by Mary Morgan
When she saw him approach on his motorcycle, she dashed to retrieve her boots and give Neala one more scratch behind her ears. “Watch over hearth and home, my lady.”
Neala purred loudly, rubbing against Ivy’s hand.
Quickly putting on her boots, she grabbed her purse and hastily made her way to the garage. Ivy halted. Gone were the black jeans. Today, they were blue and a white shirt under the leather jacket. His hair hung in soft waves around his shoulders, instead of being tied back. Why did he make her mouth go dry? She blinked. “Good morning.”
He nodded and smiled. “Good morn, Ivy.” He lifted his hand into the air. “Should I call upon the Gods to clear the rain away?”
Ivy glared at him. “Are you jesting again?”
He walked to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. “I told you, I don’t jest, especially with you.”
“Then, yes. Today I would enjoy sunshine on our trip,” she challenged.
Conn closed his eyes. The air warmed around them, and Ivy became spellbound by the silence that followed. Slowly, he opened his eyes. “Done.” He gestured for her to take her seat inside the car.
Bemused, Ivy complied. Snapping the seatbelt in place, she waited.
Her mysterious Celt entered and secured himself. Starting the engine, he smiled.
“What was wrong with the car?” she asked, determined to bring her focus to a rational conversation.
He patted the dashboard. “It only required a new battery. An easy solution.”
Ivy looked away. “I do hope you’re saving all the receipts. You haven’t shown me any since you started working on the cottage.”
As he maneuvered the vehicle out of the garage and onto the main road, Ivy frowned when he remained quiet. She knew he must have already spent a great deal with the repairs.
“Conn?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “There are none.”
Ivy shook her head disapprovingly. “I will not be indebted to you. I can’t believe—”
“Not a single person would give me a receipt. They informed me that it was their parting gift for Thomas,” he interrupted.
“Seriously? You’re kidding.”
His hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Can you not accept a gift, Ivy? Must you always deem I’m teasing or speaking untruths?”
Shocked by Conn’s tone and formal words, she stared at him. “Is this you losing control?”
His mouth twitched in humor. “I find myself doing so many times around you.”
“Oh…” Ivy quickly averted her gaze when he glanced her way.
“Does this offend you?”
“No,” she blurted out, regretting saying anything. Silence should have been her choice.
His laughter filled the car—warm and sexy, like hot chocolate. Or honey smothered on hot male buns. Your mind is positively wicked, Ivy. Change the subject now!
“When I spoke with Sean last evening, he said Anne Fahey left Glennamore not long after my parents left for the States.”
“Apparently, her attentions toward your uncle were not reciprocated, so she left the village.”
“Hmm…there’s more to this story. Sean was hesitant with his facts. Yet, he did say he would send her an email to alert her we’re coming.”
“Why would you believe there was more?” he asked softly.
Ivy turned her gaze back toward Conn. “Gut instinct.”
“Has it always been thus? Do you rely on your intuition?”
“Yes. But what about you?” Ivy could see a muscle twitch in his jaw. What secrets did this man hide?
“It is in each of us—this ability to sense the truth. Although at times, I have been wrong. My gut,” he glanced sharply at her, “has steered me in an erroneous direction. I have recently faced consequences I’ve made from those rash choices.”
Ivy shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re not perfect, Conn. We’re flawed as humans.”
“Some more than others,” he added with mock severity.
“True,” she uttered softly. Sweeping her gaze outward, she almost shouted in glee. “Your gods heard you. Look at the sun shining over the ocean!”
“Always,” he responded with a smile.
“The view is stunning. I’ve missed the ocean.” She sighed, leaning back against the seat.
“It’s only a few kilometers from your cottage. You could walk there,” suggested Conn.
“I’ve been busy lately,” she replied dryly. “But I plan on getting some walks in when I return.” Ivy cracked open the window and breathed deeply of the salty sea breeze.
“Tell me about your life. Was it a happy one? Were your parents content living in America?”
Ivy snorted. “Only if you share yours.”
