Faerie Fate (4 page)

She felt defensive
for some reason she couldn’t quite fathom. “I’m old enough to be your mother,”
she snapped waspishly, not entirely liking the possessive way he watched her
lips.

He arched one eyebrow.
He looked roguish and even more kissable.

She resisted the
urge.

“Are yee daft,
cailín?” He shook his head. “I’ve thirty summers to my name, and you can’t have
more than twenty, twenty-five at the most.” He glanced down the length of her
body and his eyes glinted with male arrogance, possessiveness...and something
Becca couldn’t quite divine.

Only the thin woven
throw separated her naked body from his rock hard one. Becca scrambled to seal
the ends across her chest and thighs with her fists, all the while glaring at
the gorgeous man.

He roared with
laughter at her futile gesture. “Siobhan,” he choked out, wheezing as he caught
his breath. “Me thinks the cailín is shy and has a need to be covered.”

“Aye,
Taoiseac
,
she needs a shift and a gown or two to boot.”

Almost as if he’d
silently commanded it, there was a soft knock at the door. A maid poked her
head in, bobbing it in respect. “I’ve brought the gowns yee requested,
Taoiseac
,”
she murmured.

Siobhan hurried to
the door and relieved the girl of the bundle. Shaking out each one, she laid
the gowns across the foot of the bed.

Becca’s eyes widened
in surprise. These were no common dresses like those worn by Siobhan, but truly
gowns of the finest linens and brocades in soft, glorious colors, more beautiful
than any prom dress she’d ever coveted. Entranced by the clothing, she missed
the flash of possessive pleasure in the man’s gaze when he recognized the
surprised delight on her face.

Her happiness
shouldn’t have meant a thing to him, yet he found that it did matter; it
mattered quite a lot. That something as simple as picking out a gown enchanted
the girl left a warm spot in his middle.

With her hands on
her hips, Siobhan unleashed her snappy tongue on him. “Off with yee now,
Taoiseac
Ciaran. Let the cailín dress in peace. She needs no overgrown lout starin’ at
her like he wants her for supper.”

“Ah, yee’ve a tongue
on you, Siobhan, but in this instance, yee’re right. I wouldn’t mind eating her
for supper.”

Becca blinked. He
meant exactly what he said in every carnal sense of that phrase. Her heart
raced and that funny tingling down between her legs started again.
Oh, lord
,
she thought.
I am way too old for this fantasy.

Siobhan scolded the
man out of the room and turned back to her charge. The girl would be a beauty
when the bruises finally healed, and it was evident Ciaran was completely
smitten. She just hoped his feelings were reciprocated. If not, Becca would be
in for a hard time of it. Siobhan smiled. She’d seen him adjusting the front of
his trews as he’d risen from the bed. Aye, the cailín definitely would be
getting a hard time, sooner or later.

Returning to the
business at hand, Siobhan smiled at Becca. “Pick yer favorite color, and I’ll
help yee dress, cailín. Then, I’ll fix yer hair.”

The retort about her
age forming on Becca’s lips suddenly died. She’d seen her reflection in the
shield, believed it couldn’t be her own, yet knew it was. For the first time,
Becca seriously doubted her sanity. She’d fallen asleep in the twenty-first
century wanting to be twenty-five again or sleep forever. She remembered the
book she’d been reading the night before—a romance about a twentieth-century
scientist traveling through time and falling in love with a sixteenth century
Highlander. This all had to be a dream. Though it seemed real, it couldn’t be.
Could it? Her pain was gone for the first time in twenty-five years, and the
body and face she wore were the ones she’d enjoyed in her youth.

She chose to
participate in her dream and picked a sky blue linen dress embroidered with
delicate silvery green shamrocks.
Shamrocks? So, not the Highlands of
Scotland, but Ireland instead.
Fitting, since her family originally came
from County Galway. She sighed, marveling at the way her subconscious wove this
tale.

