Page 20

CHAPTER 20

“ T hey should hang an out-of-order sign around the bastard’s bleeding neck and call it a day,” Tadhg declared.

Fionola gasped. Insta-rage rose up inside her, and if she didn’t walk away, she’d murder him for his insensitive comment. He hadn’t let up since the O’Malleys had arrived to bring their father home, but at least he’d had the sense not to say anything in front of Patrick’s family.

Still, he had to see she cared about the man’s welfare, too, right?

For hours, they’d been cloistered in the parlor of the Black Cat Inn, awaiting word of his condition. Or she was. Tadhg and Noah were unwilling to let her out of their sight for fear she’d up and disappear on them. But where would she go? Hers and Tadhg’s abductor was out of commission in a room upstairs, possibly breathing his last breath.

Her heart hiccuped.

Patrick O’Malley was too vibrant to die. Yes, he was injured, but until those last few minutes in his cell, he’d displayed a warrior’s will to do what must be done. Shaking her head, Fi crossed to the window and looked out over the garden. Wild herbs grew in organized clusters, and ivy climbed the side of the house visible from where she stood. Following its ascent up the wall, she stopped when she got to the third-floor window.

Patrick’s room.

Or the one he used whenever he was in town, according to him. During one of their many conversations, she’d discovered he owned a flat in Galway close to the West Coast of éire that he loved so much.

Would he live to see his place again?

Goddess, she hoped so!

In the hours since she’d learned he was the one responsible for reconstructing Loman’s island prison, she had time to consider his actions and the motivation behind them. The only conclusion she arrived at was he wasn’t a cruel man. He’d done what he did with a purpose in mind, but she’d be buggered if she knew what that was.

“Yeah, and why are they fighting so hard to save a man who’ll end up dead by the Witches’ Council?” her brother said, not finished heaping abuse upon Patrick’s head.

“Shut the fuck up, Tadhg,” Noah snapped as Fi was rushing to escape the room’s heavy hate-filled atmosphere. “Or better yet, go the feck home with ya. No one asked you to remain or for your asinine commentary.”

“I’m not leaving me sister here! That man’s madder than a March hare!”

“He’s not likely to wake anytime soon,” Bridget said coldly. Apparently the raised voices had caught her notice from the kitchen, next door.

Hoping to placate her, Fi approached. “He didn’t mean?—”

“I feckin’ did, so don’t be sayin’ I didn’t.”

“Tadhg, I swear to the Goddess, if you don’t shut up and leave right now, I won’t be responsible for what I do to you,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “Not one more fucking word.”

“I’d prefer you all to leave,” Bridge said in a haughty tone. “When Da is better, we’ll… I’ll…” She appeared at a loss. Perhaps because no one knew what to do with Patrick. Soon, if they hadn’t already, his victims would appeal to the Witches’ Council for justice, with Tadhg among them. It wouldn’t matter if his brains were scrambled or not. The Council would call for restitution in some form or another.

“He’ll get better,” Fi found herself saying, praying to Anu he would. “He has to,” she whispered.

Noah approached her from behind and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Come, love. I’ll take you home.”

Any touch, other than Patrick’s, was repellent, and she twisted away.

“I’m staying.” When her brother protested, she dug in. “I’m staying, Tadhg. I’ll not be debating the issue with the likes of you.”

“You’re as stubborn as the day is long. What am I to tell Mam and Da when I get back?”

“Whatever you want,” she replied tiredly. “I don’t rightly care now, do I?”

“You’re as mad as he is!”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” thrummed her heartbeat as a clawing sense of claustrophobia struck. Odd, how she’d not felt a second of that locked up with Patrick, but having freedom in a roomful of strife was suffocating. It didn’t help that her fury for Tadhg had reached the boiling point. If she remained, it would become a bloodbath, with her brother’s broken body at the center of it.

Pivoting on her heel, she ran for the staircase.

“Fi!” Noah called out, but he didn’t follow. Maybe he sensed her need to get away, or perhaps it was empathy for what she’d been through, but he let her flee.

Bridget, however, was hot on her heels and overtook her in the third-floor hallway. “You’re not to see him,” she said. “I’m asking you to leave him be.”

