Page 27 of The Gods Time Forgot

Twenty-Seven

Letting Finn leave the sunroom like that didn’t sit right with Rua, but what was her alternative? How could she admit to him what was going on in her head? How could she admit she wasn’t Emma Harrington?

That admission would lead to questions she didn’t know how to answer, leaving room for doubt and speculation. She didn’t want to be blamed for Emma’s disappearance. Mara and the Morr í gan were responsible, not her. She was just as much a victim as Emma.

At least, that was what she told herself.

But she couldn’t go on pretending that Flossie might change her mind and allow her to stay. She couldn’t rely on Finn; engagement aside, he was pressing her for details he shouldn’t be. How had he even made the connection to the Morr í gan? Whatever their past, she knew there was something keeping them apart, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that was.

Her mind was made up. She would go with Mara to the hellmouth, and she wouldn’t come back.

Until then, she would pack a proper bag and stay out of Flossie’s way.

She had hours before dinner. While she waited, she took out Mara’s diary, flipping through the journal, scanning the pages for any mention of Emma’s name. Mara’s handwriting was neat, her entries organized and concise, and there was one for every day of the year. Most of it was quite tedious, making it a chore to parse through.

Rua let out a sigh and skipped to August, after her arrival in Conleth Falls.

August 5, 1870

I hope that she does not continue to insist that she is not herself. Her mother does not have the patience for it. She won’t last the week.

So, that entry was about Rua. Stretched out on her bed, she rolled over onto her stomach, her head propped up by her elbows.

She turned the pages back, dozens at a time, until she was in May. She wanted to understand who was contacting Mara and how they had convinced her to send Emma into the cave. But there was no specific mention. One day Mara was at the hellmouth praying, and the next she was talking to the Mother.

So why did the Morr í gan want Emma to go into the cave?

She skimmed the pages, not learning much of anything. She couldn’t bring herself to read in chronological order, though she knew that she should. The days were too monotonous, and she felt she’d cover more ground if she bounced around. She was wrong.

“How are you feeling?” There was a light knock on the door, and before she had time to move, Mara was standing in her bedchamber.

Heart racing, Rua closed the journal and shoved it under her stomach. She put her full weight on the mattress, praying Mara couldn’t see it beneath her.

“What are you doing?” Mara gave her a funny look.

“Oh, just trying to nap,” Rua lied, placing her head down on the bed and her arms at her side. She imagined she looked like a seal.

“Without any pillows? In your day dress?” She laughed.

Rua smiled. “Last night was exhausting.”

“Well, it’s time to get ready for dinner,” Mara said. “Up you get.”

“I’m not ready yet,” Rua groaned, feigning that she was just too tired to move. She would die if Mara caught her with her journal. It was one thing to steal it, but to be caught reading it? The shame would be unbearable. She hadn’t meant to keep it for as long as she had, but it was a slog to get through.

“Fine,” Mara laughed. “Ten more minutes, but no more or your mother will have my head.”

“Thank you,” Rua grumbled, and shut her eyes. When she was sure Mara was gone, she slid off the bed and shoved the diary under the floorboard.

Mara returned exactly ten minutes later with the chambermaids by her side. They readied her bath while setting her curls. Getting ready for dinner in the home was just as extravagant as getting ready for a grand dinner somewhere else.

She wondered if Finn would still show up to dinner after their exchange in the sunroom. It wouldn’t be the first time he had skipped out on a meal, and this time he would have good reason. Anxiety twisted in her stomach as she imagined the meal without him. Flossie would be insufferable.

By the time dinner arrived, Flossie was seething. It was after four and there was no sign of Finn.

“What did you say to him?” she snarled. “You were alone with him at breakfast. What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Rua lied. She had wounded his pride and dismissed his feelings for the sake of her own.

“Darling, no need to panic. It’s only a quarter past four,” Ned said.

He was as useless as any man could be. His gentle constitution did far more harm than good. In his effort to avoid any and all conflict, he had allowed Rua to be berated and bullied by his malicious wife. She wondered if Ned would care if she was sent away. Would he wake up then?

Rua looked anxiously at the door, willing Finn to arrive. She shouldn’t have brushed him off this morning. She should have been smarter. Told him what he wanted to hear, if only to keep him on the hook until she could ensure her own safety.

