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

by Mary Morgan

  “It’s the most recent.” Snatching the book from her hands, she flipped to the publication page and pointed. “See, it came out three months ago.” Snapping it shut, she handed it back to the woman.

  “Goodness! I never thought to look inside.” Smiling, Mrs. Thompson gathered her other items and brushed past Erin.

  “Hello,” greeted Ivy, picking up some magazines off a nearby table.

  Erin said nothing as she followed Ivy to the magazine rack. After several moments, Ivy glanced over her shoulder. Her friend stood against one of the bookcases, arms crossed over her chest.

  “As you can see, I’m hale and hearty. I just overslept.” Filing the last magazine, she moved away from the woman.

  But her friend was quicker and stepped in front of her path. “Overslept?” She pinched Ivy.

  “Ouch!” Rubbing her arm, she glowered at the woman. “What?”

  “Don’t you mean you were preoccupied with a tall, sinfully gorgeous hunk of a man? All night long?”

  Images of Conn flashed within Ivy’s mind and her face heated. “Gosh, your brother is horrid. He’s most likely telling the tale to everyone who enters the pub.”

  Erin laughed and linked her arm through hers. “Nope. Only me. He came storming into the pub and straight into the kitchen. The first thing he reached for was the largest knife, cursing the man’s name.”

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide. “Tell me you didn’t let him leave?”

  The woman tugged on her arm. “My brother has a fiery temper, but he would never go after someone in a rage. He is pissed it wasn’t him in your bed. Although, he generally does care about you, even though you won’t date him.”

  “Definitely not like a sister,” she stated flatly.

  “Hell, no! Because then he would certainly take a blade to Conn’s balls. You should see how he treats the men I decide to date. Lately, I’ve been meeting them in the next village. I love my brother dearly, but he can be a pain in the ass and overprotective.”

  Both women burst out laughing.

  Ivy blew out an exasperated sigh. “You should have come and checked on me, not your brother.”

  “I was on the phone. Didn’t have a clue until Mac poked his head into the office and said he was running over to the cottage to check on you. Mentioned several customers were wondering why The Celtic Knot was closed.”

  Ivy peeled herself away from her friend’s grasp. “As you can see, I’m fine. Next time, I’ll set the alarm.”

  “So, was it a lovely evening with the Viking?”

  She was sorely tempted to toss a book at Erin. “Extremely.” Striding to her office, Ivy went and stood by the window.

  “Will there be more lovely evenings?” asked Erin, sinking down in a chair.

  Not prone to discuss her personal life with anyone, Ivy kept silent. She never had close friends and only two boyfriends in her life. Sharing intimate details with someone was something foreign for her. Not even her own mother had known when she had sex for the first time. Ivy had lived a life keeping her own secrets tucked within—safe and secure. Yet, with Conn, she took the first step in peeling back a piece of herself, and a part of her longed for a girlfriend to share confidences, compare notes on life—particularly men.

  “I’m sorry, Ivy. I didn’t mean to pry. Thought maybe you wanted to talk about it.”

  Seeing the forlorn look on Erin’s face, she moved away from the window. Leaning against the desk, Ivy drew in a long breath and released it slowly. “It was the most magical night of my life, Erin. I think I’ve lost my heart to the man.”

  Erin jumped up and clasped Ivy’s hand. “I knew he was meant for you. The stars and the Fae have aligned perfectly for you both.”

  Ivy snorted. “Fae?” Stepping around the desk, she sank down in the chair and opened a drawer. “Ireland is an extremely superstitious country.”

  Arching a brow, Erin pointed a finger at her. “Best be warned, Ivy Kathleen, that your house sits on land approved by the Fae centuries ago.”

  “That was hundreds of years ago. Don’t tell me people actually consult them in the twenty-first century?” Pulling out the monthly journal, Ivy paused.

  “They sure do,” argued Erin.

  Deciding not to debate the subject, Ivy withdrew the ancient keys. Placing them on the desk, she asked, “Do you have any idea what these are for?”

