Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy (19 page)

Chapter 25

Setting his spirit back in his corporeal body was relatively easy, but the weight of gravity was the heaviest to bear and the hardest to acclimate to once the resurrection process started. It wouldn’t be as jarring this time, thanks to Brenawyn and Leo’s assistance. He wouldn’t have to expend any energy to get his heart healed and started, plus, the flesh had already started to warm with the recirculation of blood. He could be on his feet within minutes, feeling only the slightest residual effects, but even those would dissipate soon afterward, twenty-nine minutes at last count.

It took less time each rebirth. He was thankful for that now, enough time had passed for Alex to view his longest stint in the Stalking Grounds with only mild revulsion. His lesson: don’t anger the gods. It was ninety-three years until Cernunnos relented and released him. Ninety-three turns on the wheel of time, only getting a reprieve three hundred and seventy-two days for high feast observances. Ninety-three years of being hunted and brought to ground. He went through the resurrection process dozens of times.

Alex lay on the floor, adjusting to his body, listening to the three woman quietly move about the apartment, finishing the last of the preparations. Movement to his right caught his attention. He turned his head to see Brenawyn squat to wipe something off the floor. He felt embarrassed that it was probably his own blood that she was mopping up. He couldn’t see her face from this angle so he reached out to place his hand lightly on her knee. She turned and a single tear fell to splash on the back of his hand.

Brenawyn’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears. “You’re alive!” she breathlessly whispered and immediately started shaking.

“Shh. ‘Tis okay. I am haur.” He found her hand and pulled her close. She came willingly, turning to stretch out next to him on the floor regardless of the gore. “I told ye I would come for ye.”

She touched his cheek, sobbing, “I don’t understand how.”

Leo paused at the doorway, “Oh, good, you’re back. How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Brenawyn sat up and regarded Leo disbelievingly. “He just regained…”

“Right noo.” Alex sat up. “Thank ye for yer assistance. It cut doon on recovery time.”

“There is no time to waste. Someone will come to investigate sooner rather than later, and we need to be gone from this place.”

“Aye, we dae.” Alex put his hand on his unscarred abdomen. “Th’ athame tha’ Cormac used ta cut me, is it still haur?”

“Yes, I took it to the kitchen to clean. I’ll get it.”

By the time Leo returned, Alex was standing, with Brenawyn hovering nearby, shadowing his every move ready to spring to catch him if he stumbled.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “I ken ye doonae understand th’ how o’ it, but I am solid on my feet.”

Leo handed him the sheathed knife. “It looks important.”

“Aye, ‘tis one o’ th’ five sacred items o’ th’ priestess.” Both Leo and Alex looked at Brenawyn.

She looked at each in turn, then at the knife extended to her in his open hand. She shook her head, “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Och, I’ll keep it for noo. Whaur did ye put th’ Oracle?”

“How did you know?”

Leo exchanged a look with Brenawyn, “She’s down in the office. Tied and gagged.”

“What are you going to do?”

Alex looked at her grimly, “All will be well. Stay up haur until I call for ye.”

Alex passed Maggie on the way down. She gave him a fierce hug and hurried past to get the remainder of the suitcases. Turning, he said, “Maggie, lass, stay up thaur until I say it’s safe. Ye kin?”

She nodded her head, holding onto the doorframe, before disappearing around the jamb.

Alex accessed the leopard’s senses and reached out to the closed office. Nothing moved within. He approached and saw the door ajar, kicked in from the look of it. The Oracle was gone. He crouched in the hallway and stalked toward the merchandise floor. The ethereal music still played on the speakers, but the effect was eerie now that the place was in shambles.

Alex approached the rubble pile and saw Buchanan, his neck at an impossible angle. There was no sign of Cormac.
Shite.

This changed the timeline. They’d have to complete the Rite of Widdershins here to be safe, not in Scotland as he intended. Hopefully going back in time to reset the balance would find them at his family’s seat. If that were the case then there wouldn’t be any cause for concern, but as it was, they could wind up anywhere, anytime. How was he to train her if he knew not whether he’d have the supplies he’d need? How was he to keep her in hiding if he knew not where they’d end up? Still, it was preferable to staying in this time for any length. Cormac and the Oracle were unpredictable now that their purpose was made known, and their followers were an undefined quantity.

