The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  As she studied the pretty face she had never seen in person, Tyler urged, "So tell me more about this grandmother you wish you were like."

  Keelin looked up at him. "She was quite unconventional for a woman of her day. She married late. The thirty-third day after her thirty-third birthday to be exact."

  Hence, part of Moira's legacy.

  "Ah, a superstitious woman."

  "More to the point, the people who lived in the area were superstitious, including the young men who feared to pursue her. Some called her witch."

  "Because of the dreams?"

  Keelin nodded. "And because she had the power to heal. We had that in common also – our love of the land and of the plants that could ease suffering." Seeing the shadow sweep over Tyler's features, she quickly added, "Gran also talked to the animals, both domestic and wild, and swore she understood what they said in return."

  "Most people would consider that a little strange," he agreed, his expression lightening, making him appear even more handsome.

  Her pulse skittering strangely, she said, "And the men of the surrounding villages were timid romantically because of these things. Moira Kelly would have none of them with their weak natures. She wanted a real man, her equal."

  "Since you're here, she obviously got what she wished for."

  "Eventually. Seamus McKenna came to her rescue at a desperate time." Keelin remembered the tale her grandmother had repeated both with sadness and joy many times through the years. "A child Gran tried to heal died. There was no helping it, for the parents waited too long and expected a miracle. The fever took the lad. But the family blamed Moira, came after her, determined to burn the witch in her enchanted cottage."

  "But Seamus stopped them."

  Keelin nodded. "A tinker by trade, he lived on the road in a caravan and made his way by fixing tools and such for people. He was repairing a drying rack in the herb shed when trouble arrived. He protected Moira with his own life and so won her heart. She, in turn, tamed a bit of the wildness in him, enough to convince him to settle down with her."

  "Sounds like a fairy tale."

  "My family is from Éire, after all," Keelin said with a grin. How good it felt to smile. To feel days of tension drain from her, if only for a short while. "A land of many wondrous tales."

  "You'll have to tell me more."

  He made it sound as if she would be around for an indefinite period. As if he was suddenly enjoying her company. And despite the many heated words that had passed between them, despite the distrust that still lingered like a dark shadow in the background, she found the idea of spending some peaceful time with Tyler oddly appealing.

  "Sometime, perhaps," she said softly. "But at the moment, I fear I am talked out."

  Before she knew what he was about, Tyler cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. Though he held her gently, she could feel the imprint of each finger. Her breathing near stopped. His pale blue eyes seemed to take in every detail of her features. And the longer he took, the harder her heart thudded.

  And for a moment, she lost it.

  Sense.

  Purpose.

  Everything but the need to give and take comfort.

  He lowered his head a fraction, found Keelin's mouth. She opened to him, invited him in. Fiercely, he entered, and she felt as if his frustration with his powerlessness battered her. But she was stronger than she'd implied. She seized his demons and matched them with a potency of her own.

  For a long, long moment, they lost themselves to each other. Male to female. Strength to softness. Determination to compassion. She had never felt so lost in a simple kiss.

  A low moan shuddered through her. She pressed closer, her body flamed with wanting...

  And then she came to her senses, remembered what she should be about.

  She broke the kiss.

  When he raised his head, Tyler appeared as astonished as she. And even more flustered. But though her fingers worked against the muscles of his arm, she made no immediate move away from him. Instead, she waited, her gaze twined with his, anxious to see what he would do, to hear what he would say to her, now that their alliance had taken a new twist.

  Seeming in some quandary, Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his tension clear. Then he took a deep breath. Carefully backed off, a neutral move that put some distance between them without offending.

  "You look exhausted," he said sympathetically.

  So he was going to avoid talking about what just happened. Too bad she couldn't ignore the feel of his mouth that lingered against hers.

  "Tis the jet lag." And the dreams. She couldn't remember her last full night's sleep.

  "Maybe you'd like to freshen up and rest until dinner. We can continue going through Cheryl's things afterward."

