by Dee, Bonnie
“Me, too.” Gabe downed the last of his pop and stretched. “We’ll sleep late, take a picnic lunch tomorrow and then check out the area.”
“Sounds like a winner.” She yawned, then grinned. “Dibs on the bathroom.”
“Fine. Just don’t use up all the hot water.”
They carried their dishes to the sink and Brigid turned to Gabe. “You can go first. Take a nice, long shower.” She smiled wickedly. “Maybe I’ll join you later.”
Gabe snagged her around the waist and cupped her behind, pressing her against his groin. “How about joining me now?” His tongue delved between her lips. “A little welcome home gift?”
He lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, setting her down at the foot of the bed. She stripped off her clothes, tossing them on the chair by the window and waited while Gabe got rid of his clothing, throwing them on top of hers.
Brigid glanced down at his crotch and grinned. “Guess you’re not too tired, huh?”
“Guess not. C’mere, babe. Shall we try out the bed first?”
He watched, transfixed, as Brigid moved over to him and gave him a slight push. He fell backward, drawing her with him. She shifted, straddling his thighs and stroked the underside of his shaft. He shuddered. The touch of her hands on his bare skin never failed to arouse him. She moved down, taking him between her lips and he bucked within her mouth’s moist embrace. She swirled her tongue around his aching penis as she cupped his balls and fondled them. He groaned. If he let her continue, he’d come in her mouth and that wasn’t his plan right now.
He stretched out his hand and gently caressed her silky hair. He took a deep breath and let it out before he could speak. “Enough, babe. Sit up. I want a taste of you, too.”
The golden fall of her hair brushed against his cock as she slid up his body and rested her hands on his shoulders. He drew a taut nipple into his mouth and suckled. She tasted sweeter than the honeyed mead of Ireland and her skin was softer than swan’s down. He cupped her round ass, urging her to shift and take him into her body. He heard the smile in her voice. “Is that an invitation?”
He smacked her lightly on her smooth butt.
She gasped, but managed to respond, still teasing him. “Have I been a naughty girl or do you want me to be one?”
He pinched the nipple not engulfed in his avid mouth.
“Ow! Too hard!” she exclaimed and pulled away from him.
My God, did I hurt her? “Bridge, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Idiot, of course not. Now, be quiet while I get naughty.”
She raised her arms above her head, lifting her breasts like an offering. She sank down on his erection and slowly began to move, rising and falling like waves of music. His hands slipped to her waist and held her as she increased the tempo. Their harsh gasps filled the cottage as they came closer to reaching their climax. Gabe heard that little whimper she made when she was almost there and he urged her on. “Faster. Come with me, darling. Come for me.”
He shouted as his climax struck and his name was wrung from her lips as she attained her own release and collapsed limply on his chest. She sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Forget about the shower. We’ll just lie here until they cart us away.”
Gabe chuckled. “We better move. You don’t want to shock Mrs. Connelly, do you?”
“You’re right.” She rolled off him and touched his cheek. “You go first. Take a nice, long shower.” She paused, turning serious. “I know you’re still having those bad dreams. You look like you could use a good night’s rest.”
“I look that lousy, huh?” He grimaced. “That’s okay. Go ahead, hon. I’ll wait my turn.”
* * * *
Gabe watched as Brigid drifted off to sleep. He rolled his shoulders, trying to unknot them. Even the hot shower he’d taken hadn’t relaxed his tense muscles. Maybe if he explored his memories calmly while he was still awake, the distorted images in his nightmares would stop. He’d tried everything else. He leaned back against the pillows and let his mind drift. He could still remember that day fifteen years ago as if it were yesterday.
