Authors: Mackenzie Crowne
“I
wouldn’t mind a pint.”
“There’s
a lass.” He went about building her one. The muscles of his forearms were thick
and tanned when he set the pint before her and leaned on his elbows to give her
a broad smile. “I read your book, Keely girl.”
“I’d
hoped you would. That’s why I sent you a signed copy.” And she’d wanted his
approval. She took a sip and asked, “So, what did you think?”
“I
always knew your Irish blood ran true, despite the fact you’d planted yourself
among the Yanks. You’ve the gift for storytelling, Keely.”
She
toasted him with her glass. “High praise indeed.” His deep chuckle vibrated
through the bar. “I was wondering if you could help me with something, Sean.”
“And
what would that be?”
“It’s
about Dunhaven’s Door.”
She
should have thought of it before. If a subject was worthy of discussion, Sean
Connelly, by virtue of his position behind the bar, would know of it. Rattled
by Colin’s presence in her dreams, and in her mind, she hadn’t been thinking
straight. Thanks to this morning’s embarrassing conversation in his office, she
was now.
“What
about it?” Sean asked.
“Table
two needs a round, Sean,” Nora called out, passing by the bar to enter the
kitchen. Sean stepped to the tap and took care of the order.
“Does
the name Owein ring any bells in connection to Dunhaven’s Door?” Keely asked
when he returned.
“In
connection to the Door?” His brows drew together in concentration. “I assume
this Owein would be a local lad?”
Keely
shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Well,
then. The only local Owein I’ve heard of is said to have ruled one of two bands
of fairies who walked the shores of Dunhaven, back when the Good People did
such things.”
“Ruler
of fairies?”
“King
Owein the Fine.” Sean propped his thick hands on his hips. “Like most of the
legends you’ll hear, a fair amount of it is pure shite.” He returned her grin.
“The trick is to be able to discern the shite from the truth. With Owein,
legend claims he lost his heart to a local girl. A human girl. He married the
lass, or so it’s said, and carried her off to live amongst his kind beneath the
mound in the realm. The two were never seen again.” He eyed her. “You’ve heard
the story of their twin babes, I know, since they had a place in your book.”
Her
pint paused half way to her mouth. She set the glass down. “The twins were this
Owein’s children? Owein’s and the human girl’s?”
“Aye,
Saraid was her name.” He looked at her with raised brows. “You didn’t know?”
“I
didn’t. What happened to them?”
“Well
now, it was a long time ago. Near to three hundred years. The story goes that
Saraid’s parents woke of a morning, nine months to the day of Saraid’s marriage
to Owein the Fine, to find twin babes tucked into a golden basket set close to
the hearth. The wee bundles had the look of their mother, they did, and so the
thrilled grandparents accepted them and raised them as their own. The twins
both married, when they were of an age, and went on to have babes of their own,
but it’s said they suffered from a melancholy sickness. They passed within a
week of each other, long before their babes were grown.”
“That’s
so sad.”
Sean
nodded. “It’s the way of legends to tug at the heart strings.”
They
were both silent a moment, then Keely said, “You said Owein and Saraid went to
live beneath the mound. Would that be the mound at the Door?”
“Could
be,” Sean agreed. “It’s long been said that the Door caps a fairie raft. But
remember, Keely, there were
two
fairie bands in Dunhaven. Whether the
Door caps the raft of King Owein the Fine, or King Cael the Strong, is anyone’s
guess.”
Chapter
Eight
Colin
stopped short just outside the wooden gate, running his tongue around his teeth
at the sight that met his eyes. Five feet away, a sweetly rounded, denim
covered ass wiggled an unknown invitation as Keely knelt on all fours at the
edge of Morna’s tiny garden.
A
wide-brimmed hat sat upon her honey blonde hair, a fat braid running down her
back. When she turned her head and her profile came into view, he smiled at the
smudge marring the line of her sharp cheekbone. The simple, white t-shirt bared
her lightly tanned arms, and her delicate wrists disappeared into the cotton
gloves covering her hands. Donovan lay sprawled on the lawn at her side.
