Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors Book 1)

by Mary Morgan

  Making their way down to the water’s edge, Conn removed his boots and knelt on one knee. The Great Dragon had already whispered her greeting when the first brush of power touched his mind. Lifting his head, he watched as Jamie transformed from boy to Dragon Knight in a flash. The fire blazed in the depths of his eyes more powerful than any he had ever encountered—more so than the MacKay Dragon Knights.

  “Do you come here often, Jamie?” he asked, standing slowly.

  “Aye, Fae Prince,” the lad responded in a low voice—ancient and full of wisdom.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Conn moved forward and stepped to the water’s edge. The cool water was soothing. “So she has shared my heritage with you.”

  “And your sister’s,” he added. “Two shall weave the thread upon the loom and one shall break the other.”

  Stunned, Conn glanced over his shoulder at him. “Are you speaking with the Great Dragon? Does your knowledge come from her?”

  Jamie stood gazing outward. “Nae. There are many. The others that have gone before her.”

  “The many?” he whispered. Uneasiness slithered inside of Conn.

  The boy nodded slowly. “The timekeepers.”

  “Dragons of the past,” stated Conn and glanced upward into the early evening sky.

  “Aye, and they have issued ye a warning. Only follow the path of the stars to the beginning. If ye stray, they will come for ye.”

  Conn placed a fist over his heart in reverence. “I understand, ancient ones.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Beware the shimmering eyes of a Celt.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  “Lovely summer rain,” Ivy groaned. Pulling the hood of her jacket over her head, she felt brave enough to cross the street without fear of any visions threatening to spill forth. After her last vision several days ago, she would only venture to the bookstore by the back entry. It took all her courage to walk through the woods to the market yesterday and back home. She did not want to witness her uncle’s death again within her mind.

  Quickly darting across the street, she glanced up at the wooden pub sign and smiled. Pushing open the door, she stepped into the warmth and heavenly aroma of food. Glancing around, she noticed more carved paintings like the ones she’d seen in the building where Sean Casey worked. She instantly recognized the legend they were telling. None other than the Children of Lir.

  Moving her way to the bar, she placed the clean casserole dish she was returning to Erin on the counter and removed her jacket. Shouting erupted at the other end of the pub where four men were gathered around a dartboard—each boasting that they were the winner. Ivy turned her head to get a better look at the men. The older ones were making barbs at the younger man, as he shrugged.

  “Ye had the board rigged, right lad?” demanded a stout balding man.

  “Now, Seamus, you wound me. Accusing me of malicious practices in my own bar,” protested the young man.

  The other men snorted and made crude remarks, as the accused held up his hands. “I am deeply offended.”

  “Ye can make it up to us by letting us have drinks on the house,” suggested the man called Seamus.

  Ivy hopped onto a nearby stool to watch the lively debate.

  “I’ve already given you a free round, Seamus. For the love of Mary—”

  “Do not bring our Lord’s mother into this debate,” argued the elderly man.

  “What’s happening?” asked Erin, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of soup bowls.

  “It would seem someone has been accused of cheating so that free drinks can be had for all.”

  Erin snorted and leaned close. “It’s a weekly occurrence with those three. They come in daily, drink and get a bite to eat. Afterwards, it’s a game of darts. But for reasons I have yet to determine, they pick one day a week to inform my brother that he’s done something to the gaming board.” She waved her hand about. “From tampering with the darts themselves or slamming a door to sway the board on the wall.”

  Ivy gave her a sharp glance. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. And what’s worse, is my brother turns a blind eye. Feigns this ignorance and in the end, he’s buying them a round of pints.” She pointed a finger at the man. “It’s a good thing I love him, or I would fire him immediately.”

  Smiling at the group of men, Ivy muttered, “Positively wicked of them.”

  Erin nodded her head in agreement. “Aye, the whole lot of them, including my wee brother.”

  “He doesn’t look small to me.” The words flew out of Ivy’s mouth.

  Erin burst out laughing.

  A hushed silence ensued as all male eyes turned toward them.

