Authors: Kathy Morgan
Caleb let out a long, tortured sigh.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,
a chara.
‘Twas a reasonable assumption, my friend, your thinking you might identify the culprit in that way. And I’ve heard of no previous instance where
double tripping
has left a mortal any the worse for wear. On the contrary, our scribes and bards have likened the experience to a pleasant daydream for the one experiencing it. Like being cast adrift on a balmy lake at the break of dawn.”
“And so it might have been for herself,” Caleb admitted darkly, “had I not lost my effin’ temper. With our minds linked, ourselves drifting serenely through rainbow arcs of light, sure, the altered state would have been the likes of a child’s sweet dream for herself—instead of a fecking nightmare.”
Caleb continued to scrutinize Arianna’s delicate features. But her eyes remained tightly sealed, almost as if to shut out the new reality he had thrust upon her.
Seamus reached down, his thumb gently lifting her eyelid to assess the reaction of her pupils to light. His touch was casual, unassuming. Completely innocent. And yet, Caleb’s hands curved into fists, his jaw clenching, body going rigid in possessive rage.
“Pupils are reactive. Color’s better, I’m thinking.” Seamus glanced at his friend, a flicker of surprise touching his expression at Caleb’s stiff posture. At the flinty steel girding the green eyes glaring murderously back at him.
Seamus cocked a brow in savage amusement. “Only trying to help, mate,” he demurred, raising both hands in a defensive gesture.
Caleb blew out a heavy breath. “Sorry, man. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. And you’re right. Already I can see a hint of rose warming the pallor of her cheeks.”
“A bit of a spitfire, is she not?” Seamus asked.
“She is indeed. Our first night together she told me she knew I would never hurt her” He gave a disgusted huff. “And what did I do with that trust? Violently, single-mindedly, dragged her spinning through the annals of time...
on
a bloody magic carpet ride.
”
Seamus squeezed his shoulder. “There’s been no permanent harm done.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
At the cryptic remark, Seamus tipped his head in question.
“Me, with the iron will.” Caleb gave a half-laugh. “And where this one’s concerned, it seems I’ve no bleedin’ self control a’tall. You’ve notified the other members of the Council of my suspicions, that she may be the mere mortal woman we’re awaiting, the ‘Chosen One’?”
Seamus nodded and rose to his feet. “I have. And, as you requested, several of the lads will be at the pub later tonight for a look at her. Caleb, as your friend, I have to reiterate that there could well be another explanation for the dreams, for your sudden lack of control.” Seamus paused, shot his friend a pointed look. “’Twould account for the violence you felt toward your closest friend for daring to lay his hands on her.”
Caleb looked sheepish.
“At the risk of repeating myself, it’s not uncommon for a man of our race to have lucid dreams about his
anam cara
—”
“Soul mate, is it? A mere mortal? Seamus, would you ever just cop the frig on! We’ve been over this. You’re suggesting I may be destined to spend my life with a woman who’ll die if I take her to my bed?”
Closer than a brother, Seamus clearly took no umbrage at his friend’s outburst. He responded in the quiet, patient tone one would use in explaining something complex to a young child. “Have you not considered the possibility that the girl may be both the Chosen One AND your Anam Cara?”
“And, in her encounter with the darkness as the Chosen One, she could very well end up
dead
,” Caleb countered grimly, choosing to ignore the sick throb of loss the suggestion lodged in his belly. “An outcome, which seems the most likely after three thousand years—“
“Or she succeeds in her quest,” Seamus interrupted. “Thus ending the curse that prevents our two races from coupling. Aside from that, our men have been known to marry a mere mortal.” At the instant flash of pain, of outrage, in his friend’s eyes, Seamus sighed. “I’m not speaking of your mother here, Caleb. I’m only suggesting that in these modern times, there are ways…. Though mortal contraceptives aren’t effective, there’s always surgery—
“You know very well, the snip doesn’t work on a de Danann male,” Caleb argued. “Our bodies heal—”
“’Twould be the woman having to undergo the procedure—
her
decision,” Seamus asserted. “Is she consciously aware of the dreaming?”
