Haunting Embrace (23 page)

The words
Fionúir
and
Fennore
—as in the Isle of Fennore, as in the Book of Fennore—were a derivative of the same word. Ballyfionúir roughly translated into Town of the White Ghost and they called the place her spirit had most often been seen the Valley of the White Ghost.

Kyle went on. “Some legends claim she was a beautiful sorceress who bewitched the Druid. The Druid coveted her power and lusted for her beauty. He proclaimed his love, but in truth, he resented her. He was jealous. Jealous of the things she could do.”

“What could she do?”

“She saw the dead, for one.”

Meaghan shook her head. “What does that mean, she saw the dead?”

“She was a banshee. The dead appeared to her before they passed and begged her to save them.”

Meaghan shivered, suddenly cold down into her bones. “Did she? Save them, I mean?”

“No. She did not have the power to change their fate. Only to see it.”

“Well, that had to suck.”

Kyle smiled. “I’m sure it did. The people of that time were pagan and very superstitious. They began to fear her. They suspected that she called death to them, not just saw it coming. They interpreted her warnings as a heralding. They thought she cursed them. At the same time, the Druid Brandubh—”

Brawn-doov,
she repeated silently, hearing the deep tones of Áedán’s voice as he’d told her how he’d gotten that name.

“—was the people’s . . . connection to the gods. It was his job to keep sickness and death at bay, to make their fields fertile and the cattle reproductive. But he became so obsessed with the White Fennore that he shirked his duties. Their crops began to wither. Their livestock died while birthing. The people thought the gods were angry.”

“And they blamed him?”

“No. People are what they are. They blamed
her
but wanted
him
to fix it.”

“Fix it how?”

“When the White Fennore proclaimed that she’d seen the king’s child stillborn and his wife dead on the birthing bed, the people rose against her. They demanded that Brandubh sacrifice the White Fennore to the angry gods.”

“You mean kill her?”

Kyle nodded. “The Druid was a treacherous man who valued power over all else, and with the White Fennore, he became very powerful. Knowing who would die before their death came gave him an edge that he used without qualm. He knew that if he could keep her from telling everyone except for him about the death she saw, he would become even more formidable. He convinced her to write down what she saw, instead of speaking it.”

“And he created the Book,” she said numbly.

“Not alone. She helped with each step. All that went into the Book of Fennore was sacred, from the smelted silvers to the skins forged into the covers and the vellum of its pages. It was a thing of power before it had ever been used.”

A shudder went through Meaghan, and Kyle covered her hand with his. The touch was gentle, comforting, but the colors in his eyes had darkened, becoming more golden brown than hazel. He gave her a look sharp with awareness, making her very conscious of the fact that the two of them sat alone in the kitchen in the intimacy of long shadows and muted light. Aware that any minute Áedán might return and he would not be pleased to find Kyle there.

“Brandubh told the White Fennore to use the language that only the two of them shared so that no one else would be able to decipher what she wrote.”

“She trusted him.”

“So the story goes. And for a time, the rumblings of the people stopped and they knew peace. The Druid focused on the fields and the cattle and everyone prospered. But then the king’s son was born dead and his wife died as well, just as the White Fennore had predicted. In his grief and rage, the king once again demanded her sacrifice.”

Another shiver went through her, and Kyle took both of her hands in his, cupping them in the warmth of his palms.

“But the White Fennore was a seer of death and that was Brandubh’s downfall.”

“Because she saw her own?” Meaghan guessed.

Kyle nodded, leaning closer. “She confronted him with it, but he told her that he meant to trick the king and people and what she’d seen was only his ruse. He convinced her to trust him, to go along with his plan.”

Trust me, Meaghan. . . .

“And then he sacrificed her anyway.”

Kyle nodded.

“And she knew it. She saw it coming?” Meaghan said, wishing he’d contradict her. Wishing he’d tell her what she wanted to hear. That, at the last moment, Áedán had proved his sincerity and saved the woman he’d claimed to love.

“She cursed him as her blood spilled over his hands. She condemned him to spend eternity in the Book of Fennore.”