“Be paying the
MacDermot no mind, cailín. He’s a good man, for all his bully bravado,” Siobhan
told Becca.

Chapter Three

Siobhan dropped the
soft lawn shift over Becca’s head and then the linen dress. After the woman
laced up the back, it took a few tugs and pushes to get everything in the front
seated correctly. Becca glanced down. As a teenager and in college, she’d been
tall and athletically built—broad shoulders, high, firm breasts, a small waist
tapering to wider hips and long, muscular legs that, as one college football
player had mused, went all the way from here to there. There wasn’t a sport she
hadn’t excelled in. Track, softball, swimming. She competed in them all, but
her true love was riding. Riding like that “wild Comanche.” All those summers
on her grandfather’s ranch prepared her to compete on the Grand Prix jumping
circuit. Her parents insisted college came before her equestrian goals, so she
finished her degree in equine management. She’d always known that one day she
would compete in the Olympics for Team USA. She was twenty-four when she’d been
named as an alternate to the team. And then the accident. Months in rehab, told
she’d never walk again, told she was lucky to be alive. Twenty-five years
later, Becca wondered when the luck had run out.

****

Siobhan stopped
brushing Becca’s hair. The cailín had gone as still as a stone, scarcely
breathing. Instinctively, she knew the girl had gone far away. She wondered
what painful memory caused the tortuous wrinkling of Becca’s brow. With slow,
rhythmic strokes, she brushed Becca’s hair again, hoping the gentle motion
brought comfort. She’d known other women abused like the girl, women who
withdrew into their minds, merely existing from day to day.

Siobhan laid aside
the brush. The girl needed time to heal. That was all. Her strong, capable
hands picked up the first gown and folded it neatly and precisely. Opening a
large wooden armoire, she rearranged the MacDermot’s clothing to make room for
the few gowns.

****

Becca blinked. Lost
in her thoughts, she now couldn’t remember what she’d been thinking about. She
found some comfort in the normalcy of Siobhan’s tasks. Until she saw the shirts
and pants stacked in the cabinet. Men’s clothes. Lots of them. She sucked in a
breath, her eyes wide.

“Aye,
Taoiseac
Ciaran gives his chamber to you, mistress.”

“I am no one’s
mistress,” Becca protested, even as she mulled the strange title around in her
head.
Teeshock
. She’d never heard the word before.

“Mayhap not now, but
you will be.”

Siobhan’s answer was
a bit too cryptic for Becca’s peace of mind. Warily, she watched the woman
cross the room to a small table constructed of rough-hewn wood. Siobhan
retrieved a metal container and returned, standing in front of her, head tilted
as she perused Becca’s face.

“A little powder.” A
tight smile accompanied the explanation. “To dim the worst of the damage.”

Confusion was now a
perpetual state for Becca. What damage was Siobhan referring to? And powder?
Did women always seek to “beautify” themselves? She exhaled, her breath almost
a sigh. The scars her body bore would never be dimmed by mere powder or any
other cosmetic enhancement. A glimmer danced across the surface of the shield
hanging on the wall. The body she’d stared down at in bed that morning and then
again as she’d dressed wasn’t her own. Covered with bruises and healing cuts,
this body bore no signs of the injuries and countless surgeries she’d endured.
What had happened to her? Was this some protracted dream? Had she died and
entered some sarcastic god’s idea of an afterlife? Or had something her
professor of physics said was impossible actually occurred? Was she really lost
in time? Too many questions that had no answers. She closed her eyes while
submitting to her nurse’s gentle fingers.

“
’
Tis time
for dinner,” Siobhan said. Her lilting voice matched the cheery smile on her
face. “Will you come down to eat in the hall or would you rather remain here to
eat?”

Becca really wanted
to stay right where she was. Every once in awhile, the whole damn situation
became so overwhelming hyperventilation was a real possibility. Before she
could answer, someone knocked.

“Is she decent?” a
gruff voice growled through the door.

“Aye, too decent for
the likes of you,” Siobhan retorted tartly.