“She is, yes.”
“Hmm… So, you’ve admitted that much to her at least?” Seamus asked.
“I’ve admitted nothing as yet.”
“But you will?”
“Once I determine a way to explain it to her, without revealing the existence of our people.” Caleb was referring to the requirement in the
Geis
that the Woman of Promise be forbidden knowledge of his kind. “When I can tell her just that much, and no more.”
Seamus grunted. “Either way…and I’ll give you a free pass to eat the head off me for saying this again…I’ve a strong sense that this is the woman you’re destined to wed.”
“
Go raibh maith agat,
Seamus. Thanks, but I think not. Just remember the auld mortal saying:
Nil aon leigheas ar an ngra ach posadh.
” The only cure for love is marriage.”
Seamus slanted him one of those knowing looks only a best mate could hope to get away with.
“Look, man, this is all naught but a classic case of lust,” Caleb insisted. “A matter of wanting a thing all the more for it being something I can’t have. For that reason alone, I should be staying away from herself.” Continuing to massage her fingers, Caleb noted that her frantic death-grip had begun to relax. “The wee thing’s likely more at risk from me and my raging libido, than from any satanic minion. Which is why I’m considering, at the next meeting, appointing another Council member to champion her.”
Seamus laughed out loud and clapped him on the back. “
Tá brón orm, a chara.
Sorry, my friend, but you know it doesn’t work that way. It’s written in the ancient scrolls that the mortal woman will inadvertently choose her own protector, the one of us to whom she gives her heart. And that man is ordained to feel drawn to her, mindful of her safety. Your reaction when I touched her satisfies the one requirement. So, what d’ya reckon, lad? You’ve been in her mind. Is it yourself she loves?”
Caleb snorted. “
Love.
And what would I know of that mortal emotion? Anyways, you know how I feel about invading a person’s privacy. I wasn’t after delving into such areas.”
Seamus chuckled. “You’d not have had to be digging very far beneath the surface to find the truth of it, my friend. Her feelings for you shine so brightly in her eyes, you’d have to wear sunglasses not to be blinded by the glare of it.” Seamus rose from the arm of the loveseat and strode toward the door. “I’ve to be getting back to the kitchen now. Just give her a wee while, mate, and she’ll be right as rain.”
Thanks be to God, except for the occasional tremor, the shivers racking Arianna’s body had all but stopped. “What the devil have I got you into,
a mhuirnín
?” he said softly.
When she finally allowed him to ease one hand free of her tortured grasp, Caleb drew her into a tender embrace, her head cradled against his shoulder. Lips against her ear, he whispered to her in an ancient tongue and slowly, gently, coaxed her back to the present.
Chapter Fifteen
I
t was almost midnight by the time they pulled into the Jury’s Inn parking lot in Galway City, Ireland’s Gaelic hinterland, according to Caleb. Something had changed between them at the restaurant, Arianna noted as they strolled along Quay Street, a pedestrianized walkway. After a fainting spell, which she attributed to drinking alcohol on an empty stomach, Caleb had been overly attentive, romantic even.
They passed smokers mobbing the streets outside the late-night pubs, the glow of streetlights through the swirling mist providing the setting a surrealistic quality. Brightly colored doors hung on two and three-storey limestone buildings standing flush beside each other. The hand-painted shop signs lettered in Gaelic, the window boxes, sculptures, and hanging flower baskets adorning the buildings alluded to another place in time.
“It’s kind of like…a medieval outdoor shopping mall,” Arianna said, the layers of cool, soft fog circling their feet.
On Mill Street, they crossed O’Brien’s Bridge, aptly named for the Old Bridge Mill at the end of the block. Arianna looked over the concrete barrier into the turbulent River Corrib, so swollen from recent storms that the waters almost reached the street.