When he’d gotten the call from the Keepers of the Environment that he had a special assignment, he hadn’t expected to find a teary-eyed, eleven-year-old girl sitting in the KOTE lawyers’ waiting room. He’d left her curled up in one of the leather armchairs while he’d received his briefing. Brigid’s grandmother, the woman who had raised the orphaned child, had been killed in a car accident. Her death had set off a chain reaction that brought to light a family of Terran Keepers who had gone to ground over one hundred and fifty years ago, and an entire lost group of Irish Keepers. The family journal that found its way to Claire Galliardi spoke cryptically of an Irish woman who had hid from an ancient, nameless evil. The majority of the writing was in a code that still remained unbroken, but that tiny bit of information and the last few words were in plain English—attempt no contact with these Terrans, keep Brigid’s Terran origin hidden from her until her twenty-seventh birthday and then bring her home. The words were treated as a sacred trust and Gabe, as a Protector, had followed those directions. He’d taken her home with him and she thought he was a distant relation. For a while she’d called him uncle.
And then things changed. He’d fallen in love with her.
He couldn’t remember when he’d first realized it. Perhaps it had been when Brigid had turned twenty-one and graduated from college with a degree in English and a teaching job at the private school run by KOTE in New York City. She could have moved out of the three-story brownstone they shared with his housekeeper, Mrs. Doherty. And he waited for her to do so. She had her own apartment on the ground floor and she went out on dates and they took separate vacations. She had her own life, though she never shut him out of it. She had boyfriends and he sensed the day she had her first sexual experience. But he kept his own counsel, expecting her to say she wanted to leave.
And then, one day she confronted him.
“Enough. I’m tired of waiting for you to get past the age differences and tell me what you feel. I love you and I know you love me. Let’s make it official.”
They had and with the full approval of KOTE. It seemed the seer had foreseen their marriage, but didn’t want to force them to wed.
Gabe couldn’t believe it; he still couldn’t believe it. And for the last five years their life together had been incredible.
He sighed. Brigid’s birthday came and went and they remained in New York. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the insistence of Donovan Callahan, he might never have brought Brigid to Ireland. He had yet to tell her who she was. Now he no longer had a choice. Callahan had told him that Brigid’s presence in Ireland was foreseen in the Book of Sorhineth. Though it was unclear why, it was imperative that she arrived in Ireland before May first—Bealtaine.
Gabe shuddered. The dreams had started in February after Brigid’s birthday and they were horrifying. Fire, blood and magic—powerful, evil magic. And scenes of Brigid trapped in a ring of fire and crying out to him to help her, that she didn’t know what to do. And it was Gabe’s fault. He’d done his best to encourage Brigid to develop her physical and creative abilities, but he couldn’t help her with her Terran abilities. He didn’t even know what element she had an affinity with and Brigid knew nothing of magic. In those terrible dreams Brigid had asked him why he’d failed her. Gabe could only watch while blackness darker than night engulfed her. He prayed that it was just his guilty conscience and not an as yet unknown gift of prophecy.
He bent and brushed a silky curl from Brigid’s forehead and steeled his resolve. He wouldn’t let those dreams come true. He’d do anything to keep her safe.
Anything.
* * * *
28th April—Midnight
Gortham leaned against one of the birch trees near the surveillance van. He glanced at the glowing green face of his watch and frowned. Brennan was late. Had the bastard sworn off the booze since his last buy
? Shit! He needed the son of a bitch. Nimhnach had need of him. He took another drag from his cigarette, then crushed the butt beneath his heel. He heard a scuffling noise and smiled.
Good. Brennan was here.
The shambling figure of the Warrior Cave guard came around the van, his flashlight bobbing in his hand. The beam caught Gortham in his eyes and he flinched. “Get the goddamn light out of my face, asshole! It took you long enough to get here.”
Brennan licked his lips. “Sorry, sorry. I fell asleep in the van. I didn’t hear my watch alarm go off.”
“Enough chitchat. Where’s the cash?”
Brennan moved closer to Gortham’s burly figure. He reached into his pocket and drew out the notes with a trembling hand. “Here. Where’s my whiskey?”
Pocketing the money, Gortham handed over the bottle. “Go ahead. Take a swig. You look thirsty.”
Brennan needed little urging and upped the bottle to his mouth, the amber liquid spilling down his chin. “What the hell?” He gasped and gagged and the bottle dropped from his suddenly weak fingers. His eyes bulged, drool trickled from between his lips and he collapsed, grasping his throat. He stumbled into Gortham’s arms, clutching at his shirt as he sagged to the ground, his body twitching.