“I just want to make sure he’s all right. Then I’ll go, yeah?”

With a toss of her bright auburn hair, Bridget crossed her arms and blocked the door to his room.

“Please,” Fi begged. “Please let me see him.”

“The Aether is inside with Ronan and a healer.” Heaving a frustrated sigh, Patrick’s eldest shook her head. “He doesn’t know you’re here, Fionola. He doesn’t recognize any of us.”

Hope crushed, Fi nodded, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the wooden door panel behind Bridget’s head.

“Thank you for caring for Da.” The woman’s voice was strangled, as if it was difficult to offer up gratitude.

His children couldn’t have known about their relationship and likely assumed she was a stranger worried about a quasi-friend. How did Fi tell them differently? Tell them, in a handful of days, she and Patrick had bonded? That they’d found something worthwhile to build a relationship on? They’d think she was as mad as Tadhg believed her to be after what Patrick had put her through.

And perhaps she was. Maybe, like Patrick, her time spent on the island had driven her over the proverbial edge and stolen her sanity. Why else would she desire to shove Bridget aside and force her way into his room merely to stroke his brow during a magical healing?

“Will you let me know when he’s recovered?” She met Bridget’s brilliant green eyes, noting they were duller than the first time they’d met. Unsurprising when worry was weighing her down. “Please?”

A single nod was all she received.

“I’ll rent a room if that’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Bridget averted her face. “The Black Cat is full, and I’ve no rooms to let.”

“I see.”

Patrick’s family wanted her gone, and if it took a lie to do it, that’s what they’d do.

“When he wakes, tell him I asked about him, yeah?” She ignored the pleading in her voice. What did it matter what the others believed? If her desperation made a difference, she’d beg.

Mouth tight, Bridget nodded once and gestured toward the stairs.

Trudging down them and out the door was harder than imaginable. Yet Fi couldn’t bring herself to leave altogether. Skirting the house, she traversed the alley to the back garden. Once there, she breathed deeply of the clean air, filling her lungs and holding it until she was forced to exhale again.

It wasn’t peace that filled her, but something did. Maybe it was a purpose. If there wasn’t a bed in the house, fine, but she wasn’t leaving until he was whole again. She was a witch with basic skills and the ability to amp up her body heat if needed. What was a little damp air compared to what Patrick was suffering on her behalf?

She staggered.

The realization was a dagger to the heart. He’d injured himself because she left him. She’d pushed and picked at him until he unraveled. Why? Why couldn’t she accept him the way he was, bent mind and all? Was the hooded figure’s appearance purposeful? To scare her away from peering down the hallway, or was it a cry for help?

She’d rejected Patrick’s truth. Rejected him. Was it worth taking the light from his beautiful jeweled eyes? It didn’t feel like it. Not now. Not knowing he was up there, suffering in pain and unaware those who loved him most were waiting for him to recover.

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I was such a miserable cow to ya.”

Why was it that it took him hurting himself for her to see the truth? Maybe because she’d hours to think after he’d revealed himself and not seconds like in the cell. But at some point, in all her musings, it had occurred to her that he wasn’t a monster. Mentally unstable, yes, but not evil in the way Loman had been.

She needed to truly listen to him this time if he woke and chose to explain. Discover his reasons for doing what he did, so maybe she could forgive him and receive his forgiveness in return.

Sinking down on the bench, she began her vigil.

Patrick woke to a shadow-filled room—the one he hated at the Black Cat. He struggled to recall how he’d gotten here, but the last thing he remembered was Noah holding Fionola.

Fi .

He released a savage curse and rolled to a sitting position, mentally noting his body no longer ached as it had in recent months. And didn’t that make sense? He wasn’t expending all his energy to maintain an island fortress while he was sleeping.

“Take it easy,” Ronan advised from a nearby club chair. With a yawn and a scratch of his chest, the man dropped his long legs on either side of the ottoman and straightened from a slouched position. “You’ve only just had your head put back together, Humpty Dumpty, and the Aether advised avoiding walls in the near future.”

Patrick snorted. “That wasn’t a well-thought-out plan, to be sure.”

