Haunting Warrior (9 page)

“Let me see you, then,” Niall said, standing back to eye Rory.

A gentle giant, that was Rory’s stepfather, and the sound of his voice, deep and cajoling, brought Rory back to his heritage in mere seconds. When Rory’s real father had disappeared and Niall stepped in to care for his mother and her two children, Rory had been filled with resentment. Who was Niall to think he could take Cathán MacGrath’s place?

Rory hadn’t wanted him to even try and he was never shy about making it known. He’d treated Niall like a disease to be overcome only through great suffering. The shame of it rose up in Rory now, but he fought it back. He was not here to revisit his childhood or analyze his failures as a man. He was here to bury his grandmother and, for better or worse, find the Book of Fennore.

“Jaysus, I knew you’d be a man, but didn’t a part of me expect to see the boy in you?” Niall exclaimed happily. “And isn’t it a movie star I thought you were?”

Rory wanted to squirm under the scrutiny. He’d been gone a long time. Not long enough to forget he was Irish, but long enough to become Americanized. His hair had been bleached by hours in the sun, his skin browned by the same. He probably looked every bit the California boy they’d all thought he’d become. Either they didn’t know he’d spent more time running from trouble than he had chasing the waves, or they were pretending he was a normal kid come home to the bosom of his family. His money would be on the latter. They were all good pretenders.

Niall gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “Mr. Hollywood is what you look like. Isn’t that right, Sean?”

Niall turned to the younger man who’d come to stand beside him. Rory and Sean were stepbrothers as well as brothers-in-law. No blood relation of course, but they’d lived in the same house for a time before Sean had gone off to university and Rory to California. Sean was as big a man as Rory, hard with muscle and steady of gaze. His smile was welcoming, though, and Rory shook his hand.

Niall beamed at them before wrapping his fingers around the solid muscle of Rory’s bicep.

“Are you doing the steroids, then?” he asked.

“What?” Rory demanded. “No.”

“Don’t get your fecking knickers in a twist,” Niall said, laughing. “We hear about those Americans and how they like their steroids. What about that baseball player?” He looked at Sean with a frown.

“Which one?” Sean asked.

“I can’t remember his name, but they say he liked the steroids more than he did breakfast.”

What happened to the good old days when everyone thought that all Americans drove Mustangs and wore aviator sunglasses?

“I don—” Rory began, but Niall wasn’t finished.

“And doesn’t he look big enough to heft a building, Sean?”

Sean grinned, enjoying Rory’s discomfort, though not with malice. “That he does. Don’t pick a fight with him, Dad. He’ll mash you like a potato.”

Rory didn’t know whether to smile or frown. He settled somewhere in the middle and said nothing.

Danni moved to stand beside her husband, Raegan in her arms and Clodaugh wrapped around a leg. Sean scooped up his daughter and held her high until she giggled.

“Ah, well, it’s good to see you and have my family together again,” Niall said. “Come on now. Your mother’s waiting.”

His mother. Rory sighed as he imagined the meeting with his mother. He’d hurt her the worst by staying away, and he dreaded seeing that in her eyes. Aunt Edel had accused him of punishing them—maybe he had. Maybe he’d just been punishing himself for not being one of them. For never wanting to belong to a world where fathers could disappear like smoke in a windstorm and sisters could read your mind. A world he feared, and like a coward, because he feared it, he’d taught himself to hate it.

Feeling like a man condemned, he followed Niall into the keep through the same little door he’d used earlier. As he entered, Rory realized the door only looked small, set as it was in the towering side of the castle. In truth, it was easily ten feet tall. It opened onto a mud-room, where benches ran along two sides, boots tucked underneath and raincoats hanging on hooks above. A counter lined the wall by the door, filled with pots and gardening tools. At the end of it was a sink for washing off mud and muck.

Rory trailed Niall to a hall that opened onto the heart of the castle. In the original keep, it had probably been a banquet room or the like. His mother stood waiting in the center of the enormous room.

She was a small and slender woman who still looked young despite the fact that her children were grown adults. She’d always been graceful, soft-spoken, and poised. As a kid it bugged Rory, her tranquility. He’d made it a personal mission to rile her whenever he could and had succeeded on quite a few occasions. Yet his victory had never felt good.

