Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS) Page 4

  Lacey took the hot mug of tea when it was handed to her, but couldn't quite met Moiré's kind gaze. Something was indeed off here and not just how a man whom she had never seen before could look on her with such absolute loathing. Her tired mind couldn't grasp any of it. Yet she was dead sure of one thing. No force under heaven or on earth was ever going to make this Ronan Fitzpatrick warm up to her.

  And she hadn't a damn clue why.

  Chapter 4

  He couldn't believe she was here.

  Here, in the kitchen probably sipping tea with his mam right this minute. The image made him sick with rage.

  Ronan thought he'd prepared himself for the woman with the aquamarine eyes to show up, but he obviously hadn't really believed it was going to happen. At least not so soon. Walking in his home and seeing her in his brother’s arms had been a nasty full-on shock.

  Two powerful feelings had immediately rose up in him. One had been the hatred, of course. Hatred for what she had to be bringing with her—more interference from the damme gods. On the heels of that has nipped a possessive rage. He’d had to crush the urge to hit Daire and rip the woman from his arms. The hunger of his dreams was nothing... nothing to what he’d felt confronted by her in reality. She stirred the beast inside him without lifting a tiny finger.

  And damme, the woman was tempting! Much more so than he remembered from the dreams. Her pixie's face was framed by a lively cap of gold hair, lit with just a touch of fire, and then those eyes, huge and jewel-like... and the way her body had curled into his brother’s as if seeking protection when she’d seen him…

  Kicking rocks out of his way as he skirted the steep hill behind the house, Ronan growled in frustration. First, he had frozen, frozen trying to control the shock that had blasted through him in seconds, then the jealousy he had felt seeing her in his brother’s arms, this woman he had taken over and over in his dreams. He had to force himself to remember the other aspects of those dreams. So that with his next breath, he'd wanted to rip her from Daire again and hurl her down the hill into Lough Gur.

  If his cursed family left her alone for a second, he was still planning on doing precisely that.

  He'd never felt so out of control, emotions buffeting him this way and that, in the space of a few seconds. Ronan knew he had only survived as long as he had by keeping his emotions tightly-even ruthlessly in check. Besides whatever magic this woman carried, she was obviously far too dangerous a temptation to him personally...

  “Oy! Ronan! Hold it up a mo'."

  Ronan didn't turn to face his brother, but he did stop at the edge of the tall hill next to a large lichen-covered stone, looking out over the long valley. The lough sparkled in the distance, but Ronan wasn't seeing it. He listened to Daire's footsteps approaching and gritted his teeth.

  Ronan knew he was spoiling for a fight and despite how he would welcome that so much right now, it really wasn't the best idea. If Daire ended up in the lough, he'd never hear the end of it.

  Ronan watched out of the corner of his eye as his brother leaned against the stone to catch his breath, with his arms folded across his chest. When Daire looked up, his normally dancing blue eyes were flat.

  "You scared her half to death. Since when did ye start terrifying tourists, I'd like to know?" Daire's voice was still a bit breathless, but Ronan heard the shock and disappointment in it.

  He leveled a glare at the younger man.

  "Do nae play dumb with me, little brother. You heard what I said to Mam."

  "What, man? That she's some sort o' witch from your dreams and all?"

  Daire jerked an arm into air incredulously. "Damme, Ronan, she's American! She do nae have anything to do with us, with them, or with you. How could she?"

  Frowning, Ronan seriously considered his brother's words, flipping through what he remembered of the end of his dreams, what he wanted to forget. The sickening fear, the feeling that if he did not get away--get to where he needed so desperately to be--that his heart, his very soul was going to be torn out by the roots. The moonlight and the trees flashing past, and always, always her behind him, with those large jewel-colored eyes. He didn't understand it, but he knew she was the cause of that desperation. It was unmistakable.

  It was her.

  "I don't know, Daire," he finally said heavily, dropping his arms and turning his gaze back to the woods below. "But, believe me, she does. And Mam knows it, too! I could see it on her face." Ronan cursed and ran a hand through his already disheveled black hair. "She won't tell me what she sees, just says she can't see it properly. But she's hiding something and I do nae know why!"