But Áedán had told her a different story. He’d said the woman he loved had betrayed
him.
He said she’d condemned him without reason and then blithely walked away and never looked back.

Kyle touched Meaghan’s cheek, pulling her from the memory. “What is it, Meaghan? You’ve gone pale and your hands are like ice.”

A shudder went through her, and Kyle moved closer, gathering her to him, pressing her face to his shoulder as he rubbed her back and murmured soothing words.

Áedán’s voice spoke in her head.
I will not return to my prison. I will not be at your mercy ever again.. . .

“I’ve upset you,” Kyle said, his tone bewildered.

She wasn’t surprised. He had no way of knowing why the story of a woman dead for centuries unending would have such an impact on Meaghan. She didn’t even understand herself.

Slowly she pulled away, but his arms remained around her, his eyes filled with concern. Meaghan felt as if she’d been impaled by the sharp blades of truth, and now her only hope was to wrench herself free of their piercing hold, take a chance by trusting when her instincts screamed she should trust no one.

“Kyle,” she said. “Do you have any idea why I was sucked into the world of Fennore? Or why Cathán would want me?”

He shook his head. “I’ve wondered if there was a reason. For some of us, there was. But a few seemed to be collateral damage.”

She nodded, absorbing this, wishing she could place herself in the same category.

“Meaghan, whatever it is you’re not telling me . . .” He cupped her face in his warm hands and tilted her chin to look in her eyes. “I hope you know you can trust me. I will help you in anyway I can. We want the same thing. To go home.”

Meaghan nodded again, but his touch and his words disconcerted her. She cleared her throat and stood, stepping away from him.

“Will you promise me to be on your guard where Áedán is concerned? You don’t know who he is.”

Yes, she did. Áedán hadn’t tried to hide it. Not from her. But did she really know him? Had he betrayed the woman he loved and murdered her? And then spent millennia blaming her for what had happened?

“When I touch him, I don’t feel evil, Kyle.”

Kyle stilled. “You don’t
feel
evil. What do you mean?”

Her face grew hot as she explained her gift. “I’m empathic. I sense what others are feeling, and I swear to you, Áedán may be confused, but he’s not evil.”

Kyle moved to stand in front of her, watching her expression with wide eyes.

“What do you feel from me?”

It was the question everyone asked when they learned about her gift.

“I don’t feel anything. You’re closed off. Did you learn to find that inner calm from your training with the church?”

His brows shot up and he shrugged. “Not a clue. But if what you say is true, you should be sensing things from me. You should be feeling how worried I am for you. The fact you’re not tells me that perhaps your gift is not an . . . exact science. It might be misleading you down a path of danger. I know we’ve only just met, but, Meaghan, I feel like I’ve known you much longer.” His voice deepened and she heard a note of desire in it that made her uncomfortable. “I’ve felt this from the first moment I saw you, back when we were trapped in the world of Fennore.”

Her face grew hotter and Kyle looked away, embarrassed by his declaration.

“I should go now,” he said softly. “Do I have your permission to share what we’ve discussed with Jamie and Eamonn?”

Feeling like a traitor, Meaghan nodded. “Don’t make assumptions and accusations about Áedán, though. He has a right to speak on his behalf before a judge and jury tries him without all the facts. Make sure Jamie gets that message, too. He strikes me as a hothead.”

Kyle laughed beneath his breath. “He doesn’t ‘pull his punches,’ as he phrases it.”

Silently she walked Kyle to the front door. He turned on the porch and gave her a meaningful look. Then he leaned down, lowering his head until his mouth was only inches away from her own, catching her off guard.

“Be safe, Meaghan,” he murmured, and he brushed his lips to hers in a fleeting caress.

And then he was gone, leaving Meaghan surprised and alone in a blanket of fog and confusion.

Chapter Sixteen

A
FTER Kyle left, Meaghan checked the back door and found that Colleen had not lied. The lock didn’t work. She tried using one of the chairs to wedge beneath the doorknob, but their backs stood too tall to make it work. Moving the shelves in front of the door might slow him down, but it wouldn’t stop him. Most likely it would only make Mickey mad. Besides, he could always go around to the front door. He lived here. He would have a key.

