Tressa's Treasures (The King's Jewel Book 1) (5 page)

"Wait a minute, Órlaith Danann," he said, not speaking to her but as if the name meant something to him. He smacked his head with the palm of his hand.

"How did I miss that? Órlaith Danann designed some of the most famous gardens in Europe during the 19
th
century! Are you related?"

I hid my amusement and waited to see how she would answer his question.

"Sure and I'm her namesake," she said.

Well, that was almost true. She was the Órlaith Danann who designed those gardens, but confessing that fact would show her age; or more likely, since the truth would be impossible in their minds, they would believe she was crazy or demented.

To dissuade any more probing from Matt, I drew Alexander into the conversation saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Mr. Mannus, your daughter is completely charming."

He beamed. The corners of his eyes crinkled and those dark chocolate pools drew me in deeper.

"Thank you, she likes you too. When I left her with Matt's mother this evening she still hadn't stop talking about you."

Though his response was pleasant enough, I regretted mentioning Sophia the second the words escaped. The comment had to remind him of how we met. I reprimanded myself for indirectly mentioning the very thing I wanted him to forget.

"Will Sophia be with you for your entire stay, or will she be spending time with her mother too?" my grandmother asked.

Alexander's body tensed. "Her mother's not with us anymore," he said, his voice had a gruff edge that discouraged continuing that line of conversation.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEXANDER

After dinner, Shamus delivered boxes with at least thirty large thick journals to the guesthouse where I was staying. Brion Danann had kept copious notes on the exploration and research he did in the area.

I did my prospecting on instinct, just going where my gut told me. I couldn't imagine what information the journals contained that would fill so many volumes, especially when the information covered a relatively small geographical area. You could cover every inch of the entire state of Pennsylvania in so many volumes.

I had been staring at the leather bound books for hours. I’d put them into chronological order, or as close as I could figure. The older volumes were written in an unfamiliar language. They also had drawings, diagrams, and calculations, and I hoped that would give me enough to go on.

The book in front of me had to be the oldest, although the pages weren't yellow or showing any sign of age. Hand drawn maps showed the area around the estate, the woods and mountains to the north. The nearby town was no bigger than a trading camp. It probably illustrated the territory as it was in the 18th century—when the area was the frontier.

Such strange research. There were sketches of the estate's first farmhouse and barn, along with detailed floor plans, livestock and planting records. Equations—no, lists of latitudes and longitudes... areas he was excavating? And this here—this is a list of names? Townspeople? Farmhands? Slaves?

I sat back into the deep cushioned sofa, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes closed. I was getting a headache from trying to understand the scratchy handwriting that filled the half-dozen journals I had spread out on the coffee table in front of me. It was late; time to call it a night.

I picked up the small velvet bag sitting on the table next to the journals, opened the drawstring, and dumped the small stones inside into the palm of my hand. I studied them, rolling them around with my finger, remembering the day I found these stones inside the small package from Mrs. Danann. I was flabbergasted.

After over a decade searching the world for stones that matched my ring, out of the blue, some are mailed to me from this elderly woman. I set the velvet bag back on the table. Then I put the stones and my ring on top of the bag so I could see them together.

Something else had come in the mail that day, too: an invitation to be a guest lecturer at a university only twenty miles from where this woman claimed the stones had been found. I was sure they must have seen the article about me in the Rock and Gem magazine. I had also been in the news when I discovered a new mineral, so my name was out there... Still, it all seemed too coincidental. I shook my head just thinking about it. There was something off about the whole thing.

I slid forward to the edge of the sofa, resting my forearms on my knees. I scrutinized the journals again. Could the information I need be here in this strange mix of science and domestic bliss?

A sense of reassurance fell over me, convincing me that without a doubt, my answer lay within these pages. I had learned to trust my intuition. It had never served me wrong before; why would it now?

Feeling rejuvenated, I looked again at the indecipherable handwriting. What language was this? Gaelic? I'd get what I could from the books and then hire someone to translate them.

I took a sip of coffee from the mug on the table, forgetting I had brought it from the kitchen hours ago, and grimaced. The cold coffee tasted disgusting. I wouldn't stay awake much longer without another jolt of caffeine, so I took it back to the kitchen to get a fresh cup.

I dumped the stale coffee into the sink then switched the cup to my right hand. My injured hand wasn't strong enough to lift the heavier coffee pot. Just as I tilted it to pour the hot brew, words popped unbidden into my mind: She can't sleep. She's getting up. It wasn't like hearing a voice; it was more like a thought mixed with absolute conviction.

I gazed through the kitchen window towards the old fieldstone farmhouse, whose origins I had just been trying to interpret. A light popped on in one of the upper windows. I wondered if I would catch a glimpse of my pretty, redheaded neighbor, but all I saw were shadows moving across the window shade.

Speaking of something off, there was something not quite right about her. I wasn't used to surprises. I usually had a general sense of things before they happened—at least the important things. This woman had surprised me twice today.

I couldn't believe she jumped in front of that maniac at the store. The hulking man might have killed her, but instead, he meekly followed her instructions and left the store. It was all very odd.

There was something ethereal about her, and yet at the same time, down-to-earth. Gorgeous, long red hair. Her delicate face and eyes that looked somehow wounded and wary. What had caused that pain?

My coffee cup slipped from the grasp of my weaker hand, crashing off the corner of the counter and hitting the floor with a bang. It broke into pieces. I cursed quietly, mindful of my sleeping daughter.

"That's what you get for obsessing over the pretty girl," I said out loud.

