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

by Mary Morgan

  “Remember, a Fae’s emotions are heightened. We are not like the humans. We feel more. We taste more. We desire more. Furthermore, as a Fenian Warrior, you must master and hone these feelings. This will become your greatest challenge. Being around humans can make you weak.”

  Conn looked at his fellow warrior, Aidan Kerrigan. “You’re older than I, so do share how you were able to chain off all emotions.”

  Aidan clasped his hands behind his back. “As your mentor, I cannot tell you how, only that you must. Each warrior is different. We, a select few, are chosen as the keepers between the Veil of Ages. It is an honor to be selected. You are now one of us. To walk the path of a Fenian Warrior, one gives up a great deal—for a greater cause.”

  Conn arched a brow. “I have already given up my heritage.”

  “Do not include giving up heir to the Fae kingdom to the list of grievances, for it sounds like one to me,” he scolded. “Find a way to shield your heart. Strength, courage, loyalty, and honor. Use these words to build a fortification around yourself. Always remember, you are a Fae among the humans.”

  As they continued on the path, Conn glanced at one of the oldest Fenian Warriors. “I will not fail you.”

  Aidan chuckled. “There is no failure within the Brotherhood. Only lessons to be learned. Remember my words when I am gone.”

  “You are leaving?” asked a stunned Conn. “I have only been training for twenty years with you.”

  His mentor clasped a hand on Conn’s shoulder. “Aye. Leaving for Scotland. Glasgow in particular. There is trouble festering, and I have been ordered to investigate. Your training will continue with another.”

  “Return to the Brotherhood soon. You are required here.”

  Aidan shrugged, gazing off into the distance. “There is something—an unease within me. I almost have a sense that I will not be returning quite so soon.” He let out a sigh, and added, “Continue your training, my brother. Our paths will cross once again.”

  Conn shuddered at the long forgotten memory. Aidan Kerrigan, the oldest and most powerful Fenian Warrior—a friend and mentor to many, never did return to the Fae realm. Instead, he renounced his heritage as a Fae warrior. All for the love of a human female. And in doing so, brought down the wrath of his own people.

  “I miss your wisdom, old friend.”

  The flames snapped and Conn glared back. “I will shield my heart from you, Ivy. If I do not, I fear only harm will follow.”

  ****

  Ivy paced back and forth at the entrance to the Celtic Knot. In a few minutes, the doors would be flung open for her uncle’s wake. Her nerves were wound so tight, she found it difficult to breathe. The entire day was spent in preparations and now there was nothing to do but wait. Everything was ready. The food was displayed on a long folding table to the left of the counter. There was a mixture of appetizers, fruit, and breads. Mac had brought over Irish stout, punch, and bottles of Thomas’ favorite single-malt. Again, the man refused to take any money from her. All was in order. Perfect.

  Therein lay the problem. Her mind started to shift to the one man she had pushed aside with the massive workload, and now there was nothing left to do.

  Sleep had eluded Ivy after her evening ride with Conn. She’d never sought the comfort of her bed, instead sitting before the fire and gazing into the flames. What made her become so bold with the man? When he dropped her off at the cottage, his look of remorse was written all over his face. But for the rest of her life, Ivy would treasure the memory of making out with Conn MacRoich under the light of a full moon. A kiss that almost went all the way. Did she feel ashamed? Not for a moment. And this bothered her. Finally blaming it on the heady power of the moon, she’d arisen and greeted the new day earlier than expected.

  “Are you all right?” asked Nan, touching her shoulder.

  Blinking several times, Ivy nodded at the girl. “Yes. I believe it’s time.” Stepping toward the doors, Ivy unlocked them. Opening them wide, she was unprepared for the sight that greeted her.

  Dozens of the villagers were lined up waiting to enter. “Oh, my—welcome. Please do come in out of the cold.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at Nan. “Do we have enough food?”

  The girl’s eyes went wide. “Plenty.”

  As the villagers entered, each greeted Ivy with a nod, kiss, or embraced her in a huge hug. Overwhelmed by the kindness of these strangers, joy infused her spirit to know that they came to honor her uncle. She deemed it a wise decision to open the store in celebration for him.

