by Anne Manning
"If I tell you, you'll just write it up for your paper."
Annabelle felt her brow furrow. "Why would you think that?"
"You're a journalist. What you're going to be seeing is, well, news."
"What am I going to see?" She half-turned in the seat so she could really look at him. "I promise, I won't write about this." She made the motion over her chest. "Cross my heart."
"Okay. We're going to make a frontal assault on Finnvarra's hall."
That sounded dangerous.
"There's no other way?"
"Not that I've thought of. Maybe you've a better idea?" he cut her a glance, humor in his eyes.
"How can you think this is funny? My sister is being held prisoner by those people."
"I'm sorry. You're right, of course." He sobered immediately. "I'm going to need your help. But I'm afraid you're not going to like the requirements."
"Requirements?"
"Well, the best I've come up with is this. You and I go into Finnvarra's hall, me as Lucas's advocate, you in disguise." He glanced at her. Annabelle imagined she saw embarrassment in his eyes. "Once inside, I'll distract the assembly, while you get Erin out."
"That sounds okay to me. They wouldn't hurt us or anything, would they?"
"Ach, no." His quick reassuring smile faded and his brow furrowed. "Well, maybe not. Probably not."
"Gaelen."
"The most they'd do is strike you blind."
"What?"
"Or they could turn you into something. A swan. A fish maybe?"
"You're kidding."
"Wish I were."
"Well, as long as I don't end up as a frog."
"Please, Annabelle, at least give us credit for having some style." He was grinning again and Annabelle had no alternative but to join him. "That's better. Everything goes better with a little humor."
"So, how will I be disguised?" she asked, certain he had something perfectly humorous planned.
Gaelen averted his eyes, staring straight up the highway. "Maybe we'd better leave an explanation of that until we get back to Killis."
Annabelle waited a moment, sure he'd have more to add, but when he didn't, she asked, "Why wait, Gaelen? How horrible can it be?"
She saw his eyes cut to her, then back to the road, though his head didn't even twitch.
"Just wait," he said, patting her hand. "It's bad luck to talk about a plan before it's time to spring it."
"I never heard of that superstition."
"I just made it up," he admitted.
Immediately her defenses sprung up. What could be so bad that he couldn't even tell her? What was the worst it could be? Maybe he'd want her to walk in naked or something?
The thought made her laugh softly as Gaelen brought the Mercedes to a stop in front of Mrs. O'Hara's Bed and Breakfast.
"We're going back in here?" she asked, the hairs on her neck stirring.
"Sure. Why not?" Gaelen came around and opened her door, offering his hand in a study of chivalry. "If you're worried about Linette, don't. She'll be long gone from here. I'll wager Mrs. O'Hara won't even know us."
"There's a real Mrs. O'Hara?"
"Oh, sure 'n there is. Linette just put her in a closet or something and took over her form for a bit." He linked her arm with his and strolled up the steps to the dark door. When he knocked, an old woman peered out the window through pure white lace curtains.
The woman opened the door and smiled. "I'm sorry, folk, but I'm full up tonight."
Gaelen leaned forward and whispered, "Yes, Mrs. O'Hara, we're the folk in the front bedroom."
The woman studied them for a second before she slapped her palm to her comfortable bosom. "Lands, sir, and wouldn't I be knowing you. Please," she said, stepping aside, "come in, come in."
Annabelle studied the new Mrs. O'Hara closely. Mrs. O'Hara didn't stare back, but did cut a glance or two to Annabelle.
"Is everything all right, Missus?" Mrs. O'Hara asked.
"Oh," Annabelle stammered, embarrassed to be caught staring. "Yes, I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara. You remind me of someone I knew, that's all."
"Well, I hope the reminder is a good one. Now, will you both be takin' supper with me?"
"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara, we'd been thinking of going out for a pint and some music and dancin'. Would you like to accompany us?" Gaelen asked with a smile no woman could refuse.
