The Undivided (13 page)

Brydie came to Darragh’s room later that night. She let herself in, padded barefoot to the end of the bed where she stood and waited for him to notice her. He turned over at the sound of the door closing and waved his hand to magically light the oil lamp beside the bed. He silently studied his guest for a time.

Ciarán had taught him that trick. When you weren’t sure of the right thing to say, it looked wiser to say nothing at all.

His silence worked. After a few awkward moments, Brydie tried to fill the silence.

‘What happened to your legendary protector?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘The great warrior, Ciarán. Legend has it he sleeps on the floor outside your door.’

‘Ciarán makes up those rumours to scare off people who want to sneak into my room in the dead of night,’ Darragh said, pushing himself up on his elbows. Brydie was standing at the foot of the bed in a nightgown made of gossamer, her rich auburn hair down. She unclasped the amethyst-and-gold filigree brooch at her throat, dropping her cloak to the floor to reveal her comely body clearly outlined through the thin fabric. Anybody who had seen Brydie traversing the halls of
Sí an Bhrú
dressed like that would have no doubt she had a lover’s assignation in mind.

‘Apparently, the legend’s not working as well as it should,’ Darragh said.

‘Are you going to send me away?’ she asked with a slight tremble in her voice. She seemed much less certain of herself now than she had been in the hall earlier.

Darragh clasped his hands behind his head because it made him look more in control of the situation than he felt, and was the best way to ensure she couldn’t see them trembling. ‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether you’re here because you
want
to be here, or because Álmhath’s threatened you with something you dislike even more than the idea of sleeping with me.’

Instead of answering him, Brydie tugged at the laces on her nightgown, letting it fall to her feet. Her body was flawless, pale and enticing. Her breasts were round and full, the dark bush between her thighs a sure sign that the rich dark tone of her hair was natural and not the result of being dyed, the way the Greeks and Romans dyed their hair.

‘I volunteered,’ she said with a small smile.

Darragh swallowed hard, trying to give the appearance of nonchalance. ‘Call the Vate.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Go to the door,’ he said. ‘Call for Colmán. He’ll be hovering around out there somewhere. He’s very annoying like that.’

‘You’re sending me away?’

Darragh shook his head. ‘Not at all. I want you to give the old fool a message.’

‘What message?’

‘Tell him we’re going to be busy.’

‘Until morning?’ she suggested, with a smile that promised so much Darragh could feel himself growing hard at the mere thought of what this girl might want to do to him.

‘For the next few days,’ he corrected with a grin. ‘Tell him to bring food, later, too. And that only he is to deliver it.’

‘That’s a harsh thing to ask a man in Colmán’s position.’

‘What do you care?’

‘Well, now you mention it …’

Brydie went to the door, called for Colmán, took great delight in telling the mortified Vate of All Eire she and Darragh would be busy for the next few days and that he was now charged with serving them. Then she shut the door in the old man’s face, and turned to lean on it with a laugh.

‘I enjoyed that.’ She sauntered back to his side of the bed and stood there looking down at him, hands on her hips, her breasts pushed forward provocatively. After a moment, she ran her tongue over her full, pink lips with the faintest hint of a smile. ‘You’re not what I was expecting.’

Danú
give me strength …
‘What … were you expecting?’

‘I’m not sure, really,’ Brydie said, studying him curiously. ‘You’re more … human than I was expecting, I suppose.’

Darragh laughed at that. ‘Human? What made you think I wouldn’t be?’

Brydie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably because you’re one of the Undivided. You have to admit, you’re not really like the rest of us.’

‘You don’t know that. You don’t know me at all.’

‘I’d like to,’ she said, holding out her hand.

Danú,
but she’s gorgeous
.

Darragh leant forward and took the offered hand, pulling her down on top of him. He let her kiss him, open mouthed, relishing the taste of her, delighting in the feel of her firm body as he ran his hands over her creamy skin, wishing it was going to end the way she seemed to intend. For a time he gave in to her caresses, telling himself he had to act as if he really intended to make love to her, otherwise she’d be suspicious. After a few
moments of increasingly frantic kissing and urgent groping, they rolled over in a tangle of furs so that he was on top of her. Her legs were open, wide and inviting, silently begging him to enter.