  A sensible suggestion. "A short rest would be grand." If truth be told, Keelin felt as if she could sleep for hours and hours. And she definitely needed time alone, away from Tyler to regain her bearings. A sudden thought occurred to her. She eyed him warily. "And who will be doing the cooking?"

  Tyler laughed as he rose to his feet. "Don't fret. Mrs. Hague – that's the housekeeper – cooks in big batches once or twice a week and leaves meals enough for two in the freezer. Everyone says a dog is man's best friend. I say it's the microwave oven."

  He was still grinning when he held out a hand to her. Keelin accepted his help, slipping her hand in his and allowing him to steady her as she got to her feet. She swayed toward him and caught herself just before they touched again.

  "Hm, maybe I should have had the room straightened," Tyler mused.

  His glance at the unmade bed sent tension humming through Keelin. "No problem," she said, when really there was.

  The growing attraction...

  ... the imaginings...

  ... the unexpected kiss.

  "There are clean linens in the closet." As if realizing he was still holding onto her, Tyler stared down at her hand for a moment before releasing it. Then he started for the door. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to put dinner in the microwave."

  Keelin nodded and closed the door behind him. Touching forehead to the wood panel, she sighed and went limp. Either she was fooling herself or Tyler was experiencing a change of heart toward her. He was treating her s if he wanted to be friends with her.

  Or perhaps more.

  A scary thought.

  Something to dream on.

  Chapter Six

  SHE DIED A LITTLE AS SHE WAITED until the apartment grew quiet except for the game show on the television in the living room, the announcer's voice backed by the intermittent sound of snoring.

  Stemming her rising excitement, she forced herself to wait a moment longer. Until she was sure.

  One of her jailers had left directly after they'd eaten, never suspecting that she knew what they were up to. Then she'd volunteered to do the dishes, had acted as if she were ever-so-grateful because they were keeping her safe and off the streets. She'd even gotten the first beer from the fridge.

  Then she'd gone to her room to wait.

  For the past hour, ear pressed to the door, she'd listened to channel-surfing and the toilet flushing, interspersed by the refrigerator door opening and more beer tops popping.

  Finally, she decided it was time.

  Trembling inside, her stomach knotted so bad it ached, she grabbed her backpack and ever-so-quietly turned the door handle. Knowing it would creak if she opened it all the way, she carefully swung the panel only far enough to squeeze through.

  She slid into the shadows of the narrow hall and held her breath.

  From her vantage point, she could see the television screen and the back of the chair from which an arm dangled, fingers pointing to the half-dozen beer cans littering the floor below. Asleep. Rather passed out.

  Better for her.

  Heart thrumming with excitement, she backed up. Slowly. Silently. One hi-top-shod foot behind the other. Eyes glued to what she could see of her solitary jailer. No m
ovement from the living room but that on the television screen.

  Then she was at the door.

  Unlocking.

  Opening.

  Slipping through the crack.

  The hall was dark, the landing light out. She felt her way to the stairwell. Hung onto the rail as she flew down the steps as fast as her feet would take her. On the second floor landing, she grazed a silver-haired woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

  "Sorry," she muttered, dancing around the elderly lady, whose arms were loaded with groceries.

  "What's yer hurry?" the woman yelled after her. "Kids!"

  But she was already a landing away. First floor.

  Through the glass inset door, lock broken. Down scuzzy chipped marble steps.

  Out the front door and past three marijuana smoking teenage boys on the front stoop.

  "Hey, baby, not so fast. I got something for you," one of them called after her.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see the offered joint. Three sets of glazed eyes stared at her. Three mouths trembled in smirks as if they could smell her fear. One of the boys took a step off the stoop toward her.

  She ran, their laughter ringing in her ears, and utilized every bit of speed she could muster.