“Nothing much to tell.”
She kept her focus on the waves. “Conn MacRoich, I believe you have a lifetime of stories to share.”
Once again, his laughter filled her. “And it would take more than a lifetime to tell you, Ivy O’Callaghan.”
Chapter Sixteen
“If one seeks to open Pandora’s Box, they must possess the strength to close it as well.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Conn sent out a prayer of thanks to the Gods for pushing back the storm clouds and letting the sun burst forth. He would do almost anything to see a smile remain on Ivy’s face for the duration of their journey. The lass had endured too much emotional upheaval from the moment she arrived in Ireland. This latest trauma—her glorious garden, tested his endurance to keep calm. He longed to rip apart the villain. Yes, he deemed there was only one person responsible. The human scent lingered, but he dared not utter a word to Ivy. How could he explain? If only he had all of his powers, Conn would hunt down the person and do what they had done to her heart—when they destroyed her garden.
He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. Stealing a glance at Ivy, her mouth was parted as she stared outward. The ocean had its own healing, soothing properties. Seagulls flew gently past them, and he caught her slight smile. She looked peaceful, and he ached to brush back a strand of hair from her cheek.
Quickly averting his gaze, Conn concentrated on the road. Once again, he rebuilt his shields, doing his best to seal off his emotions from this female. In truth, Conn was finding it extremely difficult to maintain them. Each day, he grew weary of building the walls all over again. Could there be something wrong with him? For a brief moment, he considered reaching out to a Fenian brother. Screw the consequences. I require their wisdom. Yet, he knew none would answer his call.
“Are you all right, Conn?” Ivy inquired softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
Slamming the door on his thoughts, he glanced down at her tiny hand. Her touch soothed the conflict between warrior, Fae, and man. “Processing past deeds,” he replied, pulling off the road and onto a narrow path.
“One of these days you’ll have to share more than clipped sentences with me. Friends do share their troubles, too.”
Friends. He almost spat out the word. Conn wished for more and this bothered him immensely. No matter how he tried to deny his feelings, the desire haunted him day and night.
Seeing the sign to Anne Fahey’s home, he turned onto the lane. Bringing the car to a stop in front of her place, he turned off the engine. “Are you prepared?”
Ivy kept her hands clenched together. “I don’t know if I want to find out. Maybe I shouldn’t delve into my family’s secrets.”
Conn studied her concerned profile. “Remember, they’re now your secrets to keep locked or to set free. Nonetheless, if you don’t ask, you’ll always fret over not finding the answers.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You always say the most profound things. Thank you.” Letting out a sigh, she undid her belt and exited the car.
Conn followed and placed a comforting hand on the small of her back. The simple gesture seemed to calm them both as they climbed the steps to the woman’s house. Ivy stole a glance at him before knockin
g on the door.
They didn’t have to wait long. The door opened to reveal a stunning older woman. Conn guessed her to be no more than fifty, but shadows haunted her eyes. She drew her hand to her chest and tears misted her eyes.
“Sweet Brigid,” she gasped. “Ivy…Ivy Kathleen O’Callaghan?”
Nodding slowly, Ivy smiled. “Yes. And you’re Anne?”
“Sorry, yes. Please do come in.” She moved aside to let them enter.
Ivy gestured toward him. “This is my friend, Conn MacRoich.”
Anne stood transfixed in the small corridor. “You’re the spitting image of your father, Ivy.”
Frowning, Ivy countered, “I never saw the resemblance, but thank you.”
“No. No, you would not,” she mumbled. “I have some tea and sandwiches in the front room.” Not giving them time to respond, Anne made her way down the hall and disappeared into the room.
Conn arched a brow. “Odd.”
“Definitely. I don’t look anything like my father,” she whispered.
He waved her onward and then followed Ivy into the room. The place was small, yet, cozy. A window framed one side of the room, its view of the trees spanned as far as the eye could see.