Brenawyn met him at the foot of the stairs when he called. She was frightened, he could see.

“Yer car is packed. I need ta get my truck and bags. I would like ye ta accompany me. Is tha’ acceptable?”

She nodded her head and was out the door without a second glance. The walk was short, a half a block and a flight of stairs. The apartment was spartan but neat, with the exception of the splintered remains of the coffee table in the center of the living room. “What happened here?”

“Cormac.”

Brenawyn panicked and scanned the room, “He was here?”

“Aye, he broke in th’ other day. We fought.”

She pulled on his arm, “Grab your bags. He could come back anytime.”

“I ken why yer afeart, and ‘tis wise ta be cautious. We ha’ some time. I ken him. He likely has gone off ta lick his wounds. He’ll regroup, make nay mistake. He’ll come back stronger next time, but it willnae be the day.”

Alex stepped around her to lock the door and push the couch against it. “Does tha’ make ye feel better? The door is solid oak, locked and bolted.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Brenawyn, I’m going to take a shower. Ye can wait haur, the bedroom, och, ye can even sit in th’ bathroom. Whaur’er ye are comfortable.

“Oh, okay, um…”

Reading her indecision, Alex took Brenawyn by the hand, and led her down the hall to the bedroom. Alex took the key out of the back of the door. “This room has a lock too. Would ye feel safer if ye locked yerself in haur while I showered? Ye’d ha’ th’ key and if ye wished ye can push th’ dresser in front.”

She stopped him and sat on the bed, “The lock on the door here will be sufficient, just hurry.”

She opened the bedroom door minutes later to Alex with a towel wrapped around his waist. As appealing as the vision was, his unscarred abdomen contradicted the hideous wound of earlier which was still fresh in her mind. She moved to touch him, but he backed up.

“The blud, it isna yers?”

She held out the shirt tail, “This? No. It’s mostly yours actually.”

“Aye, ye need ta wash th’ blud off ye, too. No’ ta scare ye, but th’ Vate will be able ta track ye from it. ‘Tis a fairly simple spell, all she’d need is a sample o’ th’ blud.”

“Oh, okay, but how?” she pointed, indicating his midsection.

“Ah, ye can inspect and question me all ye want after.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Alex winked, “Ne’er fear. I’ll wrap ye in my kilt.”

He donned jeans while she was in the shower, but he was still bare-chested when she reentered the bedroom. His kilt was neatly folded on the end of the bed with a leather belt next to it.

Brenawyn approached and put her hands on his midsection skimming the area where the damage was. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“Nay, no’ at all.”

“So when you come back… I can’t believe I’m formulating this question… there’s nothing, no remnant?”

“Just the added tattoos as ye can see.”

She reached up to trace the newest designs on his chest and arm.

“I’m changed in other ways, but that is a much longer conversation.”

Brenawyn’s hand remained on his chest. “You’re so hot, like an oven.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her on his lap, “Aye, let me warm ye then.” His lips touched the edge of her ear and she melted into him. His kisses, feather light, trailed down her neck and across her clavicle.

“Are you sure we’re safe here?”

“Aye. Tha’ we are, and yer family too.”

“For now?”

“Aye, for noo.”

She turned to straddle his hips, “Then love me now while we don’t have to worry about what tomorrow will bring.”

He pulled at the edge of the towel,
“Bheadh grá agam ort riamh, dá mbeadh ach iarraidh orm,”
he said, not daring to say in English that he would love her forever if she but asked. He dipped his head and suckled at her breast. He lay back, taking her with him. His fingers found her slick core, and she rubbed against him. He ripped at his fly, and as soon as he was free, she impaled herself on his engorged shaft. His hands were now on her hips, driving her down, guiding her, but it wasn’t enough. In one fluid motion he sat up, claimed her lips, and rolled on top of her as she climaxed, her moans in his ear.

