Dark Enchantment (7 page)

“You don’t—“

“—put a few on a plate for us. If you really want coffee, I did find a jar of instant in the cupboard, which is disgusting, I know....”

Her nervous chatter trailed off as she noted Caleb looking at her as if she had grown a second head. “Tea would be grand.” He gestured toward the pile of luggage. “I’ll just take those on up now, will I?”

At her nod, he slung the strap of her carry-on over his right shoulder and grabbed the handles of the large and medium rolling suitcases, one in each hand.

Back in the kitchen, Arianna ran tap water into an electric kettle and pressed the red switch on the side. As it rumbled, she poked around in the pantry, coming out laden with a bag of sugar, a box of Barry’s tea and two packages of cookies, Jaffa and McVities.

Dumping everything on a forest green-and-oak pedestal table in front of a large bay window, she stopped. Now that she had gotten past the strange vision that had greeted her on arrival, she was thinking more clearly. Although a bit of a pompous ass at times, the man carrying her luggage upstairs was in no way an evil man. Still, she thought, chewing on her lip, she should get to the bottom of what she had heard and put it to rest once and for all.

Prepared for a confrontation, she headed back to the living room to find Caleb hunkered down in front of the fireplace, piling the grate with what looked like molded chunks of rich, black earth. Peat, she realized, identifying the stuff the Irish had been hacking from bogs for centuries to use for heating fuel.

She watched him for a minute. Focused on his task, he did look innocent enough. Well, maybe
innocent
wasn’t the right word exactly. No, with the flex of those corded biceps, the ripple of sinew in his muscular thighs as he stretched and moved, the guy looked anything but innocent.

“Still, forewarned is forearmed,” she muttered, as she sidled around to the left of the hearth and armed herself with a fire poker from the stand. Just in case.

Caleb gave her a casual glance. “Central heat is on a timer. I warrant it won’t be kicking in again ‘til morning.”

“We need to talk,” Arianna said simply.

“About?” He went on laying kindling between the uneven bricks of peat.

“I overheard what you were saying on your cell phone.”

He glanced up unconcernedly. “And?”

“‘And?’
Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Caleb frowned, gave his head a shake as if to clear it. Pensive for a moment, he seemed to replay the conversation in his mind, then his eyes glinted with amusement.

A fiery red haze descended over Arianna, clouding her vision. “What? You think it’s funny?”

Basically blowing her off, the irksome Irishman shook his head in derision and turned back to his task. Finished, he stood to his feet and brushed his hands together. Then he stretched his right hand toward the hearth and snapped his fingers.

A blue plume of fire shot instantly up the flu.

Arianna squeaked. “What the...?”

No
, she told herself sternly. He did
not
have Pyrokinetic powers. There had to be a logical—a
sane—
explanation. Like…he had to have been holding a match in his hand. Yeah, that was it. A match. And the snapping sound she had heard…well, that had been the flick of his thumbnail against the sulfurous head. Of course, that didn’t explain the way the flames had exploded up the chimney, as if drenched with kerosene. “The peat,” she mumbled.
Stuff must just be extraordinarily combustible
.

At the sound of her muttering, Caleb glanced at her over his shoulder. His green eyes were doing that otherworldly glittering thing that sent chills skating up the back of her neck. He gave a nod at the poker in her hands. “Give it over.”

She lifted a defiant chin.

His mouth quirked as he grabbed a pair of tongs, using those instead to stoke the fire.

With an exaggerated insouciance that had Arianna ready to brain him, he brushed his hands together, then clasped them loosely behind his back. For the next couple of minutes, he stared into the smoky flames, the hiss of burning peat the only sound disturbing the silence.

Firelight limned his profile in shadow. Tall and perfectly proportioned, with that longish black hair curling wickedly over his collar, he made the perfect picture of a dark wizard. A master oracle painted in shades of black.

Who
are
you? Arianna mused.
What
is he? an intuitive voice echoed inside her. As if he had plucked the thought right out of her mind, Caleb’s head swiveled on his shoulders. His inscrutable gaze held hers as he slipped off his jacket, and tossed it over the cabriolet chair in front of the hearth.

