The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (56 page)

Ulick sat naked on the floor, hanging on to the side of the bath, eyes closed. An unexpected heat flushed her skin. She stared at him for long seconds before she realized what she was doing and quickly closed the door. Damn! This was real y awkward. She was sure he’d need help getting in the bath, but . . .

“Lass. Do not be shy, I need yer aid.”

Tara tried to swal ow away the dryness in her mouth and pushed the door open again. Ulick looked up at her, unashamed. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. His body was lean, muscles sculpted but not gym-bunny over-perfect.

“A hand, lass.” He reached out to her, and Tara stepped closer without hesitation. She helped him up, and he half climbed, half fel into the bath. For long moments, he simply lay in the water, soaking up the heat, eyes closed.

When he lifted his head, she noticed a difference in the movement. It didn’t look like a terrible effort any more. “I need to bring word to the King. He is in great danger.” Tara’s heart ached. “I hate to break this to you, but whatever message you had to deliver is a little late. Very late, actual y.”

He rested his head against the bath again, a determined set to his firm lips. “Nay. It is not too late.”

“What year do you think it is?” she asked.

“I do not know what year I find myself in now. The year I was last conscious . . . I know not what year that was, either. I had stepped . . .” He closed his eyes and sighed. “How did ye find me?”

“I work on an archaeological dig. You were buried, two feet under the surface.”

“And ye knew the resurrection ritual?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m an archaeologist, not a magician. I have no idea how I managed to wake you up.”

Ulick opened his eyes, a flash of sharp interest in them. “Ye did not know the ritual, but ye resurrected me?”

Tara nodded. “Aye. I mean, yes. I have no idea how that happened.” She braced herself. “Are you human?”

Ulick smiled. “Nay, lass. I am of the old race, the Tuatha Dé Danaan.” She suppressed the urge to snort a laugh. “You’re a fairy?”

“Aye. I am of the Fae.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it as if deciding not to. “I must get to the King. He is in grave danger. Wil ye take me to him?”

“Ulick.” How would she put this? “You’ve been buried a long time. Whatever king you needed to give a message to is long dead.”

“Nay. He lives. He lives and rules. By the grace of Rónán Tiarna an Ama I wil not be too late.” She’d break it to him gently, when he was stronger. The last thing she wanted to do was crush the spirit that shone in his eyes. “Do you want some soap? Shampoo?” He frowned, uncertain. “Pray tel , what is
sham-pooh?”

It took three baths for Ulick to final y be clean. Tara had a spare toothbrush and Ulick seemed to know what to do with it, though toothpaste was strange to him. Tara threw some clothes on, dirty as she was, and used the time he was in the bath to drive to Newry and buy two pairs of tracksuit pants and three T-shirts she hoped would fit him.

He emerged from the bathroom minutes after she got back, only a towel wrapped around his waist. Tara forgot to breathe. An unfamiliar tightness gripped her lower bel y.

“My clothes?” he asked, sheepish.

“You were buried long enough for your clothes to decay. There was nothing left but a belt buckle.”

Tara watched him take in that bit of information. Ulick shrugged, unperturbed. “What do men wear in this time?”

“I put some clothes on the bed in the spare room for you, down the passage there. Right now, I’m quite desperate for a bath myself.”

Half an hour later, clean and fresh, Tara padded back into her sitting room on bare feet. Ulick was ful y dressed and fast asleep on the couch, but he woke up when she came near. For a moment, Tara was at a loss for words.

Ulick met her stare. “I am very hungry,” he said, his voice a near physical touch to her cheek.

“I’l . . . I’l do us both a fry-up.”

He smiled as if he knew something she didn’t and came to his feet. “Ye do that, lass. I shal aid ye, and ye can tel me of the world that is now.”

“First I need to know what year you came from, so I can fil you in on the rest.”

“I do not know the year I was in when I died.”

How was that possible? She stored the question for later. “Tel me some things you remember, stuff people won’t forget in a while.”

Ulick fol owed her to the kitchen. “I was in sister England one month before I journeyed back to Ireland. My quest was to meet one like us, who knew of a plot to overthrow the King. I found this man in Warrington. The enemy could not find us, and shook the ground to kil us both.” Bingo. “There was an earthquake in Warrington in 1750.”