  “Ahh…you found the puzzle Thomas was working on.” Erin drew up a chair and sat down. “He found them in a box buried in the garden a few months before he died. They were deep under a tangle of foxgloves. Told me that he stayed away from the area, since the flowers are special to the Fae—”

  “Good grief,” grumbled Ivy. “Reminds me of the painting.”

  “As I was saying, Thomas decided they were intruding on the herb area. Therefore, as he started pruning the foxgloves, he stubbed his foot on a large stone. When he removed the item, he found the box. He’d only mentioned it to me.” Erin pointed to one of the larger keys. “This was the original key to the cottage.”

  Ivy traced her finger over the cold steel. “Amazing. But how did he know?”

  “He kept the hardware pieces in the garage. Always wanted to re-do the oak door and use them, but he didn’t have the key.” Erin tossed her long braid over her shoulder and leaned across the desk. “Your uncle searched the entire cottage and store hoping to find what they unlocked. Sadly, he never had a chance to ask anyone in the village, and I simply forgot about them. Although, he could have found their purpose and didn’t have a chance to mention anything. We were all very busy the few weeks before his death.”

  Picking them up, Ivy decided to ask Conn about them. He gave the impression as an expert handyman, so he might know what they were used for. Instantly, pain shot through her arm and slammed into her head. White lights flashed before her eyes. Fighting the wave of nausea, Ivy clutched the keys to her chest, spiraling to an unknown place within her vision.

  “Ivy Kathleen?” Her friend’s voice called out to her from far away.

  Standing in the meadow, Ivy could see the three men in a comical conversation. One of them laughed and smacked the other on the shoulder. In the center was another man at an easel, waving his paintbrush at them and demanding they stand still.

  “Ye ken we are waiting for another. Do ye not wish him to be in the painting?” asked the tall, striking man with auburn hair.

  “Aye, of course. Will I be honored by any others?”

  “Nae,” replied the other giant of a man with hair as black as night. “Remember, ’tis only for ye, Bradon. Ye have been chosen to paint us.”

  Bradon nodded. “It does nae matter. No one will believe me. I only wish to capture the light around ye.”

  The man with black hair approached him. “What ye do today, will be remembered. Your name shall be revered by the Fae. Your skill is extraordinary, and you have been chosen.”

  “I thank ye,” stated Bradon and moved back to his easel. “I hope your other friend arrives soon. The light is fading.”

  The dark-haired man rubbed his chin in frustration. “By the hounds, can he never be on time, Liam?”

  “The warrior keeps his own schedule.” Liam snorted and leaned against a tree.

  “Ye ken I had other duties, Aidan Kerrigan,” protested another man strolling forth from the trees.

  “About bloody time you arrived, Conn.”

  Ivy gasped, her hand reaching out to him. As he turned toward her cry, their gazes locked and the vision clouded and receded.

  Numbness and blindness surrounded her. Ivy fought the inky blackness and struggled to return to the voice calling out to her. Desperately fighting the wave of pain, she took in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

  Warm, soothing arms were wrapped around her as Ivy managed to crack open her eyes. Dumping the keys on the desk, she wiped her trembling hands on her skirt.

  “For the love of Brigid, what happened?” demanded Erin, handing Ivy some tissue.

  She w
aved her off. “Thanks, I’m all right.”

  “A vision, then?”

  Goosebumps broke out on Ivy’s arms. “Definitely.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Concern filled her friend’s voice.

  “You’d think me crazy. What do you know about Bradon Finnegan?”

  Erin blinked and stood back. “He was a famous artist, born here in the village. When fame took over, he left. Near his final days, he requested to have his ashes sprinkled near an old oak tree up in the hills. The place was a favorite—one where he painted many landscapes.” She sighed. “The priest was furious when Bradon requested to be cremated and damned his soul to Hell. But the villagers loved him. He used to stay at Castle Lintel. You can see the ruins from the store. Bradon did many paintings of the castle and surrounding landscape.”

  Looking back down at the keys, Ivy frowned. “I saw him painting on a hill, surrounded by trees. Do you think one of these belonged to him?”