Then he was moving toward her.

Nerves taut as a bowstring, Arianna shrank from his approach. A sardonic glint touched his eyes as he sauntered past her. At the sofa he sat, long legs stretched out in front of him, one booted foot crossed casually over the other.

Arianna scowled. “What are you doing?”

“C’mere to me,
cailín
.” He patted the seat cushion beside him. “Might as well be comfortable whilst we sort this out.”

Arianna narrowed her eyes, pushed her lips into a pout. And remained exactly where she was.

Caleb gave a neglectful shrug. “Have it your way, luv. Though I must say it’s a bold brat you are, eavesdropping on a personal conversation that kind o’ way.”

Arianna’s mouth fell open. “Eavesdropping?”

“Mmm.”

“I-I...” she sputtered. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just... Oh, you’re so…so…grrr!”

He gave his head a reproachful shake. “My, but it’s a contentious wee thing, you are.”

Her eyes flashed. “Contemptuous,” she shot back.

“Contempt-
ible
,” came the thin-lipped return. “And now, if we’ve done with these childish word games, perhaps you’d like clarification about what you
overheard
.”

Arianna shifted the poker to her shoulder, baseball bat style. “I’m all ears.”

She could have sworn she heard him mutter, “All mouth, more like,” as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Now, when you heard me speak of a tranquilizer—”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting—” she began to whisper in horror.

“Only a light dose,” he assured her. “So there’ll be no injuries. It’s a violent mating, so it is, what with all the biting and screaming, sweating and straining.”

As Caleb’s gaze remained level on hers, Arianna could feel herself blanch.

“But then, isn’t that the nature of the four-legged beast?” he finished.

Her mind went blank. “Four—”

“’Twas my stud manager you heard me speaking with. About an unbroken young mare I was after purchasing earlier this evening.” He stopped, let that sink in. “For feck’s sake, woman, I was speaking of a bloody
horse. Not
yourself.”

“A-a horse?”

“Damned if there’s not a bleedin’ echo in the room.” This comment followed by an annoying eye-roll and a pointed sigh.

Arianna ignored the display of ill temper. If he was telling the truth, the man had every right to be feeling pissy. Granted, she was no expert on horse breeding, but she had listened to Michaela talk enough about the process to recognize some of the terminology. And as she let the dialogue play again through her mind with this new slant it all fit.

Shamefaced, she scratched her nose and cast a sidelong glance at Caleb. If his expression was anything to go by, the guy was definitely
not
having happy thoughts.

Then suddenly he was unfolding himself off the sofa and moving determinedly in her direction. She sucked in a breath and started to take a step backward, but the blazing fire behind her left no path of retreat.

As he drew nearer, she picked up again on that slightly musky, feral scent she’d noticed on him earlier. “Horses, you idiot,” she muttered.

“
Cad é sin
?” He stopped a foot or more away from her. Not nearly in her personal space, although it felt like he was towering over her. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Her response was glum. “Just talking to myself.”
At least I haven’t started answering myself back yet.

She forced herself to meet those unsettling eyes. Dead cold now. And diamond hard.

Caleb held his hand out. “Give it to me.”

Arianna stared at him. “What…?”

His furious gaze turned scornful. Reaching out, he pried the poker from her senseless fingers and tossed the “weapon” back into the stand. Strung tighter than an Irish fiddle, she jumped at the loud clang of iron striking iron.

“Now, as to your assertion that I was planning to have my wicked way with you—”

Arianna’s expression was sheepish. “Okay, so I was off the wall about—”

His hands skimmed from elbows to shoulders, then settled on her upper arms. Holding her lightly in place, he bent his head. His breath against her cheek stirred memories of midnight fantasies in a shadow world of salt-scented breeze and silvery moonlight. “I’ve a confession to make,” he whispered into her ear.

“So find a priest,” she breathed.

