by Mary Morgan
Sean snarled. “You now have to deal with a thorn called Dunstan, as well.”
Taking a sip of the amber liquid, Conn tried to calm the fury rising within him again. “If you come across anything, let me know. Ivy does not need to be troubled. I will keep a watchful eye on Eric Dunstan.”
Arching a brow, Sean put down his glass. “Are you now her protector? Or is there something more?”
“No,” he lied. “My path with Ivy is far too important for this kind of distraction with Dunstan. Furthermore, I have no wish to see the lass upset. She is settling in well in her new home.”
The man continued to stare at him in silence. How could Conn possibly explain to his friend this fascination with Ivy? It was an overwhelming desire to protect and claim her. What he required was a conversation with one of his Fenian brothers. Draining his glass, he set it on the table. “I shall leave you to your research. Do inform me if you come upon any further information.”
Striding out of the room, Conn could hear his friend chuckling softly.
****
Greeting the new day in silence and meditation among the trees, Conn absorbed the energy of the land as he knelt. Lifting his head, his gaze traveled upward through the branches, wet from the early morning rain shower. Light shimmered off their limbs as the sun rose slowly into the sky. Peaceful, calm, cleansing—an entire night spent outdoors. When sleep eluded him, he concluded he had become soft around a certain woman. Therefore, he left the comforts of his bed and sought out the training of the land.
The warrior stood.
Shutting off his emotions, he sealed all thoughts pertaining to Ivy, except those necessary to safeguard. No longer would he fall under her spell. He was a Fenian Warrior. Not a human. Lustful feelings could be controlled—eliminated. They were not for him.
Breathing deeply, Conn walked out of the woods, ready to assist his charge.
An hour later, he pulled around the back of Ivy’s cottage. Getting off his motorcycle, he decided to look at Thomas’s car. If his plans included taking Ivy to see Anne Fahey, they required a vehicle other than his bike for the journey. Furthermore, she needed something for her own personal use, and Conn hoped it was something easily fixed.
His hand stilled on the garage door. Soft cries came from the back of the cottage. Frowning, he quickly made his way to the weeping person. Conn froze, mind and body numb. The sight before him ripped him apart. Ivy was on her knees rocking back and forth.
Rushing to her side, he could see instantly what had caused her grief and tears. The beautiful garden—one filled with flowers, vegetables, and herbs had been torn to shreds, including the garden gate he had built. Glancing in every direction, the place held a savage destruction he couldn’t fathom. “Ivy,” he said in a strangled voice.
She lifted her head, tears streaming down her face. In her arms were her cherished roses—petals strewn everywhere. “Why?” Her voice choked on the simple question.
Seeing Ivy in torment, Conn’s shields—his defenses dissolved, the warrior slumped down next to her.
Ivy glanced down at her hands clutching the petals. “They destroyed everything, even the beautiful roses in the front. And I only recently scattered my uncle’s ashes beyond the garden. It’s horrible.”
Stunned, Conn muttered a curse. Why had he not noticed the flowers were gone when he drove up to her place? Had he shielded himself off from all, including the land? Guilt plagued him for leaving Ivy alone last night. This was his fault.
“Cruel, mean—an insult to the land,” she sobbed, flinging the petals outward.
When he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, she flung herself into his arms. “I am sorry, Ivy.” His hand caressed her back, murmuring words as ancient as the land they sat upon. Cradling her quaking body, Conn let her pour out her sorrow in his arms.
When clouds gathered once more, and the rain threatened to spill down on them, Conn lifted her into his arms and walked into the cottage. Taking her to the couch by the hearth, he placed her down. Reaching for a blanket off the back, he draped it over her shoulders.
Kneeling in front of her, he wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “What can I do for you?”
Ivy hiccupped. “A cup of strong tea, please?”
He smiled and reached for her hands, placing a kiss along her knuckles. “Done.”
