Authors: Mackenzie Crowne
“Your
entire family was lost to you,” Colin pressed, pointing a finger at him. “That
was
your
destiny. Tell me, Owein, King of the Fairies, where is your
joy?”
A
gust of wind had swirled through the gazebo on Owein’s deep sigh.
“My
joy
and
my destiny wait on you young Quinn.
And
on the girl.
You’ve shared the dreams. You know, as well as I, the two of you are destined
to break the curse. Our descendants you be, mine and Saraid’s. Though, I find
it hard to believe royal, fairie blood runs in the veins of one such as you.
The girl now,” he continued contemplatively, “she doesn’t shy from answering
the pull of her fairie legacy. The blood is strong in that one. The dreams
can’t be comfortable for one so young, and yet she bears them.”
“Dreams
you force upon her,” Colin charged, “upon the both of us, manipulating us to
your will.”
“Not
so,” Owein denied, his bottle-green eyes narrowed. “The dreams don’t come from
me. ’Tis through Saraid’s eyes the girl sees, and if I know Fiona, the sights
are rarely pleasant.”
The
knowledge had given Colin pause. It was true he’d joined Keely in the dreams,
but the manifestation of his fairie blood had always come with his
transformation into a beast. Though aware on an innate level, details were
sketchy when he walked on all fours.
As
the black wolf, he’d sensed her pleasure in her surroundings as he’d padded at
her side, but since that summer ten years ago, he’d also noted her anxiousness,
and the comfort she’d taken from his presence. Until Owein had mentioned it, he
hadn’t considered the dreams might be uncomfortable for Keely. The realization
didn’t improve his surly mood.
Owein’s
frown had darkened when Colin remained silent. “But for your stubbornness,
young Quinn, my Saraid could be free, if not now, then very shortly. I’ve
waited nearly three hundred years already,” he complained, his words clipped.
With a flick of his wrist, he was gone, leaving behind the echo of a command.
“Don’t make me wait much longer!”
****
Owein
had waited another ten years.
With
a shake of his head, Colin brought himself back to the present. He crossed the
lawn to the low, stone wall at the edge of the lane. A hand to the cool, smooth
surface vaulted him over to land on the path leading to the cliffs and long
strides took him away from Quinn Manor.
He
should have known Keely O’Brian had found her way back to Dunhaven when Owein
suddenly appeared in the midst of Kathleen’s party. His long legs dangling from
a low branch of the tree at the edge of the garden was enough of a clue, but
the ruthlessly satisfied smile on the fairie king’s face should have clinched
it.
Then
again, maybe it had. Colin hadn’t been all that surprised to find Keely tripping
up the lane toward his gate.
“Where
the devil is your head, boy?”
Colin
didn’t miss a step at Owein’s barked demand. He’d known this conversation was
coming, and had left the party to insure some privacy when it did.
“According
to my shaving mirror,” Colin said conversationally, “it was sitting atop my
neck not two hours ago. I assume it’s still there.”
Owein
snorted. His booted feet made not a sound as he paced along the top of the wall
at Colin’s side. “Aye, it’s there and missing a brain I’m thinking.”
Colin
ignored the grumbled taunt, whistling through his teeth in Owein’s favorite,
annoying affectation.
“Keely
O’Brian’s come home,” Owein continued more forcefully.
“I
noticed.”
“And
the great beastie at her side, did you notice him as well?”
“I
did.”
A
laugh escaped Owein’s lips. “An intriguing woman, that one—prowling the dark
with the wolf and sharing the light with the wolfhound.”
“I
didn’t miss the implication. And if it’s an argument you’re after, Owein, you
won’t be getting one on that point.”
“Then
what the devil are you doing,” Owein demanded, exasperation clear in his raised
voice, “strolling a path you’ve walked the whole of your life, with herself
waiting on you back there at your grand manor?”
“I
prefer the familiar path, if you don’t mind.”
“It
happens I do mind.”
“No
doubt,” Colin replied dryly.
“You’ll
not be able to avoid her for long, now she’s back.”
“That’s
debatable. She has a career in New York. And word is Hollywood is interested in
her book. She’ll be gone soon enough.”
