“So the plan moving forward is this. We host the faux wedding, tempt Loman away from where we believe the island to be, then stage a rescue,” Castor said. “The O’Malleys will be here, with Eoin glamoured into Dubheasa as Brenna stands in as a bridesmaid. Quentin will glamour into Ronan. That way, if Loman attacks, he’ll face two formidable opponents in Brenna and Quentin.”
“Draven has agreed to stay close and cloaked, as backup if things get bad,” Alastair added.
“In the meantime, I’ll take Ronan, Dubheasa, Trevor, Fintan, and half of Alastair’s security team to where we believe the prison is located. There are a lot of outbuildings, so we’ll need to split up.” Castor tapped the rough sketch he’d drawn of Scotland and its outlying islands. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for, we’ll head to the location Dubheasa initially suspected and search there.”
“Our window is limited to the length of the wedding. My father will get suspicious quickly.” Ronan couldn’t stress the danger to this group enough. “He looks for traps in the most innocent of circumstances.”
Alastair nodded. “It should also be known he’s fond of explosives. If you see anything, don’t be stupid. Get out of there as soon as possible.” He gave Castor a pointed look. “Especially you, Alex. You have a terrible tendency to play hero to get all the attention and praise.”
Castor smoothed back his hair and twirled a pretend mustache. “How else am I to impress the ladies?”
Quentin rolled his eyes and put a hand to his stomach. “Ohdeargod, I think I threw up in my mouth.”
Normally Ronan would’ve laughed, but the seriousness of the situation weighed heavily on him. “If the wedding is tomorrow, how will we spread the word in time for my da to hear of it?”
“That’s the Aether’s part,” Alastair replied. “He’s appealing to the Authority to cast a suggestive spell to implant the knowledge of it into the collective magical community’s brain with a nice boost encouraging them to discuss it at every opportunity.”
Dubheasa nodded her approval. “Clever.”
“The man’s over two hundred years old, cher,” Draven reminded her with a coolly amused expression. “He’s seen and done it all.” Pushing away from where he rested his shoulder against the wall, he reached across the table and picked up a petit tart. His mouth quirked on one side, but the partial smile was without humor. “Sounds like your Loman is as vicious as a copperhead and ten times as deadly. I have a few things to wrap up… just in case. I’ll be back in the mornin’.”
Once again, Ronan wondered about the man’s past. Draven seemed to be void of caring, but Ronan could empathize. Prior to Dubheasa, he was much the same. Sabrina and his cousin Ruairí had proved to be the one soft spot in his hardened heart. However, the events of the last months had caused a monumental shift inside him. Opened him up to change and even the elusive feeling of hope. Hope that perhaps he and Dubheasa could have something real and that a “happily ever after” was within his grasp.
And this new knowledge scared the bejeezus out of him. It made him vulnerable in a way he never had been when he was a cold, unfeeling bastard like his da. To his father, everyone and everything Ronan cared about was a target at which to take aim. It was a miracle Loman hadn’t discovered Ronan’s relationship with Bec. For sure, he’d have exploited it to the utmost degree, using it to strike a blow to the Thorne family.
Dubheasa left to put on the kettle, and Ronan couldn’t help following her, touching her at every opportunity in an effort to assure himself that what he was experiencing was real.
“You’re scaring me, Ronan,” she said softly, worry creasing her brow. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, but my skin feels prickly and my nerves are raw.”
“You’re worried about the plan?”
“In large part, yeah.” He cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the others, who were huddled about the table. “I can’t help feeling this isn’t the right way to go.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Dubheasa’s question was genuine and held no hint of sarcasm, so Ronan answered in kind. “No, but the thought of you comin’ face-to-face with my da shrivels my bollocks. If the Devil had a face, it would be Loman O’Connor’s. Please don’t forget it, love.”
“I won’t.”
When she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his head into the crook of her neck, Ronan sighed his pleasure and kissed the skin exposed by the V of her jumper. Breathing in the subtle scent of her exotic perfume, he allowed himself a brief fantasy about what he’d do to her should he get her alone again anytime soon.
“Your thoughts have turned to shagging,” she accused, using their personal connection.
“Aye.” Why bother denying it? She could sense his amorous leanings through their ever-developing bond. “They always do when you’re within five feet of me.”
Her giggle was the balm his soul needed.
“If we’re to die tomorrow, we should definitely take advantage and shag again tonight.”
His blood turned to ice at her ill-timed joke.
She placed her palm over his heart. “Ronan?”
“I’m sorry for checking out like that. But maybe you don’t joke about dying, yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“You weren’t, Dove. The situation could use some levity, but a spirit walked across my grave when you mentioned dying tomorrow. I’ve a right powerful aversion to your death.”
“But not Loman’s?” she teased.
“Never his.” Cupping the nape of her neck, Ronan hauled her against him. “Thinking about my da is the other thing that shrivels me bollocks. How about we discuss other more pleasant topics?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about you kiss me and we’ll talk about the first thing that comes up?” he suggested with a low growl.
Her peal of laughter turned the others’ heads. “Ronan O’Connor, you’ve got a naughty streak a mile wide, ya do.”
“Only with you, Dove.” He lowered his head and kissed her breathless. “Only with you.”
* * *
“Walk with me, love,” Ronan said.
Dubheasa took the hand he offered and rose to her feet, eager to be away from the gloom and doom of the upcoming battle with Loman. Castor and Alastair had drilled the rules into everyone for hours, and she was sick of the repetitiveness of the plan.
