An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two (18 page)

The man was chivalry personified.

But he made no move to kiss her. He held her hand as they walked from place to place. He even held her hand as they drove across the country and back again. He rubbed distracting circles with his thumb, tracing the sensitive parts of her hand, making her hum with pleasure.

But still, he didn’t kiss her.

Maybe, she thought more than once, and more than a bit ruefully, she had been a little
too
successful in her speech, back when they first arrived.

As spring slowly turned toward summer, Emma had seen more of Ireland than she had ever hoped to in her lifetime. Every new place was more beautiful than the last, and she was hard-pressed to think of going back to the States.

Ever.

• • •

“I vow to you, he insisted,” Aidan said, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes.

“I still feel strange living in Reilly’s house while he’s not here,” Emma replied. “We’ve been here for five weeks, and he’s been gone almost all of them.”

Aidan glanced out the back window of Ry’s kitchen, his eyes again scanning the tree line for any sight of his cousin. Reilly had departed a few days after they’d arrived in Dublin, headed back to take care of an issue with Brianagh’s eldest daughter, Claire. Before he left, Reilly warned Aidan that he might be a long time in returning. Aidan understood; sometimes Reilly would be gone for a few hours, and other times, weeks.

This time, though, Aidan didn’t begrudge the man and his abilities. He hadn’t any pressing desire to return to the Middle Ages, not when he finally had a reason to stay in the present.

That reason was currently listing all the reasons why she felt guilty about her current situation.

“Emma,” he finally said, holding a hand up. “Relax. You have no deadlines, no bosses demanding your energy. Just you, and me, and wherever you want to go.”
As long as we keep a low profile
, he silently added,
and draw no attention to us, you’re safe.

She blew out a breath, puffing strands of her hair outward. “You keep saying that.”

“And you keep ignoring it.”

She smiled then, and Aidan felt his heart constrict. Had any other woman of his acquaintance ever moved him in such ways? Her laugh, which was frequent now that she had managed to distance herself from her New York life, was the sweetest sound his ears had ever heard. And her face had softened as the worry lines and tension left her.

If he’d thought her beautiful before, now, as she settled into Ireland, she was absolutely radiant.

“We’ve discussed this to death. You are on a much-deserved holiday. A sabbatical, if you will. Colin’s in agreement; he wants you fresh-faced and excited, not drawn and dispassionate.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re wrong.”

“And you’re stunning. Finish your breakfast, love, as we’re headed to a special place today.”

Her eyes brightened, and his chest grew even tighter. The wonder in those violet depths stirred something in his soul, and though he’d been holding himself back for weeks, his heart was very nearly lost to Emma.

If only she felt the same way.

But she had made her intentions clear. They worked together—or would, once Aidan determined she was safe enough from MacDermott to do so—and that was enough for her to put the brakes on their relationship.

He promised himself he wouldn’t touch her again until she asked for it. Begging would be ideal, but he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t think Emma begged for anything.

And though he tried, he couldn’t help but hold her hand. It was a simple pleasure, one he refused to deny himself. She didn’t pull away, nor did she seem averse to it, so he continued to hold it, embracing the little bolt of electricity each time they made contact.

Never before had a lass so undone him with a look, or a laugh, or—the saints preserve him—a happy sigh.

“So where are we going? And are we taking the Mercedes?”

He chuckled. Her love of that automobile had been obvious from the moment she slid into it. “Aye, we can take that beast. I’d like to show you my home.”

“You mean the place you’re renovating?”

He nodded, clearing their dishes from the table.

“Reilly told me it has a thatched roof, like this one.”

“That it does.”

“And that it’s bigger than this house, although I think this is charming.” She looked around her and smiled. “Though it be small, ’tis mighty.”

He laughed. “You’re sounding more Irish every day.”

She flushed. “I can’t take credit for that one. I read it somewhere.”

Aidan glanced out the window, and his gazed locked on the lone figure loping across the garden, a sword resting against his shoulder and his boots strapped with knives. A movement further out caught his eye, and he squinted at the second person in the distance, who melted back into the trees almost as suddenly as he had appeared.