Calculation
gleamed in Owein’s green eyes and his smile was sly. “Keeping tabs on her, are
you? Well, that’s good. That’s good.”
“My
great-aunt has taken it upon herself to step in as Morna’s replacement. I’ve no
need to keep tabs with Kathleen sharing every detail. She’s near to bursting
proud of the girl.”
“Aye,
and isn’t that how it should be? But that’s no mere girl you’ve left to fend
for herself while you spend your time crossing verbal swords with me. She’s a
woman full grown, and bonny with it.” His chuckle was deep and pleased. “The
gangly dandelion has bloomed into a stunning rose. You’d see for yourself, if
you’d use the eyes you were born with.”
Colin
bristled at Owein’s taunting tone. It hadn’t taken the fairie king long to toss
out the sex card. He’d often commented on Colin’s eye for the ladies. No doubt
he’d consider sexual attraction an effective weapon in his quest to throw Colin
together with the woman. He’d decided long ago that she was the other half of
the pair destined to break his curse. And Colin had to admit, as weapons went,
sexual attraction was a powerful one.
Little
Keely O’Brian had indeed grown up in the ten years since she’d fled the gazebo.
The honey-blonde curls surrounding her freckled face like a disorganized halo
had grown into a gleaming swath of silk, tamed into a sophisticated knot at the
back of her head. The freckles were gone, and maturity had softened the
pixie-like features of the face he remembered. Her piercing green eyes, as
exotic as those of a sorceress, combined with a pert nose, world-class
cheekbones, and a wide mouth, to form an incredibly appealing package. More
attractive than classically beautiful, her looks would stand the test of time,
becoming only more interesting as the years passed.
As
for her body, had she had those killer curves at seventeen? The memory of the
lush form pressed against his body within the confines of the gazebo said she
most definitely had. He simply hadn’t allowed himself to remember. He did now.
The fitted, white Capri slacks she wore above sling-back sandals showcased
long, slim legs, and a sweetheart ass. And the loose cut of the spruce-colored
tank hadn’t disguised the intriguing roundness of her full breasts. She had
indeed grown into a stunner.
Unbidden,
the memory of holding Keely, her mouth fused to his, their tongues tangling in
a mind blowing kiss, filled his head. Liquid desire heated his blood at the
thought of having her in his arms again and caused an uncomfortable swelling
against the restraint of his jeans.
He
was tempting fate even thinking of putting his hands on her again, but that
didn’t stop him from wanting to touch her, to hold her, to finish what they’d
started all those years ago in the gazebo. Despite the fact he’d be playing
into Owein’s hands if he acted on those desires, he decided it just might be
worth it.
“She’s
come back to stay,” Owein announced.
Colin
skidded to a halt, jerked from his disturbing fantasy. Knee-high meadow grass
crushed beneath the heel of his boots as he changed direction. Taking several
unconsciously menacing steps toward Owein where he balanced easily on the wall,
he asked, “Stay? What do you mean stay?”
“Just
what I said. The lovely Keely O’Brian plans to take up permanent residence in
the cottage she’s neglected since her Gran’s passing.”
A
surge of anger flashed through Colin. Keely O’Brian on the other side of the
world was one thing. He could deal with Owein’s constant needling to accept his
destiny when the other half of the equation was so far out of reach. Owein
and
Keely double-teaming him from right here in Dunhaven was something else,
altogether.
“You
just had to keep harassing her until she finally threw up her hands and gave
you what you wanted, didn’t you?” he demanded.
“Sheath
those fangs, young Quinn. You’re the only one I harass.” Owein rolled his eyes.
“It so happens, I overheard her tell your great-aunt she’d come home to stay,
before I followed you out here to try and knock some sense into that stubborn
head of yours.”
“You
expect me to believe this is the first you’ve heard of it?”
The
fairie king had been so suspiciously patient with him these past ten years,
Colin finally decided he’d switched his focus to Keely. He’d been pleased as
time stretched into years without any sign of Keely returning. It meant Owein
had no better luck bullying her than he’d had with him.
“Since
it’s the truth,” Owein answered, “aye, I do. It’s Saraid the girl senses, not
me. I’ve never had words with Keely O’Brian.”
“Why
not?”
Refusing
to answer Colin’s question, Owein’s mouth flattened into a mulish frown.