  A few minutes later, popping off the side street onto a busier one, she headed for the crazy intersection ahead. Three streets crossing one another. She was passing an old-fashioned newsstand tucked on one of the six corners, when she heard an elevated train screech to a stop. Whirling, she spotted the station. She thought to go for a train that would take her downtown. But that would only bring her back to the same dire situation she'd started in.

  Then she spotted them – a couple of outdoor telephones on the angled street. She wanted to talk to her Dad. Surely he would tell her what to do. Maybe even come for her.

  She begged for change for a dollar at the newsstand. Then, taking her life in her hands, she crossed against the lights, weaving her way through the traffic. Having horns blaring and curses heaped on her head for the doing.

  Only one of the phones was working. She inserted coins in the slot and dialed.

  C'mon, Dad, be home...forgive me...please!

  Uneasy, she eyed the foot-traffic at the nearby tatoo parlor while listening to the phone ring for what seemed like an eternity. A biker couple in black leather pants and T-shirts came out, the guy admiring the tattoo on his girlfriend's breast. Suddenly the ringing stopped.

  "Hello?"

  The lump in her throat was so big, she had trouble forcing out the word "Dad!"

  "Cheryl? My God, baby, where are you?"

  He sounded glad to hear her voice. Inside, a dam broke. Tears flowed from her eyes and she choked out, "I'm sorry, Dad. Honest. I'll never do it again."

  "Where are you?"

  "I'm not sure. In the city somewhere."

  "Look for a street sign. Ask someone. I'll come get you."

  "You will? Really? You're not angry?"

  He was saying, "I'm worried...not angry at you," when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

  "Jeez, I'll be off in a minute!" she said impatiently.

  And then the hand covered her mouth and she knew she was in trouble. Her head went light with renewed fear. The phone flew from her hand and the buildings around her whirled crazily as her legs folded and the pavement rushed up to meet her...

  "CHERYL!" HEART POUNDING, hope soured to fear, Tyler clutched the cordless phone harder, as though he could make his daughter answer. "Cheryl, baby, what happened? Please tell me you're all right!"

  But all he got in answer was the sound of street traffic and the repeated clunk of the phone on the other end, as if it were swinging free and banging against something solid.

  "Cheryl?" he tried one last time.

  Then someone replaced the receiver in its cradle and the line went dead.

  His joy turned to renewed grief, Tyler blindly pitched the cordless with all his strength. The bottles in a small wine rack crashed to the kitchen floor like pins scattered by a bowling ball. One bottle broke and a deep red pool seeped across the pale ceramic floor.

  Like blood would ooze across his daughter's fair skin.

  The sudden tragic image drove him crazy. Without care, he retrieved the broken glass, then yelped. His hand had struck a jagged edge. He was heaving the now-bloody glass into the trash when he heard the stair squeak followed by his name.

  "Tyler?" Keelin called, her voice faint and frightened, "where are you?"

  The pain of the cut momentarily forgotten, he rushed out of the kitchen as she stepped off the staircase. They met in the foyer. One look at her dazed expression and he knew.

  "You were sleeping. You saw something?"

  "Cheryl escaped the building where she was being held. She ran." Keelin took a big breath. "I saw busy streets. An intersection. The telephone..."

  "She called me." His chest tight, Tyler demanded, "What the hell happened?"

  Keelin squeezed her eyes shut and touched her shoulder. "A hand, here."

  "She told the person to wait a minute."

  "Then his hand covered..." Her fingers moved over her lips.

  Tyler would kill the bastard if he ever got hold of him. Suddenly he stilled. "You said his. You saw him?"

  Keelin's features pulled together in a frown. "I'm sorry. His grip was so strong I assumed it was that of a man, but then before I could turn, everything went spinning..."

  Suddenly he realized that Keelin was speaking in the first person, as if the incident had actually happened to her. She was white as a ghost, no doubt nearly as traumatized by the incident as his daughter.