The driving need to spill his seed, to make Brenawyn his, to get her with child, all came flooding in. His tremors started and he moved to withdraw, but her legs clasped his hips, “No, I want you, all of you, inside of me.”

“As ye wish.”

Glossary

Celtic Gods, Goddesses, and Creatures

Aine:
(AHN yuh)
Irish goddess for fertility

Aerten:
(EYER ten)
Cornish, Welsh goddess of fate

Caer Ibormeith:
(Keer YEW mayth)
Pan-Celtic goddess of dreams and prophecy

Cernunnos:
(KER noo nohs)
Pan-Celtic god of the Hunt

dearg due:
(
DAH-ruhg DU-ah
)
Irish vampire

Finvarra:
(VEEN varra)
Irish High King of the gods

Nimue:
(NIM oo ay)
Cornish, Welsh goddess of the moon

Sluagh:
restless spirits of the dead; in Fate's Hand, embodied as hounds

Taranis:
(TA ran is)
Continental goddess of death to whom sacrifices were offered.

Tir-Na-Nog:
(TIER na noog)
realm of the gods

Gaelic Words and Phrases

a chuisle:
(
a khish la
) term of endearment meaning my heart.

Eiliminteach:
(EE le men tie k) Elemental

Fire Feasts

Samhain:
(
SAH wen
) Celebrated on October 31 marking the beginning of winter

Oimelc:
(
I melg
) Celebrated on February 1 marking the beginning of spring

Beltaine:
(
BEY al TIN ah
) Celebrated on May 1 marking the beginning of summer

Lughnasadh:
(
LOO nah sah
) Celebrated on August 1 marking the beginning of autumn

P
review

Book 2 of the Celtic Prophecy

R
eliquary’s
C
hoice

Brenawyn covered the pictures, willing them to disappear. Though almost blinded by tears, she uncovered them again to examine them and try to determine the identity of the pretty blonde cradled in her husband’s arms on the silent glossy paper. The picture captured the woman’s reaction, a hearty laugh at whatever Liam whispered in her ear. The other picture showed her sprawled on a blanket, with a magnolia blossom in her hair. Brenawyn threw the pictures in the trashcan beside the bed.
I won’t even think about it. What good would it do? Rage at the possibility? When he never gave me any reason to doubt him?
Disgusted, she grabbed the can and tore into the trash, finding the glossy surfaces, and stormed out to dispose of them. She found the matches, touched it to the photos, and after watching the flame take hold, she tossed the pictures into the empty fireplace.

Ashes.

Appropriate.

She stormed away, but returned just as quickly to watch the last of the embers wink out. She stood there, silently considering the incriminating, albeit circumstantial, evidence. “Ugh. Damn it,” slamming her hand on the mantle. “Do you even know that he’s dead?”

“Is everything aaricht,
a chuisle
?” She turned to find Alex sitting in the leather wing chair in the shadowed recess of the room, book on his knee.

Brenawyn’s breath hitched as she sighed. “Unpacking the last of the boxes from the house I shared with my husband.” She glanced back at the fireplace, “Found some pic…some unexpected things,” she amended.

“Ah lass, dae ye want ta talk about it?”

“No, thank you. I’d rather forget it all together.”

A few steps into the hall had her at the bedroom door to see garbage strewn on the floor and her dog, Spencer crouched in the corner, chewing a used tissue. “Spencer, put that down!” The dog bolted but Brenawyn wrestled him to the ground, prying his mouth open enough to extract his treat. “Mine!” as she held the wet tissue aloft.

Sitting up, Brenawyn looked around her bedroom, strewn with the contents of the remaining boxes from her home in Jersey that she hadn’t had time to go through, now transported here in haste.

“Three years. Three years. If I close my eyes…picking up the phone to hear…seeing the wrecked guard rail, the car…Ugh. Time doesn’t heal shit.”

Brenawyn reached over for the box of tissues on the nightstand and patted the bed beside her, “Come here, boy. Come on up.”

