An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two (17 page)

“O’Malley, I need you in the main cabin. Message from Colin.”

Reilly’s face changed instantly. His body seemed to grow larger, and he nodded once to the copilot, who stood in the small space between the wall and copilot’s seat.

“First time flying with us?” Aidan asked. The man nodded, trying to appear relaxed. Aidan slapped him on the shoulder. “Rule number one: you don’t see or hear anything. Right, Les?”

“Get out, MacWilliam. First Officer Davidson, lock that door behind them.”

Aidan followed Reilly to the main cabin. The cockpit door clicked closed behind them.

He relayed the message and Reilly sighed heavily. “I have to go back.”

Aidan nodded solemnly. “The renovations at my keep are loud and bothersome. I’ll keep an eye on your cottage whilst you’re away, then.”

Reilly scrutinized him for a full minute. “You’re not going to ask me to come along?”

Every time Aidan thought Reilly might be headed back in time, he asked to go. Every time, Reilly turned him down, and every time, Aidan grew a bit more resentful.

But not this time.

Aidan shook his head. “I’m needed here.”

• • •

It was really dark.

That was Emma’s first thought as she opened her eyes and the jet taxied into the hangar. She glanced at the large clock hanging on the silver hangar wall, illuminated with fluorescent lights outside her tiny window.

Eight thirty.

The jet slowed to a stop, and Les cut the engine. Amanda opened the door as two men wheeled a staircase across the floor to meet it, and a moment later, Reilly went out to greet them.

Emma sighed softly and closed her eyes again. After years of wishing, hoping, and dreaming, she was finally in Ireland.

“Wake up, Emma. We’re here,” Aidan called.

She scowled. The man couldn’t give her a moment’s peace. He’d scoffed when she flipped on the latest
Thor
film and made derogatory comments about the superhero. She’d merely turned the volume up and tuned him out.

“Coffee for the road, miss?” Amanda asked, holding a steaming to-go cup. Emma accepted it, then closed her eyes again, mentally exhausted. The aroma of the brew reminded her of her last almost-cup of coffee, when she stood in Colin’s kitchen and tried to work his machine. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Emma, I’m going to bring your bags to the car. Cian’s not fully recovered from the trip.” Aidan towered above her, resting his forearm on her seatback. “We’ll clear customs before leaving the hangar, then get going. Maybe grab some food. Are you hungry?”

“Is it always like this?” she asked. He frowned, so she clarified, “No time for second thoughts. Go, go, go.”

A ghost of a smile played at his lips. “Nay, Emma. It’s rarely like this. I hope it will slow down considerably once we get to our final destination.”

“Where is that, exactly?” she asked. For the last couple of hours, Aidan and Reilly had huddled together, talking in low voices and mapping out all sorts of plans. After straining to hear them, then realizing they were speaking in Gaelic again, she gave up and put her headphones on, deciding Thor was much better company than either of them. Of course, once Aidan realized she was watching a very beautiful man, he’d become downright belligerent, almost to the point of preventing her from enjoying the movie.

Lucky for her, she was an expert at tuning out white noise. She’d fallen asleep to the surly look on Aidan’s face.

“The west coast,” Aidan answered.

“Why didn’t we fly into Shannon?”

“We were only cleared for Dublin. Tonight, we’ll stay at Reilly’s cottage outside the city.”

“They’re ready,” Reilly interrupted them, sticking his head inside the door. He caught sight of Cian, who was still green from the trip. “Cian, you head out first. Careful.”

Cian managed a nod, then slowly exited the plane.

Emma watched him go. “I feel awful for him. Is he like that every time you fly?”

“Aye,” Aidan said. “You’d think he’d get used to it, but he still claims it’s unnatural to ride about in the air. He’d much rather a beast under him than nothing at all.”

“You mean, like a horse?”

“Aye. Have you ever ridden before?”

Emma grimaced. “Yes.”

Amused, he asked, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Absolutely not. It was a nasty thing, kept trying to bite me. I don’t like horses.”

“How big was it?” he asked.

“Well, I was thirteen at the time, and it came up to my shoulder. So, pretty huge,” she replied seriously.