The heavy door swung
open and an older man almost as tall and powerful as Ciaran blocked the
doorway. Mercurial expressions flickered across his ruggedly handsome face,
surprise, admiration, a touch of lust, a hint of confusion. Then he smiled.
Becca saw her reflection in his eyes. That exquisite creature could not be her.
She swooned again.

The man caught her
in strong arms and lifted her up, trying to hold her without being too familiar
with her body. “He insists she dine with him, Siobhan,” he hissed at the other
woman. “I have no choice but to escort her down.”

“
’
Tis too
much excitement too soon, Niall,” she hissed right back. “And, if he catches
her in your arms, you’ll be drawn and quartered for sure.”

Becca pushed feebly
against the solid wall of the man’s chest. “Uhm? I’m not feeble-minded. You want
to talk about me? Then talk
to
me.” She thumped the man’s chest again.
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Just put me down.”

Hesitantly, he set
her on her feet, a strong hand on her elbow to steady her. Becca swayed for a
minute and then regained her equilibrium. “What you must think of me,” she
demurred. “I’m not really the fainting type.”

Niall smiled, the
look in his eyes softening. “I never thought you were, cailín. You wouldn’t be
alive otherwise.”

Siobhan slapped his
biceps, the smacking sound of her palm on his bare skin as loud as a gunshot,
and glared up at him.

He glared back,
refusing to be chastised. “Well, she wouldn’t, Siobhan, so leave off.”

Niall escorted Becca
and Siobhan to the great hall, the two guards who’d been stationed at the
chamber door trailing them. Deafening noise rose from the large room below.
Becca hesitated at the top of the steps. Niall took her elbow again to steady
her and urge her along, despite the hissed warning from Siobhan.

As Becca’s bare feet
delicately trod the first few steps, twenty voices abruptly stopped talking.
All eyes looked up. Hands stilled halfway between plates and mouths. She
faltered mid-step, suddenly shy and uncertain, sure she couldn’t face all those
strange people in this strange place. She felt twelve instead of fifty. Then
he
appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Ciaran.
An Taoiseac
of Clann
MacDermot. He took her breath away. He gazed up at her, his hand lifting as if
he was reaching for her.

She stared into his
eyes. They were the color of the Colorado sky just as a thunderstorm moved
across the mountains. He gazed at her, his eyes sweeping her from top to
bottom. She shook her head slightly sending a silken tendril of hair dancing
enticingly next to her ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a hunting hound.
As she watched, his emotions played across his face. Admiration. Bemusement.
Lust. Oh, yes. There was definitely lust, obvious by the way the front of his
trews stretched, drawing her eyes there. Dragging her gaze upward, she saw the
breath hitch in his chest as he watched her. Michelangelo could have chiseled
his face from granite. Her heart stuttered and she couldn’t catch her breath.
He was the most amazing man she’d ever laid eyes on. His arms were long and
roped with muscle. His shoulders broad, his chest thick, and his legs? Oh, his
legs could make her swoon again. What would it feel like to have those thick
thighs touching hers, skin to skin? She could actually feel warm liquid drip
down her thigh.

She laughed, a sharp
bitter sound. She was having an honest-to-god wet dream. Old enough to have hot
flashes, she should have been way beyond such fantasies. “No! This is stupid,”
she snarled. “Wake up!” She was so focused on berating herself for her
out-of-control emotions, she failed to notice the darkening of those eyes
shining up at her or the thundercloud of anger marching across the perfect face
below her.

She closed her eyes
and shook her head vigorously to wake up. As she opened her eyes, the
tantalizing dream who’d been waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs
disappeared. She faltered. The knot of pain always hiding in her gut unraveled.
She doubled over and fell to her knees, bruising them on the cold stone step.
The pain radiated out from her core, stretching into her fingers and toes, even
to the very ends of her hair. Excruciating, it was worse than anything she’d
ever experienced before. She thought she screamed, but she didn’t know if any
sound actually escaped. Inky blackness swirled before her eyes and her stomach
churned.
Oh, God,
she moaned.
Not again. I can’t survive this again.
She screwed her eyes closed, desperate to shut out the whirling cyclone of
light and dark.

