Luke straightened and brushed his auburn locks back from his face before
fastening his jeans. She donned her T-shirt again and pulled on her panties. This wasn’t the most secure she’d felt in her life, but she had to ask him.
She braced herself for his answer, knowing now that nothing but the truth came from that beautiful mouth.
He faced her. “I must return home.”
Her heart stopped at the words and she nodded.
Chapter 15
A time jump. Like before but with a far different purpose. Luke stood in the center of his beige living room, clad once again in the clothes of his time. A white shirt, open at the collar, and tan breeches topping the fine boots wrought to his uncle’s standards.
Before he took his leave of Brianna last evening, their passion still humming within him, he’d told her he hoped to see his way clear to keeping the gold for Violet. He hoped that his uncle was on the mend, but he dared not voice his fears on the subject. He would go alone; he wouldn’t risk a jump with Violet still so ill and Brianna would never leave the child. Their farewell was sweet. In the throes of his release he might have said something of his growing feelings for her had he not all but bit his tongue.
He grasped the amber pendant in his fist, the disk smooth and cool. A few words, taught to him by Uncle Seamus in a moment of lucidity, and the room appeared to swirl around him. Vertigo caused his stomach to clench and he squeezed his eyes shut to ease the sensation. A loud rushing sound, wind or water or time, roared in his head and he held himself still for the jump. And then… silence.
A few moments later the sound began anew, his skin prickled with hot and cold as the ground rose beneath his feet. It jerked and bucked and he found himself on his backside, his free hand braced in the cool grass beneath him. The world settled and he cautiously opened his eyes. He was home. He had made it and in one piece.
The amber was so hot now it nearly singed his palm. He released it and rubbed his hands on his thighs. He stood and gave a shake of his head. The sound of the birds were the first thing he noticed, then a fading chill in the air signaled spring had come to Meath Province. The smell of earth and growth filled his nostrils. Verdant grass, budding leaves and the musical rushing of a nearby brook combined to bring his senses into focus.
Home.
“Luke!”
Luke turned to see Patrick running toward him, a smile on his familiar face. His brother grabbed him by his shoulders and gave a shake. Luke hugged Patrick tightly, engulfed in arms as strong as his own.
“Patrick.”
Patrick pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed Luke’s empty hands. “Do you have the gold?”
Luke bit back a sharp retort. “Do you see it, then?”
Patrick shook his head, his strawberry-blond curls swaying. “Uncle be needin’ it, Luke.”
That fear of failure bit into him. “Bloody… I know he needs it, Patrick.”
Luke strode toward the dell, to the cottage where he and his brothers were raised by their bachelor uncle. Patrick peppered him with questions as he dogged his heels.
“What was it like, Luke?” Patrick asked. “Did you find the Pixie who took the gold? Did she give it up?”
Luke waved his hand in the air, not breaking his stride as he entered the dell. “Not now, pray. I must see Uncle Seamus.”
Patrick caught up with him then, and Luke stilled. One look into his brother’s face told him all he was afraid to ask. Patrick’s blue eyes were clouded, his mouth a thin line.
“He be worse, Luke.”
Luke spat out a curse. He turned again and walked toward the cottage. It was as he’d left it, odd shaped with additions jutting out on three sides. Three chimneys topped the sloping thatched roof, from the main room and the two bedrooms. Five years earlier Luke had taken himself to his own cottage, built to his uncle’s careful specifications. The
family remained close, working side by side in the large workshop on the other side of the dell. Patrick and their younger brother, Sean, still live with Seamus, a condition the old man openly bemoaned but nonetheless relished.
Luke entered the cottage, and was struck by the clutter. Their uncle had trained his boys to pick up after themselves, to respect their property as much as each other. By the piles of clothes and books and papers tossed on the dusty wood floor, he guessed Seamus wasn’t practicing what he preached.
“What the…?”
“Sean and me, we clean the place every day,” Patrick rushed out. “And Mrs.
O’Grady does her work. But Uncle… Well, you’ll soon see.”
Luke nodded and stepped around the mess. “Uncle Seamus?”
A grunt came from the larger of the two bedrooms, their uncle’s chamber. The sound was so unlike the booming voice of the man, Luke’s heart sank. He looked at his brother. Patrick’s face was ashen, though he’d been living with the man these past weeks while Luke had been tracking Brianna in Indianapolis. Luke walked toward the chamber, bracing himself for the sight of his beloved uncle.
The man seemed smaller, as impossible as that should be. No longer brawny as he’d been, his red hair stood on end. His skin was almost gray, and bits of food clung to his stubble-covered cheeks. His eyes, though… Their vivid green was now as dull as the brackish water in the bogs of Ulster Province.
“Uncle Seamus?” Luke asked.
The man turned his blank gaze on him and Luke’s soul nearly froze. No
recognition there, none of the affection that normally crackled between the MacDonald men.
“Lucas?” Uncle Seamus asked.
Luke knew he didn’t address him, but his father. Dead these past twenty years, Lucas MacDonald and his pretty wife with him. Luke swallowed and stepped into the room. More clothes cluttered the floor here, and the man wore crumpled clothes. They were no longer bright green, and obviously in need of laundering.