Still, unable to resist, I glanced back out the window. But the farmhouse was dark now. I sighed, kneeling to pick up the pieces of the broken coffee cup.

"Daddy?" Sophia stood in the doorway in her pink cotton nightgown and bare feet, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"What are you doing up, sweetie?" I asked as I threw the broken ceramic into the garbage bin.

"I heard a noise."

"Yeah, I'm sorry sweetie. Daddy accidentally dropped his coffee cup. Come on, let me put you back in bed."

I hiked up my baby onto my hip. It was time we were both in bed.

TRESSA

The day's events spun around inside my head, keeping me awake.

At first I refused to get out of bed, confident that eventually I would fall asleep. When I was still awake at three in the morning, I decided some fresh air might help. I threw on a pair of yoga pants and a thick wool sweater. I grabbed a woven throw blanket from a chair in my bedroom and headed outside.

A warm front had rolled in after the day's storm, and the air felt more like spring in that early morning hour than it had during the day. The slim crescent moon gave off scant light to help me see my way across the lawn. I strolled carefully to my favorite spot by the lake.

My destination was a glider nestled under a tree: part of a landscape grouping created by my grandmother years ago, designed not only to be aesthetically pleasing, but also to give a degree of privacy to anyone enjoying the sitting area.

I often came to this spot to decompress and relax. When I reached it I draped the throw around my shoulders and lay down on the glider. Resting my head on one smooth, rounded sidearm, and curling a leg over the other. I let one foot dangle to push the glider, creating a relaxing rocking motion.

As soon as I had settled there, my thoughts returned to the endless circle that had kept me awake. I suppose those thoughts should have surrounded the events in the store that afternoon.

It wasn't often that I called
Dominion
over someone. Not because it was difficult to do—it wasn't. It was easy, as natural as breathing for a Sidhe. None-the-less, I believed it was wrong to trifle with people by overriding their free will with your own. In many cases it was prohibited. Consequently, I spent a great deal of effort suppressing what was, in fact, a natural behavior.

However, I confess my thoughts weren't on that incident at all. I agreed with my grandmother's assessment and felt guilt free in doing what I had done.

What my mind wouldn't stop running through was the evening's small dinner party. The real danger to my freedom wasn't the unusual thing I had done that day, but the thing I do every day: hiding my true self. I was certain that Alexander Mannus had the potential to become too curious about things he had seen and cause trouble for me.

The night sky began to lighten as the sun came closer to breaking the horizon. When a fluttering sound came from the trunk of the old maple tree next to the glider, I sat up expectantly, pulling my feet up to rest on the edge on my seat. I wrapped my arms around my legs and hugged them to my chest.

The Pixies tumbled out of a hole at the base of the tree. I heard their sweet, high-pitched giggles as the three of them rolled, tumbled and danced around each other. Their blatant display of abundant energy made me acutely aware of just how exhausted I was. I yawned.

The sound of my yawn caught the attention of the tiny creatures, and their heads looked up at me almost simultaneously. They pushed off the ground in a jump-like fashion and fluttered their thin wispy wings to fly up to me, their voices jingling together calling, "Tressie, Tressie, Tressie!" in youthful exuberance.

They hovered in front of my face, their wings flickering lightly.

"Good morning, wee ones," I said, smiling.

It was a rare soul who could be in the presence of a Pixie and not smile. They resemble human toddlers, and so invoke a similar affection on sight. However, they are only three or four inches tall and have wings attached at their shoulder blades, shaped not like butterfly wings, as often depicted, but like dragonfly wings.

If their adorable looks weren't entertaining enough, they spent their time romping around the garden, dancing and playing. Two of the Pixies, Megan and Kerry, flew one to each side of my face and kissed my cheeks affectionately before returning to the ground to resume their play.

Brenna, my particular favorite, twirled in front of me. Her flame red hair and feathery skirt swirled around her as she turned. I laughed at her when she stopped and dizzily tried to keep herself aloft.

It was no wonder I came to this location when troubled, I mused. What a shame that people generally weren't able to see the Pixies. Although they were as solid and as real as any other creature, their appearance had a translucent quality that made them all but invisible to the human eye, their tiny voices inaudible.

Brenna became serious, as serious as a Pixie can be with their childlike demeanor, as she fluttered over to sit on my shoulder.

"Trouble, Tressie. Heard trouble in the wind."

My thoughts sluggishly turn toward Alexander. My mind was finally as exhausted as my body.

"Trouble, Precious Brenna?"

"Handsome trouble."

I chuckled at her characterization.

"Handsome indeed." After a moment's reflection, I added, "I'm drawn to him in a way that's unfamiliar to me. It worries me."

We sat for a minute in silence as I stared at the sunrise. Brenna repositioned herself to lie with her stomach along my shoulder, her head facing mine. She rested her chin in her hands, bent her knees, and crossed her legs at her ankles.

"I should avoid him, of course, but what do I do with this pull he has on me?" I hid my face against my knees, knowing before I asked the question that I wouldn't like her answer.

"Follow it, Tressie. Have some fun. Tressie, he could be...fun."

I started at her innuendo. It was easy to forget that she wasn't a child. I thought about what she suggested: an affair, a tryst... was that what I wanted? Most Sidhe would bed the man without hesitation and think of it as an afternoon's entertainment, but most Sidhe didn't have the enemies I did.

"He could destroy everything."

"Silly. It was a little thing. He'll forget."

"Maybe."

I thought of his perceptive eyes and wasn't convinced, but I let the conversation end there. I had made up my mind to suppress my strange attraction and avoid him, because that was what needed to happen. There wasn't any reason to discuss it further.