He laughed. “Oh, Emma. That was a pony. Not a horse.”

She glared at him. “It was big, and it wasn’t worth the five bucks. I didn’t trust it.”

“Perhaps I can take you for a ride. Show you how trustworthy a true steed can be,” Aidan replied.

His eyes told her he was talking about a lot more than horses, but she still hesitated. Yes, she had gone to his room with the hopes of seeing where her feelings led her. But once she came to her senses, her old fears reared their ugly heads.

Aidan was a wealthy, beautiful man. Power and strength oozed from his pores, and he had a killer accent to top it all off. He was sure to have women fall all over him—even if they didn’t know the contents of his bank account, his looks alone made him a marked man. And she had firsthand knowledge that he looked even better with his clothes off.

She wasn’t immune. Aidan was the most masculine man she’d ever met, and her hormones were all over that like white on rice. But she knew where this kind of thing led. She’d seen it countless times—man and woman meet. Man gets woman into bed. Woman finds out man is married. Someone finds out and threatens to tell, and Emma Perkins is there, ready with the pen, to spin it around.

She’d had enough spinning in her personal life to last two lifetimes. She knew, deep in her bones, if she let Aidan in, she’d never be able to let him go.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it when he left, which he certainly would do. Her only relationship was proof enough of her shortcomings. She had thought things with Ben were perfect, and though the pictures of him with another woman had blindsided her, so had the realization that she was more invested in the relationship than he ever was. How would she know when Aidan would tire of her? He was worldly, from a different class than she. He’d get bored with her plain-Janeness, her desire to stay in and read a book rather than go out on the town. She was a homebody, and he was a jet-setter. He was Adonis, and she did not want to end up like Aphrodite in that sad tale. No, it was better if she admired from afar.

She had the perfect excuse. Her temporary insanity this morning aside, she really did work for Aidan. She was contracted not only by him but also by Celtic Connections—of which he was a stakeholder. Therefore, he was totally, completely off-limits to her.

She would not be like Heidi and sleep with her boss.

A voice at the back of her mind whispered that it wasn’t the same, but she crushed it.

“I think I’m safest if I stick with what I know,” she finally said.

“What would that be?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

She refused to shrink back. “My own two feet.”

“MacWilliam, let’s go. They’re waiting,” Reilly said, popping his head back into the cabin.

Aidan gave Emma a searching look, then apparently let it go. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and walked out of the jet when he waved her in front of him.

“Thank you for flying with us, Ms. Perkins,” Amanda said.

Aidan kissed the back of Amanda’s hand, although Emma noticed it was much different from the kisses he gave her on her own hand.

She tried not to examine that too closely.

“Amanda, give your husband my regards.”

“Of course,” she replied brightly. “Take care, Mr. MacWilliam.”

They walked down the stairs, two customs officials waiting to greet them and check passports. Emma pinched herself when a tiny shiver of excitement ran up her spine.

She really was in Ireland. She couldn’t wait to explore.

Jet lag was going to be the death of her.

Unable to sleep, Emma rolled out of the exceedingly comfortable bed in Reilly’s guest room and padded across the floor, pulling the curtain back. The moon bathed the landscape in a bright blue. She caught her breath at the beauty surrounding the cottage.

Reilly was blessed, indeed. He lived down a private drive, surrounded by trees. The drive opened up to the cottage, like something out of a fairy tale. Inside was just as perfect—the slanted walls, uneven floors, bright paint, and, most of all, the thatched roof.

How she adored thatched-roof cottages.

The back yard (
garden
, she reminded herself) was marked with a low stone wall that extended from either side of the building and straight back, squaring off to create a neat rectangle of perfectly manicured lawn. Beyond the far wall was green, as far as she could see, sweeping gracefully over hills, up to the tree line in the distance, perhaps half a mile or more away. Directly outside the back door was a neatly tilled vegetable garden; empty pots, tools, and baskets lay on the ground, ready for use.

Aidan had, thankfully, backed off her a little. Instead of kissing her senseless in the doorway when he showed her the guest room, he kissed her knuckles and gave a small bow.

She loved and hated how that left her even more breathless than a passionate embrace.