  Daire reached out a hand and shook his brother's shoulder until Ronan met his gaze again. This time Daire did not look angry, but too old and wise and sad for even for his true years. "Sure, ye do," he said softly. "She thinks she's seen a way out for you."

  Ronan's eyes snapped. "What has she told ye?"

  "Naught." Daire sighed. "But I can see it her eyes, Ronan. Hope. She's been burning with it these last few weeks."

  Frustration and fury vibrated through Ronan and he lashed out without thinking. "Then she's a fool!"

  Daire's fist was blindingly fast, but Ronan saw it coming. He just didn't bother to duck.

  The white-hot burst of pain against his jaw did nothing to dampen his anger. He took a menacing step towards his youngest brother before he caught himself.

  Daire looked at him with cool eyes.

  "You'll naught talk about our mother like that. Naught to me, I do nae care how right ye think ye are."

  Ronan said nothing. But his teeth grinding together spoke volumes. Daire shook his head then, and said quietly, his words radiating with unspoken pain. "Are we all great fools then, Ronan? To have any hope t'all?"

  "Yes." Ronan's lips were so stiff they barely moved.

  "Well then, let me tell you this, big brother." Daire's voice had quickly regained its heat. "I rather be a great bloody fool with hope, than a damme eejit without!" He started to stalk off down the rock and heather-dotted hillside, but whipped back angrily, his expression strained. "You know, Ronan, do ye naught even consider Mam could be right and somehow that lass has got the power to save us all?"

  Ronan turned slowly to look down at him and Daire fought off a shudder at the cold certainty in his brother's eyes.

  "The only power that woman possesses is one to take us straight to hell." Ronan moved away up the mountain with an eerie, loping speed that took him so far, so fast he did not hear Daire's reply.

  "And here was me thinking we're there already." Daire closed his suddenly burning eyes briefly, before resuming his retreat to the valley and away from his cursed brother.

  “So, it’s all about a book, is it? Yer trip to Eire?” With a cheery smile, Moiré was placing more of her raspberry scones before Lacey. She was certain her American visitor didn’t have any idea she’d already eaten a whole plate of them to herself. Especially when she eagerly, though absently grabbed another, as she considered Moiré’s words.

  Lacey took a bite and chewed slowly, her fingers brushing the little cascade of crumbs this way and that on butter-smooth finish of the oak tabletop.

  “Well....yes. And no, not really. It was just an excuse, in a way. I mean, I do want to write, really write. I always have. Not just copy or the occasional magazine article and all, but an honest-to-goodness novel, but... well. I suppose it will sound silly to you. My family came from Ireland three generations ago, my sister thinks I’m bonkers. But I needed to come here. I’ve been dreaming of coming to Ireland since I was this big.” She gestured with her hand well below the tall table and laughed self-consciously.

  Moiré frowned and eased herself back into her chair. “I take dreams quite seriously, I do. Dreams can show us the future, and the past. I do nae see why having dreams of yer home should be thought mad.”

  Lacey put down the scone and tried not to gape as she studied Moiré. This Irish lady was very pleasant company. She seemed to have an endless fasci
nation with Lacey, encouraging her to talk and talk about herself, only interrupting to ask leading questions that led to more talk. It was easily the longest Lacey had ever conversed about herself to any one person in her entire life.

  And Moiré had a way of making her really think about her answers and reasons for them instead of just giving the stock replies most people seemed to accept without question.

  Here and there throughout their conversation though, the older woman had said things that struck Lacey as positively strange. Like when Lacey had mentioned in passing that her sister had hated when she had started cutting her hair short as a teenager. Moiré had casually said that the short cut suited her much better, with the air of one who’d seen her otherwise. It had given Lacey pause, but Moiré had patted her hand and said she just meant it was obvious long hair would overwhelm Lacey’s fine features. That was a good answer, but it had felt like covering for a misstep. Which was impossible, but…

  And now what was this business about Ireland being her home?