Turning left onto Dominick Street, Arianna pressed her nose against the darkened window of a boutique. “I’m coming back sometime when the stores are open. The shopping in Ennistymon leaves a lot to be desired.”
Caleb reached for her hand as they crossed the street. He pulled her into a private alleyway, a narrow gravel footpath snaking beneath an archway between two buildings. In a courtyard on the other side of the arch, Caleb edged her backwards against a white stucco wall.
“Only a taste,” he murmured, whether asking permission or making a solemn vow to himself, Arianna wasn’t sure. Eyes searching her face, he tucked a lock of her windblown hair behind one ear.
Her hands clutched his forearms, felt the flex of his biceps as she leaned into him. Eyes fluttering closed, she followed the artful design his fingers drew across her lips.
His hands braced against the wall behind her and caged her between his strong arms. In the cool, murky darkness, her eyes found his. She reveled in his familiar features, the heavy-lidded eyes, aquiline nose, strong jaw, and the sensual lips she couldn’t wait a moment longer to taste again.
“Just kiss me already,” she breathed.
She inhaled him, that woodsy, all-male scent that was Caleb alone. His head dipped, lips tracing the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. Her bones went fluid, her body melting into the wall behind her.
“What ever am I to do with you?” His voice was low and smoky, the languorous timbre reacquainting her every secret place with his dark sensuality.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she whispered.
His mouth descended, hovered just above hers. She could feel his warm, minty breath against her lips. His mouth teased hers, a brush of butterfly wings. And again. She trembled, sighed. Her stomach dipped into a slow, liquid swirl as finally he sank into the kiss, leisurely sampling, savoring every sensation.
He raised his head—just enough to change the angle of the kiss—and her mouth chased his. Demanding more. Insisting that the teasing be over.
Her lips parted on a gasp as he complied, taking her mouth now to raid. To plunder. With no apology, no restraint, his tongue invaded that inner sanctum. Passion exploded into white-hot heat, an unquenchable flame. He tasted of animal lust and recklessness, Arianna thought. Of magic and dreams.
Not a man to toy with
, a small voice inside her warned.
Be sure. A cautious woman would step away from him now, take time to think things through.
When had she ever claimed to be prudent? she countered. And instead of drawing back, she stepped in closer still. She felt the earth tilt on its axis, begin to spin madly out of control. Arianna steadied herself with her arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair.
Not for a minute, as she whimpered in need, as she slid one leg along his outer thigh, did she stop to consider the risks of her total lack of restraint. Nor did she consider the indecency of urging a man she barely knew to take her against a cold, damp wall in a darkened alleyway.
He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, and nipped, the slight sting of his bite snapping her out of the fever possessing her. “We’d best be ending this before it’s too late,
cailín
,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I’m sure you’ll agree that this is neither the time, nor the place.”
She swallowed a moan of protest, stunned by what she had almost done—would have surely done—had he not had the wherewithal to bring things to a halt. Her body was trembling, whether from the damp and cold, or the unspent passion she couldn’t be sure. Caleb unzipped his jacket and wrapped it around her, enfolding her in his warmth, his unique musky scent. He held her until she stopped shaking, then pulled away and slipped an arm around her. “Come,
a chailín mo chroí,
let’s get you in out of the cold.”
The fog parted around their feet as they dashed the last few yards to their destination. The pub had been erected in 1783 according to a plaque beside the entrance. “Trad sessions began at half-ten,” Caleb told her, as they swam against the tide of people spilling out the thick, oaken doors.
Inside, the bar was all dark wood and crumbling stone walls. A varnished flagstone floor was strewn with sawdust. Glass globe lights hung from poles placed strategically around the room. To the left, built-in wooden drawers were stacked to the ceiling. “From the days pubs doubled as grocers.” Caleb spoke into her ear to be heard above the festive din.