“I wondered” was all she said when she saw him.

Left without a response, Rory stood silently, letting his eyes take in the grand hall that had been converted into a massive sitting room with large, comfortable furniture and an immense fireplace, framed with shelves of books. For all its size, it was a warm room, decorated with hanging tapestries and marble statues. Rugs covered the wooden floor and flowers brightened the tables. He wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him, but it was homey. He tilted his head back and looked up at a ceiling thirty feet high. A tiled mosaic mirrored the spiral designs of the pendant, of the lock on the Book of Fennore. Of the brand seared over his heart.

“How long will you be staying?” his mother asked, and reluctantly he pulled his gaze from the mesmerizing design and looked at her.

“Just a few nights,” he said softly.

“Are you nutters?” his mother exclaimed. “You came all that way for just a few nights?”

At the moment, he felt like a raving lunatic, but kept it to himself. He didn’t mention that the quick turnaround was all he thought he could take. All he thought anyone would want. But Danni caught her lip between her teeth, and his mother looked like she might cry.

“There, now, Fia,” Niall said to Rory’s mother. “Let’s just be happy he’s here now.”

A girl who Rory hadn’t noticed before stepped forward to stand just beside Fia. She watched him with huge gray eyes and a small frown.

“You remember your sister Meaghan sure enough?” Niall said, smiling happily, oblivious to the tension that radiated off the young woman.

Meaghan had only been a little girl with skinned knees and no front teeth when he’d left. Now she would be twenty, a woman. Beautiful, like Danni and their mother. But there was something more than just beauty here. Something ethereal, something otherworldly. She was breathtaking, so lovely she didn’t seem real. But the unwavering stare she gave him was tangible, and it made him want to squirm. Irritated, he stared back without a word.

“Is it the Book you’re here looking for?” she demanded without preamble.

Niall sucked in a breath, and his mother made a shushing sound. As surprised by the vehemence in Meaghan’s tone as the question, Rory raised his brows and shrugged. Meaghan wasn’t old enough to have any bad memories of him—not of her own anyway, but who knew what she’d been told over the years. She’d been sweet and uncomplicated as a child and she alone had been exempt from Rory’s rage. She’d followed him like he hung the moon and he’d let her. But the woman staring him down now had no hero worship in her eyes.

“Good to see you again, too,” he answered with a curious smile.

“I’ve spent three years searching for it, you know. It’s not here. You won’t find it.”

She glared at him defiantly, as if she’d thrown down a gauntlet and dared him to pick it up. He might have laughed if the tension in the room hadn’t been so high and tight. Why had his youngest sister been looking for the Book of Fennore? And if it was true, then why did it evade her? Danni had said the Book knew who was thinking of it, looking for it. He wanted to ask, but the expression on his mother’s face made him remember that Nana had thought his mother would keep the pendant from him if she’d known about it.

“Meaghan, leave him be,” his mother said, interrupting Rory’s silent questions.

“But—”

“You heard your mother,” Niall told her. “Now, who’s hungry? The least we can do is feed our Rory, aye?”

“It’s okay. I ate earl—” He stopped at the look on his mother’s face. He didn’t have the heart to dim the hopeful sparkle in her eyes and so he said instead, “Food would be good. Haven’t eaten since some peanuts on the flight.”

She smiled and it nearly broke his heart. “I’ve salmon cooking with potatoes and your favorite soda bread.”

Another wave of nostalgia sucker punched him. Niall was a fisherman, and salmon was as much a staple at mealtime here as fast food was in the States. He’d decided he hated the fish by the time they’d sent him away. But the savory scent that came from the kitchen and the thought of this meal, prepared by his mother as she’d prepared so many others, was enough to make his stomach growl and his heart ache.

“Sure and we didn’t know when you’d get here. . . .” Or if he was coming at all, Fia’s pause said. “But it should be ready by now.”

She led the way into a huge kitchen where an enormous table was set and ready. In his mind, Rory heard the echo of Nana’s voice.

I’m here, okay
? he silently answered
.

