Chapter Four

A Disagreement

Gavin shrugged into his jacket then helped Synn on with her coat. When he pulled the back door open, the frigid north wind stung his face as they stepped outside. Once outside the pub, he turned Synn to face him. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to spend the day with Bridget and her friends, so soon.”

“I’m not asking.” She shot back wriggling out of his hold. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. You could have been in serious trouble, had I not seen you at the water’s edge.” He snatched at her arm. She dodged him.

“I was fine.” She huffed out wrapping her arms around herself.

“Bloody hell—you weren’t even aware how far you’d wandered.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Synn, I care for you.”

“Then trust me to make my own decisions.”

“What if—I mean—”

“What if Baltizar returns and tries to regain influence over my being?” Her huge aqua eyes watched his face intently. “Then I’ll be beyond anyone’s help. He’ll kill me.”

She said it so nonchalantly it worried him. “So that’s it?” He ground out.

Quizzically she glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “No. But it’s a hell of a lot better than having him defile me again as he did when he murdered my family and forced me—I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m going with Bridget and her friends next week. We’ll be fine. You wanted me to make friends—yet when I try—” She raised her arm waving it around in frustration. “You can’t have it both ways.” She whirled around and marched down the street in the direction of her cottage.

“Wait—” He bellowed.

She stopped, turned, and glared at him. “You have no idea the things that have happened to me, and I survived. I put it all behind me when Bruce gave me my freedom. At least I tried. But they will always be a part of me. Before there can be you and me, there has to be a me, without you hovering and being overprotective. What you don’t understand—if he returns—” She emphasized each word. “There is nothing you can do.”

Her voice returned to normal. “Learn to live with it, or—” Sucking in a breath, she blew it out slowly, shrugged one shoulder. “There can’t be an us.” She paused as if letting her words sink in.

He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his voice. “Okay—let’s take a step back. Maybe I was a little overbearing.”

“Ya think?”

“But the other night, you weren’t—”

“You’re right. I wandered into that dark place. But with Bridget and the girls, that won’t happen. Only happens when I’m by myself. I have to learn to control it. As far as Baltizar is concerned, I trust Bruce and Tristian to keep him at bay. They’ll know the minute he sets foot in the mortal world. That has to be good enough.” Her voice gentled. “You worry too much.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she kissed him softly on the lips. “I’ll check in with you during the day. Okay?”

He sighed. “No, you don’t have to. I trust you’ll be fine. But if you run into a problem…”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

He reached for her hand. “Mind if I walk you home?”

“I’d like that.”

He sprinted back to the pub, yanked open the door, and grabbed his coat. His da was wiping down the bar. “I’m going to walk Synn home. I’ll clean up when I get back. You and Ma go on home.” The door banged shut behind him.

It was an amicable silence as they walked hand and hand, under the cover of darkness, though the streets to her cottage. The breeze tousled his hair and sent a cold chill down his spine. The moon almost full, washed everything to a silvery gray. A contrast to the yellow pool of light cast on the ground from her outside lamp. On her porch, he took her in his arms and covered her cold lips with his mouth his tongue traced the full softness of her lips.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips. His tongue slipped inside teasing, tasting, and dancing with hers. He hoped to convey what his words had failed to do. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned into him. He reveled in her curves pressed against him. Slowly, he released her and backed away. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Thank you.” She took the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. “See you tomorrow.”

He waited for her to turn on the lights and close the door before he trudged down the streets to the pub. He started to insert the key into the lock. The door flew open and his best friend, Quinn, stood in the entrance.

“You look like you could use a friend. You know, if you keep hanging around that girl, people are going to talk.” Quinn joked. “You haven’t fallen—” He glanced at his friend again. “Oh, no the ranks of the eligible men have decreased by one tonight. ’Tis a sad day for womankind,” Quinn quipped following him to the bar. “Hey, can a guy get a pint around here?”

“No…we’re closed.” He punched his friend’s shoulder as he swung up the pass through. “I’ve no idea what you’d be talking about. Too much of the drink tonight?” He picked up the bucket, filled it with hot water, and plopped the mop in it. Water splashed all over the floor.

“Naw, it’s written all over your face. What’s the matter? This one won’t succumb to the Shaughnessy charms, laddie?” Quinn leaned his elbows on the bar and watched as Gavin mopped the floor behind the bar.

“They’ve never failed me, yet.” He shot back wringing the mop out, pouring the dirty water out, and filling the bucket again. “What brings you around here so late? Bridget kick your sorry arse out again?”

“Oh, that’ll be the day. My woman loves my arse.” He jumped off the bar stool, did a little jig, and sat down again. “She’s all excited about going shopping with the girls next week. Chattering on the phone with Katie. You know—girl stuff. But the way you were working that muscle in your jaw all evening, thought something was bothering you.”

“Bollocks to that. I’m fine.”

Quinn leveled his gaze at his friend. “Sure you are. Don’t want to talk about it, all right. Tell me it’s none of my business. But don’t lie to me. We’ve been friends way too long for that.”

“Okay. It’s none of your business,” Gavin said sharply.

Both hands in the air, Quinn leaned back. “Okay boyo, whatever you say. You know where to find me.” He backed off the bar stool and started toward the door.

Water sloshed over the rim, when he shoved the mop into the bucket. He tossed the pass through up and walked to his friend. “Quinn, sorry. I’ve a lot of things on my mind tonight. When I get them all sorted out, maybe I’ll bend your ear a bit.”

“No worries.” He gestured dismissively. “Don’t want to keep my lass waiting too long.” He waggled his eyebrows. “See ya later.”

