Page 24 of The Gods Time Forgot

Twenty-Four

The tension was leaving his shoulders and taking up residency in his head. Moments ago, he was certain that Rua was going to attack him. She’d have been well within her rights, but hell if it didn’t send a jolt of terror coursing through him.

Instead, she’d knocked the head off a marble statue as easy as if it were made of sand. The sight of it left him astonished. And when he held her, that’s when he saw it. The culmination of weeks of strange dreams and feelings of familiarity.

He watched as she stared up at the moon, exquisite and otherworldly, and wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. She turned to face him, hair blowing in the wind, and the accompanying whiff of her meadowsweet perfume knocked him senseless.

Struck with the sudden truth, he shut his eyes. Flashes of green fields, charioteers and bloodshed, dark meadows, and Rua, as she used to be, filled his mind.

No longer a distant fantasy, Rua had unlocked memories long buried from a life he couldn’t remember. It was devastating and enlightening, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Conor, my friend, has it come to this?”

Conor wielded his sword. “It has, Cú Chulainn.”

“I have no wish to kill you, but I will grant you a swift death,” he said.

And before the other man had the chance to move, Cú Chulainn’s spear drove with almighty force through his heart.

The warrior lifted Conor with ease. There was no triumph, no glory, only sorrow. He carried his dead friend to the edge of the ford to be returned to his men.

A woman stepped forward, curious and unafraid.

“Why kill him if it was going to bother you so?” she asked.

Cú Chulainn looked up in surprise at the divine creature. Not thinking her a threat, he continued cleaning his spear.

“I will kill any man, or woman”—he threw her a sideways glance—“that approaches me with ill will.”

“You couldn’t kill me.” She smiled.

He stood up to his full height and walked toward her, spear in hand. He was almost double her size in both muscle and height.

“I could, and I would enjoy it.” A smirk played on his lips. “What is it you’ve come for, rua?” He thought it the perfect endearment to describe the redheaded beauty.

“You.” She grinned, taking the weapon from his hand. With catlike speed, she jumped up and kicked hard against his chest, sending him stumbling backward.

Excitement flickered across his face.

He fired a blade at her heart. She caught it just as it pierced her tunic.

“It appears I underestimated you, vixen.” He let out a hearty laugh, his brown eyes filled with guile. “So, have you come to bed the famed warrior, then?”

A wicked smile spread across her face. With a slight step forward, she launched the spear at his shoulder with exact precision. Not even a mighty warrior such as he could withstand the force of it.

“Your confidence is misplaced, great warrior,” she laughed. “What could I do with half a god?”

Shocked, he remained pinned to the tree.

“Tell me your name!” he shouted as she retreated on her chariot.

“You can call me Rua,” she shouted over her shoulder.

“Do you love her?”

He looked at Rua, trying to reconcile the woman before him and the one he saw in his mind. The one who called him C ú Chulainn. It was illogical and absurd, and yet it made sense.

In the life he had forgotten, he was C ú Chulainn and she was a Morr í gan, but who were they now?

“Love who?” He cleared his throat, wondering how she could ask such a thing. He loved the version of Rua in his memory, and the one she was today.

“Annette,” she said.

Not the woman he was thinking of, but perhaps the one he should focus on. She was to be his wife, after all. He pushed down the resentment.

If he had any intelligence at all, he would lie and tell Rua, Yes, I love Annette , thereby snuffing out the sparks flickering between him and Rua. Save them both from this burning path of destruction and loss. A path, it seemed, they’d been on before.

He wasn’t sure how to acknowledge there was another part of him long buried. Or dead?

He knew the legend of C ú Chulainn well. He also knew how he’d met his end—mortally wounded and bound to a stone with a sword in his hand. C ú Chulainn had died, so how was Finn here?

How was she here? He looked to Rua. How could any of it be true?

Rua and C ú Chulainn.

She had his mind spinning. Past and present. Her mouth teasing him with sweet smiles and secrets. He didn’t know how to let that go.

“I do not love her,” he said, wondering if that would be enough to satisfy her. She nodded and looked away.

“But I suspect deep down this was what you wanted all along. I’ve only sped things up for you,” she said, her voice heavy with resolve. “You should thank me.”

He shook his head, knowing that everything had changed when they met. It was still changing now. He’d love nothing more than to call this whole thing off. But what would be the point? The past was the past. What did remembering he was C ú Chulainn do to change the life he was living now? Perhaps he had simply lost his mind. And he wasn’t going to risk Rua’s life because his was in disarray.

But if she asked him to? If she asked him to leave with her and never look back, he would do it, in a heartbeat.

