Page 5 of The Gods Time Forgot

Five

Finn stood speechless as the brazen woman floated away from him. He tapped the coin in his chest pocket, the heat of her touch still fresh on his skin.

So unexpected. He’d been prepared to see a weathered hag hiding behind that silky shawl but never a face covered in freckles with enchanting green eyes. And that spiraling blaze of auburn hair—she was like something out of Grimms’ Fairy Tales . Were he not immune to such notions, he would’ve ceased breathing at the sight of her.

And were it a different time entirely, under different circumstances, he might’ve chased after her. Lord knew he wanted to. She’d ignited a spark inside him, and he hated to douse it. He wanted to remember the way it felt when her hand caressed his own, teasing him with the tips of her fingers. A rush like no other, so unexpected and physical—he wanted to explore it.

But he could smell the trouble a mile away, and he needed no distractions, no scandals. Nothing unsavory that could threaten the life he was trying to make for himself.

The woman hadn’t made it past the side of the work site when Ned Harrington walked over in a panic. Finn watched as Ned reached for her arm, and she ripped it away.

Concerned for her, Finn ran over. He’d only just met Ned for the first time this morning.

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Ned asked the woman, his voice laden with worry.

She looked at Ned, utterly bewildered, then turned to Finn as if for help.

“Is everything all right here?” Finn asked, stepping between her and Ned.

“I was only out for a walk,” she groaned from behind him. “This man grabbed me.”

“This man?” The blood drained from Ned’s face. “Darling, perhaps it’s time I get you home?”

Finn stepped aside, understanding setting in.

“Your mother must be beside herself with worry,” Ned said, reaching for her, but this time she didn’t move.

Ned Harrington’s bloody daughter.

Finn watched as she registered the information, as though learning it for the first time, before being whisked away. It was as bad as Gloria Fitzgerald had said. Worse, even.

The laborers started to gather, and with them their murmurs. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Miss Harrington did not recognize her own father.

“Such a pity that is,” the foreman said. “I knew there was truth to those rumors.”

“What rumors?” Finn asked, feeling foolish for believing Richard when he said he had this handled.

“Went missing one afternoon. The Harringtons sent a search party out after the lass. Thought she was dead, they did. Reappeared in the woods the next day like nothing happened.”

“And what did happen?”

The foreman, a man from home, made the sign of the cross. “Mixed up with the devil himself, she is. Lad in the search party turned up dead. Imagine, that wee girl there did it?” His head jerked toward the Harringtons. “Didn’t want to be found, I suppose.”

Finn’s chest tightened. These rumors were more than damaging. They were career killing. He took the foreman to the side. “How do you know all of this?”

“My sister minds a family in the village there. The man she killed worked for them. He went as a favor to help the Harringtons bring the lass back.”

“But how did she kill him?” He couldn’t imagine that slip of a woman, feisty and all as she seemed, to be a murderer.

Finn wondered if Richard had heard about this part of the story—or were there other things he was keeping from him? But it wasn’t too late; work hadn’t started. Ned Harrington could still be removed from the project.

“It was the water that did it.”

“The water?” Finn repeated, feeling as though he’d just been taken for a ride.

The foreman looked around and leaned in closer to Finn. “Sure, you’ve heard of Oweynagat?”

“In Rathcroghan?” Finn inquired about the ancient archaeological site in Roscommon, a supposed residence of the famed Irish warrior Queen Medb and the setting for many famed legends. Oweynagat was the cave located in Rathcroghan and known as Ireland’s gate to hell.

The foreman nodded.

“For Christ’s sake, what does that have to do with Miss Harrington?” It was nothing more than folklore designed to scare children. The bloodthirsty Morr í gan goddesses who crept out of their cave dwelling in the dead of night, unleashing monsters on unsuspecting victims during Samhain, were the stuff of legend, but clearly his countrymen had brought the tales with them.

“Oweynagat’s not the only cave.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Finn was incredulous.

The foreman’s eyes narrowed. “The hell caves are everywhere, if you know where to look for them.”

“Get out of my sight.” Finn waved the man away. He would not tolerate that nonsense another minute.

“The water at the cave, that’s what did it, and she’s responsible.” The foreman pointed a finger at Miss Harrington, who was being shoved into a carriage. “Only someone touched by the devil could touch it and come out unharmed.”

Whatever the real story was, that girl was going to drag the Harringtons’ name through the mud and Finn’s right along with it if he wasn’t careful. Good businesses had been toppled for less.

“Donore, a word?” Richard approached him.

Raging, Finn turned to face the business mogul.

“I see you’ve met Ned’s daughter.”

“For fuck’s sake, Richard.” He shook his head. “Your wife wasn’t wrong.”

“Hardly ever is.” Richard frowned.

“They told me what happened to Miss Harrington this summer. Apparently, the story got out before you had a chance to handle it. A man died. Did you know that?”

“Who said that?”

“The foreman,” Finn said, nodding back toward the men.