But didn’t he know how important this dinner was?

He was the one who had told her about it in the first place. He’d assured her that Flossie wasn’t angry and had invited him to dinner to thank him. Sure, he wasn’t privy to the inner workings of her and Flossie’s relationship, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew it was important.

Rua slipped a finger under the collar of her gown, trying to loosen its hold around her neck. She let out a deep breath, reasoning that he couldn’t have known because she hadn’t told him anything. She’d remained tight lipped and therefore was in a mess of her own making, once again.

“She said something to scare him off. Our disgrace of a daughter. I just know it.” Flossie’s vitriol spewed with such efficacy the dining room was no longer habitable. “I think at this point she’s deliberately trying to ruin things. She won’t be our problem much longer.”

Ned rubbed the top of Flossie’s hand in a lame effort to calm the wicked beast.

Hearing Flossie’s threat for what it was, she took a deep breath. Rua was the beast that needed calming. Deep down, she could feel her rage flaring. She’d had enough of Flossie. Another deep breath. It was almost over.

With a slight tremor in her hand, she reached for her glass. She took a sip, tasting nothing but bitterness.

If Finn did not darken their doorway soon, she was going to do something she’d regret.

As the minutes wore on and Flossie continued to hurl insults, Rua forced herself not to hear them. It was all she could do not to fire the ceramic pitcher across the room.

“It’s four thirty. I think it’s time we eat,” Ned said. “We can’t be late to the Houlihans’.”

Flossie and Ned exchanged a look that chilled her.

“May I be excused?” Rua asked, gripping the base of her glass.

“No, you most certainly may not be,” Flossie spat.

Rua’s head pounded, her vision clouding; she couldn’t catch her breath. She closed her eyes. Panic had settled into her bones. She was like a caged animal, stronger than her captors but disadvantaged in a world that wasn’t her own.

Rua stood up. She was done.

“Please forgive my lateness.” Finn rushed into the dining room. “I am terribly embarrassed, but I was trying to procure a treat for your daughter, and the line was around the block.”

Stunned, Rua leaned against the table. She’d almost let her anger get the better of her, and Finn was out buying sweet treats.

“Please do not think on it, my lord. We’ve only just sat down,” Flossie said, lying through her teeth.

“Miss Harrington, I hope tomorrow morning is better,” he said, placing a gold box on the table that read Maillard’s Chocolate .

Rua looked at the box and then at Finn, overcome with gratitude for this unassuming gesture. “Thank you,” she said, unable to keep from smiling.

“You are very thoughtful, and with exquisite taste, I might add.” Flossie gushed over the gift from the popular confectionary shop.

Finn sat down beside Rua, whispering, “Sorry I’m late. I hope it didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Nothing more than usual,” Rua said, still smiling. Her anger had receded to a manageable level at the sight of Finn. Shaken at the thought of what she might’ve done to Flossie, she shivered, letting out the sordid thoughts.

Dinner was uneventful and embarrassing, but by now, she and Finn were used to Flossie’s attempts at forcing a relationship. If only she knew how far that ship had sailed.

After dinner, everyone but Rua was going to the Houlihans’ party.

She trudged up the stairs with her box of chocolates as she listened to the conversation below her.

“Would you like to join us in our carriage?” Flossie asked Finn.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said.

Rua wondered if Finn always walked to parties. As much as society dictated that the proper way to appear was by carriage, Rua always thought that given the proximity of all the mansions, carriages only delayed things. It was another tick in the box that set Finn apart for things that rich men didn’t do. If he thought Rua was an Irish goddess, she wondered what he thought of himself. Did he think he was a god? Rua let out a laugh. Probably.

She lost the sound of their voices as she turned up the next set of stairs and returned to her room. One way or the other, this was going to be the last night she spent in this house.

She packed her bag with more care, arranging additional gowns and capes. So many had arrived since Malvina had fitted her that the maids wouldn’t notice any were missing, at least not right away.

She wondered if the dressmaker had heard about what a disaster Rua turned out to be. Did she regret fashioning her entire wardrobe? Or perhaps she had always known Rua was going to crash and burn. But the attention she’d receive while going out in a blazing heap was enough to make people stop and admire her gowns while doing it.

Before putting her packed bag back in its hiding place, she took Mara’s diary out, continuing on with where she had left off.

