Blood In Fire (Celtic Elementals Book 2) (16 page)

Heather came awake at noon. Her sleep had been punctuated with nightmares all night, disturbing images of blood and the feel of cold stone against her bare skin.

So cold—

Shivers ran over the backs of her arms, even as she opened her eyes.

She let out a shriek as she saw three little faces staring down at her, two covered in golden curls, one in red. Colin and the twins jumped back at once, then dissolved into giggles on the floor next to the couch as Heather shot up. Her hair was in bushy tangles, bunching against her ears and neck. She ran her hands over it as she gave the tiny monsters a glare.

“That was
way
too Paranormal Activity, for godsakes! Were you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

“What’s ‘Paranormal Activity’?” The twins cocked their heads in identical confusion, distinctly reminding her of The Shining.

She was officially freaked the hell out.

“It’s a movie about little demons, like you!” Heather shook her head, and poked both the girls into the stomach, making them giggle even more.

“Maman sent us to wake ye up.” Colin grinned at her as the twins streaked off into the kitchen.

“Consider me awake.” Heather grumbled as she leaned back into the couch, her heart still racing as she closed her gritty eyes.

Nasty dreams, but they were fading so fast she couldn’t grab hold of them again. Not that she minded letting the slimy things go, she just wished they would take this sick feeling in her stomach with them.

“…bangers and mash.”

“Say what, evil spawn?” She opened her eyes a crack. Yep, the red-headed boy was still there. He was awfully cute to be such a pain.

“I
said
, Maman kept some bangers and mash warm for ye.”

“I hope that tastes better than it sounds. It
is
food, isn’t it?” She decided clarification was in order as Colin grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Aye.” He smiled up at her again. “What else would it be?”

She pinched his little nose instead of answering, thinking,
the way your ‘maman’ feels about me, who the hell knows?

When she entered the kitchen, Moiré positively beamed at her.

“Awake at last, lassie! Come and get something in yer belly then.”

Heather sat down at the table, firing a questioning glance at Lacey, who was sitting off to the side, curled up on the window seat that overlooked the backyard gardens.

Lacey raised her mug of tea and smiled innocently. Heather frowned, which only made Lacey’s smile wider before she turned away to gaze out the window.

Steam unfurled into the air as Moiré slapped down a plate in front of her hard enough to make Heather jump. The heavenly smell coming from it distracted her at once.

Bangers and mash was apparently Irish for fat, juicy sausages and mashed potatoes slathered with brown gravy. Oh, boy. Her stomach had apparently recovered from that awful nightmare, because it was growling loudly enough to be embarrassing.

"Thank you, it looks amazing."

Moiré smiled and slipped into the seat opposite her. It was only after she'd bolted down the delicious food and two cups of tea, sweetened heavily—Heather was religiously refusing to consider what her trainer would have to say about a breakfast loaded with
both
fat and sugar—that she realized the kitchen was oddly quiet.

She started to get up to rinse her plate at the sink, but Moiré beat her to it and returned to her seat before Heather could do more than blink. Lacey wouldn't quite look at her, she noticed with a sense of doom.

Oh god, what now?

"Soooo,"
Moiré's lips made the sound a long, drawn-out question as she considered Heather. Brown eyes had never looked so piercing as they did just now, boring into her over an incongruous cup of tea. "Lacey and young Chloe tell me ye are a model."

"Yes, that's right." Heather acknowledged warily, wondering where this was going.

"And that ye were recently in Greece, is it?"

She nodded, her eyes staying on Moiré with an effort. She wanted to glance at Lacey again. Not that the little shit was being any help.

"Was tha' where ye met Aidan then?"

Shit. Shit with a side of
oh, fuck, here we go.

"Um, well no. No, we met in Turkey. Istanbul, actually. I…ah, took a little break from the shoot."

Moiré nodded in understanding. "What was he doing there?"

Hmmm, this was not where she thought they had been heading. Thankfully. "Oh. I don't…I don't actually know, to tell you the truth."

"I see." Moiré looked over at Lacey, who shrugged, as if to say,
I told you so
. Heather also shot her friend a hard look, but was distracted by Moiré tapping her hand. She brought her eyes back to the older woman. "Ye didna happen to see tha' red-headed woman, the one—"

"Lacey explained who Bav is to me. And, no. I didn't see her. But I wasn't looking either."

I was too distracted by Aidan trying to screw my brains out every other minute to worry about a goddess I didn't even know existed at that point.

For some reason, Heather didn't feel the need to add that bit aloud.

Moiré wrinkled her nose, gazing at Lacey fondly for a minute before turning back to Heather.

"Aye, tha's good then. I am sure Lacey explained as best she can. But ye've want of an Irish woman to give you the truth of what
tha'
one is."

"Please, I don't…" Heather hesitated, not wanting to piss this woman off, not when they were talking without any 'warnings' and 'to be clears' so far, but she had to make something clear. "I don't want to know anything else about Aidan's past unless he decides to tell me himself. It's not that I'm not curious or anything. It's just…well, I gather he has some bad things buried there…and it just doesn’t seem
right
."

Moiré's eyes seemed to gain a good deal of warmth and this time she squeezed Heather's hand before picking back up her tea. "Aye, it wouldna be. But 'tis not Aidan's past I wanna tell ye of. 'Tis only a wee bit of Bav's."

Heather's head straightened. "Why should I care about her?" Lacey made a snorting sound and Heather glared at her. "I know the two of them have a past together, okay? I'm not stupid, but I hardly think it has anything to do with me."

"Donna ya?" Moiré's tone was amused, but somehow sadly so. "Well, I donna mean to frighten ye, but I doubt Bav would agree. She was here last night and unless I am much mistaken, she was watching Aidan."