“Ah.” Richard waved a hand. “Nobody cares about what a few laborers have to say. You just stay away from her.”

“Our paths had not crossed before this morning.”

“Keep it that way.”

Finn clenched his jaw and nodded.

The Fitzgeralds ran New York. They’d be able to weather a possible fallout from a Harrington scandal. It would be nothing but the topic of discussion over dinner one evening, and then it would blow over. But Finn, the foreigner, had to work that much harder to prove himself and dispel any stereotypes. He could not afford to get caught up in whatever mess the Harringtons were involved in, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps he already had.

The men moved inside to their provisional office and spent the next few hours mulling over drawings and punch list items.

Richard checked his watch. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“For what?” Finn asked, his eyes bleary from his work.

“Good one, Donore. My wife would have both of our heads if you weren’t there. Save the first dance for my daughter, hmm?” Richard winked and walked off.

Finn ran his hand up and down his face, then checked his own watch. The Fitzgeralds’ ball—it finally came to him. It was the last event he wanted to attend. He hated large gatherings and the fuss that went with them.

He felt unsettled. The sensation was unfamiliar and all consuming, like something trapped inside his chest was fighting to get out. Perhaps it was the aftermath of meeting Miss Harrington and understanding the very real threat she posed.

Following Richard’s lead, Finn locked the office and left.

He tilted his head back to the sky and rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension. It was most definitely Miss Harrington. But there was something else weighing on him. The story the foreman told. What did Oweynagat have to do with New York or Miss Harrington? It was such a bizarre claim to make.

Frustrated, Finn walked to the New York Athletic Club on Fourteenth Street. Some physical exertion would clear his mind, and he had enough time for a quick match. In the city, he was limited to the offerings of the sports club. Though he liked boxing and fencing well enough, the men here weren’t a match for him. They were professional leisure seekers, not competitors.

He strode through the well-appointed lobby with its six center columns and scattered armchairs and went straight for the gymnasium.

Dressed in his shorts and headgear, a sparring partner similar in size to Finn, was there at the ready. Finn was grateful that the man looked like he could hold his own because he wasn’t going to hold back. Finn didn’t bother to get his sparring partner’s name nor did he bother changing his clothes. All he wanted to do was rid himself of the feeling eating at him and fight.

“Look at the two bulls in the ring.” A man roared with laughter as a crowd gathered around them, hanging off the ropes.

“Money’s on the Mick,” another said.

The pair tapped gloves, and before the other man even had the chance to blink, Finn had him flat on his back. One blow to his right cheek was all it took. The pure power in Finn’s arm as his fist made contact with the man’s face was strength like he’d never experienced. It pulsed through his veins, sparking and short-circuiting until there was nowhere to go but out.

Finn removed his gloves and bent down to see if the man was all right, but the referee pushed him back. He was looking at Finn like he’d done it on purpose. Everyone was.

“Is he dead?” a man in the crowd asked.

“Out cold,” the referee called after checking the man’s pulse.

Embarrassed, Finn dropped his gloves and rushed out of the club, avoiding the pedestrians as he made his way back to his hotel apartment. He hurried, his strides double the length of a normal man’s. He squeezed his fists together a few times, trying to understand where that power had come from. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get his thoughts together. A fight at the club should have helped him to release this energy, but as he was now, it might have made things worse.

In this moment, he was agitated and volatile. A man unfit for this world. Too large for their dainty dinner parties and the restrictions of their rigid rules. He was spiraling, momentarily losing sight of everything that mattered. He wanted to run free. Feel the wind at his back, the sun in his face. But he was here. He looked up at the buildings towering above him, trapped in a concrete cage. A cage he’d willingly entered.

A man walking the opposite way knocked into his shoulder. Between the speed of Finn’s gait and the breadth of his shoulders, the poor man didn’t stand a chance. He fell to the floor with a thud.

Finn tried to help him. “My apologies, sir. Are you all right?”

The man shook him off and got up on his own. “Watch where you’re walking, you oaf.”

Finn rushed back to his hotel, feeling out of sorts and entirely unlike himself. There wasn’t time to dwell on this feeling. As he splashed cold water on his face, he reminded himself what was a stake—his future and the futures of those who depended on him. He could not build his hospital or maintain his charities if he was caught up in scandal. This was the world he lived in.

He lifted a towel to dry his face, his mind wandering to Miss Harrington, the supposed murderer. Richard had said he had it handled. Finn needed to trust that, though he wouldn’t trust the man himself as far as he could throw him.

His mind had wanted to paint a different picture of Miss Harrington, one in which she would be easy to dislike, but something told him the opposite was going to occur. She was sharp as a tack and, truthfully, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He almost believed his eyes were playing tricks on him. How could something so remarkable cause such trouble?

Finn stared into the mirror, not recognizing the unsettled man before him. He preferred order and precision in his life. With a deep breath, he walked to the bar cart and poured himself a spot of whiskey. He tilted the glass back, swallowing it quickly. He would be fine in a minute. It must have been the stress of the season’s events picking up.