“When I kissed you tonight, I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman in my life.” His words both shocked and seduced. Daring to meet his gaze, she watched as something hot and dark, something tortured, rolled through those crystal windows.

Abruptly ending the intimate exchange, Caleb released her and stepped away. She felt instantly cold, bereft. He swept his jacket off the back of the armchair. “I’d best be going now. Before this leads to something we’ll both regret.”

He was leaving.
For good.
Arianna could see it in his eyes. The thought of never seeing him again hit her with a feeling of loss not unlike the grief of her father’s death. “Before you go, I have to say something.”

Caleb turned to her, lips tight, a forbidding expression on his face, as if he were expecting another wild accusation.

“You don’t understand…There’s more to….” She drew in a deep breath. How could she explain something like this without sounding crazy? She couldn’t. “I’m sorry. You went out of your way to help me tonight, and all I did was heap on the abuse. Guess the proverbial straw was accusing you of being a sexual predator.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Not to mention a vampire and a dark faerie.”

“Yeah.” She let out a defeated breath, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Arianna saw him taking stock of her appearance, shivering like a puppy rescued from an icy lake at dawn. Probably looked like one too, she thought, combing her fingers through her straggly hair without effect.

“Look at the soggy wet state of you,” he said in a gruff voice. A glance at the hearth revealed that the fire had almost burned out. Stretching out his arm, a flick of his wrist brought about a loud
whoosh,
and a brilliant plume of red and orange flame shot skyward. As the blinding flare dissipated, the fire again burned hungrily, snapping and crackling as it consumed the remaining turf.

Caleb turned his head slowly, deliberately, meeting Arianna’s startled stare with the full force of his entrancing gaze. The look conveyed a heady sense of carnality, sprinkled with a hint of some dark, mystical power. She knew he was daring her to say something about what she had just seen him do.
Oh, boy. You are in soooo much trouble, girlfriend.

Legs weak, she sank into the chair in front of the fireplace and motioned her head toward the flames. “Thanks.”
I think.

With a curt nod, he pulled on his jacket. His hand reached into the side pocket. “Your house key,” he said, dropping it lightly onto the coffee table in front of the sofa.

The light tread of his boots marked his exit as he crossed the lightly polished floor. But in the foyer, he paused for a moment, then turned and retraced his steps.

Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he slid out a business card. “My mobile number, should you need anything,” he announced without preamble. She reached for it, and traced her thumb idly over his name embossed on the card. “You know not another living soul here in Ireland, Arianna. It’s not safe. I still can’t fathom why you’ve come all alone—”

“Caleb?”

He stopped speaking.

“Look, I get why you’d be ticked off at me, okay? But I want you to know that weirding out on somebody like that…well, it’s just not like me.” Arianna knew it was now or never. She closed her eyes and took a blind leap of faith. “There’s something else going on here that I don’t understand. From the moment I first saw you tonight I’ve been feeling like I’ve always known you…like there’s some…some fortuitous connection between us.”

Her explanation drifted off as her eyes searched his for understanding, for some hint of recognition. But he only stared back at her, his face inscrutable, entirely devoid of expression.

Disappointment welled up inside her, a malignant mass settling in her chest. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know you would never do anything to hurt me.”

Caleb was silent and still as death, the flexing of jaw muscles the only sign that he found her words unsettling. But at her honest vow of trust, a pained look slid over his features. He reached out…started to stroke her hair, but then pulled his hand back as if he feared being burned.

Or burning her, perhaps.

“Don’t,” he ordered finally, his voice cracked and grim. “Don’t rely on that, Arianna. No,
cailín,
you need to be afraid of me. Be very,
very
afraid.”

And with those cryptic words hanging in the air between them, he turned and left her. The sound of the front door closing behind him rang like a death knell in Arianna’s heart.