July 9, 1870

Emma has agreed to the Mother’s request to enter the hellmouth, but I do not know the purpose. She is as devoted as ever. It is enough for her to know she will be doing the Morrígan a great honor, and I will be rewarded for bringing Emma to them.

Rua wondered what Mara’s reward could’ve been. Had she known she wouldn’t be getting her friend back, would she still have done it?

She skipped forward to August.

August 15, 1870

I dislike Manhattan very much. It’s overcrowded and smelly. I fear we’ll never get back to Conleth Falls. The only moments of peace I have are when we are in the park, and even then it is not the same.

I’ve found the stone chamber, but there are always others present. I’ve made a habit of visiting in the night, though I don’t feel quite safe. We do what we must, I suppose.

My duties are tenfold here, mostly because Emma has become such a handful and Mrs. Harrington is worried. I don’t blame her. The memory loss is unexpected and troublesome.

I have plans to return to the chamber tonight and every night hereafter. I must speak with the Mother again. I have to understand how to help Emma. If I cannot, I fear she will be sent away.

Rua hadn’t realized Mara was so worried. Or that she was visiting the stone chamber so frequently.

August 30, 1870

The Mother has made contact. Her voice is different. Richer. She asks about Emma and the Lord of Donore. I get the sense she does not want to see them together, though Mrs. Harrington is doing everything in her power to arrange it. I don’t understand the Mother’s concern; I think they’d make a handsome pair. Perhaps she has greater plans for Emma than either of us realized and there is no room for men in the sisterhood.

Emma has been asking to visit the chamber, but the Mother does not want her there. She says she must be kept away at all costs.

If that was the case, why had Mara agreed to take her there tomorrow? What had changed since August that she would defy the Mother? Rua skipped forward a few pages, looking for more mention of Emma’s name.

September 7, 1870

I am running out of excuses to keep Emma from the hellmouth. The Mother is adamant that she steers clear until Samhain.

I have told the Mother that her fears of Emma and the Lord of Donore are baseless. Emma is too outspoken, her behavior too unpredictable for a man like that. His engagement to the Fitzgerald girl is all but confirmed. I need not interfere. Emma will frighten him away on her own.

Rua balked at the insinuation.

There was a knock at her door, and she jumped.

“Just a moment,” she called, stuffing the journal back in her case and the case back in her armoire, before running to open the door.

“Since when do you open doors?” Mara asked.

Rua eyed her supposed friend, thinking she was far sneakier than she’d ever given her credit for. She’d assumed Mara hadn’t a clue about her missing diary, seeing as she hadn’t brought it up, but perhaps she was keeping her knowledge to herself, uninterested in picking a fight with a volatile Emma. She thought that was more likely than her roommate not sharing with Mara that she’d seen Rua sneaking around their room in the middle of the night.

“I was just getting up to go to the library,” Rua lied. She was always lying of late. Such was the state of her position in this house.

“Perhaps you’d like to spend the evening in a different room tonight,” Mara suggested, apprehension plain on her face.

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s the Lord of Donore.”

“What about him?” Rua asked.

“He’s stayed back from the party. I was trying to avoid you running into him.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, though she knew why. The Mother didn’t want her to be with Finn.

“He’s going to marry someone else, no matter what your mother tries.” Mara reached for Rua’s arm, her attempts at interfering now obvious. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Rua smiled, wondering if Mara could tell her own wants from the Mother’s.

“Don’t worry. I’m aware of Finn’s intentions with Annette.”

“And even after that nasty prank she pulled.” Mara shook her head. “I really think it best if you steer clear.”

“Your concern is unnecessary,” Rua said. “The lord and I are friends, nothing more.”

“Would you like some company?” Mara asked, getting desperate.

“Is he in the library right now?” Rua asked.

“No,” Mara said.

“I truly don’t understand what you’re fussing about,” Rua said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Very well,” Mara said reluctantly, adding, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

The fire in the library was lit, and she welcomed its warmth. The temperature had steadily begun to drop in the evenings as they neared the end of October.

She looked around the splendid room that had become her solace. The one place Flossie usually didn’t bother her. She sighed, knowing it would be her last evening.

And for that reason, she took a drink from the crystal decanter on the shelf by the door. She felt the burn trickle down her throat. And then she poured another.