  The younger man arched a brow at Erin and then slowly gazed at Ivy. Retreating from the group, he made his way toward her. Leaning against the bar, his eyes never left Ivy’s, when he asked, “Is this our new neighbor, Erin? You never mentioned how pretty she is.”

  Ivy almost choked on his remark. Instead, she thrust out her hand. “Yes, I’m Ivy O’Callaghan.”

  “Ivy Kathleen,” he corrected. Stepping forward, he took her hand and placed it on his chest. “You’ve stolen my heart already.”

  “I have no problem returning it to you,” she countered, trying to free her hand from the devilishly handsome man. His green eyes raked over her face, as he leaned closer.

  “Oh for the love of angels, Mac! Stop trying to charm her, or she’ll never step foot inside the pub again,” complained Erin and moved away to serve the soup to a nearby table.

  Ivy stole a glance at Erin and then back to the man. “Now that we made our introductions, Mac, do you think I can have my hand back?”

  His smile turned predatory as he lifted her fingers to his lips. “Welcome to Glennamore.”

  She fought the smile forming on her face as he released her hand. She turned toward Erin. “I have a question about the name of your pub.”

  Mac stepped in front of her. “Perhaps it’s a question only I can answer.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes. “Why Seven Swans for the pub?”

  “Go on, Brother. Explain away,” shouted Erin over her shoulder.

  The man shrugged. “For the Irish tale of Lir’s Children.”

  Ivy tapped a finger against her lips. “If I recall the legend, there were only four, not seven children. Do you have a certain insight to the tale?”

  Erin returned and stood next to her. “Even the pretty American knows the tale.”

  Mac rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven sounded better than four.”

  “I never agreed on the name,” she argued, looking at Ivy.

  He pointed a finger at his sister. “You forget I won the coin toss, so it was final.”

  His sister rolled her eyes and walked away.

  “Is it really you? Our own Ivy Kathleen.” The man called Seamus barreled up to her, embracing her in a big hug.

  Surprised by the man’s outburst, she replied, “Um…yes, it is.”

  Soon, others came forth, all greeting her with hugs and words of endearment. They all were extremely grateful she had returned to Glennamore to run the bookstore and take over the property. Before she knew it, someone had placed a pint in front of her. Gazing up over the crowd, she noticed Mac leaning against the post behind the bar. She lifted her pint, and he winked at her.

  Several hours later, Ivy finally begged off telling another story about her life by saying she had to return to the house. They relented only if she would return tomorrow. And she had agreed.

  The pub had filled as soon as they found out she was there. Trying hard to remember their names, Ivy gave up after being introduced to far too many to count. For reasons she found difficult to comprehend, she was being treated like a long lost celebrity. Each person asked the same questions, and she patiently answered them all.

  Scooting off the barstool, Ivy looked around for her coat, which had disappeared.

  “Leaving us so soon?” Erin smiled and tossed a towel behind the bar.<
br />
  “Good grief,” she uttered quietly. “I’ve never talked so much at once in all my life. Have you seen my coat?”

  The woman put an arm around her shoulders moving her away from the bar area. “A bit overwhelming, but they mean well. Yes, it’s hanging on a hook by the front door.”

  Ivy shook her head. “Sorry, I’m sounding disrespectful. Everyone’s been so nice.”

  “It’s a shock, so I understand.” Erin released her hold and stood back. “When are you planning on opening the bookstore?”

  “Next Monday. I wanted to be available for the workers.”

  Frowning, she asked, “You haven’t heard from Norm or Tim?”

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, to both. They can’t take care of the Aga, roof, or the other repairs. They’re too busy, so they’ve offered to send for someone from the neighboring village. Norm said he would also see if Sean knew of any other help.”

  Mac walked over, carrying Ivy’s coat. “I can take a look at the Aga.”

  Erin snatched the coat from him. “Absolutely not! I’m not running the pub by myself, while you attempt to fix her precious Aga.”

  Mac ran a hand through his hair. “Shameful, you telling Ivy Kathleen that I’m not good enough to lend a hand.”