  “Moiré, Ireland is hardly my home, I told you, I’m fourth generation, half-Irish. I’ve barely been here 24 hours.” Lacey gave a dry laugh. “And I can assure you, except for you, nothing very welcoming has happened. I think my sister had a point and I‘m too sentimental for my own good.”

  Stirring her tea, Moiré just smiled. “Contrary to popular belief, lassie, the Irish are far from a sentimental lot. But we do know about heart, and if yer heart has been telling you since you were a wee one that this is where ye belong, I’d not be arguing with it, if I were you. The heart knows things the mind does not.”

  Because she couldn't think of an answer to that, Lacey took a sip of tea, wincing a little at the strong taste. She had always thought that Ireland would feel like home, that when she finally got here maybe she would....fit in, for once in her life.

  She'd never told anyone that.

  Never really faced it herself. It seemed far too pathetic. Moiré had pulled those feelings out of her in a short half-hour conversation, laid bare Lacey's most secret hopes... and most remarkable of all, didn't seem interested in judging her for them.

  Lacey leaned back in her chair, her eyes widening in the realization that she did feel at home here, completely at ease. At least with this woman, at this moment.

  It was a sweet, but short-lived moment. Daire walked back into the kitchen. He'd tried to compose his handsome face, but Lacey could see he was pale with some suppressed emotion. He and Moiré exchanged a quick glance that burst Lacey's warm cozy bubble as effectively as a needle. However appealing this family was--at least most of it--they had their own issues. She was intruding.

  "Look," she said into the silence, getting to her feet and absently stacking the remnants of Moiré and hers-mostly hers-late morning tea. "I really should be getting back to my car. If I could just borrow your telephone, I can get out of your hair..."

  She broke off as two faces swiveled to her with identical expressions of chagrin. She continued hastily, tripping over words in her haste not to seem ungrateful. "Not that you haven't been lovely, Moiré. And you, too, Daire. Umm...not lovely. In your case, I mean, Daire, but…umm...strong and helpful, of course, and..."

  Feeling like an inarticulate idiot, Lacey scooped up the plates, which was an unfortunate choice on her part, as her hands were shaking rather badly.

  The ensuing crash was thunderous enough to draw the children to the open glass door, where they stared in at the wreckage and three frozen adults.

  "What was that, Maman?"

  "Goodness, did the American girl do that? Well, that's just rude." Lacey had no trouble recognizing the girl Chloe's voice.

  "Do ye think Maman put Irish in the tea, like Da likes sometimes?"

  "Sure! And the American got ploughed and dropped all the dishes." This was spoken in frankly gleeful tones that sent Lacey's lips quivering. Daire's jaw was twitching. Moiré put a hand to her mouth.

  Then Chloe said, in a superior, instructing sort of way. "Well, of course, that's it. Everyone knows Americans can't hold their liquor."

  As if on cue all three grown-ups burst out laughing, even Lacey. It was the spontaneous, silly sort of laughter that one just can’t help. Moiré was wiping tears away with a corner of her apron, her cheeks rosy and Daire was holding his side. Lacey sat back in her chair, giggling helplessly.

  The children watched through the doorway a moment longer, the blank looks on their faces so priceless it only served to send the adults into further fits of laughter. Finally, the little mob turned from the scene in confused disgust.

  Colin leaned over to elbow one of his elder brothers in the ribs as they ran away.

  "Damme, Eamon. Do ye think they all got into Da's Irish?"

  Thankfully, no one in the kitchen heard him. They were just getting their breath back. Moiré looked over at Lacey, in what she meant to be a stern manner. The laughter in her voice rather spoiled the effect.

  “Mind, I'll hear no more of this 'getting out of our hair' and such like. You'll stay with us until Daire and Michael can deal with your car. Not a word, now," she put up a hand as Lacey made to speak, "or ye really will offend me. You best go and fetch her things then and see the damage." This was spoken to Daire, who nodded and rose from his perch on the counter. Lacey got to her feet, too, which had two heads turning in her direction once more, both of them frowning.