Mrs. O'Hara waved his words away with a cackle. "Ach, and gi on wi' ya. Such a one you have here, my dear," she said to Annabelle. "No, you young folk go and have a grand time. The closest public house is O'Looney's, no more than a small walk away."
Thanking their hostess for the recommendation, Gaelen and Annabelle went to their room and freshened up, one at a time in the bathroom across the hall. Then they walked hand-in-hand down the narrow cobbled street to the corner where O'Looney's was lit up and spilling the sound of song and dance out the door and windows. The pub was packed, but almost magically a small table for two appeared near the window.
"Did you do that?" she whispered as they made their way to it.
"Do what?" he asked as he held out a chair for her. "Oh, this? Sure, we'd never have gotten a table before ten, and we have to be up early tomorrow mornin'." He pushed in the chair for her and leaned over, kissing her on the temple. "Got to play the lovin' newlyweds, no? What will you have, love?"
Love sounded good.
She shook the sudden erotic vision back into the mists of her mind.
"I don't know. A beer, I guess."
"Beer! Gads, no. A pint of good Irish ale for you, my girl."
"I don't have to drink it warm, do I?"
"For certain you do. 'Tis the only decent way to drink ale."
He left her to go to the bar to order their drinks. She watched him mingle with the men, welcomed as though he'd lived among them his whole life.
It only hit her then that she knew very little of his life. Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him. Not only what had happened, but what he dreamed of.
"Omigosh," she yanked her head around, away from the sight of him by the bar. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.
She was in love with Gaelen Riley. She was in love with a fairy.
It would be funny if there weren't such terrible consequences. Like not being able to be together.
Not that he'd shown any sign of succumbing to her feminine charms. Far from it, he'd been able to control himself well.
Annabelle caught her reflection in the window. Objectively now, she told herself. Really look. And for the first time in a long time--probably ever--she really studied herself.
Her eyes were large, the deep brown of her father. Her hair was a warm brown, unaided so far by chemicals. She was neither too fat nor too thin, and proud of her size ten figure. She'd never thought of herself that way, but she suddenly realized she was pretty--in a plain sort of way.
So why did men have no problem at all staying away? Did she put out some kind of warning vibe? Beware the she-devil. Keep hands and feet and anything else that sticks out away!
Gaelen chose that moment to return with two mugs of ale.
"Here we are, dearling. I took the opportunity to order us some food."
"What are we having?" she asked.
"Here you are, lady," a waiter in a plaid vest set a steaming bowl before her, then one for Gaelen. With a flourish, he placed a big bowl of hot, crusty bread in the middle of the small table. "Anything else, sir?"
"No, not right now. This is splendid."
"Indeed it is, sir," the waiter smiled, "the best stew in all Ireland. If you're needin' anything else, just holler if you can be heard over this din."
Annabelle hadn't realized how hungry she was and dug into the rich, creamy gravy full of sweet carrots and peas and potatoes and chunks of tender and flavorful meat.
"Good?"
"Um-umm," she replied, her mouth full.
Gaelen broke off a hunk of the bread and handed it to her, then took s
ome for himself. "Nothing like real Irish lamb stew."
"This is lamb?" Annabelle asked, setting her spoon back down in the bowl.
"Aye. And you love it. So eat, and stop thinking about Lamb Chop." He filled his mouth with stew. "Think of it this way. Lamb Chop wasn't a lamb at all. She was a large gym sock stuffed with other gym socks. I guarantee she'd never have tasted like this."
"You're right," Annabelle agreed and returned to enjoying her meal.
They ate as they had spent so much time lately, in silence. That is, they didn't say anything, but the pub around them was full of laughter and song.
When he'd scraped the last of the stew from his bowl with a hunk of warm bread, Gaelen sighed mightily and pulled his chair around the table, closer to the wall. He leaned back, his pint in his hand, his smile just a shadow on his kissable lips.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing. Everything." He sipped his ale. "It's been a long time since I was here."
"In Ireland?" Annabelle had a feeling there was more.