  “You don’t know, do you?” Erin shook her head and smiled. “Bradon Finnegan is a cousin to the O’Callaghan clan. Not only was he born in your cottage, but he also lived here briefly. His paintings are stunning. Some are on display at the museum in Dublin.”

  Ivy narrowed her eyes and stood. “Stay here.” Walking out of the office, she made her way to the history section. Retrieving the desired tome, she stormed back into the room. Opening the book, she flipped to the one of the painting by Bradon Finnegan.

  Placing the book on the desk, she pointed to the page. “The man that painted this picture is my ancestor?”

  Erin nodded. “Yes.”

  “Is this painting—Meeting of the Warriors in Dublin?”

  “Wow! I’ve heard of this painting, but have never seen a picture.” Her friend’s shoulders slumped. “Sadly, no one has been able to find it. The item was stolen soon after he died. If it’s ever recovered, the painting could be worth almost a million dollars.”

  She stared at the woman in shock. “You’re kidding, right? I knew he was famous, but why would it be worth so much?”

  “The village council tried to buy one from a collector many years ago. Unfortunately, the price was too steep—a half-million dollars. After the collector died, it went to the museum in Dublin. Bradon Finnegan had a way of capturing the light in his work. Many people believed he was gifted with magic. He filled his landscapes with animals along with men and women from Celtic mythology. His work is sought after by collectors in the art world.”

  Glancing back down at the painting, Ivy’s world was fast becoming a mix of the real and surreal. Conn may resemble a Celtic God, but he’s not…right? Stop! Crazy life you spiraled into when you accepted the invitation to come to Ireland.

  “You know the blond man bears a striking resemblance to Conn.”

  “Must be an ancestor,” mumbled Ivy, closing the book.

  “You’ll have to ask him,” teased Erin, a smile warming her eyes.

  Ivy’s hand trembled over the keys, fearful of more visions. Finally picking them up, she looked at Erin. “More secrets to unlock.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “A well fed garden will not only honor the Fae, but reward your soul.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Dark clouds loomed overhead as Ivy scurried from the Celtic Knot in the lingering twilight. Quickly entering her home, she dumped her purse on the table. Greeting a sleeping Neala curled up in the corner of the sofa, the feline rewarded Ivy with loud purring.

  “Another day filled with surprises, my furry friend. I’ve learned I had a relative who was a famous artist. Imagine that?” After giving her another scratch behind the ears, Ivy made her way into the kitchen.

  Frowning, she gazed out the window. Candlelight spilled forth from the garden area. “Conn,” she whispered on a sigh.

  Uncertainty had filled Ivy as she approached the cottage earlier, fearing Conn had left. She didn’t extend an invitation to stay for dinner. No words were uttered between them about tonight. In fact, she just assumed he would want to stick around, since obviously she wanted him to stay.

  Her hands gripped the counter. “Foolish, girl. You’ve fallen for the man.”

  Trying to steady her rapidly beating heart, Ivy walked out the back and into the garden. The scene was indeed one out of the faery tale books. Beauty in the soft fading light, illuminated by the candles. He must have spent the entire day in the garden cleaning and painting. Fresh flowers were everywhere, along with budding herbs. Even the garden gate had been repaired and painted. Her eyes misted with unshed tears.

  “It’s magical,” she uttered softly.

  Moving forward, she noticed her Celt kneeling on the ground. Again, she heard him speaking in a strange language—words that were soothing, luring her to him. The man wore only his jeans and nothing else. He was in complete harmony with the land, and the air hummed with new energy.

  “How can I ever thank you, Conn?”

  His hands stilled on the ground. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes blazed in the gloaming. “My gift to you deserves no thanks. I wished to heal the land and your heart.”

  Her lip trembled as the tears slipped down her cheeks. I love you Conn MacRoich. Biting her lower lip, Ivy reached out her hand to him.

  He stood slowly, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I tried to recall the placement of everything, though come spring we shall see what happens. Some of the broken shoots, especially the vegetables may strive forth.”