Stepping into the kitchen, Conn’s hands trembled. Fisting his hands on his hips, he could only think of one person who would have the balls to rip apart her garden. Dunstan. But why? He tossed the idea aside, for it made no sense.
He filled and put the kettle on, and then reached for a cup. Within moments, the water heated and he prepared her tea. Stepping back into the room, he noted her face held sorrow.
Handing her the cup, he asked, “Do you need a wee nip of something stronger?”
She rewarded him with a small smile. “Thanks, but whiskey won’t help ease the pain.” She took a sip of her tea, and added, “However, I might need a bottle later this evening.”
“I will gladly purchase the finest for you, too.” Conn sat down beside her. “Did you not hear anything during the night?”
Frowning, she held the cup against her chest. “No. Usually, I keep the bedroom window open a crack for fresh air, but by the time I returned home, I was exhausted and climbed into bed.”
Conn nodded toward the cat ambling their way. “What about the lady of the keep?”
Ivy chuckled softly. “Ahh…said lady has a name.”
He arched a brow. “Do tell.”
The cat jumped onto the back of the couch and perched herself behind Ivy’s shoulders.
“Neala. It’s Irish for—”
“Champion,” he interrupted.
“So the Celt knows the Gaelic?” Smiling, she sipped more of her tea.
“Among other languages. I commend your choice of name for the feline.”
Ivy glanced behind her. “Thanks. And to answer your question, she was snug under the blankets all night, so she didn’t hear anything either.” She turned her gaze back to Conn. “Why would anyone do this? Do you realize how old that garden is? My shock has turned into anger, because the damage that was done cannot be replaced.”
“Nevertheless, the harm can be replaced with new seeds. The land can be healed, Ivy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? Sometimes the words you speak are incredible.”
“Remember, one who is ancient,” he teased.
Her lip twitched in humor. “Now you’re making fun of my words.”
Instantly, Conn drew her free hand into his. “I don’t jest.”
Ivy’s lips parted, and her tongue darted out, tempting Conn to taste. “Can you tell me something?” she asked softly.
His heart raced as he traced a path within her palm. “What do you wish to know?”
Placing the cup on the table, Ivy scooted closer to him. “When you were holding me in the garden, what language were you speaking?”
Conn swallowed, feeling the breath of her words against his face. “Why?”
She grasped his other hand. “Ever since I heard you speaking those words that day you were working on the Aga, I longed to find out.”
He was compelled to tell Ivy, tired of hiding in his own shadows. If he was going to bring her out of her darkness, he had to step forth from his own. “An ancient language, older than the Celts. From a race who invaded Ireland thousands of years ago.”
Conn could see the conflict within her eyes when she spoke. “My mother taught me all about the history of Ireland, so what race are you speaking of?”
“Tuatha De Danann,” he uttered softly.
“The Shining Ones?”
“Yes.”
“You do know that they’re revered here in Ireland? The Fae?”
“Of course,” he intoned evenly.
Silence followed for several moments. Neala proceeded to clean herself, as if bored by the entire conversation.
Ivy bit her lip and cupped h
is chin. The contact seared a path across his face. Leaning forward, she brushed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for bringing light and humor to me, my friend. Perhaps one day you will share the truth.” Moving off the couch, she folded up the blanket. “I’m off to open the bookstore. I’ll worry about cleaning up the garden later.” Taking her teacup, Conn watched her saunter into the kitchen with Neala following her mistress.
Smiling slowly, Conn stood.
The first seed of hope had been planted. Now, he would wait for the first leaf of knowledge to appear.
Chapter Fifteen
“Celt or Fae? A question often asked by the elders.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
“Faerytale mush,” muttered Ivy, opening a box of books. “Impossible. Ludicrous. Does the man make up stories as he goes along?” Checking off the items from her list on her clipboard, she continued her rant. “Do I look like a fool, Conn MacRoich? The Fae language was never written down. Some would say that the race never existed.” Her voice continued to rise as she spoke.