  Without thinking, Tyler spread his arms and stepped forward to comfort her. She accepted the shelter he offered, flying into his embrace and clutching him like a lifeline. She was trembling, her breathing ragged. He gathered her close to him, careful not to touch her with his bloody hand. He imagined that he could feel the uneven flutter of her heart through the wall of his chest.

  Before, when she'd told him about the dream-visions, he'd only half-believed her. How could he deny her gift any longer when he'd been part-witness to what she'd experienced? He'd been on the line with Cheryl when Keelin had tuned in. Her explanation of what she'd seen fit exactly with his own perception of what had happened to his daughter.

  Against all reason, he had to believe in a phenomena that had no logical explanation.

  "It's going to be all right." As if in a trance, he ran his good hand soothingly through Keelin's loose lush hair and down her supple spine. Touching her so intimately had a very real and immediate effect on him, one he didn't want to acknowledge. "We're going to make sure it's all right. We'll find Cheryl. Together."

  When Keelin gazed up at him, her eyes were shiny. "Truly?" she asked.

  "I promise."

  A smile trembled on her lips even as she blinked and a few tears freed themselves of her thick dark lashes. He couldn't help himself. He kissed the trail from her cheek. His lips instantly salty, he ran a tongue over them, vaguely wondering what he was doing.

  How was it that he was getting caught up in the very woman he'd vowed to entice in return for his daughter's safety?

  As if she could read his mind, Keelin vowed, "I would do anything to bring Cheryl home to you."

  Her warm breath fluttered against Tyler's face. He couldn't help but believe her.

  Suddenly Keelin noticed the blood dripping from his hand. Eyes wide, she demanded, "What happened?"

  "I just nicked myself on some broken glass."

  "That's more than a nick. Let me."

  She took his wrist and raised his hand so she could see the wound. Over his murmured objections, she pulled him into the kitchen and to the sink where, keeping pressure below the cut, she washed it out with an antiseptic liquid soap and checked it for any stray pieces of broken glass.

  Then she placed his free hand at a pressure point below the cut and ordered, "Keep your hand up, the wound above your heart, and hold that pressure
steady. I'll get my first aid kit."

  Keelin raced upstairs, pulled the soft-sided kit from her leather bag and ran back to the kitchen. She set it on the counter and removed a few items.

  "What's that?" Tyler asked suspiciously.

  "Wicked remedies that will render you powerless."

  Keelin delivered the answer with a straight face and would have been amused at Tyler's uneasy reaction if he weren't hurt. Soaking a swab in witch hazel, she cleaned the cut. Minus the still-oozing blood, it didn't look so bad.

  "Witch hazel helps stop the bleeding," she said, "but keep the hand upright." She opened a small jar. "And pot marigold cream is an antiseptic."

  Smoothing the cream over his wound shouldn't have been a sensual experience. But touching Tyler made Keelin's heart beat a bit faster anyway. She felt his gaze on her and she looked straight into his eyes. Something inside her responded.

  Confused, she turned away and put her potions back in their nest, taking longer than necessary to regain her balance.

  "A small bandage and we're done," she pronounced.

  This time Keelin was careful as to how she touched Tyler when she applied the strip. She avoided anything but the most impersonal of contact.

  "Good as new," Tyler said. "It doesn't even hurt. Much."

  "Remind me to apply more pot marigold cream later."

  "You made these wicked potions yourself?"

  She nodded. "As I did the rest of my herbal first aids."

  "And you carry these everywhere?"

  Thinking he sounded a tad too amused, she raised her eyebrows. "Would a doctor travel without his bag?"

  "Probably not." Seeming embarrassed Tyler moved away and quickly unrolled some paper towels straight into the mess he'd made. "Do you think you can recognize the place in the dream?"

  "The building they're keeping her in?" Keelin thought a moment, but realized Cheryl hadn't focused on anything but the teenagers leering after her. "No."

  Tyler threw the used towels in a waste container and fetched some loose bottles, setting them on the counter. "What about the area she called from?"

  "Perhaps." Images replayed in her mind's eye. "Yes, I think so."