Colin
hesitated, unsure of his welcome. Between his leeriness at tipping his hand,
and Owein’s unwanted arrival in his office yesterday morning, he hadn’t handled
Keely’s admission with his usual charm. She’d set aside her pride, telling him
about the dreams, in order to get some answers, and though she hadn’t seemed
angry when she’d fled his office, she hadn’t been happy, either. His silence
must have seemed like a rebuff to her.
The
trip with Owein to the Door had been a waste of time. The ring had been just as
empty and silent as Keely had proclaimed it. Owein believed the ring required
both his and Keely’s presence, before it would reveal its secrets. Colin
agreed, and yet found himself reluctant to join her there. He’d join her in the
ring if it became necessary, but only as a last resort. Dunhaven’s Door had
drawn him and Keely together. He had the uncomfortable feeling that standing in
the ring with her would only serve to pull them ever closer to the common
destiny Owein foresaw.
Guilt
had him eyeing the claw-like tool she wielded like a knife, stabbing and
ripping at stubborn weeds. He didn’t have definitive answers to
all
of
her questions yet, and for his own selfish reasons, he’d be doing his best to
withhold the ones he did—at least for now. If she were ever to learn the entire
truth, he was going to find himself facing the business end of her temper. He
hoped she wasn’t gardening if and when that happened.
“Keely?”
he called.
She
jumped, and his brow rose in appreciation of the colorful and completely
unexpected curse that escaped her pretty mouth.
Donovan
was on his feet like a shot, a frantic round of barking filling the air as he
loped toward Colin. The enormous dog halted just inside the fence, rising on
his back legs and propping his large front paws on the gate. His entire body
wiggled in welcome.
“Donovan,”
she snapped sharply.
The
dog’s deep barking stopped instantly, and he dropped to his haunches with a
whine.
Colin
looked up to find Keely sitting on her heels. The hand holding the claw pressed
against the hat that had tilted to the side when her head whipped around at his
greeting. A frown pulled at her mouth.
“What
do
you
want?”
Okay,
he thought
, maybe she was a
little
angry.
He
pushed open the gate. Donovan was up and at his side in a flash. He scrubbed at
the dog’s wiry head.
“I
want to talk to you.”
“Why?”
she demanded. “Didn’t I humiliate myself enough for you yesterday?”
“Keely,”
he crooned his regret at her accusation.
“You
want more?” she asked in a stiffly pleasant tone flying in the face of the
sparkling fire in her green eyes. “Fine. Why not have it all.” She turned back
to the garden. “That night in the gazebo,” she began, raking at the thick stalk
of a healthy weed, “when you accused me of playing games? I’d come to beg you
to help me figure out the dreams.”
Donovan
abandoned him to trot to his mistress, dropping to the ground at her side. He
rested his head on his front paws with a pitiful expression in his big brown
eyes. Colin knew just how he felt.
“I
was seventeen,” she continued. “I was frightened. I was desperate at the
thought of leaving Ireland, because I knew I was leaving something
undone—something I didn’t understand, and had no way of figuring out.”
“I
didn’t know, Keely,” he said softly, trying to explain.
She
ignored him.
“You
said we were friends, of a sort.” Her laugh was a humorless snort. “What a
joke. Other than a handful of friendly acquaintances, I don’t
have
friends, Colin, not really. What I have are the dreams. But you’re right. You
didn’t know, so don’t worry about it. You can walk away with a clear
conscience. I’ll handle them, just as I always have.”
She
tossed a thick stalk onto the small pile at her feet and set the claw at
another. Her continued silence said she was done with him and expected him to
go.
He
abused her of that expectation by taking a seat at the small table beside the
garden. He sat with his legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. Donovan
lifted his head to stare at him, his dark brows puckered above darker eyes that
seemed to plead with him to bring peace to the garden once more.
“I
am
your friend, Keely,” Colin told her, “and I’d like to help if I can.”
She
paused at her chore, tilting her head to eye him suspiciously from beneath the
brow of the hat. “Why would you want to do that?”