  She jabbed a finger at her brother’s chest. “I can see clearly where you’d like to lend that hand, dear brother.”

  Putting a fist to her mouth to stifle the laughter, Ivy turned when the front door to the pub blew open. The cold blast of air lashed across her face, but she gave no care. Her mouth became dry as the man stood there blocking what little light remained in the sky. His silver-blond wavy hair whipped around his chiseled face shaded by a light beard. Yet, it was those eyes that bore into hers—holding her captive. Were they silver or ice blue? She blinked several times, and swallowed.

  The giant stepped into the pub and closed the door. Ivy’s gaze traveled the length of him as he made his way past her to the bar. She couldn’t help but follow him with her eyes. He was sinfully dressed in all black—jeans, boots, leather jacket opened to reveal a black tee. He was magnificent.

  “Sweet Brigid,” whispered Erin. “Have the Vikings invaded Glennamore again?”

  The woman’s words snapped Ivy out of her lustful trance. She looked at her friend. “Vikings in Glennamore?”

  Mac placed her coat over her shoulders and chuckled. “Do not fear, they were banished many centuries ago. I’ll go see what the Viking wants. I’m sure he’s only passing through and needs a pint and some food. There’s nothing in Glennamore to raid.”

  The room blurred, and Ivy brushed a hand over her brow. “Not a Viking,” she uttered softly.

  Erin placed a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Ivy lifted her head. The gorgeous man leaned against the bar as Mac made his way to him. “I said he’s not a Viking.”

  Erin smirked. “You could have fooled me.”

  The man straightened as Mac pointed a finger directly in Ivy’s direction.

  Ivy was unable to move, the words tumbled free as if spoken by someone else. “He’s an ancient Celt.”

  The stranger immediately glanced her way, shock registering across his face as if he had heard her spoken words.

  “Good Lord, you’re as white as a sheet, Ivy Kathleen.”

  She barely heard Erin’s words. The Celt moved toward her, a frown marring his handsome features. A tremor slithered down her spine as she lifted her head up to meet his gaze.

  “Ivy O’Callaghan?” The soft burr of his voice brushed over her face, and she couldn’t determine if it was Irish or Scottish.

  Her mouth stayed dry, making her unable to acknowledge the man’s question. Nodding slowly, she took a step back. Then the Celt smiled, and Ivy thought she would melt right there on the floor. How could anyone look that gorgeous?

  Erin nudged her. “Forgive my friend, Ivy Kathleen, she seems to have lost her voice.”

  Recovering her wits, Ivy replied, “Sorry. I’m done telling stories about my life in the States.”

  The Celt arched a brow. “Not interested in your stories. Sean Casey sent me to inspect your repairs.”

  “You know Sean?” interrupted Erin.

  Smiling, the man nodded. “Most of his life. I’m Conn MacRoich.”

  Ivy frowned. Scottish?

  Conn glanced at her as if hearing her thoughts. “I don’t want to interrupt your meal, so I’ll return tomorrow.”

  “No, I’m…done. Yes…well…you can come back later.” You can’t even talk to the man without stumbling over your words.

  “She was just about to leave when you blew in here,” stated Erin.

  “Good. I’d like to take some notes of what I’ll need,” replied Conn.

  Grabbing Ivy’s arm, Erin propelled her out the front door. “Take the sexy Viking and show him what needs to be fixed,” she whispered.

  Ivy’s face burned. “He’s not sexy,” she fibbed.

  “’Tis a sin to lie.” Erin gave her a pat on the arm and brushed past Conn.

  Ivy grunted. She didn’t need to look behind her to see if Conn was following. The man oozed a presence of raw masculinity. Ivy could feel it ripple across her own senses. Quickly making her way across the street, she led him down the path to her cottage. The cool breeze helped to settle her silly nerves. You’re acting like some besotted idiot, Ivy!

