“No, thanks,” Colleen replied, holding out the map. “You can answer a question for me, though. Where is Carage…Carrige…the place of the gray rock?”
“Oh, yer meaning Carraig Liath.” The pretty brunette gave her an odd smile. “That’s the old name. It’s in County Clare. Right here,” she said, pointing to the Burren National Park on the map with a manicured fingertip.
After the attendant moved up the aisle, Colleen took a pen and circled the Burren on the map. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, trying to recall every detail about the route she and Faolan took in their flight across the county. It wasn’t long before she was fast asleep.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before the attendant was gently shaking her arm. “We’ll be landing in just a moment, Miss,” she informed her. Colleen looked out the window and smiled at the thought of seeing the Emerald Isle again. It won’t be the same this time though, she thought.
She collected her modest suitcase and shouldered her backpack. At the Budget desk Colleen rented the smallest car they had available, a yellow Renault Clio that smelled faintly of floral air freshener. “Just take the N18 north and look for the signs. Can’t miss it,” the helpful clerk assured her when she asked for directions. He even took a highlighter and outlined the roads on the map for her.
When Colleen found her rented car in the large lot, there was a moment of panic when she realized the steering wheel was–in her opinion–on the wrong side of the car. That took some getting used to. So did the manual transmission that made the car lurch and sputter through the parking garage. More mayhem ensued when she pulled out onto the wrong side of the road, causing several cars to slam on brakes, the drivers yelling at her through their open windows.
“Sorry, tourist,” she shouted the apology and after checking the map again began following the busy N18 north. She talked to herself out loud as she drove. “Faolan would be amazed if he could see all this,” she mused. With a heavy sigh, she fumbled a bag of crisps out of her purse and ripped the end with her teeth to open it. So intent upon opening the treat, she almost missed the sign pointing to the exit for the Burren National Park. She pulled off the road again and checked her map.
Taking the westbound road, she slowed down to gaze at the rolling countryside awash in mid afternoon sunlight. Although still lush and green, it looked…different, she thought. It’s lost some of the wildness, the mystery. She followed the gentle bend in the road then narrowly avoided driving into the ditch at the sight before her.
Colleen pulled over and parked the car on the shoulder of the road, mouth agape. It just has to be theirs, she thought. Carefully picking her way across the field to the stone ruins at the foot of the sloping hill, she surveyed all that remained of the O’Minogue’s cottage.
The wall containing of the fireplace was the most intact, the others just piles of rubble. Colleen stepped over the threshold into the large room then wandered into the bedrooms, pausing where the small cradle had been. Tiny splinters of petrified wood lay strewn about amidst the flowers sprouting in the dirt floor. She stepped out through the missing bedroom wall and made her way around to the front. Sure enough, there it was–the large rock Colleen had sat upon while she waited for Faolan to return from the field. She smiled, remembering the two impish children who thought she really was a princess.
Colleen sat back down on the rock, running her hand over the smooth surface. “I was a princess, at least to him,” she said aloud, and closed her eyes. She tilted her face up to the sun and recalled turning to look at him coming up the path, so handsome and alive, his smile wide and his eyes full of his love for her. The tears came again, but she shook them off. “This isn’t getting him back,” she berated herself. “You know what you have to do.” She stood and made her way back to the car, and knowing now that she was on the right road, set off again with renewed purpose.
In less than an hour, Colleen stood at the edge of the stone field in the Burren National Park, drowning in the overwhelming sensations of dejà vu. It was several hours before closing, so she spread out a thin blanket and plopped down on it to wait. She pretended to read the guidebooks while visitors came and went. And she waited.
She nibbled on the nutrition bars she had had the foresight to stuff in her backpack, wrinkling her nose at the metallic taste of the added vitamins. She dug a little deeper in the bag and found a lukewarm bottle of water to wash it down with. And she waited.
At dusk, the tourists wandering the stone field left in a big, noisy bus. Colleen maintained her vigil on the thin blanket. There was a slight chill in the air and she pulled a sweater out of her bag, slipping into the fleecy warmth. She waited until night had fallen and dug around in her bag until she found the tiny pair of folding embroidery scissors buried at the bottom.
She glanced around to make certain she was alone. After a moment’s hesitation, she slashed her palm with the sharp point of the blade. She winced, squeezing her hand to make the blood come out like she had seen Faolan do. She was rewarded with several fat drops of blood. Turning her hand over, she let them drip onto the rocks.
She sat up straight then bowed her head. “I don’t know the magic words to call you, Queen Aoibhell, but I need to talk to you,” she said softly, aware of how her voice would carry in the falling darkness. There was no sound other than the wind whistling though the field. She waited. And waited. And waited some more.
“I really would appreciate a moment of your time, Your Majesty,” she said, determined to keep the quaver out of her voice. “It’s like this–I said it wrong when I made my wish. I wanted for Faolan and I to be together, like a ‘til death do you part kind of thing. He said you had a deal with my ancestor, King Brian Boru, that you would protect us if we ask. Well, I’m asking.”
She pulled the sweater more tightly around her as the chill wind picked up. “Faolan introduced me to you as a daughter of kings. If that’s true, then Faolan would be the father of kings. The royal house of Stewart is his direct bloodline, but I guess you already knew that.”