The woman busied herself with filling teacups and plates with tiny sandwiches, and stealing glances at Ivy. When they were settled, Conn sniffed the tea and hesitantly took a sip. A good glass of whiskey or a pint would have been his desired drink of choice, but tea would suffice.
“Thanks so much for seeing us on short notice, Anne,” commented Ivy, sipping her tea.
Anne smiled weakly. “It came as a surprise when I found out Thomas left you the store. I had no idea he had kept in contact with you.”
“He didn’t,” she corrected. Ivy placed her cup down. “You see, Anne, I never knew anything about my uncle until I received a letter from Sean Casey telling me I had inherited his estate. It came as a complete shock—one that I’m still coming to terms with. Apparently, it was my mother who wrote to him.”
Anne rubbed her brow. “Oh goodness. Very distressful, indeed.”
Ivy stole a glance toward Conn and shrugged.
Ask your questions, Ivy
As if hearing his unspoken thoughts, Ivy asked, “Can you tell me why my parents left Ireland, Anne?” She hesitated, but continued, “I want to know everything. There were too many secrets, and I believe it’s time to find out the truth.”
The woman gave a nervous laugh. “Secrets? Truths?” Standing abruptly, she moved to the window. Rubbing her hands over her arms, she shook her head. “Where do I begin?”
“I’ve always found that it’s best to start at the beginning,” suggested Ivy.
Nodding, Anne kept her gaze on the trees. “I have never spoken of this to anyone, Ivy Kathleen.” She turned and faced them. “Not until this moment. Everyone, except me, is now gone from this world, so there is no harm in telling you. Nevertheless, be forewarned, for what I’m about to tell you will alter everything you’ve been led to believe.”
“I can face anything, especially the truth.”
Anne tilted her head. “Really? You may think otherwise afterwards. Even your opinion of me and your parents could change.”
“Do you not deem it best to unburden your secrets?” asked Conn.
She clicked her tongue. “It no longer matters to me.” Anne pointed a finger at Ivy. “However, it will change her life.”
Ivy stood and pounded a fist against her chest. “I have lived most of my life hiding my own secrets, Anne. Enough!” Walking to the woman, she grasped her hands. “I’m a grown woman of almost thirty, so I think I can finally hear the truth.”
Anne cupped her chin. “Then the truth you shall learn.” Leading Ivy back to her chair, the woman went to a cabinet and pulled forth a bottle of whiskey. Bringing it back to the table, along with three glasses, she poured some in each. “Before I make a toast to the departed, I will start at the beginning.”
Leaning back in her chair, Anne closed her eyes. “We were all so young and foolish years ago. Good friends…good lovers.” She opened her eyes, and Conn witnessed hatred mixed with sadness within them. Lifting her glass, she drained it quickly and set it back down. “Your mother was my dearest friend, Ivy. Nevertheless, all that changed when she fell in love with the man of my dreams—the man I longed to marry one day. Thomas O’Callaghan.”
Ivy gasped. “What are you saying?”
Anne held up her hand to halt Ivy’s words. “Please, hear all of my account first.”
Conn placed a comforting hand on Ivy’s shoulder.
“Continue,” urged Ivy.
“As I was saying, your mother had set her eyes on the man I talked incessantly about for months. Never once did Sara mention she had developed feelings for Thomas. She let me ramble on. I should have known, since she didn’t encourage me to seek him out. Silence was her response to my gushing comments,” she snapped. “Then one evening, I caught them both holding hands and laughing in the park. I was furious. I went and sought out Patrick. For, you see, he was in love with Sara, and I thought—believed she was dating him. All this time, I spilled forth my secret crush to my best friend, only to find out she betrayed me.” She gripped the sides of the chair. “Oh, she claimed they had been secretly dating for six months, since she knew her mother wouldn’t approve. Thought Sara deserved better.” She sneered. “Your mother’s excuse for not telling me was that she didn’t want to hurt my feelings and hoped I would seek out someone else, especially since Thomas would never return my affections.”
