Chapter 16

Despite an afternoon at the combat range shooting the hell out of pretend bad guys, Rory still felt restless. He snagged a bottled Guinness from the fridge, popped the top and poured the beverage into a glass. He favored the dark body and rich foamy head of the Irish beer over American and other imports. Outside his condo, heat waves shimmered on the parking lot pavement. He considered heading to the community pool for some laps—for about a minute. Instead, he headed for the shaded patio at the rear of his place.

Rory dropped into one of the comfortable chairs and propped his feet on a matching ottoman. Bees buzzed in the honeysuckle vine one neighbor had planted while the cat belonging to the neighbor on the other side sat atop the privacy fence steadily ignoring the human intruder. He and the damn cat had a love-hate relationship. Very much a dog person, Rory missed having one around but his lifestyle and schedule precluded pet ownership. If he ever got a dog, though, he wanted a big one. Like a German shepherd or… He thought about it as he sipped his beer. An Irish wolfhound. They were huge but not bulky. Graceful. Loyal. Independent. Yeah, he liked that idea. He finished his beer and once again contemplated a swim.

Ten minutes later, Rory launched from the side of the pool. He knifed into the cold water and surfaced, blinded for a moment by the hair hanging in his eyes. Treading water, he shook his head and almost put out an eye as long locks whipped across his face.

“What the hell…” He brushed the hair back and wiped water off his face. Blinking, he glanced around and swallowed a mouthful of water in surprise. This wasn’t his pool. This was a river. With a current. And banks with trees and rolling hills beyond.

“HELP!”

He knew that voice. Delaney! He kicked hard and used his arms to turn in a circle. There. A splash. And a hand thrusting out of the water. With sure strokes, he swam over to her and grabbed for her hand. He missed as she sank beneath the surface. Before he could react, she disappeared. He sucked in a deep breath and dove after her. The water, cold and dark, blinded him and sucked the strength from his muscles. Out of air, he kicked to the surface and gulped air before diving again. A shaft of sunlight highlighted a dark shadow off to his left, toward the middle of the river where the current was strongest. He swam hard. Delaney. He grabbed her arm but almost lost his grip as the current sucked at her body. She wore long skirts and they dragged her deeper. He reeled her into his body, turned her so that he held her back against his chest, and kicked with his legs until their heads broke the surface.

Rory realized she wasn’t breathing and he panicked. Figures waved from the shoreline as he towed Delaney toward them. A part of his brain acknowledged the arrival of a group of horsemen. Two of them leaped to the ground and waded out to help him. The biggest of the two, a bear of a man with dark blond hair and massive hands, swooped in to pick up Delaney. He fought the man for possession until the second man touched his shoulder.

“Riordan! Let loose. Niall’s trying to help. C’mon, man. Cease.”

“My name isn’t—”

“Ciaran, hurry!”

He realized a woman rode with the men. He stared at them all as he waded out of the river and stumbled to the bank where the big man laid Delaney in the grass. Five teens stood off to the side looking worried while the adults gathered around the still body. Rory pushed them away and dropped to his knees beside her.

He rolled Delaney to her side and thumped his hand between her shoulder blades. Water dribbled from her mouth but no inhalations followed. He placed her on her back, checked her pulse and started chest compressions when he found none. He paused to start rescue breathing but was stopped by Becca, Connor’s mother…no, not Connor. This wasn’t Connor of the three-piece-slick-lawyer suit. This was a teenager wearing homespun trousers and rustic shirt. Conor. This boy’s name was Conor. Somehow, his brain sorted out the difference.

Rory stared at the woman, knowing her somehow. Her face wavered, like a badly tuned television, two faces not quite lining up—the ghost of a ghost. She stared back. He recognized surprise in her expression—surprise that he’d know CPR, and then he saw the dawning realization in her eyes. She knew. She knew he didn’t belong here, that he wasn’t Riordan. Still other memories overlaid his own—but the new memories felt like…his.

“Out of time.” The words were out of his mouth before he could define their meaning.

She nodded, bending to begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Delaney.

Rory continued chest compressions, almost on autopilot as his brain chewed over events. Out of time. Those afraid of Becca had whispered that. A woman out of time. A woman sent back by the fae to marry their beloved clann chief. Ciaran. His cousin. As close as any brother.

“One, two, three, four, five.” He counted the beats. He’d seen Manannán mac Lir take Becca away on that fateful Lughnasadh night, seen Finvarra and Onagh of the fae court arrive and gift Ciaran with the MacDermot Knot. And he’d watched his cousin fade away, willing himself to die in order to join Becca in Tir Nan Óg. He’d sworn never to love a woman that much, even as he celebrated Becca’s return on Samhain.