“Okay.” Finished cleaning the pub, he loaded the glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on. He paused for a beat, then poured a pint, flipped the lights out, and walked to the kitchen. Kicking the chair out from under the table, he plopped down in the seat, leaned back, and stretched out his legs beneath the table.

Taking a sip of his beer, he licked the foam off his upper lip. What a mess. Why did I ever agree to those bloody terms of Synn’s. He knew why. But he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself or anyone else. Water sloshed inside the dishwasher as it ran through its cycles, and he nursed his pint—thinking. Finally, he heard the dishwasher click off. He finished his pint, considered building another, and decided against it. Ambling over to the sink, he washed and dried his mug, turned out the lights, closed and locked the door.

Arriving home, he kicked off his boots and moseyed over to the hearth. He’d banked the fire before leaving this morning. Taking a poker from the stand, he jabbed at the ash. Nothing. He walked to the neatly stacked wood, yanked a couple logs from the pile, and tossed them in the fireplace. A fine plumb of ash rose and scattered over the hearth. Crumpling up paper, he lit the corner before throwing it onto the logs. A tiny spark flamed and died. Aw hell. He flipped the heater on and stomped up the stairs to bed.

Sleep was elusive. He tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning. When he finally fell into a troubled slumber, he had nightmares of Baltizar kidnapping Synn as he stood paralyzed unable to help. Her terrible screams sent shivers down his spine as she begged Baltizar to let her die. When he awoke, his pajamas were soaked with sweat, his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

The clock read four in the morning as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. When his feet touched the cold floor, he winced, then leaned over and felt under the bed for his slippers. He wiggled his feet into them, wanting so bad to hear her voice. Know she was all right. But she wouldn’t be happy if he called her now. Besides, how could he explain why he called at this ungodly hour?

He padded to the bathroom, turned on the shower, let the room fill with steam, undressed, and stepped inside. The warm water cascading over his body relaxed his bunched muscles, cleared his mind from adrenalin overload caused by the nightmares. I need to have a conversation with Bruce or Tristian—Find out exactly… Not a good idea. I’m not on the best terms with either and Tristian is plain scary. Need another avenue of information. Angie?

Flight always had a way of settling his nerves. He picked up a small bundle of clothes and stepped out the door. The edges of his human form blurred like a trick of light, and his gryphon took over. One push up from the ground and he was soaring. Midway to his destination, he hovered and dropped the bundle of clothes in a clump of trees.

With every beat of his wings, he flew higher and higher. Sometimes, he never wanted to return to land. So much easier to glide along in the dusky sky, but the sun rose and the chance of him being spotted grew. The warmth of the sun on his wings as it peeked over the horizon improved his mood exponentially. He banked left over Ballycotton Cliff Walk. Not a soul to be found. Freedom of soaring above the sea and land made him forget his earthbound problems. With reluctance and several back beats of his tawny wings, he landed on the sandy beach as pinks, oranges, and reds blended together spreading across the horizon.

With what would appear to most as a shimmer of light, he quickly transformed to human once again. Sprinting to where he left his bundle of clothes, he stopped and dressed quickly. The beach was still deserted as he set out for home.

She danced inside the fringe of his conscious as he increased his pace, inhaling deeply the fresh sea air, and pushed her to the corner of his mind to be dealt with later. The memory of last night’s kiss seared across his mind. The warmth of her gentle curves pressed against him. Aww shit. His body reacted to the memory. Lost in his thoughts, he’d covered more ground than intended.

Looking up just in time, he avoided a collision with a couple walking along the beach in front of him. He swerved, lost his footing, and crashed down on the rocky beach, striking his knee on a sharp stone ripping a large hole in his new jeans. Blood poured from the jagged cut soaking his pants and dotting the golden sand with red. Pain ripped through him.

“You’re injured.” The man reached down grasped a hold of Gavin’s arm, helping him to his feet.

Brushing the sand from his jeans, he said, “It’s only a scrape. I’m fine.”

The man slung off his backpack and pulled a first aid kit out. “No, you’re going to need stitches. Can we give you a ride to the hospital?”

“Not necessary, my house is right up there.” He pointed to the home rising from the rocky coast.

“Then let me clean and bandage the wound. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Yes.” He glanced at the woman standing beside him. “We decided to visit Ireland for our tenth anniversary celebration.”

“And he never goes anywhere without at least a first aid kit.” She laughed sliding a loving glance toward her husband. “It served him well and you too, this time.”

He limped over to a rock outcropping, eased down, and winced as the doctor dabbed antiseptic on his knee then bandaged it.

The doctor patted his arm. “That should hold you until you get home.” He stuck out his hand. “Roger Neal and this is my wife, Tara.”

He clasped the man’s hand smiling. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gavin Shaughnessy. Thanks for patching me up. Sorry I almost mowed you down. My mind was a million miles away from here.”

“We could tell. That’s why we slowed our pace. You might want to pay more attention while you run.” Roger grinned.

“Will do. Hey if you get a chance, stop by Shaughnessy’s Pub.” He reached in his pocket, drew out a card, and handed it to Roger. “It’s not far from here. Pints on the house. It’s the least I can do after you kept me from bleeding to death.” He chuckled, glancing down at the wound, a speck of blood seeped through the gauze bandage.

The doctor took the card. “We might take you up on that tonight.” He turned, waved, and ambled down the beach hand and hand with his wife.

He stretched his leg and flexed the knee back and forth. The skin around the wound was tender, but it tightened as the healing process had already began. He blew out a breath, relieved the doctor left before an explanation became necessary. Walking up the path to his house, he paused and turned to survey the area. For several moments, he was unable to shake the feeling of being watched.