Anne leaned forward, wringing her hands. “But she was wrong. Thomas would love me. All I required was a plan. I immediately sought out Patrick. He was livid when I told him. Vowed to beat the crap out of his brother.” She laughed bitterly. “And he kept his vow. Took out his fury on his brother’s face, breaking his nose and several teeth.”
Conn felt Ivy shudder under his touch.
The woman folded her arms over her chest. “In the end, it was I who went to lend comfort. For you see, I had my own plan. I tended to Thomas’s wounds, soothing his own anger with my words, hands, and some drugs that I bought to help him sleep. I know revenge is wrong, but I was desperate to have Thomas as my own.” She sniffed and reached for her napkin, wiping her nose. “I knew word would reach Sara, so I waited until I heard her car approach. As Thomas lay in his bedroom, I stripped my clothing off and tossed on one of his T-shirts over my head. When your mother came bursting into the house, I was the first person she came upon. My hurt was so deep that I concocted a lie involving Thomas and myself, though I elaborated and told her we had been sleeping together for several weeks. Of course she didn’t believe me, but Thomas was incoherent and only wanted to sleep. So when Sara called out to him, he yelled at her to get out, believing it was still me.”
Anne stood and went to her desk. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a picture frame. She ran a finger down the front of the glass. “I loved him dearly. In the end, we both lost Thomas. In spite of that, Sara always had a piece of him with her.”
“But my mother married my father—Patrick,” stated Ivy. “Why would she do so if she was in love with his brother?”
“She had no choice,” responded Anne flatly.
The truth slammed into Conn and his hold on Ivy tightened. “Whose picture are you holding?”
Her lips thinned. “The only man I ever wanted in my life.” She moved slowly across the room to Ivy. Turning the picture around, she added, “Your father.”
“No.” Ivy’s hand shook as her fingers touched the glass. “No,” she uttered with more conviction. Jerking free from Conn’s grasp, she stood.
“That’s not my father. He’s my uncle!”
Conn also stood, though he kept his hands clasped behind his back. “The similarities are there for anyone to see, Ivy—from the eyes, dimple in the cheek, and hair coloring,” he stated softly. “You cannot deny the resemblance.”
She glanced up at Conn, and he could see
the pain reflected in her eyes. “It can’t be… This is shocking news.”
“Your mother was pregnant when she came to the house that evening. Her only recourse was to seek out Patrick.”
Ivy glanced sharply at the woman. “He married her knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child?”
Anne shrugged. “He loved her. Although, I believe, he didn’t know she was carrying a child at the time they got married, which was the following week. Shortly afterwards, she found out the truth—knowing I fabricated the lie and Thomas was innocent.”
“When did he—Patrick find out he wasn’t the father?” demanded Ivy.
“Shortly after your birth. The image of his brother was all over your features.”
Placing the picture on the table, Anne sat down. “Patrick thought it best to leave the village. He had no wish to see Thomas and Sara reunited. He also made sure his brother never saw you before they left.”
Ivy’s faint smile held a touch of sadness. “But he did come to know all about me—my life. My mother made sure to keep him updated.”
“Was Patrick a good father to you?” asked Anne, brushing away a piece of lint off her sweater.
“He provided a roof and put food on my plate, so yes,” responded Ivy bitterly. “In truth, the only love I received was from my mother. At times, I feared the man who I thought was my father.”
Conn could sense the fury mixed with sadness within Ivy. “When did you leave Glennamore?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation to some closure.
She quickly glanced at the photograph and swallowed. “When Thomas said he never wanted to see me again. He found out from a mutual friend what I had done. I could no longer stay in a place where he might choose another to marry.”
Ivy clenched her hands. “He never did marry. Apparently, the only woman he loved left.” She shook her head. “I hope in time I can forgive you, Anne.”
The woman stood to meet Ivy’s hard stare. “I don’t want your forgiveness. I would do it all over again.”
Sighing, Ivy reached for Conn’s hand, and he squeezed her fingers. “Thank you for telling me the truth. At least my mother had a part of Thomas with her always. You were left with bitterness.”