“Change in plans,” he murmured. Louder, he said to Emma, “Would you mind checking the car for my jacket while I finish up in here?”

“Sure.” She headed out the front door, swiping the keys off the table in the living room. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Aidan stepped out the back door and gave Reilly the signal that all wasn’t yet clear for him to return.

Aidan scanned the tree line once more, but he saw nothing. He headed back inside as Reilly made himself scarce, and rubbed his jaw.

Reilly was back. But who the hell had followed him home?

• • •

Aidan pushed back from the table, his belly pleasantly full. Flagging the server, he ordered another glass of wine for Emma and whiskeys for him and Reilly.

“Are you trying to liquor me up?” Emma asked, placing her napkin on the table next to her dish.

Which, he noted smugly, was nearly licked clean.

He had a lot of pride in this restaurant. It had been his first foray into the unknown world of food and food service; Colin and Colin’s brother, James, had pushed him to take a risk with it. At the time, he needed to do something more than land ownership (which in modern times had a completely different meaning than it did in his own). After he sold most of his belongings for coin (people paid a lot of money for things he used in everyday life), he figured the next step was to become a landowner. He thought he’d be managing a clan, or at the very least allowing people to live a comfortable life under his lairdship when he purchased a large parcel of land on the coastline of the North Atlantic.

He didn’t realize that, in modern-day Ireland, a landowner was not a laird. It merely meant unpopulated acreage and an overpriced tax bill.

James understood Aidan’s need to do something important. Growing up, Aidan’s own brother had regularly placed him in charge of obtaining food for their clan. Aidan would ride out, see what he could do to rope a beast or steal cattle, and help feed his people. James thought it might be a good idea for him to invest in a failing restaurant, as it would save jobs, giving employees financial stability. It would also feed others, giving them nourishment.

James was right. It was perfect for him. He managed people well, and was careful with coin. In a strange way, his upbringing gave him what Colin called “people skills” to make this modern business work, and work well.

The restaurant they currently sat in was the original Colcannon. It too was decorated in medieval Irish style, but the decor was not as upscale as his New York location. It had a cozier feel; tables and chairs were mismatched, a fire roared in the much smaller hearth, and the bar stools weren’t rooted to the floor. People stood, sat, and milled about, comfortably interacting with each other.

“The food here is delicious,” Emma said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Aye. Liam knows his way about a kitchen,” Aidan agreed, referring to his head chef.

“He certainly does,” Emma agreed. “Welcome back, Reilly. Thanks for letting me crash at your house.”

“I’m happy it was of use to you. I hear you’re headed to Aidan’s home tomorrow?”

“Yes! I can’t wait to see it.”

“Sorry I derailed those plans today. But his house—you’ll enjoy it, to be sure. He secured himself a prime bit of land on the coast. It’s his ancestral holding.”

“A real estate deal gone well,” Aidan corrected.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Reilly said mildly, “his family’s owned that spot for hundreds of years.”

“Family history is fascinating,” Emma responded, her eyes shining. “I traced mine back to England in the 1600s, but that’s as far as I went with it.”

“There must be
some
Irish in your blood,” Reilly mused.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “No reason.”

Aidan drained what was left in his glass. “Ry, no politics. Especially old news politics. Not today.”

“Fair enough,” Reilly agreed easily. “It’s not really politics, though. Merely a bit of discussion.”

“Here we go,” Aidan muttered.

Emma laughed. “While you two start squabbling again, I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”

After pointing her in the general direction, Aidan watched her until she was out of sight.

Reilly let out a low whistle. “Try not to be quite so obvious in your affections, MacWilliam. I’ve heard it turns the lassies off.”

Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You would know best about turning lassies off, O’Malley.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I suggest you leave it alone.”

Reilly ignored him. “She’s seen your suave side, your business side. She thinks she’s seen the worst you have to offer. But she hasn’t seen your true side. The uncivilized side. Am I right?”

“Enough,” Aidan growled. There was no way in hell she would ever need to know about his uncivilized side. She’d think him daft at best, deranged at worst.