“We try to keep him clean, Luke.” Patrick’s voice was hushed and close to his ear. “But he carries on worse than Sean used to as a babe.”
Seamus turned away, dismissing Luke as if he were nothing more than one of the dust motes littering the air in the room.
His heart heavy, Luke turned toward Patrick and urged him from the room before shutting the door. “How long has he been like this?”
Patrick raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. “He’s gotten worse over the past week.”
Guilt struck Luke. For the time Luke had spent enjoying the company of the two Pixies. And he’d returned home with nothing but hope. There was little good it would do Uncle Seamus.
“Where be the gold, Luke?”
Luke sat at the fine wooden table at the back of the main room, in the dining area.
“I don’t have it.”
Patrick sat down across from him, questions burning in his gaze. “Did the Pixie use her magic?”
Aye, Luke thought. On his heart, Yes. Not his mind.
“She’s strong,” Luke said. “And she needed the gold.”
Patrick’s mouth gaped open. “She…! She needed the gold? What Pixie spell did she cast on you?”
Luke wouldn’t speak of it. The time jump had left him tired, and seeing his uncle
in such a state did little to revive his spirits. Singing came from his uncle’s bedchamber, one of the ditties the man sang to the brothers when they were children. The sound was fey and sweet and nearly broke Luke’s heart anew.
“I cannot speak of it now, Patrick.”
Patrick just stared at him as he rose from the table. Luke left and made his way to his own cottage. A maid stood outside, one of the lasses he paid to keep his home in his absence.
“You be back, Master Luke?” she asked.
Luke nodded and entered his home. The place smelled fresh and clean and again that stab of guilt struck him. Did his uncle take note of his condition? Did the man realize what he had become? That last possibility caused Luke more pain that any other. For if Seamus knew the level
to which he had fallen it would surely break his proud MacDonald heart.
The maid, a plump girl nearly more than marriageable age, hurried into the cottage. She bobbed a curtsey—red-faced because she’d neglected to do so earlier, he assumed—and fluttered about the kitchen.
“You’ve food in the larder, Master Luke,” she rushed out. “And me mum be
wantin’ me back to see about the family chores.”
“Go, then.” He didn’t remember her name. “And I thank you. The place looks well.”
She curtseyed again and picked up her rough-hewn bag. “I’ll be ‘round in the mornin’.”
Luke didn’t argue, suspecting that his spirits would be little improved when the sun rose and he wouldn’t trouble himself with housekeeping. She left, closing the door behind her.
He let the silence engulf him, tears burning his eyes. How ill his uncle looked; how desperate his brother was. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a breath. He had family who needed him here and now. And family back in the future as well.
“Ah, Brianna.”
He closed his eyes, picturing her fair features and sparkling eyes. Last evening he had nearly taken her, there in her snug borrowed little house. Passion so hot, sweet in her release, innocent and seductive as she brought him to release. And she had asked nothing of him but the passion. That and the bloody gold. He could only leave her with hope he’d keep his word. Bloody hope. He wasn’t any closer to a resolution as he had been in that haze of waning passion there in her arms.
Luke rose from the table and opened the larder. Plenty of foodstuffs, and fresh bread set on a shelf. He took the loaf and a hunk of good cheese back to the table and began to eat. It was simple fare, lending itself well to contemplation. The ice box held some fresh milk; no doubt the girl kept the place stocked as he’d indicated he didn’t know when he would return. He would have to reward her. All he had was the money from the future, and that was back in his flat in Indianapolis. No gold here to pay; he hadn’t considered that. Little surprise there. Fine ale also stood at the ready, and he took the jug to the table.
A sharp rap came on the door and Luke groaned softly. He could well guess the identity of this visitor.
He rose and opened the door, finding Sean as he’d expected. The baby of the MacDonalds at twenty-one, he nonetheless resembled both Patrick and Luke. Darker than either Luke or Patrick, he possessed the same green eyes as Luke. Those eyes flashed with anger and hurt. The boy still held no rein on his emotions then. Luke had thought that a failing. Before Brianna had taught him to let go.
“Where be the gold, Luke?” Sean asked.
Luke leaned against the doorjamb. “And how are you this fine afternoon, Sean?”
Sean waved a hand through the air and stepped around Luke into the cottage.
“Patrick fed me some bit about a Pixie charming you out of the gold. ‘Tis our gold, Luke!”
“I bloody well know it is, Sean!”
Sean recoiled at Luke’s outburst. He recovered quickly, however.
“And yet you come back with nothing?” Sean asked. “Surely she wasn’t as good as all that.”
Luke felt his blood boil at the insinuation. He stepped closer to Sean, his height giving him the advantage he needed. “What are you sayin’, brother?”
Sean shrugged. “Cornish Pixies be right bonny, Luke. Takin’ her favors while—”
Luke’s fist smashed into his brother’s face. He pulled his punch just in time, but still managed to knock his little brother to the floor. “You’ll not speak of her that way!”
Sean propped himself up on one hand and rubbed his jaw with the other. “You are bewitched.”
Luke laughed without humor. “Not as you might expect, Sean.”