He sat astride her, breathing hard, with no need to fake the desire he felt. A part of him marvelled at his own self-control for stopping now; another part of him — the part of him ruled by his little brain, not the big one, as Ciarán was fond of saying — was whispering,
what’s a few more minutes … why not? … after all, she volunteered …

‘Close your eyes,’ he ordered.

It was time to get this done. He didn’t have
that
much self-control.

Brydie smiled up at him languorously. ‘Why?’

‘Humour me.’

‘Nobody warned me you were the type who likes to play games,’ she said. Brydie closed her eyes, however, still smiling. ‘Do you have a surprise for me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Darragh told her, as he reached for the small pouch of blue powder sitting on the side table beside the lamp. ‘I most certainly do.’

‘Will I like it? Is it fun?’

‘I don’t know,’ Darragh said. He poured the powder into his hand and blew the
Brionglóid Gorm
into her face, and watched as she fell into a deep sleep. He sat back on his heels and smiled at her. ‘But I’m pretty sure
I’m
going to be smiling about this for some time to come.’

The
Brionglóid Gorm
did its job. Brydie was out cold. Darragh had a few hours before she stirred. He stayed still, astride her for a moment. What a waste … still, he had things to do, and only a few hours to do them. With a regretful sigh he climbed off her, walked around the bed and kicked aside her cloak with its amethyst brooch into the corner by his trunk.

Time. He had only a short window of opportunity to contact Ciarán with the scrying bowl.

A few hours to find out if there was any news.

A few hours to find out if Ciarán had received word from the rift runners searching for Rónán, that they had found him and were bringing his brother home.

‘What the hell is going on here?’

The flash of headlights and a shout tore Trása back to reality. For a moment there, she’d been lost in a delightful fantasy … a fantasy in which Darragh was kissing her, the way she’d tried to get him to kiss her before … before they’d banished her from
Sí an Bhrú
. She pulled away from Rónán and blinked in the bright light of the headlights of a car which had stopped in front of them. The driver’s door was open, the driver standing beside the car, wearing a suit with a loosened tie, yelling at them.

‘Jesus Christ!’ the man exclaimed. ‘You are un-fucking-believable, Ren! Your cousin is lying in intensive care — thanks in no small part to your stupidity — and you decide the best way to deal with it is to party with some random skank you probably found roaming the streets!’

Trása didn’t know what a skank was, but she gathered it wasn’t meant as a compliment. Rónán pushed Trása aside and walked around the car to confront the man, standing almost nose to nose with the driver. Rónán was the taller of the two. Trása didn’t know who the angry man was, but he clearly felt he had the right to chastise Rónán. Was it Patrick? The stunt man who rescued Rónán as a baby?

‘Fuck off, Murray,’ he said.

Not Patrick then. Murray Symes
, Trása realised.
The man who ran Hayley down.
Trása hurriedly tossed Plunkett — who’d been mashed between her and Rónán during their embrace — into the darkness beyond the circle of light from the car’s headlights.

‘I’m warning you …’ the man began. His face was red with fury.

‘You’re warning me?’ Rónán taunted. ‘Of what? What are you going to do? Run me down, too? Beat some sense into me, maybe? How’s that going to look? Go on, tough guy. I dare you.’

They glared at each other for a long, tense moment; long enough for Trása to look around for Plunkett, thinking she shouldn’t have rid herself of him quite so hastily. He may yet need to intervene. The
Leipreachán
had no luck glamouring Rónán, but this Murray Symes shouldn’t prove any trouble. After all, Plunkett had already seen him once. And the confontration between Ren and Murray Symes might get ugly. She’d seen Darragh toe-to-toe with an enemy like this, and it invariably ended in bloodshed. Rónán’s similarity to Darragh in that moment was frightening.

But just as she was expecting them to come to blows, Symes backed down.

‘I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, you arrogant little bastard,’ he said in a tone that indicated he knew Rónán was baiting him. ‘I’ll not sink to your level. Go on, be an arsehole. Party with your girlfriend. You’ll get what’s coming to you, soon enough.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Rónán said. ‘This is Trása, Jack O’Righin’s granddaughter.’ He glanced at Trása apologetically. ‘Trása, this is Murray Symes. The guy who runs down girls who step in front of his car.’