  Moving along the crowd, Ivy chatted with several of the women. They seemed pleased she was staying and told her to seek them out once she was settled. Seeing Sean walk in, she waved to him as he walked over to the bar area.

  She wandered near two young girls and bent down. “Have you seen the faery lights in the children’s section?”

  They giggled in response. “No,” replied the older girl.

  “Follow me,” ordered Ivy.

  Entering the room, Ivy stood back and gestured them inside. An audible gasp came from both of them.

  “So pretty,” whispered the younger girl.

  “Are you sisters?” asked Ivy leaning against the door jam.

  “Yes. I’m Becky, and this is my younger sister, Mary.”

  Ivy smiled at them. “Pleased to meet you both. Feel free to come anytime.”

  Mary pointed to the corner. “Look. It’s a train.” She glanced at Ivy. “Does it move?”

  Chuckling softly, she replied, “Yes.”

  It was all the encouragement the young girl required and she scampered over to the toy and turned it on.

  “Mary adores train sets over dolls,” chided Becky.

  Ivy shrugged. “Then make sure you show her the books on trains.”

  Soon, other children entered the room, and Ivy silently left them alone. Tonight was one of joy, renewal, and friendships. Making her way to the table, she noticed her uncle’s ashes had been moved to the front near the cash register. A glass of whiskey set next to the urn. But something else was missing. There weren’t any pictures of the man.

  Striding over to the counter, she motioned for Mac to pour her a small amount of whiskey. Turning toward the crowded room, she lifted her glass high and gazed at the people gathered. “Thank you all for coming here this evening. I’m sure my uncle would heartily approve of this celebration of his life, especially having it in his beloved bookstore. Even though I didn’t know the man, in just a short time, I have discovered how well loved he was in Glennamore. I encourage you to share your stories of my uncle with me, for I have none.” Holding her glass toward the urn, she said, “May your days be filled with peace, love, and many books to read. Sláinte!”

  “And a good bottle of whiskey,” add another.

  “Aye!” roared the crowd, their words mixed with laughter.

  Seeing Erin walking toward her with another tray of food, Ivy cleared an area on the table. “Smells divine.”

  Erin placed the tray down. “One of your uncle’s favorites. Mini sausage and cheese stuffed in puff pastry.”

  “I’m salivating,” commented Ivy.

  Reaching for a napkin, Erin plucked one off the tray and handed it to her. “I bet you’ve not eaten anything all day.”

  “Ha! You’re wrong,” scolded Ivy taking the offered morsel. “I had tea and toast.”

  Erin rolled her eyes. “When? At daybreak? Mac mentioned seeing the lights on in here at four a.m.”

  “Nope. Tenish.” Stuffing the food into her mouth, Ivy closed her eyes and moaned.

  “By the sound, I believe you like them?” Erin laughed.

  Opening her eyes, Ivy snatched another one from the tray. “They’re delicious! But I’m afraid I’ll eat them all standing so close to the table.”

  Erin waved her hand dismissively. “Eat. There’s plenty back at the pub.” She peered over Ivy’s shoulder. “Nice crowd. Don’t see your sexy man anywhere. Is he coming?”

  Ivy choked on h
er food as the heat crept up her neck and into her face.

  “Mac, hand me a bottle of stout.”

  Turning away from the woman, Ivy reached for a napkin and wiped her mouth.

  “Here, take a sip,” ordered Erin and placed the beer in her hand.

  Ivy guzzled deeply. “Thanks. Spicy sausages,” she replied weakly.

  Her friend leaned near. “They’re mild. Thomas didn’t like them hot.”

  Ignoring the woman, Ivy was about to take another sip when Conn entered the store.

  “Ahh…speaking of the sexy man,” teased Erin and nudged her.

  Ivy followed his movement as everyone parted when he entered. Most nodded or smiled as he strode to the counter. He took an offered dram from Mac, touched the urn in reverence, and then tossed the drink back.

  Friends. We’re only friends. Stop ogling the man!