Chapter Seven

A
rianna awoke the next morning to a typical Irish winter day: Rainy, cold and dismal. Every muscle in her body ached and her head felt stuffed with cotton from jetlag. Punching her pillow into shape, she turned over and pulled the goose down duvet up over her ice-cold nose. Vignettes of the night before played through her head as she lay listening to the rat-a-tat-tat of the rain against the windows. Suddenly she remembered her promise to check in with Tara and Michaela the minute she got here. A promise she had forgotten what with all the craziness going on.

Tossing back the bedclothes, she glanced at her travel clock. Still set on American time, it read five a.m. Swinging her feet onto the sumptuous piles of a Persian rug, Arianna grabbed her white terry bathrobe and rushed out the door. She hurried down to the kitchen where she had spotted an old rotary phone hanging on the wall the night before.

She picked up the receiver and checked for a dial tone, then placed her call before stretching the long cord across the kitchen table and sitting down. One ring, two. As the phone trilled for the third time, there was a loud clatter on the other end of the line.

“
Damn it
...Hello?”
Tara.

“Well, ‘damn it, hello’ to you, too,” Arianna said dryly.

“Arianna, thank God. We’ve been worried sick. I tried your cell at least a dozen times last night, but I couldn’t get through.”

“I know, but I forgot to set up roaming before I left.”

“What?” Tara called out. “Yeah, it’s her.”

The extension picked up and Michaela’s sleepy voice came on the line. “Hey, you. What’s up?”

“Sorry for getting you guys up so early, but I woke up and realized I hadn’t called and knew you’d be worried. I hit a bad storm last night, and the rental car broke down on the way here.”

“That’s why I told you to take a red-eye,” Tara nagged. “Arrive in the morning.”

“I know, I know. But a guy stopped and gave me a ride here..”

Tara swore. “You climbed into a car with some strange man? Good grief, Arianna.”

“Ah, give it a break, Tara,” Michaela chimed in. “Our girl’s a
black
belt. Remember?”

“Yeah, so am I,” Tara shot back. “But a gun trumps a karate chop.”

“Who said anything about a gun?”
Michaela.

“Guys, guys, it’s okay. Turned out he was a neighbor,” Arianna explained.

“Hmmm, so the plot thickens,” Michaela said. “Must have been cute, since you were so busy entertaining him you forgot to call your two best friends.”

Tara sighed. “Arianna, please tell me you didn’t invite the guy into your house.”

“Okay. I didn’t invite the guy into my house,” Arianna replied by rote.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
Tara.

Michaela snorted. “Okay, so spill. Age, height, weight, body mass index, if you please. And not necessarily in that order.”

“Mid thirties, about six-three, black hair.” Pregnant pause. “BMI? Really, Michaela?”

“Wait a minute. That sounds a lot like your fantasy lover. You know, Dream Dude.” Silence. “Arianna?”

More silence.

“Arianna, you don’t really think….” Tara sounded properly horrified.

“No, of course not.” Her protest was feeble, though why had she felt the need to lie to her friends anyway? Was it because verbalizing such a thing made it seem even more real? Or more insane. Not that any of it mattered now. Because if something as bizarre as an existential bond had existed between them, Caleb would have recognized her as well.

Maybe Tara was right. She really did need to see a psychiatrist….

While Michaela made disappointed noises at Arianna’s response, Tara remained ominously silent. She wasn’t buying her denial for a single second.

“Just think about it,” Michaela went on dreamily. “Being rescued in the dead of night, in the midst of a raging tempest, by a tall, dark and handsome stranger. A mysterious Irishman, who just happens to resemble your magic man.”

Magic…
The word provoked a disturbing flash of memory.
Caleb’s dark head in an autocratic tilt, capricious green eyes blazing. A snap of his fingers. Then an explosion of fire.

Arianna gave her head a quick shake. Clearly, she had been
way
too tired last night. Mistaking what she was hearing. And seeing things that weren’t there.

“How utterly romantic,” Michaela went on.

“Utterly stupid,” Tara spat. “Good Lord, girl, the man could have been a serial killer...a rapist.”
A white slave trader?
“When I think what could have happened—”

“Mmm, me, too,” Michaela snickered. “You know what your problem is, T? You have no spirit of adventure, no
joie de vivre.”