And then the O’Neill raided the small O’Beirne keep. And he’d rescued a little girl. Delaney. He’d waited for her to grow up, despaired as she loved Conor, and knew in his heart that he was never meant to be the man of her heart.

“One, two, three, four, five.”

“Riordan. Cease, man. She’s gone.” Ciaran’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder, fingers digging in to pull him away from the lifeless girl.

“No.” He continued the count in his head. The water was cold. He’d read about drowning victims coming back because the water had been so cold. Mammalian Dive Response. That was it. How could his brain be so clear when his body felt so numb? “One, two, three, four, five.”

Someone sobbed and moaned. Bronwen. Delaney’s friend. The others exchanged guilty looks. “What did you do?” he demanded even as he kept up the count in his head and pressed rhythmically against Delaney’s unresponsive chest.

Neasa dug her toes in the grass and refused to look at anyone. The twins, Ciara and Conor, glanced at their father and then bowed their heads. Keegan looked uncomfortable before his gaze slid to his older sister. And Bronwen continued to cry.

“Ciara?” Becca’s voice brooked no argument. “Answer Riordan’s question.”

“’Twas only a prank, Mama. We meant nothing by it.”

“Conor?” Ciaran growled his son’s name.

“Delaney is such a scaredy-cat.” He sounded sullen and wouldn’t meet his father’s glare. “As Ciara said, we meant no harm.”

“They grabbed her and threw her in the river, and her screamin’ the whole time.” Bronwen spit out the accusation between her sobs. “Neasa pulled my hair when I tried t’help. An’ then Riordan came. He jumped right in t’save her.” Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Is she dead?”

The other four teens looked horrified as the implications of their actions sank in. Ciaran’s hand shook where it still gripped Rory’s shoulder.

“’Twas an accident, Uncle Ciaran.” Neasa’s chin rose stubbornly as she faced the adults. “If she’d learned t’swim she’d have been fine. But she was too scared t’get her feet wet.”

A mournful dirge, played on the pipes, wafted on the breeze. Abhean. Rory knew the fae was near. The damn fae had a habit of showing up when least expected and never wanted. He gathered Delaney’s lifeless body in his arms and stood. Throwing back his head, he roared the fae’s name. The music died. He didn’t see the look Ciaran and Becca exchanged behind his back.

“What do you, cousin?”

“What I must. ABHEAN! Show yourself, faerie.”

Not far away, the air shimmered and a form appeared. The girls gasped and then sighed. The being who stood there radiated beauty. A playful wind teased his long, blond hair and he looked nothing if not amused. With all the arrogance of his kind, the fae harper strode forward. “Beware what you demand, mortal.”

“Bring her back.”

“I cannot. Only mac Lir has that power.”

“Then summon him.”

The fae threw back his head and laughed. “You know not what you ask, mortal fool.” He shifted the bag pipe he held and squeezed the bag under his arm, his slender fingers dancing over the holes on the chanter.

“I know exactly what I ask.”

“What conceit yee MacDermots enjoy.” The fae’s gaze rested on Ciaran and Becca. “’Twas not enough to get the Taoiseach’s mate back?”

Color rose to tinge Becca’s cheeks. “I’d not be casting aspersions, Abhean. Has Manannán forgiven you yet for telling me the secret?” That wasn’t embarrassment painting her pink, but anger, and Rory tried not to smirk. Becca backed down from no one.

The harper pursed his lips and the color in his eyes swirled. “Come then, Riordan MacDermot. Let us strike a bargain.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Still holding the lifeless girl, Rory followed. His chest tightened, as if iron bands bound him round and round, and he couldn’t draw a deep breath.

Out of earshot of the others, Abhean stopped but didn’t turn. “What is it you wish, mortal?”

“Bring her back.”

“What do you give in return?”

Rory stared at the fae’s back, trying to breathe as his thoughts tumbled. He stared down at Delaney’s face. “What do you ask for?”

“Do you know who she is?”

“We don’t have time for twenty questions.”

“Answer me, Riordan MacDermot. Do you know her?”

“In my time in the future, she’s the woman I want to love.”

The fae turned and the kaleidoscopes in his eyes slowed. “Time keeps you apart life after life, mortal. And always will if she never recognizes you for what you are. Do not allow her to make you the fool. Let her life pass now so time catches up.”

“She’s done nothing to deserve death.”

“She was born mortal. As are you all. Death comes to each of you in its time. This is her time.”

“I don’t believe that. I think this is some game you and Manannán continue to play.”

“A bargain must be struck, Riordan MacDermot, if she is to stay.”