A medieval man, living in the twenty-first century? Oh, aye. She’d laugh herself all the way to the airport.

“It’s a hard tale to believe,” Reilly continued, ignoring him.

Aidan counted to ten, concentrating on his breathing. Sitting in the same room as Reilly O’Malley and not blowing up every time the man opened his mouth was one of his proudest accomplishments. It had taken him almost five years to master the urge to throttle him.

“I honestly thought,” Aidan managed to bite out, “that you and I had come to some sort of peace agreement. Pity. I hate being wrong.”

“Takes a man to admit it,” Reilly offered. “That will serve you well once you marry.”

“I don’t plan to marry,” Aidan grumbled. “Laird’s younger brother. No need.”

“Need. A strong term,” Reilly mused. “If you’ve found your mate, then why fight destiny?”

“Why, indeed?” Switching subjects, he asked, “Care to tell me about your latest escapade into the past?”

Reilly’s face shuttered. “Believe me when I say you’d best not ask.”

For the first time since Aidan had laid eyes on Reilly eight years earlier, he could feel the man’s weariness, as though his soul were tired of its destiny.

“Will you suffer greatly for it?”

Reilly ran a hand over his face. “I do not know. I’m hoping they’ll not care overmuch.”

“Who?”

“The Fates,” Reilly replied.

“Do you mean the Tuatha Dé Danann? They’re mythical—”

“You do not know,” Reilly snapped, then dropped his shoulders. “I answer to a higher power than the Tuatha Dé Danann. You cannot possibly understand, and I hope that you never have to.”

Aidan looked at him speculatively. “How old are you?”

Reilly laughed. “Age is irrelevant where time’s concerned, lad.”

“Are you immortal?”

Reilly shook his head. “No. But I won’t die until they decide it, and they’ve use of me yet.”

“The Fates?” Aidan asked, a tremor passing through him at the thought. Growing up, he’d heard the stories of the Tuatha Dé Danann—powerful druid deities. His clan loved a good story, so Aidan had always taken them for tales of morality and warning. But a higher power?

“I won’t tell you,” Reilly replied firmly.

“Why not?”

Reilly leveled him with a stare. “That’s enough. I’ll wait for you and your lady in the car.” He pushed back from the table and left without another word. Aidan watched him go, his curiosity more than piqued, but Reilly was nothing if not stubborn.

• • •

The next morning, Emma couldn’t sleep. Though it was at least a couple of hours before dawn, she was fully awake, excited to see Aidan’s home. He’d promised her it wasn’t anything spectacular, but she desperately wanted to see him in his own surroundings. She donned a long skirt and long-sleeved shirt, as the mornings tended to be chilly, and quietly headed downstairs to start breakfast.

Walking into the kitchen, she noticed Reilly’s cell phone sitting on the counter. She made a mental note to tell him that it was downstairs, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet and headed to the sink. Her eyes drifted out the back window, and in the predawn mist, she saw Reilly walking toward the woods.

Without giving it a second thought, she grabbed his phone off the counter and ran out the door. He was almost to the trees, and she knew he wouldn’t hear her if she called out, so she picked up her pace. When she got to the forest, she saw him disappear into a thickly wooded area. She called out then, but he didn’t respond.

“Emma!” Aidan bellowed from behind her. She turned. He was headed toward her at a fast clip.

She barely glanced at him, and held up the phone to indicate she was going to give it to Reilly before heading into the forest.

A couple minutes in, though, the entire place seemed to change. There was a thick mist that covered the ground. Every step she took displaced some of the fog, showing her bits of forest floor underneath by the light of the moon. She carefully made her way deeper, looking for any signs of Reilly, before the mist fully descended upon her.

“Uh oh,” she said aloud, turning in a circle.

She could make out large tree trunks, clusters of low-lying ferns, and some tree roots nearby. But everything else remained shrouded in the dense fog, lit by an eerie bluish light.

“Hello, Emmaline.”

Emma shrieked and stumbled backward, tripping on a tree root. She looked up, her jaw slack, as Ben materialized from the haze.