"Yes. But not just Ireland. Here." He tapped his temple. "Where I am. Do you know," he asked, sitting up and resting his forearms on the table, "I've got fifteen graduate-level papers waiting on my desk I've not even looked at? And an unfinished article for a professional publication? And three dissertations I'm supposed to be evaluatin'? And here I sit." He laughed. "Last week, I'd be sweating like a junkie to be this far away from my work."
"There's nothing wrong with working hard or enjoying your work."
"No." He frowned. "I suppose the only thing wrong is using work to hide what you are from yourself. That's what I've been doing."
Annabelle thought about that. Had she been doing the same thing? Hiding what she was from herself? But what exactly was she hiding? She couldn't say she knew.
"Now, Lucas," Gaelen said, waving his pint at nothing in particular. "There's a boy who still knows who he is. Leads with his heart all the time."
Lucas's name reminded Annabelle with a jolt just why she was sitting here with Gaelen Riley in a pub in Ireland. Her anxiety for Erin swamped her in one big wave, along with guilt for enjoying herself while her little sister was being held prisoner.
"What's wrong, darlin'?"
Gaelen's softly asked question made Annabelle jerk her gaze up from the last remnants of her meal. How could he tell so quickly her worry had returned? His eyes crinkled with a sympathetic smile.
"Worrying about Erin, are you? I'm sorry." He took her hand in his. His warmth flowed into her. "I wanted to help you forget your troubles for a bit."
"Thank you," she replied, enjoying the intimate play of his fingers over hers. "This all seems so unreal somehow, like I'm dreaming. Like I'll wake up in my own bed, and none of it will have happened."
"Oh, don't wish that." He leaned closer. "If our siblings hadn't acted so precipitously, I would never have found you." Never releasing her gaze, Gaelen raised her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. His kiss lasted a long moment.
Her breathing stopped. "Gaelen…"
He pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. No more sad face now." Turning toward the bar, he waved his empty mug. "Jocko! Could you get us another two of these?" To Annabelle, he said, "Let's dance."
"To this?" she asked. "How does one dance to this?"
"What's the deal, darlin', never seen Riverdance?"
"Yes, but--"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the floor, to the applause of the crowd. The fiddler struck up a tune, one sounding like Ireland, though how she could have told that, she couldn't say. She'd never heard the tune before, but it had such a wonderful beat, and everyone clapped and laughed and sang along the words she could barely understand--something about a bridge and meeting girls there--she just followed Gaelen's steps as he pulled her around the floor, jumping and nearly flying in a definite pattern, but not one Annabelle could ever follow.
"Ah!" she finally gasped. "Stop!"
Never letting go of her hand, Gaelen turned toward her, his eyes shining in pleasure and freedom and fun.
"Tired already?" His own breathing was heavy.
"Yes. I give." She laughed and tried to drag him back to their table when the music slowed. Instead of an Irish aire, the band now squeaked out a slow, bluesy tune, quite fit for--
"Here, now," Gaelen whispered, pulling her into the circle of his arms. "That's more like it."
Annabelle allowed her arms to rise, to find a comfortable resting place on his broad shoulders. He snuggled her against him, wrapping her as though he were a sweater. She absorbed his heat, his scent. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she dared allow her starved imagination to wonder what lay beneath his cotton shirt. Was it as good as her dream vision of his naked body?
"You feel so good," he said, nuzzling her hair. "And you smell good. Like a rain-splashed summer day."
When had she ever felt like this? Protected and, maybe, even wanted?
He stopped leading her in a slow circle. Feeling his unspoken words, she raised her eyes to meet his, even as afraid as she was to let him see what lived in her own.
The din of the pub faded, drowned by the pounding of her blood. Like waves, one after another, crashing in her ears. Her eyes lay in the trap of his gaze, unwilling, unable to break free. Suddenly, there were so many things she wanted to tell him. But she had no breath to carry the words.
He studied her, as though marking every feature. What was he thinking to be so intent?
His mouth came closer, lips invitingly parted. Her own responded. Their single real kiss flashed through her mind, making her smile at the memory. Then a bolt of heat arced through her as she remembered how his lips had felt against hers.