“You never answered my question,” he said.

“Which one?”

“Have we met before?”

Her eyes narrowed as her shoulders stiffened. “I’m not having this conversation right now.” She glanced up toward the ballroom. Shouts of terror still lingered.

“When, then?” he asked her, needing to get to the bottom of this.

“Why does it matter, Finn? You’re engaged to Annette,” she said.

He closed the space between them, waiting to see if she’d step back. He heard her breath catch, but she did not move. Instead, she met his eyes.

“It matters because …” His voice was nothing more than a gravelly whisper as he lifted his hand to her cheek. His fingers burrowed in her hair, tugging gently, as his thumb hovered above her mouth.

Rua licked her lips, the tip of her tongue grazing his skin. He sucked in a harsh breath, his chest encumbered by the weight of his desire. He bent lower so that his forehead rested against hers, their lips mere inches apart, and said, “I must know how you’ve so effectively brought me to my knees.”

Rua’s breath was ragged as she shook her head against his, sniffled, and then pulled back, eyes watery. “I’ve never met you before.”

He stood up to his full height, unsure of why she was holding so tight to her secrets. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” she said with a chilling calmness. “Your future is in there.” She pointed at the Fitzgeralds’ ballroom. “I have to go.” She started walking toward the street, but he caught up to her.

“Why are you running away from me?”

“I’m not running away,” she said over her shoulder.

“Then tell me. Tell me when it was. Tell me what happened between us,” he pleaded, softening his tone. She had answers, he could feel it. He needed to know how they’d ended up here, living different lives, without any recollection of the past.

“Us?” She spun around to face him. “There is no us. What don’t you understand? You have made your choice. And I understand why you did it, truly, I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s done, and we have to move on with our lives.”

Once more, she turned and walked away from him. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t keep this inside any longer. He didn’t know what she remembered, what parts of her she was keeping hidden, but he couldn’t go another minute without knowing.

“I’ve heard the whispers of you being a devil worshipper or a witch,” he said in a desperate bid to keep her from leaving.

She stopped, her head tilted frighteningly to the side. Intuitively, he took a step back.

“And?”

“There is talk that the Harringtons’ daughter went missing and wasn’t quite the same when recovered,” he said to the back of her head. “And there are some that say you’re a look-alike, a fetch, who took the place of their real daughter.” He was poking a bear, and he was one wrong word from being bit.

“I am the Harringtons’ real daughter.” She looked at him, eyes gold, her voice cold and hollow.

Finn shook his head. “You’re not.” She was the woman from his dreams. He was sure of it. But how did one bring up the notion of a life other than the one they were currently living?

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not a devil worshipper any more than you’re Emma Harrington,” he said, trying hard to hold on to his nerve but wavering under her harsh glare.

“What, pray tell, might I be, then?”

He wasn’t sure if he was bold enough to say it or ready to open that door. A door that had, for some centuries, been closed.

“You are one of the Morr í gan.”

Shock, confusion, and understanding played out all at once on Rua’s face.

“You are wrong,” she snapped.

He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t going to win that battle. Though he wasn’t sure why he even wanted to. What was the point? Would that knowledge change anything?

For so long, he’d been riding the fence, so what was he trying to prove by getting her to admit she remembered their past?

He’d thought it was unintentional when he’d walked out of the ballroom with Annette, but maybe on some deeper level, he’d known it was the safer option. He’d agreed to marry her to save Rua, but really, it was the convenient choice. The one that led to less scrutiny, that allowed him to live his life without confronting his past. The one that did not compromise his values by aligning him with someone suspected of devil worshipping.

Even his charities would suffer if he chose Rua. Those he helped would reject him if they thought he wasn’t a man of God. There was no room to invite the devil in, especially among the downtrodden. They clung to their beliefs with a devout fervor, all in the hope of entry to eternal paradise.

But here, now, confronted with the choice, a bright future or Rua, he would choose Rua. He would always choose Rua. Even if it meant not being with her. If this was the life Rua was living now, he would not let Annette Fitzgerald ruin it.

“I have to go,” Rua said abruptly.

“I’ll escort you home, but we’ll have to walk. Wait here just a minute. I’ll tell your parents you’re coming with me.” He started toward the ballroom, though he wasn’t sure he’d find the Harringtons in the madness.

“No, don’t,” she called after him. “I don’t need an escort. I’ll simply kill anyone that gets in my way.” She continued walking alongside the hedge until she was at the gate.

He knew she was joking but also wasn’t entirely sure. “Wait for me,” he said, running to catch up to her.

“Why don’t you just go back inside where you belong, Finn? I’m sure the birthday girl is wondering where you are.”

