The Luck of the Irish (In Love)
500 square feet of living space. She tossed her coat onto the tiny table shoved into the corner of her kitchen, just steps away from the loveseat shoved in the corner of her living room. There was a bookshelf and a desk, but precious little else. She flipped on the TV for some background noise as she made herself a bowl of cold cereal.
Though it was late, she could still hear the noise from the street below. Manhattan was blanketed with snow, but life in the city roared on as usual.
Her thoughts returned to rolling green hills, where a stone castle rose over a vast lake. She turned on her computer and brought up images for Ireland, which instantly made her feel more at peace. She could almost hear the birds singing again.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered the feeling of Kian’s warm breath against her hand as he kissed it farewell like gentlemen of old.
Why did she ever dump that stupid coin in that stupid lake?
She wrapped herself in a blanket and stared at the computer screen, willing herself into the pictures until her eyes drooped, unable to stay open a minute longer.
When she woke, she found herself on a rustic wooden bed in a small room that contained only a bed, a small chest and a chair. Candles had burned down to a waxy puddle from the metal holders and thunder rumbled just outside the window.
Siobhan shot up in bed. She glanced down at her clothes, which was nothing more than a thin, linen nightgown that covered her from her neck to her toes. Her brow creased as she processed this information, disturbed momentarily by the rustle she heard from the other room. She grabbed one of the candlesticks as she eased out of the firm bed and inched her way towards the door, peering around the edge to the cottage beyond.
A big, burly man with long, unruly red hair and an even mangier beard banged and clamored around what appeared to be the kitchen. She gulped hard as she slammed up against the wall. She could hear him cursing, that same thick Irish accent that had fallen from her own lips the night before. Great, she thought to herself. She’d forced another dream but ended up some medieval After School Special. She glanced at the window, but it was much too small for her to fit.
She closed her eyes and opened them again, but the dream held fast. Her face screwed into a frown. There was only one way out of this predicament. She had to find a way to escape the cottage without drawing any attention to herself.
It worked until she stubbed her toe on a heavy wooden chair by the door. She cursed out loud. She couldn’t stop herself. “Fuck!”
The man turned to her. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Thief!”
“No, no!” she said, backing toward the door, shaking her head. When she lifted her hands, she realized that she had the candlestick. “It’s not what it looks like. I swear!”
He cared very little. He advanced on her with a murderous expression. She tossed the candlestick at him before she bolted outside.
The cottage was concealed by a thicket of trees. Their limbs spread thick and vast above her, and this canopy blocked out the morning storm. But she didn’t have any choice. She had to fight her way through this darkened forest. She could hear the man lumber after her as she darted in between the trees.
“Come back here, you wench!” he hollered.
She barely stopped to breathe as she wove in and out of the thicket, racing over dead branches and brittle leaves that sliced her bare feet. He closed the distance easily, though he outweighed her by more than fifty pounds.
“I said get back here!” He grabbed her by her long hair and yanked her to a stop. She swung with both fists.
“You let me go!”
He chortled heartily as he held her far enough away that her punches never landed. “I always wanted me a woman with some piss n’ vinegar.” He pulled a leather pouch from his pocket. “And a lass with her own spending money as well.” He eased the gold coin out of the pouch and into his massive palm.
“No!” she cried out as she tried to grab it back. “That’s for the leprechaun.”
He laughed even harder. “Leprechaun?”
“You heard the lady, Carrick. Let her down and give her money back to her.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her rescuer sitting atop his horse. “Kian,” she breathed.
“To hell with you, Mulcahy. She’s mine. As is her money.”
Kian casually dismounted. “She seems to see things a little differently.”
“What difference does that make? She’s only a woman.”
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at her captor. “I said let me go!” With that she delivered a swift kick with her right leg, landing her foot smack dab in his tender parts. He let her go to cup his nether regions, stumbling backwards until he fell right on his ass.
She snatched the coin from the ground as Kian roared with laughter. “That will teach you, Carrick. There is no such thing as ‘only’ a woman.” She walked over to where he stood and he gave her a chivalrous bow. “We meet again, Miss Flannery.”