She caught the eighty-pound bundle of wriggling fur. Not content with either licking her face or being as close to her as possible, Spencer did both simultaneously. “Eww, no doggie kisses.” She scratched him under his collar. “Who’s a good boy?” The dog tried one more time to sneak a last minute kiss that barely missed her open mouth, before giving up and settling down with a grunt as he nestled in, molding his body to her side. Absently she petted him, “You didn’t know Liam. He was a good man, even though he was allergic to dogs.”

The next item in the box was a small notebook filled with her husband’s tight neat script. She leafed through it before recognizing what it was—the notebook that they shared when they took the philosophy class together during their last year of college. How she managed to get an A in the class was still a mystery to her when all she was concerned with was the heat of his body as he sat next to her.

She pulled out the insurance papers she had seen too often. “Again? How many copies did you keep? Did you think I would forget where they were?” She could almost hear his voice.
This is where copies of the insurance papers
and the keys to the safety deposit box are
… “How many times did we argue over this?”

Brenawyn dropped the papers, pushed the box across the bed and flung herself back on it, startling the dog. She didn’t move until she felt his wet nose nuzzle her arm. “It’s okay, Spencer. Talking to you is one thing, but talking to the dead husband… I need to stop that.”

Resolved to finish, she picked up the box and extracted the last item in the container, a small wooden box. Brenawyn ran her hand along the ornate brass fittings. Locked. She upended the box. No key. “Hmm.” Running her hands along the back revealed a weak hinge. She tried prying the hinge with the edge of her fingernail only to be thwarted when her nail broke. Sucking on the injured finger, she unfolded herself from the bed and climbed over the unmoving dog.

The hinges gave little resistance to the flathead screwdriver. Reaching in, Brenawyn took out a brightly wrapped gift box complete with a silver mylar bow, flattened now after so long. She put the box on the nightstand, hesitant to open it. It was so long since the last time she stumbled upon a surprise like this from a man long dead.

~ ~ ~

Alex paced the room, but Brenawyn didn’t return. Keeping an ear to the hallway, he strode over to the fireplace and sifted through the ashes. A soot covered portion of a photo lay in the debris. Centuries may have passed, but Alex would always remember the face of James Morgan. Hatred boiled up from his gut, he needed to hit something.

He got some satisfaction as the brittle paper crumbled in his fist. He wished it were that easy. Jamie never gave him the opportunity. Coward.

A soft cry from the hallway pulled him back into the present and he opened his hand.

Was Jamie her husband? James Liam Morgan McAllister.

Damn him.

Always one step ahead.

Alex stopped at the open doorway to see Brenawyn reaching for a wrapped gift on the nightstand. She fumbled with the paper, ripping at the seams with her teeth until the box was dented. She found purchase and wiped the bit of paper from her lip with one hand as the other pealed the paper away to reveal a black velvet jewelry box. Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she opened the box. He couldn’t see what was inside but the facets of the stones spread sparkles across the ceiling as it caught the first rays of the day.

Brenawyn carefully removed the necklace and held it up. She held the medallion as she approached the mirror tracing the detailed design. She looped it around her neck letting the medallion fall between her breasts.

“Years later I’m still finding stuff you left for me? This is why I couldn’t live there anymore. I’m trying to move on with my life.”

It was only then that she saw him in the doorway. She jumped. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Lass, what’s wrong? Is thaur anything I can dae ta help?”

“Eh. It’s nothing.” Sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand so hard that she saw spots. “My husband…” shaking her head, “my late husband would give me things, presents, jewelry and other pretty things.” She carried the medallion to him, “Three years after his death, I am still finding gifts.”

She dropped the necklace in his open hand and whirled to gather the rest of the items back into the box. An exquisite medallion of gold Celtic knot work with ruby, sapphire, emerald, diamond, and topaz gemstones glinted up from his palm. He knew this necklace, could trace the pattern from memory, if he needed more proof to convince him of what he already knew.