  Dashing to the front, she pulled out her keys and entered the place. “I’d like to have the Aga working,” she said, pointing to the stove as she walked into the kitchen. “There’s an issue with the faucet in the bathroom sink, plus the roof needs thatching and several windows require new glass panes.” She kept rattling off the list of repairs, not even bothering to see if he was keeping up with her. “Oh, there is one more item, but I don’t know how good you are with cars. It won’t start. I hope it isn’t costly, but no worries, since it’s on the low end of priorities that need fixing.”

  “I can assure you, I can handle any task you ask of me,” he responded in a low voice.

  She turned abruptly. He stood mere inches from her, invading her space and making her head spin. Tilting her head upward, she marveled at the color of his eyes. “I believe you can,” she whispered.

  “Name the first item you want repaired,” he said with a smile.

  She lifted her hand and pointed. “The Aga.”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you make me a list of the order of repairs, and when I return tomorrow, I’ll start on the Aga and proceed from there.”

  “Deal.” Thrusting out her hand, she added, “Thank you.”

  The man held her gaze as he took her hand in his large one. The touch seared a path up her arm and spread throughout her body. For a brief moment, the room faded and she found herself gazing across an open field at him. Breathing deeply, the room came back into focus.

  Releasing her grip, she pulled away and made her way to the front door. Stepping outside, she waited until he followed. Locking the door, she turned to him. “If you—”

  “I’ll be here at seven a.m.,” he announced.

  “Good, an early riser.” What the heck was that vision all about? You almost swooned in front of the man.

  His eyes flashed in humor. “Always.” Giving her a slight bow, Conn strode off down the path.

  Ivy placed her palms over her cheeks to cool the burning fire. Never in all her life did she behave so foolishly in front of a man. Although, she believed this man was no ordinary individual. Waiting until he was gone from her view, she walked toward the bookstore, trying to figure out Conn MacRoich. There was something peculiar about him. Her gift of sight had shown her something and several times, he responded as if he had read her thoughts.

  “Impossible,” she muttered. She picked up a twig and tossed it far, releasing the tension in her body. She pursed her lips in concentration. “I wonder what your ancestors looked like in a kilt.” Letting out a giggle, her steps slowed.

  “I shall be on guard against yo
u, Conn MacRoich. I will not fall prey to those mysterious eyes again.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Egos of Men and Fae have been known to start wars.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Stepping once again inside the Seven Swans Pub, Conn surveyed the surroundings. There were customers at the bar chatting with the man he’d noticed with Ivy when he first entered the establishment. Seeing a booth in the far back, he made his way to the table. Removing his jacket, he dropped down against the soft cushions and sighed. Stretching out his legs, he glanced at the menu. In truth, he simply wanted to drink his meal away.

  His senses were still reeling from the encounter with Miss Ivy O’Callaghan.

  She may have whispered the words, ancient Celt, but they echoed loud within his mind. No one had referred to him as a Celt. No, they always assumed he was of Norse blood, or a damn Viking, intent on pillaging their town. The moment their gazes locked, he thought her to be the most adorable sprite he’d ever seen. Her short, wispy blonde hair only highlighted her vivid aqua-colored eyes, reminding him of the ocean on a calm day. Although Conn never cared for the current fashions, he found himself staring at her form of dress—her tartan mini skirt and tight sweater made his mouth dry. In addition, the boots she wore only accentuated her shapely long legs.

  Tossing the menu aside, he rubbed vigorously at his eyes. “She’s only a woman. A human,” he muttered. By the hounds, he should have requested a visit to the Pleasure Gardens before he left for the human world. There he would have found release with one of his own.

  “Having a difficult time deciding what you’ll be eating?” asked the woman who now stood before him.

  Opening his eyes, he placed his hands on the table. “I’ll take a pint of your best Irish stout and the Vegetarian Shepherd’s Pie.”

  The woman placed a coaster on the table. “Do you have a place to stay while you’re doing the repairs on Ivy’s place?”

  He arched a brow and leaned back. “Yes. I’m staying with Sean Casey.”

  “Good. I’m Erin O’Reilly, part owner of the Seven Swans. Let me go fetch your pint and put in your food order.”

  As she walked away, Conn tried calming his restless spirit. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the solitude, but now, he would dearly welcome the counsel of a fellow warrior.