  "Now, what'd I do?" She asked with exasperation.

  "Well, where'd you think you're going?" Daire demanded, before his mother could get a word in. "Tis light enough you are, but I've no wish to carry ye to the lough and back."

  Lacey frowned at him. "I'm not so helpless as all that, Daire Fitzpatrick..."

  But Moiré cut her off. "Now, lass, you're all in, that nap on your car," Daire's eyebrows shot up at this but Moiré shushed him with a finger, "is the only rest you've had, in what? 2 days? Nay, you'll not be leaving this house until you've gotten yer forty winks. Maybe more, if ye still look peaked to these eyes. You just give Daire the general idea of where you left it and he'll find your car, sure enough."

  It was obvious Moiré wasn't going to be dissuaded. Lacey handed over her keys and after telling Daire about the two paths, he nodded and left out the back. He was so intent on his task, he missed the quiet shadow under the eaves.

  Ronan watched him go, his body blending easily into the darkness where he leaned against the outer kitchen wall. He'd heard enough to know he'd been right where his mother was concerned. She wasn’t going to listen to him at all. It was unfortunate he still loved them so fiercely, because his family was bound and determined to drive him to murder.

  His brother faded into the distance and Ronan turned to lean his hot forehead against the cool stone of the wall. She certainly sounded normal enough, this American woman, laughing with Mam and Daire and trying to be easy. He'd heard her peals of laughter. The very sound had made his blood heat.

  It was undoubtedly just a game to her, gaining their trust. Which they gave so easily, it wasn't much of a challenge. His family never learned. She’d not find him so pliable. But it was hard not to remember the way that laughing mouth had felt in the dreams, moving under his...

  Ronan closed his eyes and pressed his head harder into the stone, until the pressure became painful, rather than pleasant. Lust and rage did not make for good bedfellows, he felt like a man possessed by warring demons. And that was a conflict he could not afford.

  Ronan cursed, hating the lingering shreds of his humanity more at that moment than ever before. He'd danced with the gods too long, he knew how easy it was to get crushed. But if his family wouldn't protect themselves, he would. As he always had.

  He'd go to her tonight, while everyone bound and determined to protect her would be asleep and then....Ronan's lips tightened.

  Well, it was quite simple. Either she'd leave or she'd have to die. He didn't relish killing a human, if she was human, which he wasn’t convinced of. The fae took so many guises as did the gods themsel
ves. So much the better if she wasn't, for what remained of his conscience anyway. By confronting her immediately, he should have the element of surprise. The dream confrontation had taken place at the full moon, which was his strongest time and when anyone who knew what he was would expect him to attack. He'd not be so predictable, and he’d not wait for what ever trap was being laid to be sprung. A very long lifetime of seeing what the fates were capable of gave him the deepest conviction in his own instincts.

  However… If he was wrong and what power she possessed, or had a hand in was already sufficient to bring about his end...

  Ronan raised his head and glared at the kitchen wall, where he could still hear the sounds of her and his mother chatting happily while dishes clattered.

  Well, if he was wrong, he'd see what color she bled before he died.

  Chapter 5

  They really were an amazing family, the Fitzpatricks, Lacey thought for what had to be the tenth time that day.

  Moiré and her gorgeous daughter-in-law, Shelagh were pulling soda bread from the oven at the moment and the delicious yeasty scent combined with fragrant smell of the stew bubbling of the back of the stove, might have influenced her goodwill somewhat.

  But only somewhat.

  She'd never meet any group of people as nice as this family. Ever. And Lacey had lived in Minnesota her whole life, a place practically synonymous with nice.

  The Fitzpatricks weren’t merely nice. They were fun and capable, too. Earlier, after Lacey had had a lovely, hot and lo-ong shower and was feeling somewhat human again, Daire had returned to the house with the brother she hadn’t met yet, the one with all the children. Michael-who turned out to be quite like Daire and not the other cold-eyed brother-was a man with an easy smile that he used often. Even when he announced blithely that not only did Lacey’s rented Anglia have 3 quite flat tires, but also a snapped rear axle.