There was no answer other than the rushing wind. Colleen shuddered when a close rumble of thunder captured her attention. “Please,” she begged in a whisper. “I want him back.” A fat raindrop landed on her face and mingled with the tears that began to flow in earnest. “I need him back. I’m pregnant and this baby needs his father.”
The raindrops began to fall harder, but Colleen didn’t move. When a large crack of lightning overhead lit up the entire field, she grabbed her bag and ran for the car. She flung herself inside and closed the door, shivering from fright, cold and something else…a strange mix of anger, regret, helplessness and resignation. Her last resort having failed and all options exhausted, she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel and sobbed.
Part 4
How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad?
How can I the thought forego,
He’s on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are with him that’s far away.
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are ay with him that’s far away.
–On the Seas and Far Away by Robert Burns
12
“You look fantastic. Stopping fussing with it,” Sandy admonished. Colleen stood in front of her full length mirror, tugging up the bodice of the green gown. To her mortification, the neckline plunged even lower than before due to the increased contents. “You’re going to be wonderful tonight, I just know it.”
“I don’t feel wonderful,” Colleen said weakly. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Why don’t you tuck some gingersnaps in your purse to nibble on later? I’ve heard they work wonders for morning sickness–even if it is late afternoon,” Sandy gr
inned.
Colleen smiled at her friend. “I haven’t told anyone at work yet,” she said. “Boy howdy, are they in for a surprise tonight.” The baggy clothing she had worn for the last month effectively camouflaged her changing body, and no one had noticed her slow weight gain, or if they had, they hadn’t mentioned it. She hadn’t even told Sandy the whole truth and knew her friend was dying to know who the father was.
Sandy frowned. “You know, you haven’t been quite the same since you got back from that whirlwind trip to Europe,” she said casually, “and you know I don’t want to pry–”
“Then don’t,” Colleen snapped then apologized at once. “I’m so sorry. This whole pregnancy thing is so new to me and…I just wish you had gotten to meet…” She felt the tears start again and shook her head furiously. “I can’t cry anymore,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I have to keep looking forward.” She slid a hand over her rounding abdomen. “I’ll be getting an ultrasound next month,” she said, trying to get excited about another solo visit to the OB-GYN.
Waving the need for an apology away, Sandy patted her friend’s arm. “You’re a beautiful expectant mother,” she assured her. She stepped back and appraised her with an admiring eye. “Your hair looks lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it up before.”
Colleen surveyed her reflection in the mirror, giving her hair a self conscious pat. Swept up into a flattering chignon, a few stray tendrils were left loose to frame her face. “I thought it would be pretty with the dress,” she admitted, absently fingering the gold amulet nestled between her breasts.
Valet parking had been provided for the gala awards banquet, and once inside Colleen sought out the familiar faces in her own department. She moved through the crowd of formally dressed people, speaking and nodding to colleagues and their guests. She kept one eye peeled for Marc, intending to stay as far away from him as humanly possible. Focused on that goal, she didn’t notice when a stunning blond woman took a step backward and collided with her. Without a second thought, the two women embraced each other to keep from falling.
“My stars, I’m so clumsy these days,” the blushing woman exclaimed, quite pregnant herself. “I’m very sorry.”
“No, my fault for not looking where I’m going,” Colleen apologized then gave a start when she recognized the very handsome–and very alarmed–man rushing to the woman’s side.
“Lily, sweetheart, are you all right?” he asked. When she gave him an adoring smile and nodded, the man with the long auburn hair from the gift shop sighed with relief. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again with a rueful shake of his head.
Lily laughed. “Ian, I’m not going to break. Just relax. Honestly,” she said to Colleen, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “he worries like an old woman.”
“I heard that,” Ian muttered under his breath.
“I meant for you to,” Lily turned an impish smile to her husband. Her gaze dropped to Colleen’s thickening middle and a big smile lit up her face, but Ian beat her to her conclusion. “It would appear you ladies have much in common. This is the lady from the museum gift shop with the lovely Celtic necklace,” he explained to his wife, nodding at Colleen’s amulet. “Did you ever find out if it had been enchanted by the sidhe?”
With a wistful smile, Colleen said, “I think maybe it was.” Excusing herself from the devoted couple before the tears started again, Colleen continued to move through the crowd. Having given up on finding her group, she decided to find her seat instead and hope they joined her soon. She wandered through the tables, reading the name cards at each place setting and looking forward to sitting down.
“Colleen,” Marc’s strident voice called out. “Glad you could make it.”
She stiffened. She plastered a smile on her face as she turned to see Marc and Brandi standing by their table near the back of the room. Marc looked dashing in his tux, and Brandi–of course–wore an expensive designer gown so tight it had to have been airbrushed on. Colleen decided married life must agree with Brandi. It looked as if she had put on a pound or two since they had last met. Still, Colleen felt pudgy and plain standing next to her. “Your dress is lovely,” Brandi gushed but then frowned, confusion crossing her pretty face. “When did you get yours done?” she whispered, dropping her gaze to Colleen’s voluptuous decolletage. “They look really good.”