“No spirit….” Tara sputtered. “I’m an archaeologist, for God’s sake.”

“Oh, yeah. A regular Indiana Jones.”

“Okay, children, please.” Arianna laughed as she got up from the table.

Resigned to choking down a cup of instant coffee to stave off a caffeine withdrawal headache, she stretched the phone cord over to the sink and filled the electric teakettle. “I’d better go, get that car reported to the rental agency. I’ll be heading into town later to buy a local cell phone, but I’ll give you the landline number for now.” Reciting the digits etched onto a yellow sticky note stuck to the telephone, she hung up.

After a quick sip of instant coffee, she grimaced and dumped the rest down the drain. She made a quick call to the car rental company, then checked in with the property manager, Mr. Kavanagh. When she mentioned her transportation woes, he kindly offered her the loan of his second car until she could rent something else.

She adjusted the temperature on the thermostat Caleb had pointed out on the wall in the living room, then headed upstairs for a steamy shower in an old claw-foot tub with one of those circular shower curtains. Pulling on a favorite pair of old faded jeans and a white Nike T-shirt that had seen better days, she donned a fleece-lined sweatshirt and hiking socks. Finally, she was warm.

Standing in the middle of her parents’ bedroom, she took stock of the furnishing with the practiced eye of an antique dealer. Neither the room’s design, nor the quality of the furniture came as a surprise. Although young when he had lived here, Da was an architect and the room reflected his personality: doors and trim made of some ornate dark hardwood, offset by lightly textured walls the color of aged ivory. The walls he had splashed with a colorful array of paintings, prints, and old lithographs.

Arianna’s lips thinned as she took in the painting hanging over a burr-walnut chest of drawers opposite the bed. The oil rendering of a sleek, black stallion nuzzling its mate would be a daily reminder of the complete fool she had made of herself the night before.

Unaccustomed to being idle, she got stuck into unpacking to wile away the time until Mr. Kavanagh would arrive with the loaner car. With a dress draped over one arm, she opened a door to the wardrobe. And froze. After more than a quarter century, what had to have been her mother’s clothes were still hanging there. As if the woman had run to the store for a loaf of bread and never returned.

Majorly creeped out by the discovery, Arianna shut the doors with a firm push. “No way am I dealing with this kind of emotional baggage right now,” she muttered, tossing the dress across a chair in front of the fireplace.

Her attention drawn to a 17
th
century cedar chest residing at the foot of the bed, she dropped to her knees and raised the lid. The hinges creaked in protest as the musky scent of cedar began to mingle with the earthy redolence of burning peat lingering in the air.

She discovered a Japanese black lacquered box, about eighteen inches in diameter, and opened the pagoda-shaped lid. Inside was a tiny dress made of pearly white satin, its hem, sleeves, and neckline trimmed in snowy lace. Buried within its folds was a child’s white leather Bible whose cover depicted a smiling Jesus surrounded by laughing children.

She riffled the pages and a photo tumbled out. Her beloved father, a young man, with his arm draped around a woman’s—her mother’s—shoulders, while an infant wearing the baptismal gown nuzzled at her breast.

After a few moments in silent deliberation, as if she might will the picture to reveal the secrets of her childhood, Arianna slid it reverently back within the Bible’s fragile pages. As she was closing the Book, an inscription inside the front cover caught her eye. She recognized the slightly neater version of her father’s familiar scrawl.

To: Arianna Binne O’Sullivan,

Beloved daughter, child of our hearts,

May your life be a shimmering light in the ever-pressing darkness;

Your tiny spirit a bridge across the divisive chasm

That has for far too long separated love...from the ways of magic.

Our love always,

Mother and Da

A knock on the front door dragged Arianna abruptly back to the present. Too early for the property manager, she couldn’t help but hope it was Caleb coming to check on her. She tried to hide her disappointment as she greeted an older man, his thick eyebrows, mustache, and hair all the color of rust.

