Haunting Embrace (11 page)

“I was just as stunned as you were, Áedán. I don’t know why I’m here,
now
, in my grandmother’s time.”

“But you do know why you were sucked into the world of Fennore. You know why Cathán took you captive.”

“Do I? Well that’s news to me.”

He couldn’t tell if she lied or spoke the truth. He said, “Your family has been linked to the Book of Fennore for many years.”

“How do you know that?”

“How is not important. What you should be asking is why? Why are you linked?”

“You know Cathán MacGrath was my mother’s first husband.”

He nodded. She’d revealed this when Cathán held them prisoners. Cathán had thought her someone of use to him, and Áedán was certain his interest in her went beyond a familial relationship. Countless prophesies and myths entwined with the tales of the Book of Fennore—so many that even Áedán did not know which were truth and which were fable. At first he’d suspected that Cathán thought Meaghan was the woman who could open the Book and release all who were trapped in the unnatural world of Fennore. He’d been wrong. But who was she? What gift did Cathán think she had?

“Cathán was your mother’s husband, but he is not your father,” Áedán said. “Correct?”

“Exactly.”

As if that explained everything.

“That is not reason enough for you to have been pulled in by the Book of Fennore. Cathán had another motive for keeping you captive.”

“Fecking revenge was his motive,” she said with a haughty arch of her brows. “He’s a tosser that my mother couldn’t get away from fast enough. It pissed him off that she married my dad and had me. She was pregnant before Cathán was even out of the picture. You heard him when he figured out who I was. He called my dad a filthy fisherman, like that was the worst thing imaginable. I hope he’s trapped in there forever. I hope he rots and dies in that hellish world.”

“He won’t die.”

“Of course he will. Everyone dies.”

“Not where he is. But he will grow more powerful. He will do whatever he can to escape.”

“And what are you? A fecking Book of Fennore-ologist?”

Yes, he supposed he was. “I know people,” he said. “A man cornered with no options will do anything to survive. Use anyone.”

“I won’t say you don’t have a point. But for all we know, he’s out already. He could have followed us. He could be here, now. Just waiting to make his move.”

“No,” Áedán said. “I would know.”

“Is that a fact? You’re also a psychic now, are you? Seeing the future?”

“I don’t need to see it to know it’s there, do I?”

She made a dismissive sound, but that telltale pulse beat furiously at her throat. After a moment, she said, “The Book of Fennore is evil.”

Her glance was lightning fast, but in it he glimpsed the terror that her defiance worked so hard to hide. He wondered what she saw in his eyes before he looked away.

For a thousand years or more, humans had rumbled about the evil inside the Book of Fennore. Blind fools, they didn’t understand that the evil came not only from the Book, but from the greed and lust for power that they brought with each wish. Yes, there had been some who came innocent and needing, but they had been as rare as red diamonds, and they had sold their souls as readily as the twisted monsters who thought to use his gifts for their own selfish needs. Wealth. Power. Women. He’d grown so weary of their pathetic pleas.

“Few would dispute the claim of evil within the Book of Fennore,” he said when it appeared she waited for his response.

“Saraid told Colleen that the Book’s master is a Druid. An evil Druid.”

He might have laughed but for the seriousness of her tone. He’d never been the
master
of the Book of Fennore. Yes, he’d wielded its power. Yes, he’d been its voice. But the Book of Fennore was a sentient being with a will of its own. It had no master, only slaves that it branded as its own. And each time a wretched soul solicited its help, the Book grew stronger. It drank in their wishes, their entreaties, their prayers and it became more twisted and more powerful each time.

Meaghan went on, watching him closely, making him fear she could somehow hear the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind.

“Colleen said this evil Druid is now free.”

“Free? In what way is the Druid free?”

The question obviously baffled her. Meaghan looked at him with those big blue eyes, once again the color of a summer sky, and shook her head. “Out, I guess.”

“Out and free are not necessarily the same thing.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it, pondering this.

“What else did Colleen have to say?” he asked before she worked out an answer.

“Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, when we were trapped in the world of Fennore, I felt Cathán’s presence. His
power
. If there’s a master, I don’t think it’s this Druid. I think it’s Cathán who’s in control.”