Gortham watched as the movements finally stopped, then kicked him in the side. Nothing.
Good. Whistling, he knelt and shoved up the sleeves of Brennan’s jacket, revealing hairy wrists. Reaching behind the tree, he drew out a gleaming machete. One stroke, two. Brennan’s hands were severed. He gathered them up and placed them in the plastic lined sack he’d brought with him. Grabbing Brennan under the shoulders, he dragged his body and shoved him beneath the heavy underbrush.
Done.
Nimhnach would be pleased by this night’s work.
* * * *
29th April—Dawn
Torc Flatnose yawned and scratched his backside. He peered closely at a tiny black dot as it crawled along his index finger. He must have fallen asleep on top of an ants nest. Shaking his coarse, woolen tunic, he dislodged several more insects.
He turned his head, surveying the dimly lit interior of their den. Ma’an lay on his back near the mouth of the woven reed hut, snoring so fiercely the very air vibrated. Cull, curled in a ball like a hedgehog, whimpered in his sleep. Torc shifted the branches shielding them from the light of day and looked out. A cloudless blue sky greeted him. With a sigh of resignation he took his war hammer and nudged Cull in the side. “Wake up, my friend, ‘tis another day.”
Cull sprang up, hitting his head on the rough, low ceiling. With an oath, he smacked Torc’s shoulder. “Why do you do that? Each time you rouse me, you startle me and I bash my head.”
“Don’t blame me. You’d think by now you’d know not to jump up like that.”
“Cut the caterwauling.” Ma’an broke in. “What does the day look like?”
“Clear as a babe’s eyes.” Torc shrugged. “As ever.”
The three shared a determined glance.
“Are you ready?” Ma’an asked.
“As ready as I’ve been each time.” Cull spat in the dust, leaving a glistening drop of moisture quickly absorbed by the thirsty earth.
Torc hefted his hammer. “I pray to the gods that this day the spell placed on us shall be lifted and that we put an end to Dagda and any who may deter us from our goal.”
“May your words fall upon the ears of the gods.” Ma’an bowed his head.
They set out with a light step. Perhaps today they would finally be freed from Nimhnach’s enchantment.
That sly bastard. ‘Twas only after they made several fruitless attempts to reach Dagda’s cave that they realized they were bound by some spell. Endlessly, they would seek his hiding place only to fail by the fading light and return to the vacated campsite and their small hut to sleep once more.
They came upon few people and seemed invisible to those they did. The people’s garments changed, as did the language they heard, but they kept apart, dimly aware that time didn’t flow straight. As the days passed, fewer and fewer people crossed their path. In fact, they hadn’t seen anyone for more days than they cared to recall. The loneliness of their existence tore at them. When would it end?
They entered the forest slowly, the mists swirling around their feet.
“Does it not seem thinner to you?” Cull pointed to the wisps lapping at their heels.
“Aye. I believe you’re right.” Torc glanced around. “What think you, Ma’an?”
“I think we must be vigilant. We have been disappointed too many times. Let’s move cautiously and see what transpires.”
Single file, they inched their way through the woods. The mist evaporated the farther they trod. Finally, they reached the point at which they always faltered. The three paused and looked at each other and kept on moving.
* * * *
“Demons!”
“Druids!”
“Magic!”
The trio stared in awe and horror at the scene before them. They had reached Dagda’s cave, but to what end? There, camped before the entrance were strange creatures of both sexes. Short clothing revealed shapely female limbs and firm busts. Unknown objects made of strange, shiny material set upon wheels, formed of what appeared to be leather, were scattered about the encampment. Some of the people wore insect antennas upon their heads and spoke into small amulets attached to their exotic headgear. Instruments of magic were placed throughout the camp, performing who knew what kind of sorcery.
“Ma’an, what manner of creatures are these? Be they druids, demons?” Though Cull tried, he couldn’t keep his voice from trembling.
“I don’t know. I do know we must observe this strange scene carefully.”