He
rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Well, now, there’s a question. It turns out I’m
not the sort of man who can ignore a mystery.”
“That’s
not the impression you gave yesterday.”
“Yesterday
I was near to being speechless.” A slow smile spread across his face as he
decided how to break through her pique. “A man can be excused for being a bit
rattled when sitting across from a lovely woman who’s just admitted to dreaming
of him for the better part of a decade.”
She
fell back on her heels, her eyes widening. “I didn’t admit to dreaming
of
you, Quinn.” She jabbed the claw in his direction. “I said you
joined
me
in the dreams.”
“You’d
consider that a distinction, and yet you admit you’ve been dreaming of me. I
prefer my own interpretation.” Confusion knit her brow, and he could see she
wasn’t sure if she wanted to blast him for being an arrogant ass, or smile. He
pressed the advantage. “I’ve a clearer head this morning, darlin’. I’m here to
offer my help.”
She
didn’t react to his use of the endearment, but he didn’t miss the flash of
interest in her eyes at his offer of help. “How, exactly, do you propose to do
that?”
“These
dreams we share.” He paused, pleased to see a faint blush spreading color on
her cheeks. “They always take place at the Door?”
She
nodded.
“The
way I see it, you’ve made Dunhaven your home, but you’ve spent little time
here. I, on the other hand, have lived the whole of my life in Dunhaven, except
for the time I spent at university, and you’ll not be holding that against me.”
“I
won’t, huh?”
He
grinned. “No, darlin’, you won’t.”
“Hmm.”
She glanced away, fiddling with the tool clutched in her lap.
He
winked at Donovan, and gained a dog grin. Now they were getting somewhere.
“So,”
he continued when she said nothing more, “you’ll be needing the help of someone
familiar with the local history. The name you recalled. The one you said the
woman called out—”
“Owein,”
she interrupted.
“Yes,
Owein. It happens I’m familiar with the name.”
She
nodded and looked him square in the eye. “So am I. I believe he’s Owein the
Fine, King of the Fairies.”
And
just how had she learned that?
He’d like to know.
“You
know of him?”
“I’ve
heard of him. Sean Connelly told me the tale of his human wife, Saraid, and
their twin babies.”
Sean
Connelly? What the hell was she doing with Sean Connelly? The man was happily
married. To Nora Murphy! They had three little ones between them. He cleared
his throat of the unexpected tang of jealousy.
“Well,
as I said, I’ve heard the name before. My mother was in the way of being an
amateur historian. She was forever digging up little details, scratching at her
charts. I remember seeing the name somewhere in her papers.”
“Papers?”
she asked, a flicker of excitement brightening her eyes. “Do you still have
them?”
“I
do.”
She
scrambled to her feet. Gone was the anger of only moments before, replaced with
a desperate hope twisting at his heart. “May I look at them? Today? Now?”
“It’s
why I came by. I thought you might be interested in a bit of digging into the
past.”
“I’m
interested. Oh, Quinn, I’m definitely interested. Just let me wash up a bit.”
The
claw dropped to the ground, and Donovan scrambled to get out of her way as she
flew to the back door of the cottage, peeling off the gloves as she went. The
dog followed, skidding to a halt and almost knocking her over when she stopped
short at the door to yank it open. She paused then, to look back at him over a
shoulder.
There
was none of the fey girl he remembered in the sorceress eyes studying him as if
she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his sudden offer. He stood, his body
tightening in appreciation of the picture she made, standing there on Morna’s
stoop.
“Change
your mind?” he asked, reigning in the need to step close and brush the smudge
of dirt from her cheek. He’d have his hands on her soon enough.
She
shook her head. “Why did you change yours?”
Because
you’ve lived under the grip of the dreams long enough. Because breaking the
curse will free us both from our relative visitations. Because with Owein’s
promise of privacy, I want nothing more than to get you alone.
All
true, but what he said instead, was, “Because eyes as beautiful as yours, Keely
darlin’, should always sparkle with the hope I see in them now.”
Chapter
Nine
“This
can’t be right.” On her knees beside the low table, Keely leaned over an open
notebook.