Her perception surprised him. She’d stated nothing more or less than he’d already surmised himself, but he hadn’t expected her to be so astute and hearing the truth spoken aloud on this crisp Irish day made Áedán’s blood run cold. Had Cathán truly managed what Áedán had considered impossible? Had he somehow leashed the beast? Had he become more powerful than the Book itself? If so, how? After millennia, Áedán had been no closer to usurping the Book’s supremacy than he’d been in the beginning.

“What is your point, Meaghan?” he asked, as if her calm revelations hadn’t shaken him to the core.

“That Cathán is more evil than the Druid ever was,” she said softly, still studying him from the corners of her eyes.

She stopped walking and faced him, head tilted to one side, gaze intent on his. That strange and disturbing hum that seemed to ruffle the air intensified—a flare of interest that made him want to step back. Her expression was somber and anxious. She brushed an errant wisp of hair away from her eyes with one hand, and he saw that it shook. She was afraid, he realized with surprise. But she hid it behind a mask of courage.

“Are you . . .” she began, her voice low and uncertain. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Are you the Druid, Áedán?”

“Áedán!”

The man calling his name startled them both and saved him from answering. They turned to see someone huffing and puffing as he lumbered up the road behind them. Áedán recognized the man. He docked his ship near
The Angel
and could usually be found at the pub as drunk as Mickey
.

“Who is that?” Meaghan asked.

“Hoyt O’Shea,” Áedán answered, wondering what the man wanted with him.

Two other men who’d been accompanying Hoyt waited at the bottom of the hill as Hoyt came to stop beside them.

“Áedán,” he said breathlessly. “It’s lucky for me I saw you walking. I’ve been wanting to have a chat with you, now, haven’t I?”

He beamed at Áedán and gave Meaghan a curious but dismissive glance. She was a stranger in his town, but she was not his goal, that look said. He had bloodshot eyes and fumes of alcohol wafted off him.

“I know Mickey’s got you working like a slave, he does,” Hoyt said eagerly. “And I come to tell you that I can offer you better. You can board on the
High Tide
, take your meals with me and me wife—she’s as fine a cook as there is in all of Ballyfionúir.
And
I’ll pay you a wage, I will. A fair one. Ten percent of me taking.”

Áedán tried to look suitably impressed by the offer. “Thank you, Mr. O’Shea—”

“Hoyt. Call me Hoyt. I’m not like Mickey that way.”

“Thank you, Hoyt, but Mr. Ballagh has been good to me, and it wouldn’t be fair—”

“Oh, he’s got you fooled, doesn’t he? He’s made you think he’s done you a favor, taking you in. Truth is, he’s a user, that man. He’s not done right by you. You do the work of five men. Sure, and haven’t I seen it with my own eyes. His catch is more than double—nay triple—what he brought before you come. Bet he didn’t tell you that, did he?”

No, he had not. It wouldn’t have mattered, though, even if he had. Áedán did not plan to be on this island much longer. He’d taken Mickey’s offer of labor for food and board only to hold him over until he could determine what exactly had happened and what, exactly, he’d become.

He’d once been the powerful Druid that Meaghan spoke of. But now . . . he’d thought himself a mere man until Meaghan had appeared. Now he didn’t know if he was even that.

Hoyt’s excitement was nearly as overwhelming as his odor. Seeing what he thought to be indecision on Áedán’s face, he pushed. “He’s got you thinking you owe him, and it’s the other way around, isn’t that a fact? He’s done you a disservice, Áedán. That’s the truth. Jump ship, lad. Come to the
High Tide.
”

Áedán glanced at Meaghan and quickly away. He had no intention of jumping ship, not now. He needed to stay as close to Meaghan as he could, and the easiest way to do that was to keep toiling for the disagreeable man, Mickey.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Hoyt, though I do appreciate your offer. I’m where I should be for the time being. If circumstances change, I will let you know.”

For a moment, Hoyt stared at him blankly, as if it went beyond belief that Áedán would—could—turn him down. Then his expression became sour and his eyes hard. “You think I’ll just hold the offer for you until you decide it’s good enough, then? Well, I won’t. It’s now or never.”