“Tis verra beautiful. It reminds me o’ another. Come haur. Thaur is something…” Brenawyn straightened and met him, “I am curious about.” He looped the necklace around her head lifting her hair so the chain fell again her skin. He stepped back and looked unsatisfied, “The medallion needs ta be in contact with yer skin,” and he went to make it so. Brenawyn pulled away blushing, his fingertip loosing contact with her collar.

“Ok, I’ll do it, thank you.” And she dropped the medallion in her cleavage. “This is very strange. Necklaces are supposed to be worn outside…”

“Humor me.” His face must have given something away because her eyes grew wide. “Turn around and leuk in th’ mirror.”

Much to her surprise, her reflection showed glowing sigils across her clavicle, dimming slightly across her shoulders to almost nothing as they tracked down her upper arms. He saw recognition reflected in her eyes. These were the same iridescent markings as were present in the office’s mirror. Alex came up behind her and held her about the waist and the dimmed tracings burst to life, racing down her arms in matching intensity.

“What does this mean?” as she searched his face reflected in the mirror.

“Th’ necklace, or rather th’ medallion, th’ chain has nay power, is
Eiliminteach
, a mythic piece, one o’ five, drenched in Druid lore. Five pieces, scattered, hidden, until th’ one is revealed. Foci most powerful for th’ priestess just as the torc is for th’ Shaman.

“Why are the markings activated by it? And why do they glow brighter at your touch?”

“Th’ medallion is a sort o’ antenna ta focus your abilities.” Eyes burning with desire, he swept aside her tresses and dipped his head so his lips brushed her ear. “My touch is different…are ya sure ye want ta ken, Brenawyn?”

She turned to face him and stepped back to look into his eyes, careful not to touch him.

“We are two halves ta a whole. Shaman, priestess, man, woman, yin, yang, if ye will; we represent balance, and because o’ tha’ balance, th’ gods favor our union.”

“If it is as you say, why would my husband have it amongst his belongings.”

Everything stopped as the silent weight of her words beat on his heart. “I ken yer husband a while sin.” The words were out of his mouth before the decision to tell her registered in his mind. How he would explain his connection to James, he had no clue. The truth? Yeah, as if she would believe him yet.

Brenawyn looked at him, mouth agape. “How… how did you know Liam?”

“He never deserved yer loyalty. He wasna a kind man.”

“What? Ye knew him?” Her arms uncrossed so that the robe gaped open. “When?”

“Brenawyn, I shouldnae ha’ mentioned it. T’was a long time ago. Perhaps he changed.”

“No. Tell me what he was like when you knew him. Please.”

“T’was a long time ago. Please. Ye ha’ good memories o’ him. Mine aren’t so. I’d rather no’ say.”

She moved to bar the door, “No, damn it. Tell me.”

“Jamie and I were friends. I ken him as James Morgan—James Liam Morgan McAllister. It doesna matter noo. A woman came between us. We weren’t friends any longer. End o’ story.” Alex brushed by her on his way out of the room, knowing that she was right on his heels.

“Your story lacks detail.” Brenawyn caught his arm, “Please, tell me. It’s been three years, I can’t get over his death. My memories are fading but instead of making it better and allowing me to move on, I feel anxious and panicked, as if there is something important that I’ve forgotten, but I can’t recall it.”

“Brenawyn, if ye’ll agree ta let it wait, I’ll tell ye everything in time.”

The backdoor opened with a squeak and Spencer bolted through the room, stepping on Brenawyn’s bare foot. She hobbled hopping on one foot, Alex grabbed her forearm to keep her from falling.

“Brenawyn, yer question, ask yerself this, why would he ha’ the
Eiliminteach
?

Alex softly closed the door behind him “Why, Jamie? Damn ye.” He could have lived with the betrayal; eventually he would have stopped hating them so much if it had been true. Perhaps it was on her part. He’ll never know after what Jamie had done to her. Now here he was centuries later with another woman whose memories were violated and altered by the same depraved animal.

Damn him.

All for power.

Not this time.

Alex would give Brenawyn the truth even if she hated him as a result.

Jamie—Ian was dead.

It was time the façade died too.