  “Are you all right?” Erin touched her arm.

  Snapping her gaze to the woman, Ivy noted the concern on her face. “I’m fine. It’s been a long week.”

  “You should wait to open for a few more days.”

  Ivy smiled. “No. I want to open on Monday.”

  “Well, tomorrow is Sunday, so rest and recharge.”

  Ivy squeezed her hand. “Nothing planned but sleep, reading, and eating.”

  “Good. Have another bite,” she encouraged.

  Waving her off, Ivy immediately sensed Conn’s looming presence next to her. It prickled along her spine as she turned slowly to meet his gaze. “Good evening, Conn,” she uttered softly.

  “Ivy,” he breathed her name in a whiskey-laced murmur.

  His smile disarmed all the barriers she had built overnight. The room was too confining. Ivy needed fresh air. Not waiting for a response, she mumbled an apology and pushed past him. Stumbling down the steps of the store, she almost collided with a man.

  “So sorry,” she apologized.

  He steadied her with his hand. “Precisely the woman I came to see. From my contact’s description, you must be the new owner.”

  “Excuse me?” Ivy tried to free herself from the man’s grasp, but he kept it firmly around her arm. The look he gave her certainly was not one of friendship. Coldness emanated from those dark eyes.

  “Word has traveled that a relative of Thomas has come to stake claim on his land—property that should by rights be mine. I am here to offer you a price you will not want to refuse.”

  Ivy lifted her chin. “Not a claim. An inheritance and I can’t sell the place even if I wanted to. Please release your hold on me.”

  The man’s smile sent a tremor of unease through her. “There are always loopholes, Miss O’Callaghan.”

  She was not going to be intimidated by this stranger. “I will not ask you again to release your grip.”

  He snarled at her and leaned closer. “What is a wee thing like you going to do?”

  “Nothing, because I’ll snap the arm from your shoulder and feed it to the nearby wolves,” growled Conn, stepping into her view.

  Releasing his grip, the man slowly backed away. “Remember the name of Dunstan—Eric Dunstan, Ivy O’Callaghan, and my offer.”

  Ivy watched as the man made his way to his car and rubbed the sore spot on her arm. As soon as he drove off, she spat on the ground. “Insolent man!” She glanced sideways at Conn. “Thank you. I’ll have to ask Sean if he knows the idiot. I think we’ve made our first enemy here in the village.”

  “Enemies can be slain,” Conn stated, keeping his gaze outward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Broken rituals shall cause a Fae to become unbalanced.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Flexing his muscles in the fading light of the day, Conn leaned against a pine tree and waited until Ivy had locked the door on the Celtic Knot. Each day had been the same for the past few weeks—rising before dawn and making sure Ivy’s steps led her safely to the bookstore and back home again. From the moment Dunstan had made himself known to Ivy, he—Conn MacRoich had silently become her protector. He had done so all without her knowledge, since she surely would have berated him.

  Days and nights became a blur—each busy with their own work. Weeks drifted by, and all the repairs to the roof were done. A job Conn had relished, since thatching was something he had done many a time over the centuries. Old pipes had been replaced with new ones, and he fixed the gate leading to her garden. He would never forget the joy on her face when she saw what he had done to the broken down bits of wood. Conn carved a new one from fresh oak, and she almost wept in his arms.

  The moment engraved forever in his memory.

  The lights went dark in the store, and Conn slipped under the heavy branches to wait. Soon, Ivy appeared. However, the lass did not venture onto the path toward the cottage. He let out a hiss as she made her way across the street to the Seven Swans. Tempted to follow the lovely-eyed lass to the pub, Conn stepped forth from the trees. Her hips swayed to a rhythm that called out to him, luring him to go after her.

  His steps stilled, and he raked a hand through his hair. “Not tonight, Ivy O’Callaghan.” He deemed another would most likely see her safely back to the cottage. She did have her share of admirers making this another reason why he should not follow her into the pub. He might be sorely tempted to take a fist to one of them. Especially to Mac O’Reilly.

  Tighten. Release. Breathe. Yet, his hands clenched once more as he turned away from her.