He sat with Sean, Niall, and the toddlers while his sisters and mother moved food from oven to table. When they were all seated, his mother took one hand and Niall the other and they all bent their heads in prayer that felt familiar and alien at the same time.

His mother ended by thanking God for bringing home her son. She had tears in her eyes when she finished, and they’d all turned to Rory expectantly.

“It smells great,” he said, and his mother beamed as she passed him the platter of salmon.

“Hope you’re not too tired, Rory,” Niall said with a big smile as they all began filling plates. “But friends and family will be stopping by later to pay their respects to Mother.”

Niall’s eyes looked suddenly glassy, and Rory thought of how selfish he’d been not offering his condolences. But it seemed too late now. It occurred to Rory only then that the wake might be tonight. That somewhere in this castle Colleen Ballagh was laid out for the viewing as tradition warranted. Hell, people would be coming from far and near to see her.

Rory was pretty sure his expression said exactly what he thought of facing all those
friends and family
. “I don’t think there’s anyone I want to see,” he said.

Sean laughed at that. “You’re in Ballyfionúir, Rory. When has anyone here ever cared what you do or don’t want? It’s not in their genetic build to have concerns outside of their own.”

A truer statement had never been made. Still, Rory tried. “Let’s not play this ‘we’re glad to have him home’ game, okay? No one was sorry to see me go. I don’t want to make nice about my being back. It’s just for a few days and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I was sorry,” Danni said softly.

“Aye, me, too,” Niall offered.

“Is that what you think—” his mother began.

Rory stood so suddenly his chair shot out from beneath him. They all stared at him with startled eyes. He wanted to shout—say something so obscenely offensive that they would stop looking at him like he was the returned messiah. He didn’t know how to cope with this benevolence. They were all so good, so
caring
. Why couldn’t they see that Rory was everything they weren’t? That he didn’t belong here with them? Didn’t they remember what he’d been like before they’d sent him away? Didn’t they remember Trevor and how Rory’s negligence had led to his death? Had he been given time, Rory would have eventually self-destructed and taken down anyone in his path as he went.

“I’m not glad to have him back,” Meaghan said, and the shocked gazes all turned to her. “Fecking look at him,” she went on mildly. “All my girls will be wanting to snog him, won’t they? And he may look like a fecking Superman, but I’ll doubt he can do twenty of them in one night.”

Still no one said anything. Rory’s mouth was open. He shut it.

“I’m just saying. They’ll be pissy about it.”

Sean was the one who finally laughed, though he fought it valiantly before losing. To Rory’s amazement, Danni joined in and then his mother. His mother, for Chrissakes. Niall was laughing so hard he started to cough. Even the little ones giggled, though it was obvious they didn’t have a clue what everyone was laughing about.

“I don’t know what’s so damned funny,” Rory said, trying to look fierce. But the laughter was contagious, and he found himself standing like a fool with a bewildered expression and a stupid smile on his face. To cover it, he turned away, silently retrieved his chair, and sat down.

“Pass the potatoes, please,” he said, and this elicited a howl from Meaghan that nearly rattled the hanging light.

His mother had tears in her eyes as she passed the bowl to him, planting a kiss on his cheek as she did. Dazed, Rory loaded his plate with food he doubted he’d get past the lump in his throat.

T
HEY had come, people he hadn’t seen since he’d left. People he never wanted to see again. Each face was a memory he’d worked hard to forget. Each friendly smile a poisonous reminder of how little he deserved it. Each black scowl a welcome landmark on an uncertain path.

They’d filed by, seeking out the family members to offer condolences. Seeking out Rory because now he was a novelty and they wanted to know how he’d changed. How he hadn’t. In a haze of grief and confusion, he’d managed to keep it together. Barely.

And through all the long hours, he’d seen
her
. The woman from his dream, flitting in and out of the sea of memory. As she had in the airport, she’d appeared amongst the mourners, a seduction in motion, always out of reach. No one else took notice of her, and that was the only way Rory knew she wasn’t really there. Because she looked every bit as real as the others. She’d drawn him from the fringes of the gathering and into the thick of it, then vanished, leaving him at their mercy.