“Aye. Men would think of it as that. I escaped with my life, but the enemy and some who serve him were in pursuit. One caught up with me in the fair county of Armagh. By grace of Eireann she was not as strong as her master. I defeated her, but could not heal.” Tara glanced at him. It seemed unreal to hear this now, with him clad in a dark grey T-shirt and black tracksuit pants. They fitted snugly about his hips, over a pair of firm buttocks. “I didn’t see any marks on you.” And, boy, had she seen a lot of him earlier, when he was stil covered in mud, and ice cold.

“Aye. Fae heal in death, but do not regain life unless resurrected by another. My enemy had constricted air around me and broke one of my ribs. It pierced my heart. The bleeding was too much for me to stop.”

“Good God.” Tara lay rashers of bacon in the pan, added three sausages. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ulick watch her every move. Tara smiled. “Al this technology must seem strange to you.”

Ulick shook his head. “Not real y. In Tir na nóg, people from many different times settle to live. I have seen much like this, and have been told of electricity. There, magic is instil ed to work the machines we use to ease life.”

“Tel me about it.”

He did. As they cooked a huge breakfast together, Ulick described a land where the absence of death by natural means led to a slower pace of life, where command of magic gave rise to different technology which was in many ways similar to modern machines. When they’d finished eating, he gathered the dishes and took them to the sink. “Yer turn. Tel me of what passed in the time I slept in death.”

Tara’s heart glowed. Beloved history. She fil ed him in on the broad details. He nodded when she got around to the world wars. “I have heard of these great wars. There is a man in the land beyond time who fought then.”

Tara brewed tea, and Ulick listened grimly to the modern history of Ireland. “Aye,” he commented when they settled in the sitting room, each with a steaming cup of tea. “Fair Eireann’s children bear much sorrow.”

“And a lot of time has passed since you died.”

Ulick smiled. “Never fear, Tara. I am not too late to pass on my message. The king I speak of is Nuada Airgethlam, Lord of Tir na Nóg, ruler over Tuatha Dé Danaan in al worlds. As long as the Lord of Time gives me grace to enter Tir na nóg when I need to, I wil not be too late.” Her heart sank. “So you’re going to leave?”

His smile faded. “I must. But not yet. My strength has not ful y returned. If I may prevail upon your hospitality . . .”

“Of course.” He could prevail upon her hospitality as long as he liked. Tara looked away from him, and gulped her tea. Her phone tril ed, and she dashed to the sitting room to answer it.

Dul aghan again.

“Tara, sorry to bother you again. There’s been some interference with the dig, we suspect it was with your squares. Did you see anything when you were there earlier?”

“No, nothing.” She thought fast. “I did pass a van parked at the side of the road when I left.”

“And what time was that?”

“Around seven, I think.”

A pause. “OK, we’l let you know if we find out anything. See you tomorrow.” She ended the cal and put the phone down. Dul aghan had sounded deeply suspicious. Tara chewed her bottom lip as she went back to the kitchen.

They sat at the kitchen table through the rest of the morning and into late afternoon. Ulick drank endless cups of sweet tea, ate everything she offered him. He was quick-witted and an excel ent storytel er, fascinating her with tales of Irish gods who often seemed so different to the way they were portrayed in mythology.

He also listened wel , getting Tara to tel him every detail she knew of her own family history. “I never knew my grandmother on my father’s side. She died in a car accident when my dad was a baby.”

“Ah.”

Why did that “ah” sound as if he suddenly understood something he’d been wondering about?

But Ulick changed the subject to her job and Tara stored her questions at the back of her mind.

That night, for the first time since the dig began, she felt at peace when she lay down in her bed.

The events of her extraordinary day swirled like a kaleidoscope in her mind. Was it the excitement? The fatigue? Or perhaps the warmth of knowing Ulick slept on the other side of her bedroom wal ? Whatever the reason, she soon fel into a deep sleep that was lined with dreams of the ancient Irish gods from Ulick’s tales.