“Sir,” she said as she curtsied slightly.
He shook his head with a smile. “You had it right the first time. Call me Kian.” They both turned to check on Carrick, who was still doubled over in pain. Kian barley suppressed his smirk as he crossed over to him to lend him a hand pulling him to his feet.
Kian pulled some money out of his own pocket and gave it to the surly, humiliated man. “Here. Buy a pint on me.”
Carrick grunted in reply as he sent Siobhan a nasty glare. “Be sure to put that wildcat in a cage where she belongs. The next time we meet, I might not be as hospitable.”
“Go to hell, you Neanderthal,” she hissed and Carrick backed up a foot to circle around her. Kian waited until he was out of earshot to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“I come to save the damsel in distress and end up aiding her captor. You don’t read about that in storybooks.”
She scoffed. “This isn’t a fairytale,” she informed him. “I’m not used to waiting around for some valiant knight to ride to my rescue. Stuff like that doesn’t happen to girls like me.”
His eyebrow arched. “Why not?”
“Because I…,” she started, and then trailed off. “I guess I don’t know why.”
Thunder crackled overhead as droplets of rain escaped the canopy of trees. He glanced at her dress before he slipped out of his cloak. “Then at least allow me to provide you shelter in the storm. My hunting cottage is not far from here.”
Her nerve endings tingled. A cottage? Alone? With this handsome, virile stranger? “Lead the way,” she said.
Permission granted, he swooped her up into his arms and carried her to his horse, placing her astride before he vaulted behind her. His strong arms closed around her as he took the reins, clicked his tongue and guided the horse deeper into the darkened forest. She closed the cloak around her to protect herself from the rain, stealing glances at his profile as he focused his attention ahead. His jaw was strong, his cheek covered by stubble, like he hadn’t shaved in a day or two.
She wanted to ask a thousand questions but couldn’t speak. His body was pressed up against hers. She felt every contour as they rocked together, galloping through a dark, mysterious forest, where moss climbed up the ancient trees and everything glowed a luminescent green, like neon, under the low light from the storm.
“It’s beautiful,” she couldn’t help but utter, and she felt his thumb brush against her arm. She shivered in spite of herself. He chuckled softly, which made her shiver more.
“It is captivating, but you should definitely beware.”
Her breath caught. “Beware of what?”
“Beware of handsome men you find alone in Irish valleys. Have you ever heard tale of the gean-cánach?” She shook her head. Her eyes settled on the curve of his mouth as it settled into an amused grin. “A gean-cánach is a fairy who seduces human females.” His voice softened. “He says all the right things, leading them astray from their proper life’s work and their virtue. He seduces them until they become consum
ed with their love for him, and their life falls to ruin.” Their eyes met and she couldn’t help it as her breath hitched. “I would hate to see that happen to a lovely girl like you.” His gaze drifted over her rain-drenched features toward her slightly parted lips. Though she was wet and chilled to the bone, that one gesture warmed her all the way to her toes. Like magic.
Her eyebrow arched. “How do I know you’re not a gean-cánach?”
He smiled wider. “Are you saying you find me irresistible, young Siobhan?” She stammered some unintelligible response, which only amused him further. “Perhaps it is a mistake to be alone with me in my cottage, then,” he suggested as he nodded his head towards the dwelling they approached.
It was rustic, like Carrick’s home, though, as a man of wealth and privilege, Kian’s was larger and finer than a simple hunting cabin. It didn’t scare her in the least, nor did he. “I can take care of myself,” she assured him.
His laughter was robust. “Carrick can attest to that. Do you think he is able to walk upright yet?”
She chuckled as he slowed his horse and dismounted. When he reached for her, she went readily into his arms. The minute her feet hit the ground and she glanced up at him, lightning lit up the entire sky. A second later, a clap of thunder made her jump. He kept one of her hands in his as they raced toward the cottage.
They stepped inside and he lit an oil lamp near the door, before leaving to tend to his horse. She cuddled in his cloak before approaching the fireplace.