Áedán said he’d keep Mickey away, and she’d have to trust him. Still, she placed one of Colleen’s kitchen knives under her pillow and climbed into her makeshift bed. Sleep came with swift stealth, snatching Meaghan’s reluctant consciousness away and tumbling her into a deep and troubled slumber. Darkness coated her dreams—coal and soot walls that boxed her in and left her feeling filthy and bound. The only relief from the obsidian world glimmered always out of reach, taunting her to stumble further into its inky lair. Then suddenly she was no longer alone. A man stood in the ebony pit, and like a moon in a starless night, he brought light.

“Come,” he said, reaching out to her.

Meaghan moved without thought, towed closer by the rich timbre of his voice, ensnared by the wild beauty of his eyes. They were a forest at night, the greens so deep they became a patchwork of branches and leaves shivering in the soft evening mist. His nearness filled her senses. He smelled of pine, of fresh spring breezes, of leather and clean sweat. The combined scent intoxicated her and made her want to press her face into his chest, to inhale him, to taste him. Something deep inside her grew hot and liquid, burning and spreading until every inch of her skin felt alive with the sensation.

Forbidden.

Why, she didn’t know.

“Elan,”
he said. “
You have made me your slave.”

The dream twisted and suddenly she and Áedán stood in the midst of an endless valley that shimmered in the crystal-clear air. She stared at the familiar landscape with a wave of foreboding that had nothing to do with the emerald pastures or the sprinkling of sheep and cows that dotted them. Behind her hunkered the castle ruins, ahead and to her right the three standing stones with a flat tableau top that made the dolmen, which had stood sentry there for time unmeasured. At her side, Áedán stiffened and his tension traveled like a spell to every nerve in her body.

It no longer felt like a dream.

“Come,” he said again, taking her hand in the heated warmth of his.

And she thought in that moment she would follow him wherever he would take her.

He pulled her to a path that twisted into the forest, and something caught at the corner of her vision. There, in the long shadows of the trees, she saw a woman dressed in white from head to toe. Her skin gleamed like ivory, her hair so light it looked silver. She blocked their path, watching them both with eyes fixed, intense and enraged.

Áedán made a strangled sound, and before Meaghan could grasp what was happening, before she could react, he was gone. Shocked, Meaghan stared down at the hand he’d been holding. His touch still lingered even as a gust chased his scent into the wind.

Filled with dread, Meaghan returned her gaze to the woman in white. She stared back, her lavender eyes shot with starlight streaks that made them seem unearthly. She didn’t say a word but slowly pulled something from a fold in her robe, and Meaghan saw that it was a comb. A sterling silver comb embedded with endless spirals, like the Book of Fennore. She ran it through her long, flowing hair, and each stroke made the locks dance and glitter like silky tinsel.

Then she paused and held out the comb to Meaghan.

Meaghan’s alarm spiked and her escalating fear paralyzed her for endless moments. There was danger here, though she couldn’t see it, couldn’t begin to guess what it might be. Terrified beyond reason, she stared at the comb the woman held out and realized that she
wanted
it. Badly.

She
yearned
to touch the comb even as the thought of how cold, how sinister it would feel filled her with horror. Her hand reached for it while a voice shouted in her head to run, get away from this woman with her pale eyes and glittering hair. But the pull of temptation burned in Meaghan’s gut. She
needed
the comb. She craved it with every cell in her body, and the intensity of that desire terrified her all the more.

A surge of power seemed to rise up from the woman in white and wash over Meaghan. And then Meaghan’s fingers closed over the sterling comb, and a million sensations bombarded her thoughts with images that rushed through the dyke she’d opened with just her touch. The spiral engravings burned hot against her skin, and the teeth cut into her flesh. She heard a whimpering sound she knew must be coming from her own lips but couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop her knees from shaking and her stomach from churning with terror that went deeper than her bones.

Suddenly the woman tilted back her head, the silver hair spilling over her shoulders, and she keened,
keened
in a mournful, high-pitched wail that battered Meaghan in undulating waves of agony. The sound sliced and diced, eviscerating her will, exacerbating her fear.