  Ivy linked her fingers within his, warm and strong. His strength filled her. “Yes, but for now, I’ll enjoy the autumn beauty of new growth, though they’re heading for winter, and I fear they may not survive.”

  Conn drew her toward him and lowered his head. His lips sought hers, and she welcomed his touch. It was a kiss that left her body burning for more. When he broke free, he glanced upward. “I’ve said a prayer for their endurance through the harshness of winter’s hand.”

  Ivy leaned against his chest. “You’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met. Even your words reflect the unique quality about you.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss along the knuckles. “Remember, ancient.”

  “That reminds me, I wanted to ask you a question about one of my relatives…and possibly yours.”

  Releasing her hand, Conn started to blow out the candles. “You have me intrigued.”

  “Are you staying for dinner?” she asked, fearing the answer.

  “Yes. And the night.”

  Ivy wanted to jump to the stars with joy. Her skin prickled with anticipation as they both entered the back door to the kitchen. “Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll start the meal.”

  “What’s on the menu?” Conn asked, his eyes roaming over her body.

  She turned away from his intense stare, as if he wanted to feast on her. Pulling out a frying pan, Ivy busied with the preparations. “Hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re one of my favorites.” A sense of guilt plagued her. The man deserved a full meal, not some simple fare.

  His breath was hot against her neck. “Make mine with extra cheese and some dill.”

  She nodded, unable to form any cohesive words. His presence made her a jumbled mess—one where she was finding herself tumbling out of control with Conn.

  As his footsteps receded, Ivy let out a long held breath. Peering out the window, she could see an owl perched in a nearby tree. “Hello, any sage words of wisdom on love?”

  Neala rubbed against her legs, and Ivy almost let out a screech. “For the love of the saints, you could announce yourself.”

  The cat immediately started to purr.

  “Humph! Must try harder my friend.” Ivy shook her head in humor and started making their cheese sandwiches.

  Conn entered as Ivy was setting the table. “Do you want water? Beer? Wine?” She paused. “Wait, no wine, only beer.”

  He moved to the fridge. “Beer will suffice. You?”

  Ivy smiled. “I’ll take
one, too, please.”

  Sitting down at the table, each dove into their meal. The warm, gooey sandwich was one her mom made often for her when she was young, and Ivy never grew tired of the comfort food.

  “A combination of cheeses?” questioned Conn between mouthfuls.

  Wiping her mouth, Ivy nodded. “Mozzarella and gruyere. I like it cheesy. Grabbed the last block of gruyere from the market the other day.”

  “I can’t recall the last time I had one.”

  “You approve? Seriously?”

  “Of course.” He reassured her with a smile. Reaching out, Conn grasped her hand. “Remember, I don’t jest.”

  She held up her half of the sandwich. “I remember the first time my mom made one of these for me. It was after my first vision. I was only four. It frightened me so much I wouldn’t speak. She coaxed me back to the land of normality with a cheese sandwich and cup of cocoa.” Sighing, Ivy placed the food back on her plate. “If I could talk to her this very minute, I would ask her why she didn’t divorce him and move us back to Ireland.”

  Conn squeezed her hand before releasing it. “She must have had her reasons.”

  Clenching her fists, Ivy shook her head in frustration. “It’s not like it was fifty, sixty years ago. We’re talking only a few decades.”

  “You forget. This is Ireland. Divorce is frowned upon, even worse several decades ago.”

  She snorted in disgust. “My mother was not Catholic. Yes, there’s a piece of the religion drilled into me by my stepfather, but my mother shared her belief in the Celtic ways with me. That’s why I don’t understand.”

  “No matter her beliefs, your mother did what she thought best for you.” Conn took a sip of his beer. “Did your mother have any gifts?”

  Ivy frowned in concentration. “Funny you should mention the possibility. I often thought she did, especially when she had that far-off look. However, when I questioned her one time, she flatly denied having any clairvoyant abilities.”

  “A question to ponder another day,” suggested Conn.

  Reaching for her bottle of beer, Ivy peered over the rim at him. “I have a question for you.”