“I didn’t–these are real,” Colleen said, a note of amusement creeping into her voice.
Scanning the room for new arrivals Marc missed the exchange by the two women, but when he turned back to Colleen it was his turn to frown as he took a good look at her. “Damn, Colleen, packing on a little weight, aren’t you?” he said in open disapproval.
She made the snap decision to face the music and head it off before the rumor mill got wind of it. “Yes,” she snapped, lifting her chin just a little. Her fingernails made little crescents on her palms. “It’s been known to happen when you’re pregnant. There’s Mrs. Weston, please excuse me.” She waved as she walked away from the open mouthed pair.
Colleen was surprised to find her appetite had found its way back to her. She devoured her dinner of Chicken Kiev and steamed vegetables. Having cleaned her plate, she nibbled on the soft breadsticks until the busboys began clearing the dishes. “Hold up there, sport,” she snapped, snatching a breadbasket from a startled busboy. She felt around the linen napkin. When she didn’t find another hiding within, she handed the basket back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she apologized, “um…I’m just pregnant.”
After dessert–key lime pie which made her go teary all over again–it was time for the presentations to begin. Colleen became more and more aware of her skin tingling, almost electric with the building energy in the room. She bounced her leg nervously under the table, awaiting her turn. When the master of ceremonies announced her, she rose amidst polite applause and made her way to the podium. Unfolding her prepared speech, she began to read into the mounted microphone.
“We had eight nominations for the Award for Excellence in the category of exhibitions this year, all of which were distinguished by their quality and standard of excellence.”
She looked up and smiled, focusing on the huge double doors at the back of the enormous meeting room to conceal her nervousness. Suddenly flushed with heat, she fretted and glanced about the room to see if anyone else…what was that? The slight movement caught her attention as the air at the back of the hall…rippled. She tried to focus on what wasn’t right, but when it didn’t happen again she dismissed it. Imagination. Get a grip.
Colleen lowered her eyes and continued to read. “Each exhibit was an archetype of creativity, ingenuity, and showcased a spirit of true innovation that is exceptionally encouraging…” She glanced to the back again, and again the air…shifted. Torn between what was going on in the back and her speech, she stumbled over the rest of the sentence “…and each showed a consistent cooperation with current scholarship…”
The air crackled with palpable energy and she gave up trying to read the rest of her presentation speech. Offering a shaky smile to the audience, she picked up the sealed envelope. “And the winner of this year’s Award of Excellence for an exhibition goes to…” She tore open the envelope and blinked at the names printed on the cards, wondering how the hell she didn’t consider this as a possibility. The chicken kiev turned over in her suddenly sour stomach. “Curator Carl Austin, Assistant Curators Marc and Brandi Simmons for Islands and Afternoons–A Study in Pointillism.”
Ripple.
There was another round of applause as Marc rose from his table and waved to the attendees. Offering his hand to Brandi as she rose, they made their way toward the raised dais. Carl, a distinguished bespectacled man in his early forties, fell in step behind the pair. Colleen stood rooted to the spot and tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but her mind was racing. What was going on back there?
A tiny voice in the back of her mind answered…feth fiada…but before she could react to
that sudden certain knowledge, a blustering wind blew through the enclosed room, snatching papers and programs up into the swirling air and tossing them around like so much confetti. Many of the guests jumped up from their seats, scrambling to collect them.
Colleen’s gaze remained fixed at the back of the room where a tiny light twinkled. It grew larger and more luminous even she watched. In the pandemonium of flying paper and grasping hands, no one noticed the exquisite female who simply materialized as if she had stepped through a nonexistent door. The strange wind died down as quickly as it had begun and the room calmed. Colleen didn’t even realize she was crying until a tear splashed onto her breast. “You heard me,” she whispered, placing her hand over her heart.
“Of course we heard you,” Marc laughed. With Brandi and Carl in tow he climbed the few steps of the dais, striding to the podium to stand beside Colleen. When she didn’t move or speak, he cleared his throat and in a loud stage whisper said, “Uh…Earth to Colleen.”
There was a smattering of nervous laughter throughout the room, but Colleen took no notice, all of her attention riveted on the faery. With a radiant smile Queen Aoibhell turned toward the large double doors. Her head tilted, listening to something only she could hear.
The audience began to murmur in confusion, and the three award recipients looked askance at each other. Marc tapped Colleen impatiently on the shoulder. “You’re supposed to be presenting my award,” he said. When she still didn’t respond, he encircled her upper arm and gave her a little shake. “I worked hard for this and you’re ruining it…” he whispered again, tightening his grip.
The double doors exploded outward, flung open so hard they hit the opposite walls with a resounding crash. Her heart gave a lurch of recognition and a sobbing cry escaped her lips at the large figure filling the doorway.
Without a word, Faolan strode through the hall amidst a sea of murmurs and whispers. Dressed in a linen shirt and breeches as he had been the first time she saw him, his hair was loose with slender mourning braids hanging at his temples. Before her eyes, the air around him shimmered and in less than the time it took to blink, he was clad in the black Versace tux.
Rogue on the Rollaway Page 24