He held out his hand and helped his brother to his feet. Confusion eclipsed the anger on the boy’s face.
“But… you saw Uncle Seamus?” Sean asked.
“Aye,” Luke said. “And it pained me greatly.”
Sean blinked. “Then you know you must bring back the gold.”
The temptation was there again, to flatten his baby brother.
“I know my duties well, Sean. As I told Patrick earlier.”
Sean pouted. “He didn’t say anything about you hittin’ him.”
Luke smiled. “You pushed me harder than he did, brother.”
Luke waved his brother to the other chair at the table as he sat once more. Sean joined him in an ale, his dark brows drawn together.
“You found the gold,” Sean said.
Luke waited a beat.
“Aye,” he said.
Sean drank deeply of his ale. “And the Pixie had it.”
Luke took another bite of bread and chewed.
“Aye,” he said.
Sean clasped both hands around his mug and stared into its depths. “I don’t understand.”
Luke raised his mug in mock-salute and drank. “Neither do I, brother. Neither do I.”
Sean left soon after, puzzlement still clear on his face. Voices reached Luke at his self-imposed solitude, the sounds of families gathering at their homes, returning from work to comfort. An ache began in the center of Luke’s chest, and he suspected more than one cause for it. Ah, Uncle Seamus had made a wonderful home for him and his brothers, but it now seemed like the family was slipping away. And Brianna was leagues and years away, and the comfort found in her embrace was gone from him as well.
Would his brothers understand about the gold? Would they care about the tiny Pixie so ill and in need? And what of Brianna? Both his brothers thought she’d charmed him, Patrick with her magic and Sean with her passion. He pictured her eyes, her smile. Her body, her touch. Damn them to hell, they were both right!
The sun was down for hours when Luke at last succumbed to the lure of the bed set in the room behind the kitchen. He removed his boots—he missed his sneakers, he
thought fleetingly—and stripped. The downy counterpane, wrought by the ladies of the dell who took it upon themselves to see that the boys had some mothering along with Seamus’s guidance, brought physical comfort at least. Luke would have to wait for the solution to his dilemma for any true comfort. Perhaps on the morrow…
Chapter 16
Luke rose with the sun. He stretched and when his hand brushed the rough wall he gave a start. What the…? Opening his eyes, he saw he slept in his own home. Gone were the colorless bed linens and nondescript artwork that filled his bedroom in Indianapolis.
So he was here, then. In Meath and facing a duty he’d rather avoid. His family wouldn’t allow that, though. Neither would his conscience.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and his muscles groaned in protest.
The bed wasn’t to blame. Nay. His sleep couldn’t have been poorer if he had slept on the wide plank floor. And the day was only just beginning.
He washed and dressed, thinking to go to his workshop before visiting his uncle again. He frowned into the mirror above the washstand. Coward.
Sean and Patrick were able cobblers. And surely business hadn’t suffered with his absence. True, all in the dell—and to some distance out of it—relied on MacDonald shoes and boots. Seamus had made a good name for the family as well as a good home.
Luke ate some more bread, a bit hard but passable. He grabbed the milk from the iced box and choked some down. He missed his daily coffee, not to mention the Pixie who served him so prettily in Indianapolis. Not much coffee to be found here in Meath, and he wouldn’t travel to Dublin for the brew. He took two apples to appease his hunger.
He missed the food of the future, the crunchy sweet cereal. As he munched an apple, he left the cottage and made his way to the workshop.
“’Mornin’, Master Luke!”
Luke nodded to the round baker who waved from the door of his shop. More
Meath inhabitants waved or called their greetings, but Luke didn’t pause in his stride.
They would ask about his uncle. And about the gold. Few secrets were k
ept in the dell.
When he reached the workshop his brothers were already within.
“About time you showed up, brother,” Patrick shouted from his workbench.
“Takin’ to livin’ the easy life in the future, eh?” Sean chimed in.
Luke rolled his eyes and chose to ignore the barbs. He looked about the shop, seeing that some work had piled up while he was away. His brothers appeared to have the business in hand, for the most part.
The smell of fine leather and saddle soap filled the air, along with the gentle and steady tapping of careful hammer on tiny nail. The MacDonalds were known for their quality of workmanship, and with good cause. Even after weeks of sitting in the back of his closet in Indianapolis, his own boots still fit him like a second skin.
“Place looks good,” Luke said.
Patrick and Sean grunted their thanks, barely looking up from their tasks. Patrick polished a pair of fine boots, and Luke noted the bright green color. His stomach dipped.
Patrick crafted the fine footwear for their uncle.
“They’re very fine,” Luke said.
Patrick nodded and took a step back, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Thought Uncle Seamus would see them and… remember.”
So much in that statement, spoken in a husky tone. Luke clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Is he alone?”
“Nay. Mrs. O’Grady minds him while we work.”
Luke watched his brother’s hands skillfully work the hammer. “It’s been hard while I’ve been gone.”
Patrick shrugged. “Aye.”
“Work’s been a help,” Sean said from his bench.
Luke gave a nod. “Good.” He gave a cursory glance about the rest of shop,
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