“I ask again, Abhean, what do you want?”

“Your life, mortal. At a time of my choosing.”

Rory didn’t even take the time to breathe before he answered. “Yes. Bring her back and take me.”

The fae laughed again, the sound bending the leaves of grass around him and rattling the leaves of the nearby trees. “You wish it so, mortal. But this time is not my choosing. You must watch her pine for another until she realizes what she has lost. Time after time.”

Lightning danced overhead and thunder reverberated. A jagged bolt split the air and when the ensuing sparkles stopped dancing like glitter in Rory’s vision, an imposing figure towered over him and the fae harper. Manannán mac Lir, the King of Tir nan Óg himself.

“What havoc have you wreaked, harper?” Thunder echoed in the fae’s words.

“I simply return a life taken before its time, my king.”

The king regarded Rory with eyes the color of a sunlit sea, unblinking, unemotional and he fought the urge to blink under the other’s scrutiny. Standing his ground, Rory met Manannán’s gaze.

“You know the consequence of your actions this day, Riordan MacDermot?” Where Abhean’s voice reminded him of spun sugar, Manannán’s voice roared like waves crashing on boulders.

“So long as Delaney lives, it doesn’t matter.”

The two fae watched him silently for long moments. “Every action matters, Riordan.” Manannán’s voice rumbled like far-off thunder now.

“As long as Delaney lives, I’ll deal with the rest.” Rory listened to the thud of his heartbeat even as he wondered at the sadness on Manannán’s face.

“So be it, mortal.” The King of Tir nan Óg clapped his hands.

When Rory could see again, he stood alone holding Delaney.

Ciaran appeared beside him. “What have you done, Riordan?”

Delaney stirred and the other man gasped. “What I had to do.” Rory’s voice sounded hollow in his own ears.

“Yee’ve made a deal with the dark, cousin.”

The girl opened her eyes and stared up at him. He offered her a smile before he glanced at Ciaran. “And so I have.”

****

Rory braced his feet on the bottom of the pool and pushed off. He broke the water’s surface and knifed upward like a dolphin. What the hell? He spit out a mouthful of water and with sure strokes swam to the edge of the pool. Palms flat on the rock surround, he hoisted his body from the water. Two women he didn’t recognize occupied loungers nearby and they both admired him openly over the tops of their designer sunglasses. He ignored them. Snatching his towel, he strode away from the pool, headed back to his condo.

Inside, he grabbed another beer from the fridge. As the door closed, he saw the white business card stuck to the door with a Bugs Bunny magnet. Kieran. A lump settled in the pit of his stomach. If he called, what would the man tell him? Hell, what would he say to Kieran? Maybe the Doc was right and he was more screwed up than he thought. He’d never had any doubt about his job, his abilities, or his sanity. Never. Not until Delaney Burns walked into his life. Not until memories of other places—other times—left him sleepless and pacing the floor every night. He stared at the card until the name and phone number branded his retinas. He’d shower first. Put on some clothes. And then he’d decide what to do.

****

Rory occupied his favorite booth in the rear of Celtic Crossroads. He’d gravitated to the pub soon after it opened and was a fixture now, it seemed. He arrived early and the foamy draft Guinness appeared even as he settled into the booth. From this vantage point he could see the front doors and windows, the cash register, the bar, and the shadowed hallway leading to the restrooms and rear exit. He couldn’t see into the kitchens unless someone went through the swinging doors next to the bar. Situational awareness—his stock in trade.

The bell above the door clanged. The bartender glanced over to the newcomer and shouted his standard welcome. “Have a seat anywhere. If yer in a hurry, order at the bar. Otherwise, a waitress will be around in a bit.”

Kieran MacDermot paused just inside the door but he’d taken a step to one side so he wasn’t silhouetted in the entryway. He nodded to the bartender, his gaze roaming the room, sliding over Rory until he’d fully assessed the place. “I’ll have a Guinness to that table in the back, then.”

The bartender’s expression lit up at the sound of Kieran’s voice and anyone could read his thoughts. A true Irishman. In my pub. “Aye, sir. Comin’ right up.”

He dropped onto the bench opposite Rory and leaned back into the corner. Rory took his time assessing the man, taking an occasional sip of his beer.

“Rory.”

“Mr. MacDermot.”

“Nay, Rory. You know your tongue trips over calling me that. Kieran, please. I think we’re beyond the formalities here.” He leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the booth bench. Kieran MacDermot might be in his sixties but he was still a warrior—would always be a warrior.

Just like him. Rory knew that with a certainty that left him shaken. He acknowledged the other man’s words with a brief dip of his chin. Equals. But not quite. He might be a leader in his own right but Rory knew with certainty that he would follow Kieran into battle without hesitation.