  Making his way to his motorcycle by the garage, Conn started the engine and took off for the main road. Increasing the speed, his mood worsened the farther he went. Would he ever rid himself of this fixation over Ivy?

  Deciding it best not to be on the road, Conn veered in the direction of Sean’s place. Within moments, he came upon the dwelling and brought the motorcycle to the side. Shutting off the engine, he got off and quickly sought the refuge of the home and its owner.

  Warmth enveloped him when he walked into the library. Sean was leaning over some scrolls, a dram of whiskey by his side.

  “Interesting research?” Conn wandered over to the cabinet and removed a glass. Bringing it to the table, he set it next to the bottle.

  Sean kept his focus on the scroll. “Not keeping Ivy Kathleen company this eve?”

  “I’ll step aside for the other followers in her group.”

  The man glanced at the glass. “You’ve returned without even one bottle to replenish the ones you’ve drank?”

  “My next trip into town.”

  “Humph! Don’t expect me to fill your glass. Your hands are not broken.”

  Smiling, Conn did just that and bent over the desk. “O’Callaghan lands?”

  “Aye,” muttered Sean.

  Taking a sip of the whiskey, Conn pointed to the frayed parchment. “I take it Ivy has contacted you about Dunstan.”

  Sean removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can tell you for certain, there are no loopholes to claiming her land.”

  “Yet, here you are studying said lands.”

  Slumping down in his chair, Sean refilled his glass. Rolling the tumbler in his hands, he nodded. “His family has made allegations over the centuries, though it faded over time. Bloody fools, the whole lot of them. They wish to see all the land—from the hills to the coast in their name. Their account is one where an O’Callaghan chieftain took over the lands by killing their kin. It’s an outrageous story. If they did their own lineage, they would conclude that the O’Callaghans have always been on this land.”

  Conn took a seat across from his friend and stretched out his legs. “Why now? Surely Dunstan must comprehend that Ivy is an O’Callaghan and has every right to the ownership.”

  “Cannot say why the man has aspirations of getting his claws on the land. He came into his own inheritance a few months before Ivy Kathleen, so he might be one of those who simply craves the power of owning all the land around here. His father cared only for the next drink and a woman to fill his bed.” He slipped his glasses back on
his face. Pointing to the scroll, he added, “You can see only a stream separates the borders between O’Callaghan and Dunstan’s lands. I’ve heard he hired an attorney, but Dunstan was told there is no validation.”

  “Apparently, the fiend is a lunatic. Or are you concerned there is more to all of this?”

  Sean tossed back his drink. “Yes. I would like to bury this ridiculous claim—one that surfaces every hundred years. It is madness.”

  Standing slowly, Conn walked to the blazing hearth, his blood churned at the memory of seeing Ivy being held against her will. “I seek to banish this notion of his claim, as well. He frightened Ivy with his raving comments.”

  “Sweet Jesus! He threatened her? She never mentioned being scared of Dunstan.”

  Conn gave him a sideways glance. “I fear what he would have done to her, if I had not come forth. I doubt his words frightened her as much as his grip. The wee lass stood her ground as he held her firmly.”

  His friend rubbed his jaw. “I could tell she was upset, but on the phone it’s hard to see one’s face. Bloody bastard!”

  Finishing his drink, Conn walked over to the desk for another. “Why didn’t the man come forth after the death of Thomas? Again, why wait until now?”

  Sean shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “He may have been away on business. Although, I now hear the man never ventures far from his own lands. He owns many horses and tends to them, so I assume this is why he wants her land. On another note, have you been to see Anne Fahey?”

  “No. I am considering taking Ivy with me. The lass continues to ask questions of the villagers.”

  Sighing, Sean shook his head. “So I’ve heard. Do you think it wise to take her out to see Anne?”

  “She deserves to know everything. This is a part of her life.”

  “Her parents had secrets—ones that might be best left buried.”

  “I disagree,” argued Conn. “She already lives in the shadows. To seek out the truth will bring light and closure. And it could aid in my plan for her.”