drank from a horn of ale. "If it's about yer mam, she's not been sighted since the last moon."

  Steady, his inner voice urged. Not an unreasonable subject to broach, as he had been making the rounds, searching. "I am grateful for any news ye might garner, for I would see to her health." Assure himself she'd not gone bat-shite crazy, mooning over his absent sire. "But I've come about another matter."

  Rua's nut-brown eyes narrowed with the shrewd gaze of the fox form he favored. "I thought ye Leithprachauns were content to stand alone." He tapped a finger to his chin. "Needed no help from the rest of the Fae to carry on business, to fulfill yer role as warriors of the Fae world. 'Tis why ye assured the Council ye could guard life's treasures."

  Killian cringed.Seventy-five mortal years ago, the essences of life, the very fabric of existence entrusted to the Leithprachaun, had been stolen. Cursed away, by popular belief, after their father jilted Mab, the Queen of the Dark Banshee. The female had not taken it well. In a matter of months, each of Finn's eight children had had their treasure portions ripped from their grasp. Killian rubbed at his chest. And given they had been melded to their own inner being, that had left an impression.

  "The Leithprachaun know their duty," he answered, "Now as to the purpose of my visit."

  Rua smirked and leaned back in his seat. "Proceed."

  Arse. "The English mortals have set their sights on Keshlea, most particularly yer valley."

  The chieftain maintained his bored demeanor but his attention sharpened on Killian. "We've lived in peace with the mortals of this village for centuries, long before the invaders came. What would bring such interest now?"

  Killian shrugged. "What usually motivates the mortals? A desire for riches."

  Rua scowled into his cup. "What more treasure could they desire? They occupy the most valuable prize of all…the isle."

  "They believe the hills are filled with precious jewels, and mean to excavate them to fill their pockets."

  Rua made a scoffing noise "As if we'd allow the bastards to take anything that belonged to us. How do ye come by this knowledge, then?"

  "Colin, Lord Keshlea."

  "The lordling? The same scamp who has plagued our valley since youth?"

  "Plague is overshot," Killian answered dryly, "But set yer mind at ease. He means to prevent the incursion."

>   Rua took another sip of his ale. "Then why are we having this conversation? Let the mortals take care of the mortals."

  "He means to do so by causing them to believe the area is haunted."

  Rua's laugh was shrill. Killian fisted his hands. "I need ye to move yer fairy mound until I can divert his efforts."

  The shifter's amused smile caused Killian's gut to tighten.

  "We've resided here long before mortals existed. We'll not be leaving on account of their foolish games."

  Killian reached the chieftain's chair in two strides. He leaned into the man's face. "When yer people lie dead, victims of these games, who will be the fool?"

  The rust-colored light of Rua's magic erupted, filling the air. When Killian regained his sight, he was nose to nose with a sleek, red fox. The chieftain bared his fangs.

  Killian stood his ground, though it took everything in him to resist the battle cry that surged through his blood. If his shifter magic worked, he could face Rua as a greater animal, a wolf or a bear. Feck, but no. He could only possess such a beast. A fine thing then, his inner voice taunted, as neither exist in Ireland.

  Aye, he could not transform, but a growl still emitted from low in his throat. The fox's mouth slanted in a sneer.

  Stay out of shifter business, Leithprachaun. And know that the mortals will rue the day they came into our home. With a loud pop for effect, Rua disappeared.

  Killian pushed away from the chair and ran his hands through his hair. For being the keeper of good times, he was having a feckin' bad day. With a sharp release of breath, he evaporated into the ether and headed toward Keshlea Manor. The Fae did not exist within the concept of time, but he felt a burning certainty that it was quickly running out.

  AN IRISH GIFT

  CHAPTER SIX