Ciaran stormed into
his den and raged at his foolishness. Infuriated, he growled under his breath.
He’d stood there like a foolish lad, wearing his heart on his sleeve for
everyone to see. Like some faerie queen, she’d descended toward him, wearing
the gown he’d personally chosen because its color matched her eyes. Her
shoulders, wide for a woman and showing unusual strength, sloped up to the slim
column of her neck. His
boidín
hardened as he imagined nuzzling the soft
skin in the hollow of her throat.

Standing there at
the bottom of the stairs, he’d reached for her, spellbound by her beauty. Her
silvery-blue gaze locked on his, and he’d offered his heart when he reached for
her. If she had but looked, she could have seen it there in his palm, pulsing
and beating only for her. Instead, she’d barked out a derisive laugh and mocked
him. Ciaran was certain every man in the great hall heard her deny him.
Infuriated, he howled in frustration.

****

“You must make her
forgot.” The female’s voice was panicked.

“I have tried but
she is too strong. Mayhap the pain of that life is so overriding she cannot get
beyond it to live in this one.” He sounded perplexed.

“She must or all is
for naught. He cannot die without issue.”

“Who are you?” Becca
screamed the question into the whirling vortex.

“She hears us. How
can that be?” She was alarmed.

“I know not, but
what can she learn? Naught to help her.” He was confident.

“No, nor naught to
help us.” She wasn’t.

“We must be patient.
Have faith,” he counseled.

“Bah. Patience is
for those with short lives and faith is for those who cannot see beyond the
next sunrise.”

****

Becca lay still,
steeling herself for the next crushing wave of pain. She was so cold. She
couldn’t remember how long she’d lain here. She couldn’t feel her feet or her
hands, except when the pain roared through her body. She whimpered and choked
back tears, desperate to remember what had happened. She shivered. She’d been
driving, the road was slick. No, that wasn’t it. Two men. Ugly men with fists
and hard boots had pounded her body. No. She shuddered. Cold. Hard ground. More
men. Speaking a strange language. She shook her head and pain formed a
starburst behind her eyes. Wait. She’d been coming down a long staircase.
Someone was waiting for her.
He
was waiting for her. Tall and rugged,
with eyes filled only of her. Had she fallen? Hit her head? She was wearing a
prom dress. Had she tripped on the unfamiliar hem and tumbled head over heels
down the steps? Why couldn’t she remember?

She refused to open
her eyes, knowing the whirling dervish waited for her if she did. Her stomach
roiled and she gagged, afraid she was going to vomit. A strobe light pulsed
beyond her eyelids and the roaring in her ears drowned out all other sound. She
tasted the bile rising in her throat. She groaned. The pain built again, like
myriad shooting stars burning through her entire body.

“Hold her head up,”
Siobhan ordered. “She’ll choke else.”

Niall sat on the
bed, the girl propped against his chest. He obediently held Becca so her head
lolled back against his shoulder. Siobhan grabbed the basin she’d used to bathe
the girl earlier and held it just in case.

Niall wrapped his
arms tighter as the spasms hit. He heard Ciaran roar down below, and he turned
stricken eyes to his mate. “What devil resides in her that torments them both?”
His voice and breathing were both ragged.

Siobhan could only
shrug in reply. She had no answers.

They both turned to
face the door, recognizing the heavy footsteps coming their way. Ciaran threw
open the massive oaken door with such force, it shuddered as it hit the wall
behind it. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d tried to pull it out by the
roots. His eyes were wild and as dark as a storm-ravaged sea.

“I cannot stand her
pain,” he spat out between gritted teeth. “Kill her and free me from her
ensorcellment.”

Siobhan gasped,
moving to protect the girl.