Murray turned to Trása, seeing her properly for the first time. He studied her for a moment with suspicion and disdain. ‘The
ungodly spawn of your friendly neighbourhood terrorist, eh?’ He shook his head and turned back to Rónán. ‘Didn’t take you long, did it?’

With that, Murray turned on his heel and headed back to his car.

‘How’s Hayley?’ Rónán asked Symes’s retreating back.

The doctor stopped and turned to look at him. ‘Oh, so
now
you’re worried about Hayley?’

‘How is she?’ Rónán repeated. It seemed he could contain himself too, when the occasion called for it.

‘She’s still critical,’ Murray said. ‘Your mother’s in the ICU with Kerry and Patrick. I imagine they’ll be there for a good while, yet.’

‘Is she going to be okay?’

‘I don’t know, Ren. I’m not her doctor.’

‘Didn’t they tell you
anything
?’

‘I’m not her physician,’ Symes repeated with a shrug. ‘I’ve no right to be told her prognosis.’

‘But you know,’ Rónán said with utter certainty.

Murray sighed, as if suddenly weary of the conversation. ‘And if I thought for a moment that you cared about anybody else but yourself, Ren, I’d probably tell you. Clearly, however,’ he added, fixing his contemptuous gaze on Trása, ‘you have other priorities. How old are you, young lady?’

Trása was a little taken aback by the question, unsure what her age had to do with anything. ‘Old enough.’

Murray looked at Rónán. ‘Have sex with that girl and I’ll personally see to it that you are charged with, and convicted of, unlawful carnal knowledge of a minor. To hell with what your mother thinks it’ll do to her career.’

Rónán rolled his eyes, clearly not believing the threat. ‘Jesus, Murray, we were just kissing. Get your mind out of the gutter.’

The man didn’t appreciate Rónán’s easy dismissal of his
threat. ‘Laugh all you want, wise guy. Because after I’ve had you charged, I’ll pull every string I have to make certain your case isn’t heard until you’ve turned eighteen so I can be
absolutely
positive they’ll send you to an adult prison. A couple of years as some axe-murderer’s bitch may even cure your ODD.’ Then Murray glanced at Trása and added, ‘What you do in your grandfather’s house is his concern. Don’t bring his violent politics or your questionable morals into other people’s homes.’

‘You can’t tell her what to do,’ Rónán said, sounding just like Darragh.

‘Pity,’ Murray said. He turned away, not interested in any further conversation. As he climbed back into his car, he added, ‘At least show your mother some respect by finding somewhere less public to make out with your girlfriend. There are still photographers around. You’ve caused Kiva enough problems for one day.’

Rónán watched him leave, his fists clenched at his sides.

Trása felt sorry for Rónán, but it was time, she decided, for her to make a strategic withdrawal. ‘He’s right, you know, Rónán. Perhaps I should go home.’ Plunkett could glamour away human memories, after all, but he couldn’t erase photographs.

She saw Rónán force himself to relax. He unclenched his fists and managed a thin smile. ‘I’m sorry he called you a skank. Why do you keep calling me “Rónán”?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you remind me of someone.’ She hoped she sounded as if the slip meant nothing and covered it by walking over to Plunkett. ‘You don’t need to walk me back to the hospital. I can catch a cab home.’

Ren frowned at the
Leipreachán
sitting on the kerb as if it were watching them. ‘You really are attached to that horrid thing, aren’t you?’

Trása didn’t answer. Instead, she rose up on her toes and kissed him, lingeringly this time, leaving Rónán speechless.
Before he could recover his wits or do anything that would spoil the moment, she fled, tucking Plunkett under her arm, not waiting to find out if Rónán was following.

‘What were you thinking, you stupid,
stupid
little
sídhe
?’ Trása finally demanded of the
Leipreachán
, once they were settled into the back of the cab and heading back to Jack’s place. ‘You could have killed someone!’

Plunkett crossed his arms defiantly and glared up at Trása.

The cab driver gave them an indifferent glance and kept his eyes on the road. Trása didn’t really care. Plunkett could glamour away his memory of their ride — and the fare they owed — once they got home.

‘At least I be doing something,’ Plunkett muttered, ‘other than moonin’ over some lad I can’t ever have.’