Kieran’s beer appeared, delivered by the bartender himself. “I hope all is to yer satisfaction, sir?” He bobbed and fidgeted, obviously not going away until something was said.

“’Tis bang on. Thank you.”

The bartender backed away, still bobbing his head in supplication. Rory choked back his snicker. “Do you always have that effect on people?”

Kieran rolled his eyes and settled deeper into the shadows of the booth. “’Tis a curse I’m destined t’bear.”

Rory let the snicker escape. “And no ego either.”

“None.”

They both laughed and it was as if a breath of fresh air swept through the room, clearing it of smoke and fog. He knew he should but Rory didn’t want to examine the easy camaraderie too closely. Sitting here with Kieran, even drinking in silence felt…right. Something eased in his chest. Maybe he could talk to Kieran. Maybe. Eventually.

“I’m glad Delaney chose to bring you to the party, Rory.”

“Are you?”

“I am, yes. And while you might not think so, you are a member of Clann MacDermot. You always have been.”

Rory didn’t react to the other man’s words. They seemed laden with hidden meanings he didn’t want to explore. Not yet anyway. “Connor told me you were on some sort of mission to find missing cousins.”

“Aye. I was.” Kieran sipped his beer, watching Rory for a reaction. A rueful smile appeared on his face. “Delaney is right. You do give good cop face.”

He hoped the negligent lift of one shoulder conveyed his feelings well enough—at least the feelings he wanted Kieran to see. Inside, emotions roiled and churned until he almost couldn’t breathe again.

Now Kieran’s smile looked almost sad. “You’ve questions, Rory. I’ll answer what I can. Truthfully. And tell you my suppositions when I’m not sure of the truth.”

“I don’t believe in reincarnation.” There. He’d said it.

“I’m not surprised.”

Rory waited, to see if Kieran would add anything. He didn’t. “There’s no such thing as karma.”

“Not in the sense most people believe.”

“For a man who offered the truth, you aren’t saying much.”

“I’ll answer your questions, Rory. But until I know what they are, I can’t offer you the truth. What’s happened?”

He laughed, a short bark of harsh sound that held no mirth. “What hasn’t?”

Leaning forward, Kieran’s face moved from shadow into the flickering glow of the faux gas lamp lighting the booth. His features wavered, short hair becoming long, blue-black shadow beard defining his rugged jaw, the sharp eyes of a hunter peering at him, before Kieran’s face settled back into its normal demeanor. He watched Rory with a knowing expression. “I see.”

“What do you see, Kieran? What the hell is going on?”

“Abhean.”

“What about him?”

“You know him?” Kieran answered Rory’s question with a question.

“No.”

“But you know the name.”

Rory glanced away, taking a moment to get his cop face back in place. “Who is he?”

“You know, Rory. Deep down. But what do you remember?”

“You still want to call me Riordan.”

“I do, yes.”

“Abhean doesn’t exist.”

Kieran laughed, also without mirth. “We both wish that was the truth but it isn’t. He exists, though he’s been quiet these thirty years past. I suspect he had other lives to muck up.” He blinked slowly, studying Rory, his expression still sad. “I’ve missed you, odd as it sounds.”

“It was a dog.”

Kieran looked confused.

“In the road. That night.”

“You remember?”

“Sort of. I had a dream. Doc called it lucid dreaming. Sure felt real. So did the blackout I had while swimming.”

Now the other man looked concerned. He leaned forward, his forearms bracing on the table, his beer long since forgotten. “You blacked out in a pool?”

“Sort of.” Rory felt odd explaining all this but he forged ahead in hopes Kieran could help him make sense of things. “I dove in, and when I surfaced I was…” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I was someplace else. Some…when else.”

“Ah. Up to his usual tricks then. Where and when did Abhean fling you? And I have t’say, you’re damned lucky he let you come back.” Kieran’s accent thickened as his emotions swelled.

“No idea, really. As to the where, probably Ireland though no clue to the when. You were there. And Becca. The kids.” His heart tripped as he remembered those heart-stopping moments when he held a lifeless Delaney in his arms. “Delaney. She…uhm…she drowned. The kids teased her, threw her in the river. She couldn’t swim.”

“Aye, and that’ll explain a lot of things.”

“Abhean was there. I summoned him.” He raised his eyes and his gaze collided with Kieran’s. “I made a bargain.”

“Foolishly.”

“Maybe.”

“Will y’tell me the bargain?”

He shifted his gaze to the front and watched shadow figures pass outside the pub, their shapes obscured by the frosted glass. “My life.” He breathed. “For hers.”