And there was the crux of her problem. She stared out the window, more confused than ever. Never had she been involved in such a complicated nonrelationship.

Drawing the blanket around her shoulders, Emma carefully unlatched the window and pushed it open. The air whooshed in, and the strands of her hair danced on the wind. She closed her eyes and drew in a strengthening breath.

She had no idea what to do next. She had foolishly opened an emotional door, and while Aidan wasn’t forcing it to remain open, he certainly refused to let it slam shut.

Her life was a mess.

A quiet voice caught her attention, and she craned her neck to find its source. Directly below her window, the back door opened, a shaft of yellow light spilling onto the vegetable garden. A shadow appeared, growing smaller as Aidan walked out, ending a call on his phone. He tossed it onto the tiny bistro table on the patio, then drew the sword he’d bought at the auction from its scabbard at his side.

Emma held her breath as he examined it, the steel flashing in the moonlight. He inspected every inch of it, from the hilt to the tip, and then he sat down in the grass, the sword across his lap, a box next to him.

Emma cocked her head, wondering what he was doing. When he pulled out a long metal file from the box, she was intrigued. He slowly dragged the file over first one, then the other edge of the blade, carefully and methodically wiping the metal after each stroke of the file.

He’s restoring it
, she realized. She’d figured he’d get a professional to do that; after all, he had paid a hefty sum to possess it. Why take a chance and ruin it?

He pulled a small glass bottle and a large, rectangular stone from the box. He tipped the bottle and a shiny liquid poured into his hand. He smoothed it over the stone, then wiped his hand on the grass and picked up his sword again. He dragged the blade against the stone, wiped it, then repeated the motion.

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she finally understood how he was restoring the blade, and it sent shivers up her spine.

He was sharpening his sword—using a file, oil, and a whetstone. The same way they did in the Middle Ages.

She watched, fascinated, as he rhythmically rubbed the edge of the blade down the stone. He paid particular attention to the tip, honing it to a fine point, then carefully flipped the sword over and repeated the sharpening on the opposite edge. After long minutes, he inspected his work, packed up his supplies, and headed back inside.

Emma stepped back from the window, more confused than ever. Aidan had spent more than a half hour performing a medieval task like he’d been doing it the whole of his life. He could also expertly dress himself in an authentic léine, and he fluently spoke an almost unknown form of Gaelic.

The man had so many mysterious layers wrapped around him, Emma wondered if she’d ever know the real Aidan MacWilliam.

Don’t get involved.
She closed the window and climbed back into bed, even more confused than when she’d rolled out of it.
Your life is too complicated. Adding a relationship—especially with Aidan—would make it even worse.

She knew she was right. But she didn’t understand why she felt so compelled to ignore herself.

• • •

It had been a full, blissful month of sightseeing.

Aidan had driven her, without complaint, around the beautiful island. Emma had kissed the Blarney Stone, danced after hours in Irish pubs, and roamed the ancient streets of Dublin. She wandered through Bunratty Castle, listening to the tour guide spout interesting facts in one ear while trying to shush Aidan’s constant commentary in the other.

Aidan didn’t agree with the man on most things about medieval life; apparently his love of the time period extended further than antiquities. Emma was impressed by the number of times Aidan quietly corrected the “facts”—and she wondered what his sources were.

She stood in slack-jawed wonder at the Book of Kells, she wandered the grounds of Trinity College, and she meandered across the beautiful, many-hued green fields of Tipperary.

And with each day, she fell a little bit more in love with Aidan MacWilliam.

He made it easy, of course. His words were always followed by action
. Are you chilled, Emmaline?
He handed her a stunning Aran sweater from the Blarney Mills.
Who knows when you’ll return to this castle, lass. Go ahead and have another run up those stairs. I’ll be right behind you.
He caught her as she tripped—again—on the uneven stairs at Dunguaire Castle.
I’ve arranged a private viewing of the Book of Kells. I thought you might fancy a few hours with it.
He sat quietly at one of the tables in the famous Long Room, surrounded by thousands of manuscripts, patiently waiting for her to go through a selection of pages with one of the staff members.