Trása looked away angrily. ‘You could have killed her! For that matter, if I hadn’t stopped Rónán from stepping onto the road, you might have killed him!’

‘Well, that would have solved our problem right there, wouldn’t it?’

Trása was so frustrated she wanted to strangle him. ‘Marcroy said we’re not to kill him. He was very clear about that. If we kill him, we’ll have broken the treaty. We’re just supposed to contain him. Find a way to stop the Druids bringing him home, that’s all. You almost ruined everything by interfering!’

‘I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,’ the
Leipreachán
insisted.

‘Really? What about making that car speed up? No way could you have done that without Murray seeing you.’

Plunkett shrugged. ‘What if he did?’

‘You wouldn’t have had time to glamour away his memory of you.’

‘So what?’ the
Leipreachán
said with a shrug. ‘He ain’t going to say anything ’bout it.’

‘You don’t know that.’

Plunkett rolled his eyes impatiently. ‘The man just ran down an innocent lass, and now he has to convince everyone the whole fiasco be an accident. He won’t go announcing to all and sundry that a
Leipreachán
made him do it, now, will he?’

The little man probably had a point, but that didn’t make Trása feel any more kindly disposed toward him. ‘You’ve ruined all my plans.’

‘Plans? What plans?’ Plunkett scoffed. ‘Ye’ve not a clue how to contain the lad, and I doubt ye’re even looking for one. Ye’re just trying to find a way to become his sweetheart, ’cause ye’re not allowed to have his brother in yer own realm.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Then why did ye kiss him just now?’

Trása hesitated, and then shrugged, not sure how to answer in a way that wouldn’t confirm the
Leipreachán
’s suspicions. ‘I’m
Beansídhe.
I’m
supposed
to lure men to their doom.’

‘It’s ye luring me to mine I worry about. What’s yer plan, then?’

‘I’m not going to sit here in a cab discussing it,’ Trása said, turning to look forward. The rain was gentle but it had been relentless and she was soaked through and chilled to the bone, from standing in the car park kissing Rónán. ‘You shouldn’t be here, anyway. You need to go find that Gardaí lady and the doctor and glamour away their memory of me. And the memory of the statement I gave the Gardaí. And destroy her notes.’

‘Ye’ve nothing to discuss, is what ye really mean,’ the
Leipreachán
accused. ‘Ye can distract me with other things, but I’ll be telling ye
uncail
as much next time he contacts me to check on ye.’

Trása turned to look at him. She knew the
Leipreachán
was more than capable of carrying out his threat. The consequences would be dire if Marcroy thought she had failed him, particularly
after bragging she was on the brink of success. ‘I was planning to find a way to lock him up in gaol.’

‘How are ye going to manage that?’

That, of course, was the bit she hadn’t figured out yet. But there was no need to confess that to Plunkett. ‘I was working on it, actually, right up until
you
came along and screwed everything up by causing that wretched accident.’ Trása crossed her arms against the chill and stared down at the little man, somewhat relieved she’d found a way to make her lack of progress his fault.

Plunkett didn’t react to her accusation. Instead, he looked up at her, stroking his pointy little beard thoughtfully. ‘Ye know … that notion has real potential.’

‘
Had
potential,’ she pointed out.

‘It may still be workable,’ Plunkett said, furrowing his brow. ‘Do ye know for certain what ye have to do in this realm to be incarcerated, or are ye just guessing ’cause ye’ve watched a lot of television?’

Trása shrugged. Her plan hadn’t advanced much further than a fleeting idea while she had been talking to Rónán earlier in the day, when he compared the camp in Utah with prison. Then she remembered something else Rónán had said. ‘I was planning to ask Jack,’ she told Plunkett. ‘According to Rónán, he’s the expert on doing hard time. He should know what we have to do.’

Plunkett nodded slowly. ‘Go ask him, then, so we can get this done.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the middle of the night. I’ll ask him tomorrow. It won’t seem suspicious that way.’

The
Leipreachán
nodded reluctantly, in agreement. ‘Allrighty then, but ye see ye do, Trása Ni’Amergin, or I warn ye, I’ll be informin’ ye
uncail
of ye preference for kissin’ the Undivided, rather than doing what ye were sent here to do with him.’