In an immense stone hearth in front of them, a hungry fire took gulping bites out of a massive stack of logs and peat. To the left was a lighted alcove, enclosed by a black wrought iron gate. Inside, water flowed freely from the rusty spout of an antique wooden pump.
On the small stage in front of the alcove, a female fiddler stood with her back to the rowdy crowd, reeling madly in 4/4 time. Arianna felt a hand clamp around her wrist, as Caleb dragged her out of the path of a couple spinning to the lively rhythm.
“So this is craic,” Arianna called out to him.
Caleb gave her hand a squeeze as he guided her through the mayhem with the precision of a sergeant moving his troops across a minefield. They managed to snag a stone-topped table in a private corner, safely out of the melee. As soon as they were seated, a waitress with an hourglass figure, a slender waist and jutting breasts, made a beeline in their direction. Her flawless skin seemed translucent against her dark, wild beauty, the red of her lips—and the tiny scrap of black fabric she undoubtedly calls a dress. She slithered up to Caleb, blatantly ignoring Arianna—and another couple who had arrived ahead of them.
“
Dia duit
, Caleb,” she purred through wide, full lips. Her inky curls were caught back by a black velvet band, the subject of the joyful singsong currently being performed on stage. “
Cé chaoi bhuil tú
?”
Caleb inclined his head, polite but distant. “I’m grand, thanks. But would you be speaking English so? My lady here’s from the States. Doesn’t have the Gaelic.”
My lady?
“A blow-in, is she?” Pouty red lips pursed in disdain, cat-green eyes appraising.
And finding her not worth the effort of a more elaborate put-down, Arianna thought as the woman turned those kohl-lined eyes back to Caleb. Hungry. Smoldering. Arianna was appalled as the woman’s gaze took a long, slow journey down his body—before halting shamelessly in his lap. Her tongue moistened her lower lip, like a cat sizing up a mouse on the dinner menu.
“Will it be a pint for ye, then?” Her voice was soft and sultry.
Arianna cast a quick glance at Caleb who appeared not only deaf, dumb, and blind to the vixen’s seductive charms, but totally unimpressed with the female arsenal pointing at him from beneath her shoulders. Just in case the woman had any misconceptions about that, however, he made his preference for Arianna clear by taking her hand, brushing her knuckles lightly with his lips.
Oh, yeah. Brownie points there.
As the lively trad music blasted from the front of the room, he leaned over to speak into Arianna’s ear. A chill of delight danced up her spine. “Fancy a Guinness, luv?”
Love
…. Okay, so the word was a casual endearment, like “honey”. Still, she liked the way it had sounded on his lips. With a possessive hand on his arm marking her territory, Arianna shrugged. “Never had it, but, hey, I’m in Ireland. I ought to give it a try.”
Caleb raised two fingers, then turned his attention back to Arianna. Summarily dismissed, the seductress glided away. Even so, the green-eyed monster lurking inside Arianna tried to convince her that the woman’s bold advances had been indicative of something more between Caleb and her.
She felt Caleb’s eyes on her. “Is something troubling you,
cailín
?”
“No.” Her reply was short and succinct, its brevity a clear contradiction.
Caleb’s eyebrows pulled together. “Our server, Gwen, is Seamus’s new girlfriend. I was after meeting her for the first time only last week.”
It was disconcerting. This talent he seemed to have for reading her mind.
Sitting on the same side of the table, they were both facing the stage. Caleb lounged in his seat, long body angled, arm draped over the back of her chair. His foot kept time with the pulsing rhythm of a ribald Irish ditty.
Gorgeous Gwen was back in short order. Serving the dark, frothy beer, she made a point of leaning over Caleb’s shoulder, positioning breasts—which were struggling valiantly to remain inside her bodice—in such close proximity to his mouth, he could have taken a bite.
Exactly what the black-haired hussy no doubt had in mind.
