Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (25 page)

Chapter 22

Chilling rain whipped around Desmond, lashing his face. It would be a simple matter to tilt the umbrella for more protection, but that required caring. He was dead inside. In a dark corner of his soul, the beast growled in rage, in frustration… in madness. Numb, he just stood, holding a blood-red rose, and stared impassively. Trevelyn and Jago watched him, concern in their green eyes, but it was too much effort to reassure them he was all right.

He
was
all right. Wasn’t he?

Jago crossed to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Come on, Des. It’s not necessary to stay while they fill in the grave.”

Desmond couldn’t move. He felt rooted to the spot. Sounds of the shovels tossing the wet dirt into the hole was the only noise the three graveyard workers made. They raked the last clumps on top, then laid the sod rolls and finally the elaborate wreaths. One from each son, one from Julian.

Somehow, Desmond had failed his mother yet again. As a child he hadn’t been able to lighten her sorrow when the black moods seized her. A simple country lass, she hadn’t been prepared to raise her sons alone. Katlyn Fitzgerald Mershan had been a beautiful, fragile lady, as delicate as an orchid—and as easily crushed.

He was grown before he understood what afflicted his mother, realized there were treatments for what they now called bipolar disorder. Back then, it was labeled manic-depression. Few spoke of the condition.

Through hard work he’d made something of himself, seen his brothers raised with every advantage. But his money could do nothing to ease her pain and suffering.

“Des, it’s over.” Jago squeezed his elbow.

Desmond jerked away. “It’s
not
over. Not ‘til we take down Montgomerie Enterprises.”

Uneasy, Jago glanced at Trevelyn. He said, “You wish to go ahead with the plans?”

Rage boiled inside him. “You ask that? She’s barely in the ground—a woman whose life was ruined by Sean Montgomerie.”

“If Montgomerie was here, I’d strangle him with my bare hands,” Jago pressed, “but taking the son-of-bitch’s mistakes out on his granddaughters isn’t the way, Des. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“I’m not ‘taking it out on the granddaughters’” Desmond swallowed back shards of conscience. “I’m merely claiming what Sean put up as collateral. Move the plans up, I want it done.”

Stepping to the grave, Desmond raised the red rose to his nose. Images of B.A. and her white rose shimmered in his mind. B.A.‘s rose before Lady Stone was purity, the hope of a future touched by magic. The promise of happiness. In contrast, he stared transfixed at the rose in his hand—a blood-red rose.
Blood vengeance.

Pain lanced his heart, his soul. Quashing down his questions, his doubts, he kissed the red rose then placed it atop his mother’s grave. Not looking back, he stalked off into the rain. Alone.

B. A. dragged the stepladder over to hang the mistletoe at the archway of The Green Man. Her eyes glanced to the calendar on the wall, hardly believing Des had been gone nearly a month. Butterflies of doubt fluttered in her stomach. She muttered under her breath, “He’s coming back.”

“The Curse is punishing our B.A. for importing females,” Callum announced to the pub. “I told you this would happen, B.A.”

Ian snagged a Wee Heavy from the cooler and sat on a stool, eyeing Falgannon’s voice of doom. “You didn’t tell me.” He looked to his twin. “He tell you?”

Brian leaned the pool cue against the wall. “Not me.”

“Nor me,” Jock added. “He tell you, Angus?”

“Ehhh?” Angus squinted, trying to hear.

B.A. laughed when Ian leaned over and said loudly, “Dunna ken why you squint because you can’t hear.
Turn on your trannie
.”

Angus rapped his cane on the floor. “B.A., tell this pup there ain’t need to scream at a body. Don’t need the thing on if everyone would stop whispering.”

Tugging on the garland—which had a cat attached to the end of it—she watched the men around the bar drinking pints, their faces a mixture of emotions. They wanted to laugh at Callum’s dire pronouncement, yet were fearful in the same breath it had a ring of truth. One didn’t trifle with The Curse.

“While we all want to get married, we like our peaceful ways. During the past few weeks our quietude has been put asunder, B.A.,” Callum continued. Everyone muttered
aye
and nodded in agreement.

“Boy, had they got that right,” B.A. sniggered.