“Ms. Sullivan? Miles Kavanagh,” he greeted her pleasantly. “Finished with my appointments early, so thought I’d call over and collect you now, if that suits.”

“That’s wonderful. And call me Arianna, please. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all your kindness, stocking in supplies and loaning me the car. You’ve really done a wonderful job keeping the old place up.”

“I regret we’re meeting under such sad circumstances,” he replied.

“Me, too. Would you like to come in for a few minutes? Have a cup of coffee or tea?”

“Sorry, but I’ve to get back to the office straight away. Would you be ready to go now, or shall I come back to collect you later?”

“Oh, no. I’m ready now. Just let me grab my things.” Scooping her purse off the coffee table, she grabbed a gray hoodie off the back of the sofa.

In the driveway, they both headed to the same side of a silver Corolla. “Thought I’d drive us back to town,” Mr. Kavanagh offered. “Show you the shortest route.”

“To be honest, I thought I was going to the passenger side.” Arianna grinned. “I forgot you guys drive from the
wrong
side of the car over here.”

The man chuckled.

Not five minutes later, they were driving through the sleepy little market town of Ennistymon where ageless, weather-beaten buildings lined both sides of the street in a chorus of sizes, styles and colors. They pulled into a parking lot behind a red brick office building.

“I was wondering if I could get directions to the Cliffs of Moher,” Arianna said.

Mr. Kavanagh pushed his seat back and balanced his briefcase between his slight paunch and the steering wheel. Raising the lid, he plucked a booklet from one of the side pockets. “Brought you a Clare tourist guide,” he said, offering it to her. “There’s a map and historic details inside. Thought it might help you get better acquainted with the area.”

“That’s perfect, thanks. Oh, and one other thing…. I’m trying to locate my mother’s midwife. Her name was on my birth certificate. It was…um—”

“Táillte O’Clery?” he finished for her. “Sure, most everyone in Clare knows yer wan. Must be in her seventies by now.” Reaching for his cell phone, he began to type. “I’ve her details right here.”

“Just give me her phone number. I’ll call and set up an appointment to see her.”

Mr. Kavanagh made a hissing dismissive sound. “Here in Ireland appointments are meant for trips to the dental surgery and other such unpleasantness as that, not for visiting a friend. Anyways, I haven’t her number.” Scribbling an address on a notepad he had in the case, he made a rough sketch of a map and shoved the paper at Arianna. “Her place is along the same route you’ll be taking to the cliffs. Call over on the way, if you’ve a mind. Sure, she’ll consider it a blessin’ seeing one of her wee sprogs all grown up like.”

He paused when handing her the car keys. “The brakes are after squealing a bit, so I’ve made an appointment to have them checked. So, if you could drop the car off to the garage tomorrow, across the street from McColgan’s Pub—”

“No problem.”

Leaving the car outside his office, Arianna hiked down the sloping incline leading to the village center. She turned right at an eighteenth century church at the corner and picked her way along the cracked and uneven sidewalk. A loud rumbling noise sounded from behind her and she spun around to see what it was. The sight of an old farm tractor lumbering up the middle of Main Street brought a smile. “Now there’s something you don’t see in Beddeford.”

Her father’s child, Arianna was fascinated by the hodge-podge of architectural styles in the village’s old buildings. Constructed from a wide range of materials, from bald medieval stone to eighteenth century red brick, the structures edged the narrow sidewalk. Windows were small and dark; lintels hung low over doors painted in primary colors, leaving Arianna with the distinct impression of having stepped into the pages of a history book.

Popping in and out of the little shops, she purchased food and supplies and picked up a pay-as-you-go smart phone. It was already after two o’clock by the time she got back to the car. As she flipped through the tourist guide looking for a map to the Cliffs of Moher, the scrap of paper with the midwife’s address fluttered out. Arianna regretted that she didn’t have the woman’s phone number. She really would have liked to see her on the way to the coast.

Oh well, in these beat-up old jeans and T-shirt, she wasn’t exactly dressed for visiting anyone’s home.