Removing the books, Ivy placed them on the worktable. “I believe the next time I see you I’ll ask you to spell out some of those fabricated words.”
She tossed the empty box onto the floor. “You say you don’t jest, but isn’t that what you were doing earlier this morning? Ha! I’ll find out the truth.”
Pausing, her face heated. “Do I really want to know the truth about you? Perhaps you’re from another time and place and will disappear when all the work is done.”
When she called him a friend earlier, Ivy almost gagged on the word. Yes, the man had become a friend, but she ached for so much more. She refused to throw herself at Conn, since it was her rash decision to remain only friends. Although, when he approached her in the garden, Ivy knew her hero had arrived. He brought the golden light, along with his strength and comfort. “I’m just having a crush on my Celtic fantasy. You’ll leave like they all do in my dreams.”
“Who are you speaking to, Ivy?” Nan’s eyes were wide as she glanced around the workroom.
Ivy waved her off. “Don’t worry. No ghosts in here, only the ramblings of a frustrated bookstore owner. And thanks for coming in early. I didn’t want to be alone in here.”
The girl moved inside the room. “You should be at home, Ivy. I can manage the store.”
“I’m fine. Really. My grief has taken on the stage of anger.” Ivy gathered some of the books into her arms.
“It was horrible what they did to your place.” Nan retrieved the rest of the books and followed Ivy out of the room.
“You’ve got that right, but we don’t know if it was a random act of violence by one or others.” Ivy walked over to the history section and began placing the books on the shelf.
“Did you call the Garda?”
“Police? Yes. They’ll be out later this afternoon.” Turning around, she retrieved the books from Nan and started to arrange them neatly in their place. “Though, I don’t think they’ll find anything. It’s a complete mess. I just want to clean it up, and soon.”
“Thomas loved the garden,” the girl replied sadly.
Ivy leaned against the bookcase. “Tell me what he liked about it the most.”
Nan closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a smile lit her face. “He called them his friends. Loved seeing the growth burst forth with new foliage in the spring. Thomas had a true green thumb.” Her eyes glowed with delight. “Do you know what his secret was to getting them to grow, especially his vegetables?” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“You must share,” urged Ivy. “Remember, I’m an O’Callaghan.”
The girl laughed. Looking around, she leaned closer, and Ivy was drawn in by the secret she was going to confess. “He would talk to them—once in the morn and again in the evening.”
Ivy shook her head and smiled. “That’s no secret to me, Nan. I’ve been speaking to plants my entire life. My mother taught me everything about nature. You should have seen the looks people have given me over the years when they’ve come upon me speaking to a flower, or greeting a tree.”
Nan clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter.
Ivy peeled her hand away. “It’s all right to burst out in glee inside the store. It’s not a library.”
“Oh, Ivy. I’m happy you’ve decided to stay in Glennamore.” The girl surprised her by embracing her in a hug.
Sighing, Ivy whispered, “I am, too.”
The bell at the front signaled an incoming customer. Both looked around the bookcase. “It’s Mrs. Fraser. I’ll go see if I can help her with anything,” stated Nan.
“She loves paranormal romance, right?”
Nan rolled her eyes. “Definitely. Hey, you’re good. Only a month here and you already know their likes.”
Ivy winked. “I have a marvelous staff to help me.”
Nan placed a hand over her heart. “Thanks.”
Stepping out of the history section, Ivy meandered over to the mythology section of the store. The shelves were filled with Celtic legends, Gods and Goddesses, tales of heroes, battles, and their deeds. Her fingers trailed along the spines until she came upon the history of Ireland. More specifically, the different invasions. Pulling out the large tome, she wandered over to a back chair and opened the book. Skipping to the contents, one chapter caught her gaze. The one on the Tuatha De Danann. Flipping to the chapter, she read the opening line.
The Tuatha De Danann, the people of the Goddess Danu, were one of the great ancient tribes of Ireland. They were also known as the Shining Ones, or the Fae. According to a significant manuscript, The Annals of the Four Masters, it states that they ruled Ireland from 1897 B.C. to 1700 B.C. Although, many believe they dwelled within the land thousands of years before the first recorded evidence was documented.