“Don’t go far,” Castor warned.
“Feck off. I’m after doin’ what I want,” Ronan replied, but he winked to take the sting from his words.
“Kids these days.” Alastair shook his head, but a smile teased his mouth.
“Truth,” Castor said with a hearty sigh. “They’re never willing to listen or learn from those with experience, are they?”
With a chuckle, Ronan led Dubheasa to the back garden, where members of Alastair’s security team were busy arranging flowers and chairs for the ceremony.
“Is this what you would want for our wedding if you could choose for yourself, Dove?”
“Is this your way of asking me to marry you, Ronan O’Connor?”
“Nah. You’ll be the one to propose to me because you’re a modern-day woman.”
She laughed at his jest. Pausing to consider his question, she viewed the venue as a whole. A white runner ran the aisle between five rows of six white folding chairs. Wide-mouth planters overflowed with violet-blue hydrangeas at the beginning and end of every row. A low-rise wooden platform served as the main stage for the couple and was as wide across as the area for the guests. Pillar candles rested in the holders of five-foot-tall candelabras on all four sides of the platform. A six-foot-wide arbor with English ivy was centered per Ronan’s odd request.
Dubheasa had no problem imagining him standing up there in a smart blue suit as he straightened his cuffs and fiddled with the buttons of his starched white shirt. He’d be nervous she might not show, but hopeful all the same. The moment she set foot on the runner, he would focus on her with the right amount of fervor to steal her breath away, and a beatific smile would transform his face from severe to blissful and loving.
“Yes. This is exactly what I would want,” she said with a soft smile. “And you? Is it what you would want for your wedding?”
“The vision you just had? Aye.” His voice was rough with emotion, and his eyes were full of a love so great that it was impossible to deny.
“You saw that?” Their link had grown stronger over the last twenty-four hours, and she shouldn’t have been surprised he’d bore witness to her fantasy, but she was.
“It was a beautiful sight.” He lifted his arm and, in a brilliant flash of light, created a perfect blood-red rose. With the velvety edge of the petals, he brushed her jaw, then presented it to her. “One I’ll hold next to my heart until the day we can make it a reality.”
“Me, too.”
Ronan kissed their joined hands. “Are you worried about the binding of your abilities?”
“Not really. I didn’t have any until recently, and I doubt I’ll miss them either way. What about you?”
“Very.”
His confession surprised her, and she shot him a questioning look. “Why’s that?”
“I’ve never been without power prior to saving Aeden.” His troubled silver gaze traveled the horizon, never stopping on any one spot. Ronan recounted the story for her from his viewpoint. How he found Moira and Seamus standing over Dubheasa’s young nephew as he bled out from the wound to his throat. “I’ve never been so horrified by anything in my fecking life, Dove. And all I could think to do was right their wrong. To save him.” Slowly, as if reliving the moment, he shook his head, and his eyes grew dark at the memory. “My cousins didn’t know by doing what they did, another line of the prophesy would be fulfilled. It was as if my battery was drained when I used my fading magic to save the boy.”
“And you hated the feeling?”
“I hated being weak.” His expression was stark as he turned to her. “My da despised weakness and beat it out of us every chance he could.”
Unable to bear the pain in his eyes, Dubheasa wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to live like that, Ronan. That you didn’t have parents to honor and cherish you like you deserved.”
“He can’t be allowed to win, Dove. Can’t be allowed to steal what we have.”
“It will never be enough for him, will it?”
“No. And whatever he gains, he’ll use to crush those who crossed him in the process. But not just them.” Ronan gripped her forearms and held her away from him. Bending slightly, he made his face level with hers. “Do you understand what I’m saying, love?”
“Yeah. He’ll go after anyone his enemies care about,” she answered.
“Aye. And it terrifies me to think he’ll hurt you or yours.”
It occurred to her that Ronan believed Loman thought he was one of his father’s greatest threats, which put him firmly in the enemy camp. Her heart began to thud painfully in her chest.
“What do you want me to do, Ronan? Flee? Fight? What would be better for you?”
His unsettling gaze touched on every aspect of her face, as if he couldn’t get enough. Eventually, he hauled her against him in an embrace so tight she feared for his emotional health should she not survive their attack against Loman’s compound.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed hoarsely. “If you go into hiding, will it be enough? Will I be distracted if you aren’t with me, wondering if he’ll find you?” His hold eased, and Ronan tilted her head back to touch his nose to hers. “But you’re a fierce distraction when you’re around me, love. If he captured you, I’d give him whatever he asked for to free you, of a certainty.”
“Don’t you do that, Ronan O’Connor! Promise me.”
“I can’t, Dove.”
“You can! What is one life against many?”
“To me? It’s everything.”
The sweetness of his answer melted the last of any resistance she might’ve had against claiming the title of his mate. In front of her was a man who would treasure her forever. One who would hold her heart close and see to her needs before his own. Who would never let her regret choosing him.
“I love you,” she said softly. “And whether it’s a single minute or a billion, I’ll be grateful for any time we have together.”
“In my entire life, I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find a love like this”—he touched the place above her heart and then his own—“and to have it returned. I’m not certain I deserve it, Dove. I’ve not been the best of men.”
“Sure, and there you’re wrong. You are the best of men, Ronan Fucking O’Connor. You are because I say you are.”
His lips twitched, and his eyes lightened with humor. “Well then, if you say I am, I must be.”
“Aye. And don’t you be forgetting it.”