Her dreams flooded right behind, making her body hotter.
His arms closed around her, pulling her even tighter against him. When his mouth captured hers, she fell completely under his spell again.
"Well done, lad!"
"Bets on who comes up first for air?"
"He's a big lad, but I'll take the lady for endurance."
The voices echoed through the fog blanketing her mind, but she had no trouble ignoring them. Then raucous applause had her and Gaelen breaking apart, as though each had set the other on fire.
He glared around, but his irritation vanished in an instant, so fast she didn't know if she'd actually seen it. He flipped on his charming switch.
"Thank you, lads and ladies," he said, with an ironic bow, shooing Annabelle toward their table where two pints waited, foamy heads drooping. "Jocko, let's have a round for the house."
His call roused applause of another kind, thankfully taking the attention off the two of them. Gaelen sat with unnecessary force on the chair at the table.
"No more for me," Annabelle started.
"Nonsense. Nobody has just one pint."
Seemed like nobody had just two either. Gaelen kept the pints coming.
And coming.
Chapter Twenty
"Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah!" Annabelle sang at the top of her lungs.
"Shhh," Gaelen whispered, trying to keep a straight face.
"Too-rah, loo-rah-lie!"
"Annabelle, the constable--"
"Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah!" She gulped a huge breath. Gaelen closed his eyes in dread. Instead of belting à la Merman, she placed her finger against his lips. "Hush now, don't you cry," she sang in a whisper.
"Hush now," he sang along, trying to get her to take the hint.
"Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah! Too-rah, loo-rah-lie!" She raised her arms, her voice boldly going where Joe Feeney had never gone before. "Too-rah, loo-rah, loo-rah! It's an I-Irish luh--"
Gasp.
"--luh--"
Gasp.
Gaelen grimaced for the big finish.
"--bye!"
Her arms wide, she twirled.
"Uh-oh." Gaelen stepped in and caught her, mid-twirl.
She giggled. "Wanna hear another Irish song?"
He smothe
red a laugh. "Let's go to our room, and you can sing me to sleep. How does that sound?"
She nuzzled his neck, sending his whole body into shock. "Maybe we'll do something better than sing, hmmm?" Her arms circled his neck and she frowned. "Kiss me again, Gaelen. It was too short. It's always too short when you kiss me."
He had to agree with that. Her lips, full and ripe, lured him to his--and her--ruin.
"You know we can't," he said, pulling her arms from around his neck. "Come on, darlin'. I'll put you to bed." He put his arm around her, guiding her to Mrs. O'Hara's house.
"Why can't we?" She stumbled alongside him, nearly sending the both of them facedown into the muddy street.
"You know why," he whispered. "Let's not talk about this until we get upstairs. See, here we are."
He pushed open the front door and sent Annabelle across the threshold. There was no sign of their hostess. A fire burned on the hearth, the only light except for a small lamp on the table by the window.
"Come on, now." He guided Annabelle to the stairs and helped her--pushed her, really--up to the second floor. When he'd closed the door behind him, Annabelle attacked.
Well, she didn't actually attack. Only in a figurative sense. Her palms settled against the back of his neck and pulled him to her. She sealed his mouth shut with her own, taking what she'd asked him for.
His first inclination was to stop this. She was drunk. She didn't know what she was doing.
The first taste killed his good intentions. After all, if the girl yearned to be kissed, who was he to deny her? He enfolded her in his arms, meaning only to kiss her as thoroughly as he'd been wanting for so, so long.
Heaven. Sweet and spicy and luscious. He fell headfirst, allowing her to fill every sense.
Idiot. What do you think you're doing?
The law. The Council. His brother. Her sister.
Gaelen grabbed her arms and pried her loose. In releasing himself, he shoved her away and she fell on the bed.
A pained silence flooded the room.
"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment. "I thought…"
Her broken sentence and the hurt in her eyes felt like a blade between his ribs. No, it was worse than that. It was more like he'd slipped a blade between her ribs.