Over time, the race vanished. Many believe they descended within the hills, streams, and mountains of Ireland.
“Fascinating,” whispered Ivy. “But this is nothing new.”
She settled back in the chair and spent the next hour poring through the book. There was no mention of a written language, only a footnote comparing it to a complex melody of words. Flipping to the back section of the chapter, she let out a gasp. An image of the Fae, painted by the renowned artist, Bradon Finnegan in 1460 was a look she had seen often on someone. There were three men in the picture—each standing near the hill of Tara and gazing outward. Yet, it was the man standing off to the side that captivated Ivy. Hair as silver as the moon and eyes that flashed with the brilliance of many crystals. His stance spoke volumes—power and wisdom. Ivy brushed a hand over the picture. The painting was titled, Meeting of the Warriors.
“Conn?” The resemblance was uncanny. Goosebumps prickled across her skin.
She quickly turned the page, only to find out there were no more. “No,” she uttered with conviction and slammed the book closed. But one name remained in her mind. Who was this Bradon Finnegan?
Shelving the book, she checked on the store and found Nan chatting with several customers. Ivy wandered over to the art section. Scanning the shelves, she pulled out one on Irish painters. When she opened the book, her senses began to tingle. Not bothering to look up, she asked, “Has the Garda arrived?”
“Yes. I gave them an account, but they wish to speak with you.”
“Thanks, Conn.” She turned to face the man. Yep. Not only a Celt but also a Fae? Nah, only Irish superstition. She waved to get Nan’s attention. “I have to speak to those visitors.”
Nan nodded and gave her a knowing smile.
Conn kept pace with her as she headed out the door and down the steps. “Are you following me?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
Ivy slanted a sharp glance at him. “I’m intrigued. Anything to do with the garden?”
Pausing, he grabbed her elbow. “It has to do with your parents. Sean believes there is someone outside the village that could help yo
u understand the rift between your uncle and parents. I thought we could take a ride to visit this person.”
Ivy gaped at the man in confusion. “Excuse me, but why would Sean speak to you about my family?”
Releasing his grip on her, he replied, “Because I asked him. Did you not say we were friends?”
I’m beginning to hate that word. “Yes.” She jabbed a finger into his rock solid chest. “But friends ask before poking around the sensitive subjects of others. You could have asked me first. It’s been frustrating from the moment I found out everyone in this village knew so much about me and my life in the States.”
His gentle laughter rippled through the air. “True. Am I forgiven?”
Ivy bit her lip to hide the mirth. By the saints, the man was sinfully gorgeous when he smiled. She turned away from his stare and walked toward the cottage. “It will have to wait until tomorrow.” Ivy halted, recalling the recent weather report. “Rain is expected for the next several days.”
“Not to worry, I have fixed your uncle’s car,” he shouted over his shoulder as he made his way ahead of her.
“Conn MacRoich, you’re a miracle worker. Or blessed by the Fae.” She stifled the laughter and quickly made her way to the waiting police officer.
****
A soft rain greeted Ivy as she glanced out the front window waiting for Conn. All arrangements had been made at the store. Nan and Roger’s shifts would overlap for coverage—both thrilled that she was taking some time off. Furthermore, Ivy assured them there would be a hearty meal at the end of their shift at the Seven Swans. Erin had insisted when she found out Ivy’s plans, though Mac frowned when he heard Conn was escorting her to Kindale. Apparently, he had misgivings about the Viking, as he consistently and arguably called Conn.
“At least there will be distance between us on our journey.” She gazed outward. Her face heated recalling the image of Conn without his shirt that night under a full moon weeks ago. She touched her lips, his touch invading her dreams and consuming her thoughts. “Friend or lover, Ivy? What do you want?”
She wasn’t ready to answer her own question. Not yet.