“I thought I might find you in here,” Finn said.

She spun around at the sound of his voice, the liquid in her glass sloshing out onto the floor. She hadn’t heard him come in. He was standing beside the shelf with all her incriminating books.

“I thought you were going to the party,” she said, wiping the liquid drops off her bodice.

“I changed my mind.” He shrugged.

“And you’ve come to the library to find me?”

“Is that all right?” he asked.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly, butterflies filling her stomach.

Needing to settle her heart rate, she set down her glass, slowly and with concentrated effort.

When she turned back around, Finn was putting a novel back on the shelf. His coat was draped over the back of the chair, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbow. It didn’t appear he’d ever even dressed for the ball.

“What book was that?” she asked, not really caring.

“I don’t know,” he said as he slapped his hands together, brushing the dust off on his trousers. Her eyes followed the motion of his hands on his thighs. Strong, muscular thighs. She recalled the story of the woman he’d saved from the hotel fire and the way he’d carried her with ease through the frenzied mob after Annette’s birthday.

He cleared his throat, and her eyes moved too slowly back to his face. The longer she stared at him, the warmer she felt and the smaller the room became. The truth was closing in on her; she only needed to let the walls down.

Embarrassed for staring, she took out another glass and offered him a drink.

He accepted. She watched as his mouth settled on the rim of the glass.

He swallowed, then asked, “So, what are your plans for this evening now that you’ve got the house to yourself?”

“You’re looking at them.” She lifted her arms, gesturing to the room.

“Care for some company, then?” His voice was assured, but his eyes said otherwise. He was testing the water, and understandably so. He wanted answers, and she didn’t know how to give them to him. Her mind had yet to allow her the privilege of knowing.

She wanted the truth, but instinct warned her against it. If Finn was the man in her dreams, if she’d known him in another life, then he was here under false pretenses, just as she was.

“You can stay,” she said, despite her reservations. Despite knowing in her gut that tonight would change things.

“Shall we play draughts?” he asked with a laugh.

She grinned, remembering the last time they had played.

“Dominoes it is,” he said, after pillaging the game chest. One by one he explained the rules to her. “If there is any part that you’re not following, let me know before we begin. Once we’ve started, I will not let you win.”

She laughed at his seriousness, and she liked that about him. A lift of his chin and he could command a room.

There was an unforeseen effortlessness that existed between them. They were opposites in every way, but it worked. There was no pretending. Unapologetically, they were themselves.

Finn’s glass clanked hard on the marble side table after he’d won for the third time.

“How do I know you haven’t made up the rules in your favor as the game went along? Surely I’m not that bad,” she said, looking at her pieces.

“I can assure you, you are,” he laughed, rising from the chair.

Her heart sank as he stood. She wasn’t ready for him to leave yet.

Mara was right. She should have stayed away.

But then he held out his hand.

“Will you do me the honor of having this dance?” he asked.

She glanced around the room. “There’s no music.”

“Give me your hand,” he whispered.

With bated breath, she gave it to him. His fingers laced between her own, and a rush of happiness swept over her. The effect was dizzying.

He guided her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. Their closeness was intrinsic, vital to her existence. Without him, she felt nothing.

With expert ease, he began to sway. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. The moment so beautiful, so perfect, she could almost hear the music. A slow melodic waltz, familiar and enchanting.

She looked up at Finn, and her heart skipped. He was humming the tune they’d shared their first dance to at the Fitzgeralds’ ball. She closed her eyes once more.

Feeling the gentle vibrations as he lilted, she relinquished all control to him. The intimacy of the moment blew her away.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed. She’d been transported to another place and time, free of the pretension, a place only for them.

And when they finally stopped moving, the room spun around them.

The way Finn looked at her, like she was made for him, almost let her forget that he hadn’t a clue about who she really was. Neither of them did. But maybe it didn’t matter.

The passion was there. She could reach out and touch it if she wanted to. He had awoken a hunger inside of her, a primal need to have and be had.

Tired of waiting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stood up on her tiptoes. She wanted his mouth on hers and couldn’t wait to get it. He saw what she needed, and was happy to give it to her.

Hands resting on her back, he pulled her in closer. As his mouth came down on hers with an intensity that matched her own, she wondered how they’d ever thought they could survive apart.