"What?" Okay, that was way creepy. Aidan had a goddess stalker. Ew!

"I think she was watching ye, as well. She dinna look happy when she left. Canna ye…well, canna ye think of anything she might have seen tha' might have made her…angry?" Moiré asked delicately, but with that unnervingly frank gaze.

"I was half asleep, but… yeah, I'm pretty sure he kissed me before he went to bed.
Just
a kiss." She said the last a bit defensively, knowing Moiré had reason to doubt her on that score.

Moiré seemed satisfied with her answer.

"Tha' mighta been enough. If...," but Moiré caught herself, looking out the window toward the rose trellis, seemingly lost in thought.

"C'mon, if Bav hangs around watching Aidan all the time, she
has
seen him kiss other women…."

Both Moiré and Lacey chuckled and Heather rolled her eyes. "Okay, kissed and a lot more. Duh. And which again…can I just say
'ew!?
She doesn't bother with any of his other…ahh, liasons, right?"

Moiré shook her head. "Nae, no' tha' I am aware of anyway."

"So, why the hell would it bother her anymore now, with me?"

"Why indeed?" Moiré murmured gazing into her tea. She didn't answer her own question, only lifted her head and sighed. "It may have more to do with Bav herself than ye. Bav has…well, she has a bit of history with warriors like Aidan."

Oh goodie, a
slutty
, stalker goddess. Heather resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was also intrigued by the word 'warrior'. Aidan all badass with a big sword and kicking ass?

Yum.

"What kind of history?"

"The bloody kind." Moiré sighed. "She isn't the goddess of death for nothing, Heather. She's cruel, but I think…I think what drives tha' cruelty is really her need for love. She wants love so badly, but it n'ver goes right, no' matter what she does."

"Hey now, do you
want
to be making me feel sorry for her? 'Cause you kind of are."

"Nae. Donna feel sorry for her. She'd use tha' against ye in a heartbeat. Just try and understand her, is all. Understand tha' desperation. She killed her last lover, as good as, anyway. And with Aidan…well, I'll keep me mouth shut on the details of tha' mess.

"But ye can see well enough tha' she's obsessed with him. As is
Abhartach." The older woman shuddered. "Between the two of them, well, I canna say I am no' a mite worried about ye, lass."

Heather gave the woman a suspicious look over the table.

Moiré smiled.

"Aye, 'tis the truth. I willna say sorry for the things I said afore, for I meant them, true as true. But donna think me cruel. I just love Aidan very much. And I donna want to see him hurt anymore. 'Tis god's own truth, I donna think he'd survive much more."

Heather cleared her throat, glancing at Lacey, who was shaking her head desperately, but Heather ignored her. "Why would you think I'd do that…hurt him? Have you 'seen' something? Lacey explained a little about your sight."

"Oy, did she then?" Moiré gave Lacey's red face a fondly amused look, before turning back to Heather. She hesitated for the barest second and then said, "Nae, 'tis naught to do with the sight."

Both Lacey and Heather's expressions must have showed their confusion, because Moiré gave them a sad look before she got up. "'Tis naught more than the way he looks at ye, lass. Just tha'. If ye knew Aidan as I do…tha' would be enough."

"Why? How does he look at me?"

Moiré's spine stiffened but she didn't turn back around. For a moment, Heather didn't think she would answer at all. "If ye canna see it for yerself, 'tis not my business to explain it."

"Oh please, you're… you're letting your imagination run away with you." Her heart was pounding in her chest, but Heather said the words anyway. She couldn't help it, she was pissed, not to mention damn sick of being warned away from Aidan. And, no, it didn't matter that her own instincts were telling her the same, she told herself stubbornly. That was
her
business.

Everyone else needed to butt the hell out.

Lacey gasped and Moiré whirled around. She stepped across the kitchen until she was nose to nose with Heather, her voice almost harsh.

"I am doing nae such thing, lass. 'Tis only tha' I see a softening in him when he's around ye, a gentling tha' was no' there before. I have nae seen tha' in him since….

"Aye, well. It scares me, it does. Right down to me bones. If ye had a brain in yer pretty head, it would scare ye, too. Bad things happen when tha' lad lets his guard down. Terrible bad things."

In the library, Aidan stirred in his sleep, uneasy as memories turned into dreams and dreams into familiar nightmares…

He stood on the hill of Cooley, feeling shivers dance down his spine as he put a hand on the oak that grew there. Almost he could fancy he saw streaks of unnatural darkness streaking the bark near the base.

Streaks that could have been hero’s blood…

Áedán smiled at this folly, though he couldn’t quite shake the tingle of magic in the air. Not that he wanted to. He may not be a child any longer, but he loved the old tales still.

He was well on his way to fulfilling his childhood dream of becoming a warrior. At ten and four summers, he was very tall for his age. A whole hand taller than most of the boys at the keep. Granted he was thin as a willow reed, but he was strong and had proved it over and over again. There was none of the others as could best him at wrestling, even the boys much heavier than he could never pin him, at least for long.

“A damme eel is tha' one!” They would complain when paired off with Áedán. He was also tops in sword and hand to hand. He wasn’t much of an archer, he admitted fairly. But those who lead had no need of the bow.

He would lead. As his uncle, Ruad had once led. As his own da would lead.

In the summer his father had been named king in Ailech. Áedán's father's given name was Niall. He had been named for their legendary ancestor, Niall of the Red Hand, or Niall of the Nine Hostages, depending on your preferred legend.

The current king was usually called
Eirnin, though. A childhood nickname that had stuck, because like his son after him, young Niall had been a fierce wrestler. So fierce his opponents said he had arms of iron. Hence, he became Eirnin, the Gaelic word for iron.