“Then it’s never,” Áedán said without apology.

Hoyt’s mouth opened and closed before he spat, “That Mickey gets all the luck, doesn’t he now? Well, you have it your way.”

And with that, he stomped back down the hill. Silently they watched him join his friends and give what appeared to be an animated rendition of their conversation, arms waving, fingers pointing.

“He seems quite upset,” Áedán commented, hoping the interruption had derailed Meaghan’s questions. When he looked back at her, though, he knew he would not be so fortunate. Meaghan watched him with the attention of a scientist studying a rare anomaly that she planned to categorize and document.

He started walking again, forcing her to fall into step. The sky had cleared and now the clouds made a patchwork of the gray and blue, casting soft shadows that whispered over the sloping hills and hulking boulders, diluting the sunshine into a buttermilk haze. It was late afternoon. The pubs would be swelling with fishermen done for the day. Mickey would be in the thick of it, swigging brew and talking out of both sides of his mouth.

“I’m still waiting for you to answer my question, Áedán,” Meaghan said, as he’d known she would. “Are you the Druid that Saraid warned about?”

“The evil Druid? The one who could destroy the world if he so wanted?” Áedán mocked.

“Yes.”

“Well, of course I am. And can’t you tell by looking at me that I’m all-powerful? That’s why I’m working on a fecking boat the size of a shoe, just for the privilege of eating and sleeping somewhere dry. You heard Hoyt O’Shea. I’m slave labor, beauty. If I had a choice, if I had the power to change things, I’d be living under better circumstances, wouldn’t I?”

She narrowed her eyes and he knew she’d seen through his sarcasm. She was not some brainless child who’d accept the attempt to deflect her questions. Not this woman.

“What were you doing in the world of Fennore, Áedán?” she asked softly, and yet, in her voice, he heard steel and anguish. As if it was
she
who’d been betrayed.

“I was a prisoner, just like you,” he said. “You know that.”

“Really? Then why was I the only one who could see you?”

“Perhaps you are the Druid.”

She spun at that and stopped him with a hand on his wrist, her fingers cold against his heat. That simple contact seemed to draw all of his energy, all of his attention until the rest of the world faded and there was only this moment, this woman. He felt that unnerving vibration rattling his teeth and stretching his nerves, but overpowering it was something more primal and fierce.

“Stop it,” she said. “This isn’t some fecking game. I want answers from you. Why were you a prisoner?”

Her demand sparked against his sudden—maddening—arousal. “You think I’m playing games? What about you, Meaghan? What secrets do you hide? Your own grandmother said there was something
off
about you. That you are
different
. Let us explore that instead.”

He took a step forward, forcing her to step back, and then he kept going until he had her pinned between his body and one of the many boulders that littered the side of the road. The primitive male within him roared, but his voice, when he spoke, was soft and deep, the voice he’d used a million times or more to seduce the unwary.

“How are you different, beauty?”

“I told you to quit calling me that.”

“But you
are
very beautiful.”

The eyes she turned on him were wide and wounded, as angry as they were injured. He’d poked at something hidden and now she would come out snarling. “Tell me,” he said, leaning closer still, his body pressed against every lush curve of hers. A part of him wanted her to fight, to resist, and another part desired only that she yield.

“How are you different?”

“Well, I’m a fecking time traveler, aren’t I?” she said, using his own tactic to deflect him. But her sarcasm worked no better on him than his had on her. “I’m her granddaughter, come from the future. I’d say that’s different enough.”

He smiled, admiring her defiance even as he worked to tame it. “That’s not what she meant,” he said, lips against her ear.

She tried to evade his mouth, but he kept her pinned, one hand at her waist the other at the base of her skull. She was too proud to openly fight him, too stubborn to show him that his nearness disconcerted her.

“You seem to be an expert on the subject,” she said, her voice wavering. “You tell me what she meant.”

“I feel something around you. A vibration—a disorder to the natural flow of things. It’s disturbing.
You
are disturbing.”

She jerked away, surprising him with the sudden violence of her movements. Before he knew it, she’d escaped his hold and stood a few paces away. Her chest heaved and her blue eyes snapped.