She hadn’t foreseen the lunacy the Web site would bring to the isle. The paratrooping incident had just been a beginning. The past two weeks, boatloads of crazed females sporadically patrolled the shores, waving and yelling, trying to discover where to land. Once, three jumped off the boat and swam to the pier. Then there had been the Blond Brigade—five amazons who landed in a hot air balloon. It didn’t stop there. Two more used a hang-glider pulled behind a boat, and another Jet-Skied in after being dropped by a cruiser.

B.A. had let the last stay. The woman decorated the Jet-Ski to look like Splendid Mane, the mythical seahorse of Manannan MacLir. When the woman landed, she offered a tale of how Splendid Mane had carried her away and brought her to this beautiful isle. Originality and knowledge of Celtic lore earned her enough points to stay.

The phone rang, drawing B.A. Part of her hoped it might be Des, but he generally rang late at night. Seeing as her hands were full, Ian started toward the phone.

She told him, “If that’s Katie Couric again, tell her I moved to Poland.”

“‘Tis Cian the Brother.” Ian held out the receiver.

B.A. groaned, climbing down. She’d dodged her brother’s calls for three weeks. “Cian. What a delight. How’s Dad? Getting ready for the hols at Colford?”

“Damn it, B.A., I’ve left dozens of messages. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

“Busy. ‘Tis the season. A lot of decorating and shopping to do.”

B.A. stuck her tongue out at the phone; her brother expected the world to drop to its collective feet and grovel whenever he snapped his fingers. Holding the phone between her head and shoulder while unwinding the garland proved a struggle, as Dudley was intent on killing the glittery snake monster and wouldn’t let go.

“Have you seen Mershan’s paperwork yet? Can you fax it?”

She said evasively, “I don’t have a fax, Brother mine. We’re lucky to get Internet. Never needed to fax anything.”

“You have a scanner?”

She could care less what had brought Desmond to the island. If he wanted to claim part of Falgannon… well, she intended to be Mrs. Mershan come spring. The question of ownership would be moot then.

“B.A., I need those papers.”

She sighed. “Cian, I don’t want a hotel. I’ve been clear on that. Anything else—it dinna matter. I plan on marrying him.”

“Marry?”
Her brother’s stunned voice came through the wire. “He’s asked you?”

B.A. could barely hear Cian for the racket of her lads clinking glasses and laughing over her declaration. “No, but I’m a Montgomerie. I never listen to anyone. I’m going to marry him. He’ll come around to the idea.”

“You hardly know him. Damn it, B.A., the man is a shark.”

“What shark? He’s an architect.” She wiggled the garland for Dudley.

“He’s also head of Mershan International. He and his brothers buy a lot of businesses on the skids, turn them around and sell them for huge profits.”

“Good for them. Think of the jobs saved. You should admire that, since Montgomerie Enterprises the same.”

“You’re not going to listen, are you?” he accused.

“Och, we Montgomeries never listen. Ask anyone on my whole bloody isle.”

“You haven’t introduced this man to the family.”

“My family
here
adores him. That and how I feel tells me all I need to ken. Anything else dunna matter—only details Des and I can handle together.”

“Bring him for the holidays, B.A. Give the family a chance to get to know him.”

“Sorry, I want to spend our first Christmas on the isle.”

“I still want copies of his paperwork.”

“First chance I get.”
Maybe after the marriage,
she vowed silently. “Must go, Dudley and I are decorating the pub. Tell everyone there I love them. Ta.”

Desmond stared out the car window, watching water stream down the glass. The rain, the swooshing of tires on the wet pavement, was soothing.
The soft,
B.A. called this type of rain. As he rode in the back of the black limo through London, he experienced a strange nothingness in his heart. He welcomed the lack of emotion, but knew there were too many things outside his control waiting to crowd inward, to disturb this mental solitude.

Aware of his brothers’ furtive glances, he feigned ignorance. Jago was stoic, maintaining a stiff upper lip. Red-eyed, Trevelyn kept tears at bay, replacing the pain with a desire for vengeance. Like Desmond, he blamed his mother’s death squarely on Sean Montgomerie.

Retreating into himself, Desmond sighed. He hadn’t rested much for weeks; even then, the sleep had been haunted. Nightmares and B.A., neither was ever far from his mind. A schism had opened in his psyche, a crack down the middle of him that he didn’t know how to stop. He feared what would happen when it reached his care. He ignored his dread by hiding in the vacuum where no emotions existed.

Trevelyn had his briefcase open, was studying blueprints for the triple oil platforms. “I see no earthly reason not to push this through. I say we step up the timetable for the Trident Ventures takeover bid of Montgomerie Enterprises, then we can go public with Mershan International buying out Trident. I’m tired of this hanging fire. I want it done. Finished.”

