Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 1)(10)
Conn reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I never knew.”
She shrugged. “How could you? And you never came back, which made it only worse for us. I longed to share my journey and hear about yours.”
“Are you happy?”
The smile she gave him radiated over her entire body. “Yes. Mother and father came to see me quite often after I passed the solitary time period. They love to share what’s happening in the cities. There will come a time when I shall venture out of here. Yet, for now, this is where I will remain. I am here to serve Her.”
“We both have chosen our own paths, though who will claim the throne?”
She touched his hand. “When the time comes, I’m positive our king and queen will choose wisely.”
Abela stood and angled her head to the side as if listening to someone. “Father states the Fae council has requested your return.” She turned her gaze toward him. “Are you ready?”
Standing, Conn grasped both her hands. “You pass no judgment on me?”
“Never,” she whispered. “I have honored and respected the warrior you have become. Your name and deeds have spread throughout the kingdom. Regardless of what has or will happen the people adore you.”
He kissed her hands. “I will miss you.”
“Kneel, Fenian Warrior,” she commanded in the voice of an ancient being.
As he knelt before his sister, she placed her hands on his head, and he closed his eyes. “Where your path leads, is your choice Conn MacRoich. Choose wisely, guard, and protect those in your charge. This will be your greatest challenge. Learn to listen with your heart—your Fae heart.”
I love you, Brother. Be well. Look for me in the soft breezes of the rowan and oak trees, or the kiss of rain upon your cheek. I will always be there for you.
When Conn opened his eyes, he found himself kneeling on the floor of the Hall of Remembrance—all alone. His father and mother were gone. Standing slowly, he placed a fist over his heart. “Be well, too, Lady Abela.”
Turning around, he walked out of the hall fully prepared to face whatever judgment the council decreed.
Chapter Four
Cork Airport, Ireland
“The light of illumination often is found in the remote darkness within a heart.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Horrible things always happen during thunderstorms. Lightning can strike anywhere, sparking a wildfire and destroying all in its path. Torrential rain can wreak havoc on body, mind, and soul. Not to mention what it can do to the land. Rivers can swell and spill out onto the terrain—forcing many to flee as their homes are washed away, including those of the animal kingdom.
The mere thought sent a shiver of unease down Ivy’s spine. What a poor welcome from the land of her ancestors—this Ireland.
Bringing the fur-lined hood of her coat more firmly over her head, she peered out into the busy airport traffic and tried to stay out of the fierce storm’s path while huddled in a corner outside the building. Yet, the wind was relentless and managed to spray her with water repeatedly.
A couple emerged from the warmth of the terminal, bumping into her. They looked her over like some kind of specimen. “An apology would have been nice,” she muttered as she watched them dash out into the sopping mess.
Wiping a hand over her face, she mumbled a curse. Maybe she should return inside and book a flight back to San Diego. There were no rainstorms in her hometown, only sunshine and sea breezes. The simple thought lifted her sagging spirits. Why did you agree to come? What a foolish notion. All because some lost relative—an uncle—decided to leave you everything in his will. The only condition? She must come to Ireland and claim her inheritance.
“He most likely left me some run-down shack in need of repairs,” she uttered in disgust.
Ivy glanced over her shoulder at the ticket counter inside. Though the idea of going back home was tempting, she couldn’t. For one, she didn’t have enough funds in her bank account. And the second, Ivy could never resist an intriguing opportunity, especially one handed to her. When the envelope arrived that warm summer morning, Ivy never imagined the endless possibilities of how her life would change. Her hands had trembled while she ripped open the sealed wax and read the lawyer’s letter.
Fate had stepped in and presented her with a gift.
Her job at the local museum was ending, and her search to find anything in her related field of history proved to be daunting. Everywhere she applied they all wanted the same—a PhD attached to her resume. No one cared if she had a Master’s Degree in Ancient History. Nope! Not one. After the death of her parents, she had sold the house and paid off their enormous debts. She moved into a tiny studio, barely making ends meet. Her job had become her friend, lover, and family. Now that it was gone, she prayed a new prospect would present itself here in Ireland. If not, she would sell everything and return to San Diego.
“If it’s a crumbled shed, I’ll spit on your grave, Uncle Thomas.”
A black jeep zoomed past her, spraying her with more water. “Damn!” she hissed, wiping the water out of her eyes for the umpteenth time that morning.
Just as her vision cleared, the same offensive vehicle backed up alongside her. The driver rolled down the window. “Would you be wee Ivy Kathleen O’Callaghan?”
“Wee?” she protested glaring at the man. “I’m Ivy O’Callaghan. Are you Mr. Casey, the attorney?”