“I’m not concerned with her. If you’ll allow me, I would like to see to your safe return.” He held the gate open as she passed under his arm to the sidewalk. He locked it behind them.

Rua’s next words were cut off as they both slowed to a stop. Pandemonium reigned supreme on the streets. Carriages blocked the roads at every angle as throngs of screaming people spilled out of the Fitzgeralds’.

“Is that all because of me?” She gaped.

“People were in a hurry to leave once the lights were blown out,” he said, trying to ease her worry, though there were more on the street than remained inside.

He guided them away from the congestion, thinking they might be able to slip around it, but as they moved, more and more people pushed onto the street. He turned around, his head towering above most of the people, and saw no other way out.

“We’ll just keep walking this way,” he shouted.

Rua nodded, allowing him to take the lead. Someone bumped into the back of her, sending her crashing into his side. Ruffled but unbothered, she stood up.

“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to find the person who had shoved her, wondering if it was an accident or if she’d been recognized.

His heart skipped a beat as Rua slipped her arm around his and held on tightly. The crowd was growing wilder by the minute. More than just the well-to-do guests of the Fitzgeralds’, there were those who had come to gawk at the spectacle and those who had come simply because of the commotion.

They shuffled forward, with Rua tucked under his arm and him keeping watch above. So long as no one recognized Rua, they would make it through the crush unscathed.

Then he noticed a woman staring up at him. Her gaze moved to Rua.

“It’s her!” the woman shouted at the same moment an object was thrown their way, hitting Rua in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Rua groaned.

Heads turned, and the crowd began shouting, “Witch! Devil! Sorceress!”

Rua let out a terrible screech as someone took hold of her hair. He caught a glimpse of her face lit up with rage as the man dug his hand deeper into her hair.

Finn grabbed the man’s hand, squeezing with such force that the man’s bones crunched beneath his grip.

The man roared in agony, but Finn didn’t care. Rua’s safety was his only concern. A protective rage overcame him; she’d done nothing to deserve this abuse.

With brute strength, Finn pushed aside anyone in his way; even still, they did not get far. He couldn’t drag Rua along while also manhandling the crowd.

“Enough of this,” Finn said, and he scooped Rua up. She gave a little yelp but then nestled in, shielding her face in his chest. Under any other circumstances, he’d allow himself a moment to appreciate the feel of her in his arms, but his focus remained on getting her home.

“And you thought you didn’t need an escort,” he scoffed, glancing down at her and her still-golden eyes.

“How could I have predicted an angry mob forming right outside the most prominent household in all of New York?”

He could think of a million reasons why the residents of Manhattan might want to protest Mr. Fitzgerald and his wealthy counterparts, the blatant wealth disparity and utter disregard for the poorer classes, just to name a few, but none involved getting spooked by a young woman when the candles blew out.

After a few minutes of aggressive effort, they’d made it through the madness. He kept walking until they were well away from any danger. Neither of them had spoken in quite some time. Perhaps it was enough to simply exist with their secrets, knowing they would be revealed in due time.

They were nearing the Harrington household, and he went to set Rua down.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“Rua?” He adjusted her, and her head bobbed backward. “Blast.” If it hadn’t been for her shallow breaths, he might’ve thought she was dead.

He ran the rest of the way inside. Rua’s maid, Mara, was waiting by the door.

“What happened?” She rushed toward them.

“She seems to have fainted,” he said. “There was a bit of a scene at the Fitzgeralds’, but she was fine.”

“Where is Mrs. Harrington?” Mara asked.

“We left before her. There are delays with the carriages leaving the party. I don’t know when she’ll be back,” he said.

“Quick, let’s get her up to bed before she returns,” Mara instructed, leading the way.

Finn felt awkward pretending he hadn’t helped Rua steal her diary, but it wasn’t his business. He only hoped that Rua had had the sense to hide it somewhere Mara wouldn’t come across it, especially now that she was unconscious. Perhaps it would be best if he waited with her, if only to make sure Mara didn’t go searching. There was no doubt in his mind that she knew Rua had been snooping in her room that night after the opera.

“Thank you for your help, my lord. I’ll take it from here,” she said.

“I’d like to wait with her, make sure she’s all right.”

Mara frowned. “My lord, may I speak freely?”

“Go ahead.” He nodded.

“You have no intentions of marrying her.” She stated it like it was fact. “So why must you be here when she wakes up? Your presence will only further confuse the situation.”

Finn had no logical reason for wanting to be here when she woke up other than it was what he wanted. But perhaps Mara was right.

He was marrying Annette, as much as he wished it weren’t so.