Realization
dawned and cooled the burn of anger in Colin’s gut. “She doesn’t see you, does
she?” Colin pressed, with no better results. After a moment, he began to smile,
and then to laugh. “Well now, if that isn’t a bit of welcome news. Keely
O’Brian is immune to your interference.”
“And
what if she is?” Owein grumbled. “’Tis a blessing, I’m thinking. It would take
a powerful stubbornness to have withstood the dreams this long. Dealing with
one
stubborn ass is enough for me.”
Colin
laughed, taking his first easy breath since the moment Owein had popped in on
Kathleen’s party. “Aye, a blessing indeed.”
Chapter
Three
“Oooweeein!”
The
echo of the tortured cry brought Keely awake with a startled gasp, breaths
coming in shallow pants. Her gaze darted about the room illuminated by the
first rays of dawn. Her dream-fogged mind struggled to grasp what was real.
Instead of stone pillars and a desperately pleading woman, antique pieces that
had been in her family since before Gran was born surrounded her. The aged,
floral paper still covered the familiar walls of her bedroom in the cottage.
She sat up, letting a ragged sigh escape.
Donovan’s
large mouth opened on a yawn, all sharp white teeth and curling, pink tongue.
His jaw snapped shut, and he shook his head. Bounding to his feet at the foot
of the old bed, he set the springs to creaking. His nails clicked on the wooden
plank floor as he landed with his usual grace. A full body shake sent dust
motes dancing in the early morning light. He headed for the door and the
stairs. With a hand stifling her own yawn, Keely pushed aside the sheet to
follow him.
After
putting him out the back door to see to his morning business, and taking care
of her own, she plugged in the coffee pot and went in search of the laptop
she’d left in the den. Never a morning person, she staggered back to the
kitchen, willing the coffeepot to finish popping and spitting and put her out
of her misery.
Long
ago, she developed a habit of documenting the details of her dreams each morning
before they faded with time and the light of day. Entering the information into
her journal, her fingers jabbed blindly at the keyboard between impatient
glares sent the way of the ancient, incredibly slow percolator on the counter.
She
was going online to order a new machine the moment she had enough caffeine in
her system to allow her to see straight. State of the art, she decided, a unit
that could produce a cup of drinkable coffee in fifteen seconds flat.
Finally,
with steaming mug in hand, she settled at the table and sipped, reading back
the notes she’d just entered.
Colin
stops at the edge of the ring. His fingers, entangled with mine, tighten.
“Please,”
I implore him. “Come with me.”
He
doesn’t speak—he never does in the dreams— but I can sense his displeasure.
Nevertheless, I step inside, tugging gently. Taken off guard, he takes a single
step and halts with a jolt.
The
sound of weeping immediately fills the ring, and at its center, a wavering
shadow reveals a rosebush. Lush and healthy, with glossy green leaves, it has
only one bloom. A perfect, red rose.
Colin’s
eyes are angry. Ripping his hand from my relaxed grip, he takes a step back
beyond the ring. Disappointed, I follow, and a piercing cry of despair floods
my soul.
Shocked
excitement made Keely’s hand shake. Her spine snapped straight and the mug
clattered to the table, sloshing coffee. She didn’t bother going upstairs to
dress. The tank top and drawstring pants she’d worn to bed were a modest enough
covering for what she had in mind.
She
ripped open the broom closet door. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering what
the odds were that Mary Flynn had cleaned the inside of Morna’s old mud boots
anytime in the last decade. Gingerly, she picked them up, flipped them over,
and shook them. Nothing fell to the linoleum, and sending up a prayer that no
eight-legged creatures had taken up residence over the years, she tugged them
onto her feet.
“Donovan,”
she called, rushing out the door, “come on, boy.”
Her
pace was quick as she pushed through the gate leading to the field beyond the
cottage. She wanted to run. Her mind screamed at her to answer the demand to
fly up the beaten trail toward the cliffs, but the going was steep, at points,
treacherous, and she fought against the urge to hurry.
Dunhaven’s
Door had stood for centuries, she reminded herself. It would wait another few
minutes. She had no desire to break an ankle in her haste, or worse, her neck,
but the measured pace clawed at her nerves.