As the waitress departed, Caleb clinked glasses with Arianna. “
Slaínte.
”
As he took a long drink, she hazarded a sip.
WD40 with a kick.
She must have made a face, because Caleb chuckled and leaned toward her. “It’s an acquired taste,
cailín
. Now you’ve tried it, will I order something more to your liking? A Bailey’s or a Jameson perhaps?”
What? And have that Irish poster girl for the sensual Celtic woman flaunting herself back to their table again? “No, it’s fine. I’ll just sip on it, give it a chance.”
The music too loud for conversation, Arianna focused on the stage. A kilt-clad man weighing easily over three hundred pounds played his heart out on a tin whistle like a child’s toy in his thick and cumbersome hands.
As the group broke into a lively rendition of “The Galway Girl”, the female fiddler climbed onto a chair, eliciting the boisterous appreciation of every male patron in the place. Encouraged by the clapping and foot stomping, the girl stepped from the chair up onto a barstool. Amidst whistles and wolf-calls, she swiveled her hips in time to the music, stroking not only her instrument, but also the well-oiled crowd into a frenzy.
Caught up in the spirit of things, a mother and daughter duo danced their way to the foot of the stage. Mom beamed with pride as the red-haired teenager moved her feet, arms stiff at her sides
a la
Michael Flatley’s
Lord of the Dance.
Then the girl stopped, planted her hands on her hips and, with a saucy nod, challenged her mother to a dance off. And so it went, the two of them exchanging dances, back and forth, faster and faster, until their feet were pummeling the flagstones together to the roar of the crowd’s delight.
“Brilliant!” Caleb clapped, his smile wide.
The musicians announced a break and chairs scraped away from the tables. The place emptied as customers stepped outside to indulge their habit.
As they stood up to stretch their legs, Arianna sent Caleb a warm smile. “This is amazing. Thanks so much for bringing me here.”
“My favorite spot in Galway. A couple of the musicians are mates of mine. Hold on a bit and I’ll introduce you.”
Arianna spotted Seamus coming through the front door and pointed him out to Caleb, who motioned him to join them. As Seamus wove his way through the milling crowd, he stopped to speak with one person or another. By the time he arrived at their table, he was flanked by two of the musicians.
“How’s things?” Caleb greeted ‘the lads’, his voice raised above the hubbub.
He moved slightly in front of Arianna, angling his body in an almost protective stance. Was she imagining things again, or had Caleb tensed as the three men joined them? “Arianna, meet the piper, Sean O’Casey,” he began, referring to the uillean pipes. “And Paddy McClellan’s yer man on the bodhrán.” To the men, he said, “Arianna here’s just after arriving from the States.”
“Hiya,” said Paddy, reaching out a hand. Sean gave a distant nod.
Arianna accepted Paddy’s hand and acknowledged Sean with a smile. “Nice to meet you both. I was just telling Caleb how much I’ve been enjoying the set.”
“
Go raibh mile maith agat,
” Sean replied, looking deep into her eyes. His penetrating gaze was disquieting, made her feel light-headed.
She broke eye contact. She was probably just being paranoid, but she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she was somehow the focal point of their gathering. That they were there to size her up.
But for what?
The two musicians exchanged a clandestine glance. Although nowhere near as beautiful as her Caleb, they both possessed an almost breathtaking sensuality.
Sheesh
. Irish men ought come with a warning label: Too Hot To Handle.
A few minutes of small talk and assessing glances later, Sean and Paddy returned to the stage for their next set. Seamus wandered off, arm around his new girlfriend, Gwen.
Two or three hours—and four or more Baileys Irish Creams—later, the lights began to flicker on and off, signaling closing time. After the Guinness, Arianna had switched to the liqueur. Not much of a drinker, she had never been drunk. Probably why the mead at the restaurant had hit her so hard. And after all the alcohol she had consumed at the pub, she was surprised to be feeling so clear-headed.