Desmond let the words roll off him. Rain beaded the tinted windows as he watched the passing city streets. Everywhere were signs of Christmas. Store windows glistened with miles of red, green and gold tinsel.

“Trev, there’s no sense messing up everyone’s holidays. A few weeks won’t matter.” Jago rubbed the back of his neck, clearly exasperated.

“Our
holidays were messed up. Years of them. You think Mum looked forward to Christmas knowing there was little she could give us? I recall one Christmas we were damn lucky to have something to eat, because she came down with pneumonia and couldn’t work. She needed to be in the bloody hospital, but wouldn’t go—”

“What I recall was Desmond getting up sick and doing his paper route before school so we could eat.” Jago glanced at Desmond. “I’m so sick of this song and dance that ‘we had it hard growing up.‘Yes, we did. But we stayed together as a family, thanks to Des. It’s past, and has been for a long time.”

“The point being how our mother suffered—what it did to her health. It put her in the grave,” Trevelyn snarled.

“Maybe we should drop it.” Jago gritted his teeth. “We can’t live in the past. There are other things to worry about now.”

“If we get this business done, we can have closure.”

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe you’re my twin. You’re so thick—”

Traffic stalled, bringing the limo to a halt. Desmond pushed open the door. Leaving it standing wide, he walked down the street.

“Where the bloody hell is
he
going?” Trevelyn said.

Ignoring his brothers, Desmond walked to a pet store, peered inside. A pretty blond clerk opened the door, holding it for him. Desmond walked in and stared at the kittens on display.

“We have some gorgeous Seal Pointe Siamese…” the clerk suggested.

“I want a tabby.” He studied the cats, fought the urge to take them all, but one dark gray caught his attention. It sat trembling, so scared.
“That
one.”

The clerk opened the pen and removed the cat by the scruff of its neck. Desmond frowned and snatched it away, as though he suspected she planned on feeding it to the dogs on the other side of the room. The kitten snuggled down in the curve of his elbow and sighed.

“She’s taking to you,” the blond commented.

“Cats love me.” Desmond glared at Trevelyn, who’d appeared and smothered a laugh. “I’ll need a pet carrier, food, bowls… toys.”

Trevelyn glanced at his watch impatiently, but Desmond just smiled. His brother rolled his eyes as collars, bags of catnip, wind-up mice, climbing perches, cat beds and a clawing post were also purchased.

“Oh, and two cases of the catnip bubbles.” Desmond pointed.

Trev closed his eyes and shuddered.

B.A. pushed open the door to Patrick’s shop, her eyes dancing over the glass cases of gold and silver jewelry. Breathtaking torques, cuffs, brooches and rings twinkled under the lights.

Boxing an item to ship, Patrick smiled at Kitty, who jumped up on the glass and left paw prints. “Hello to you, wee beastie. Evening, B.A. Let me guess why you’ve come.”

“Evening, Patrick.” She chuckled. “I’m that big a pain then? Sorry, I want these gifts to be perfect.”

“I have the ring.” He leaned back in his chair and yelled into the house, “Skylar, our lass is here.”

He opened a velvet case, showing a heavy gold ring. A one-of-a-kind design, it was precisely as she’d envisioned it: a gold winged faery cat over the onyx stone, edged with the Celtic loveknot border.

“Patrick, it’s stunning!”

“Wait till you see Skylar’s handiwork.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as Skylar bounced down. He said, “Expect she’s here about this.” He carried a blanket like it was wrapped about a baby. “I think she’ll be satisfied.”

Pushing Dudley aside, he placed the plaid on the glass case and unfolded it to reveal a gleaming sword. Skylar was right. B.A. was satisfied and knew her expression reflected it.

The claymore was five-foot tall, and while Patrick’s ring was beautiful, the sword was magnificent. In her soul she knew the blade would be treasured by Des, a gift to speak of her love for him. She recalled him reverently holding the Sword of The Sinclair. Soon, he could hold one that was his own. The pommel was engraved with the Faery Cat rampant, matching the ring, while the hilt was wrapped with the same black leather Tarn had used for his pants. A fitting touch, she thought, a smile spreading across her face.

It was beautiful. It was exquisite.

“Does it please you?” Skylar asked, knowing full well he’d done magic.