“I like it not that they feel so secure they post no guards.” Torc caressed the handle of his war hammer.
“They may have other safeguards in place that are not visible to us, Torc.”
Ma’an took a deep, fortifying breath and stiffened his spine. They had gone through many trials together and they would get through this one. He slapped Cull and Torc on their backs with forced confidence. “Come, friends, let’s explore the area some more.”
* * * *
“Then ‘tis agreed. Cull, you shall try your skill with words to gain some understanding of what they plan. Torc, protect Cull. I shall maintain watch. If you hear a wood warbler call twice, return immediately to our meeting place. May the gods go with us.”
The three moved as silently as the flies flitting in the woods. Cull and Torc crept closer to the perimeter. Torc motioned Cull toward a strange, large, wheeled object parked some distance away from the main activity. One of the men from the camp opened its narrow end and climbed inside, shutting a door behind him. Torc noticed a small square cut out from one side of the box with light emanating from within it.
“Creep closer and look into this thing. Perhaps you can see what the man does in it.”
Cull nodded and, bending low, sneaked below the little window. Strange sounds could be heard coming from inside, but the opening was set too high. Turning, he saw a tree’s low, hanging branch and swiftly clambered onto it. Stretching out as far as he dared, he peered into the brightly lit interior. Covering all sides were more magical contraptions with colorful lights that flickered and danced. He gazed past the shoulder of the man who had entered and watched as he placed the insect headgear on and fiddled with short sticks and pebbles fitted into the flat surfaces of the magic tools.
A small box with a shiny side sat before the man. Suddenly, the inside of Dagda’s cave appeared in it, lit up by magical sun catchers and much reduced in size. Tiny creatures rushed to and fro around the bodies of twelve men. Cull’s hold on the tree limb slipped as fear overwhelmed him. He tumbled to the ground, his breath knocked out, and found himself staring at a pair of feet encased in strange footwear.
“Are you in one piece?”
“Aye, but I’m not sure if he is.” He pointed toward the feet sticking o
ut from the bush and Torc dragged the body from under it. “By Lugh’s balls, he has no hands!”
“By the teats of the Morrigan, what have you done now, Torc?” Both men jumped, startled by Ma’an’s voice as he moved into the small clearing. “He’s dead, I presume.”
Torc hung his head. Somehow Ma’an could always make him feel like an untried warrior. “Aye. ‘Twas not my fault, Ma’an. We found him this way.”
“’Tis no matter now. Strip him. His attire should be of some use for us. And take up all his possessions. Carefully! Then conceal him again. We have no time to bury him.”
Within minutes, a bloody, naked body lay hidden beneath the forest debris.
“Now, back to camp to examine our booty,” Ma’an whispered. “And try not to kill anyone else, Torc.”
As silently as they came, they slipped back into the shadowed forest realm, their fears still unallayed and their goal still not reached.
* * * *
29th April—Noon
Ethan Clark knelt next to the corpse lying at the one o’clock position. He was careful not to touch the body’s leathered skin, although his examination gloves prevented any of his skin’s oils from clinging to the mummy’s aged surface. That was the first mystery about this site. Conditions were not right for this type of preservation. And the nudity of the bodies was highly unusual for their ritualistic burial. He glanced up at the carvings incised in the cave wall. Arranged in a circle, it took no great thinker to figure out that the ogham-like lines gave the names of the men placed so carefully in a sacred circle. Each body lay on its side, the knees slightly bent, the hair neatly arranged over the shoulders. They were healthy looking specimens for their time, somewhere between 2000 and 1000 B.C.E. They seemed ready to spring up with spear or club in their hand. And that was the damnedest thing of all.
They had no hands. Not a one of them. Twelve pairs of hands neatly severed with one stroke. It shouldn’t even have been possible, not with the type of weapons available back then. And no sign of a struggle of any kind. There should have been. Twelve strong, healthy men don’t just lie down and calmly wait to have their hands cut off while they bleed to death. Even if they had been sleeping, someone should have woken up and heard the sounds of men screaming as their hands were struck from their wrists.