When Tara arrived for work next morning, the blue and white of a police car at the gate dampened the normal y jovial atmosphere. With her heart in her throat, she crunched across the gravel at the entrance before stepping on to the pathway of wooden boards that kept the dig from turning into a quagmire. The familiar invisible spider crawled up her spine as she approached the mess tent.

This time she wondered if fear was coaxing the prickly feeling over her skin.

“Tara.” Dul aghan popped his head out of the admin tent. “Could you come in here, please.” An hour later, Tara emerged from the tent, suppressing a satisfied grin. They’d asked a mil ion questions, but she stuck to the truth: no, she hadn’t removed any valuable artifact from the dig.

Ulick was no artifact.

“Let me put it this way,” the policeman had said. “Did you remove anything valuable from the dig?”

Tara smiled. He was no fool. She shook her head. Ulick was a person, no value could be placed on his life.

The policeman nodded, satisfied. “Thank you, Ms McGinty. You can go.” And go she did, a kind of giddy joy stuck in her throat, making her head feel too ful . She’d done it. She’d rescued Ulick and got away with it. He’d be there when she got home, and they’d talk the night away. Tara began scraping soil from a new square, no more than the turf removed so far.

Ulick’s grave was closed off with red-and-white-striped tape that flapped in the snappy breeze.

The policeman soon stepped from the admin tent wearing a stoic look as Dul aghan argued with him. Silence fel on the dig as everyone tried to hear what their boss was saying. It soon became impossible not to.

“I’m tel ing you,” Dul aghan shouted, “a very important artifact was removed from this site!” The policeman kept his face impassive. “As soon as you bring us proof, doctor, we shal do everything in our power to recover what might have been stolen. Until then, my hands are tied.” From his tone of voice Tara guessed he had no burning desire to untie them, either.

When the patrol car disappeared around the bend, Dul aghan stormed back to the admin tent.

Tara glanced up just in time to catch a venomous look he cast her way. She shrugged and kept scraping.

“You mean to tel me,” Tara said that night at her kitchen table, “that there are hundreds – perhaps even thousands – of faeries living among normal people?”

“Aye.” Ulick had spent the day sleeping and eating, and looked somehow more real, more
there,
than he had that morning. She didn’t mind that she’d have to go shopping for food again tomorrow. “When our race realized the age of Men was dawning, we withdrew from this land. We cal it the Leaving. Some chose to live in Tir na nóg, the land beyond time. Others chose the hidden world, where twilight reigns al hours. Yet others chose to hide among men. Each choice carries its burden both of sorrows and of joys.”

“But Fae are immortal. How do they hide that, if they live with ordinary humans?”

“We can al ow our bodies to age as those of humans would. At the time it would be considered normal for them to die, these faeries slip into the hidden world and al ow their bodies to renew.

They then re-enter the world of men and start a new life.”

“Can they have children?”

“Aye, and many take human mates. The sons and daughters sometimes inherit the Fae nature, sometimes not. Sometimes their nature skips a generation, and grandchildren inherit. That is common. But unless someone tel s this child or grandchild what they are, they wil age and die as they believe they should.”

“That seems sad. A waste.”

“Aye.” Ulick looked straight at her, his green eyes clear and kind. “It is.” And whether it was the steady stare or the husky rasp in his voice as he spoke, Tara found herself leaning forwards over the smal table, and Ulick did the same. He rested his hands on hers, stroked her thumbs with his own. She wanted his firm lips on her mouth, so very much.

But as if he reminded himself of something, Ulick pul ed back. She felt the moment shatter and drift away. They carried on speaking as if nothing had happened. Between them, invisible yet impossible to ignore,
something
grew stronger as the night waned.

Tara turned her car’s engine off and slumped in the seat. She sighed. On one hand, her life had turned into something wonderful since Ulick had entered it two weeks ago. Nightly talks trailed into the smal hours. He could do magic – real magic! – and amused her with what she suspected he considered to be simple tricks. He kept the house clean, cooked delicious meals and, when she had time off, they went for long walks. She’d taken him to town, to the cinema, and he was fascinated with modern life.