“What were you trying to accomplish with the brain-bashing?”

“An early demise? Seems I can’t do anything right these days.”

Ronan didn’t chuckle as Patrick assumed he might. Instead, the man appeared troubled as he flipped on the lamp next to him. “Your family was worried for ya. Bridget was beside herself and scaring off the regulars in the pub with her black scowls and barbs. It’ll be a month of Sundays before they venture back.”

“She always was high-strung.”

Ronan’s grin flashed. “We’re all afraid of her, but if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll be calling ya a feckin’ liar, I will.”

“Who would I be telling? I’m after fearing her myself when she’s in a mood.”

“You seem different,” Ronan noted after a minute.

“Maybe a couple of blows to the head was what I needed as a reset. Not dissimilar to one of those old dinosaur computers.”

“Lucky the Aether had a clear schedule this week, or you’d be wearing a helmet and licking bakery windows until your dying day.”

“Ach. That’s a right powerful image.” Patrick’s stomach growled, and he pressed his flattened palm to his abdomen to stave off the sudden hunger.

“One of you that I’ve held close to me heart since your last insult,” Ronan quipped.

Patrick was surprised he could laugh, but the man was amusing when he wanted to be. “How long was I out?”

“Two days and nights. This morning started the third.”

Nodding, he glanced toward the window, his attention caught by movement in the garden. From the back, the person strolling toward the hedge looked like Fionola.

Fi.

Of a certainty, she wouldn’t be waiting for him.

A visitor of the Black Cat, then. The surprising thing was that the grounds weren’t busting at the seams with pitchfork-wielding victims and their families, all calling for his blood.

Shutting his eyes, he rubbed the heels of his hands against them.

“What happens next?” he asked.

Ronan didn’t pretend ignorance. “A member of the Witches’ Council arrived today. She said they’ll hold an inquest when you’re able to attend.”

“Sure, and you mean a mock trial so they can hand down a sentence on Frankenstein’s monster.”

Ronan didn’t respond to Patrick’s dark joke.

Fi would’ve.

She’d have replied with a cutting quip or piled on the gallows humor.

Jaysus, he already missed her. He’d only been awake minutes, yet his arms craved the feel of her body within their embrace, and his eyes burned for want of seeing her sunny smile. To say nothing of his lifeless heart.

Pretending the woman in the distance was her, Patrick continued to observe her. He sucked in a sharp breath when she turned toward the house.

Fi.

“What the hell is she doing here?” he croaked.

Ronan frowned and followed his line of sight. “She refuses to leave until she speaks to you.”

Panicked, he shook his head. What did she want? What was left to say? Did she intend to lay into him or twist the Noah-knife further by letting Patrick know she’d gone back to the ever-vigilant pub owner? No one could convince him the guy hadn’t been waiting to swoop in at the first opportunity. A wise man didn’t let a woman like Fi walk away if he could help it.

“Tell her to go home,” Patrick demanded.

“Bridg tried, but the woman wasn’t having it. She’s stubborn to a fault, and everyone is taking bets on who’ll win between the two of them. Bridget’s favored, but my money’s on her .” During his speech, Ronan rose and strolled to the window, and now, he nodded toward the garden. “She has a right powerful anger inside her.”

“At me,” Patrick replied dully.

“At everyone, I think.” Ronan shrugged before turning toward the door. “I’ll let the others know you’re awake. Should I conjure a cuppa for you?”

“I can conjure my own food. Thanks.” Patrick stopped in the act of running his hands through his hair. “I can , yeah? It wasn’t taken away?”

“Nah. Anu had a reason for returning to you what you possess.”

He was referring to the O’Malley magic and the added abilities Anu had given him when she encouraged him to help Loman’s previous victims. It was doubtful what he’d done was what she had in mind when gifting him the additional power.

Pausing in his exit, silvery gaze full of sincerity, Ronan gave him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re back with the living, Paddy. Remember something, will ya?”

“What’s that?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance. Maybe even a third if they’re a stubborn eejit like you.” With a wink, he sailed out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

But Patrick had already dismissed him in favor of watching Fionola.