Sliding her hands down the front of his chest, she worked to open the buttons of his shirt while he stole hungry kisses. Breathless, she slipped the shirt over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. The sight of his shirtless chest in the firelight caught her breath. He was sinew and muscle and covered in scars.

He sucked in a breath as she traced her finger across one of the many marks on his abdomen. And his chest—a six-inch jagged line lay above his heart.

He was so virile and wholly male.

“Come here,” he commanded, his breathing labored. He tipped her chin upward, his mouth finding hers once more. She couldn’t breathe with the need for him to never stop kissing her.

Letting him know she wanted more, she took his free hand and guided it to her chest.

“Rua,” he groaned as his hand worked its way under the fabric of her bodice, cupping her breast. He lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him, and he carried her to the settee as she slowly slipped into blissful oblivion.

Lying on her back with him above her, she gave him full access to explore. His hands tugged and massaged her breasts free of their restraints. “Fuck,” he said, admiring what he’d done.

He bent his head down and kissed the hollow space at the base of her neck, moving up to her throat, leaving a wake of devastation as his tongue traveled up to her ear. He nibbled tenderly on her earlobe while she writhed beneath him.

Hands grasping, she brought his face back to hers, and her tongue moved slowly and deliberately as she melted into his mouth. He let out a low growl, sending tremors throughout her body.

She was lightheaded with need, unable to comprehend the enormity of her feelings.

He was familiar and forbidden. Her own personal paradise. Nothing would ever compare.

He belonged only to her.

And then came the knock on the door, reminding her that he didn’t.

“Ignore it,” Finn whispered, kissing her neck, not ready to let go.

She couldn’t ignore it. An impeccably timed dose of reality to remind her that they could never be. Like a dark cloud, it loomed high above in the distance, threatening her with its power. She pushed herself out of his arms, setting herself to rights. She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath, her mind offering to reaffirm what she knew in her heart—they were doomed.

“I love him, Nemain. I do not wish to see him dead.”

Nemain placed her free hand on Macha’s cheek. “You cannot break the bond of our sisterhood. There can be no undoing what Badb has set into motion.”

Macha left the dining hall.

“Where are you going, sister?” Badb stopped her in the arched doorway.

“To the water,” she said.

Nemain shot her a warning look.

“I shall join you,” Badb said.

Macha discarded her clothes and dove into the basin of water floating above Oweynagat, lethal to any mortal. Only she and her sisters were afforded the luxury of swimming in the mystical water.

“What troubles you?” Badb asked. “Do not tell me it is that dolt Cú Chulainn.”

She didn’t answer.

“Do you love him, Rua?” Badb snickered.

Macha looked up, shocked that she’d called her Rua. Only he called her that.

“You cannot trust a man, sweet sister. He is our enemy.”

Macha did not answer. Their love was pure; he would not bring her harm.

“Of the infinite lovers in this world, you’d give yourself to him?” Badb gave her a disapproving look. “You should’ve known better. But do not worry, I will protect you. Always.”

Macha dipped her head back under the water. There was no way to undo the oath Badb had sworn to Queen Medb. The Morrígan’s word was a blood oath: the queen’s third-born for victory over an insurmountable enemy—Cú Chulainn.

When Macha returned to the surface, Badb was waiting, inches from her face.

“We meet the warrior tonight. He dies tomorrow.”

Rua’s legs gave out as she collapsed into Finn. His large frame surrounded her as he wrapped her protectively in his arms.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her, noticing the severe change in her demeanor.

She fought hard to keep from crying. This latest memory so devastating.

Macha, Badb, Nemain. She’d heard those names before.

They were the triple goddesses of the Morr í gan: mother, maiden, crone. The women from her dream. Finn was right. Her stomach hurt with the threat of the truth.

And C ú Chulainn. The goddesses killed him. She’d read that story, but this wasn’t a story. This was a memory.

She was Macha. Macha to her sisters and Rua to the one who loved her most—C ú Chulainn.

She loved him and she’d killed him.

He stroked her hair and held her tight to him.

Burdened with this knowledge, she still didn’t know why she was here in Emma’s place. Why take her memories all away only to let them return in dribs and drabs, past the point of usefulness? What was the reason?

Perhaps this was hell. Punishment for killing her soul mate. She’d found him again, just in time to lose him to another.

Another knock.

She had to go.