"It's been most illuminating speaking with you tonight, Miss Delaney. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance. You'll forgive me if I confess that I can't recall when I've been this intrigued by a lady."
The words unnerved her, and she could almost feel him reaching out to her with his razor-sharp intellect, trying to untangle the tightest secrets in her breast. Her hand trembled, the brooch she held suddenly seeming like a ridiculous bauble to fend off such a man.
He sketched her a bow, then turned and walked back out into the night. Fallon shifted to peer out the empty eye of a window, watching as he mounted his horse, guided it into the mist. She listened, long after horse and rider disappeared, tracing the fading sound of hoofbeats, straining to hear them over the thundering of her heart and the crash of the sea.
But was he really gone?
Heaven above, what was she going to do? The castle, the standing stones ripped from the earth? It would be like tearing out Ireland's soul. But what could she do to stop him? It would take a miracle. A miracle...
The edges of gold bit into her hand, the wicked-looking pin thrusting through the brooch and drawing blood. She stared down at it, as if she had never seen it before.
Had the old ones who watched over Ireland made certain she learned of Redmayne's diabolical plan tonight? On Beltane, the one night of all Ciaran could be summoned from the mist?
He can appear only once every three hundred years... her mother's warning echoed through her.When things are most desperate.
But what could be more desperate than this threat, hovering over Glenceo? And once Redmayne's plan worked, once the English high command saw the effect it had, wouldn't the destruction spread throughout the whole island, sucking the life from it, the way consumption had drained the life from her mother?
Madness. Was she stepping into madness? Or reaching out for a miracle? Even now, she wasn't certain which.
She only knew one thing.
She had to find a way to stop Redmayne before it was too late. Ireland needed Ciaran. Desperately.
And what if she bumbled? Made a mistake? So many years had passed since her mother had spun out the instructions for summoning the hero from the mist. What if Fallon had forgotten something vital? Worse still, what if the tale of Ciaran was nothing but pretty words, a mother's attempt to soothe her grieving child, to make her feel safe?
The thought twisted in Fallon, spilling hurt in its wake, and understanding. But the ancient brooch felt heavy. Real. If only the legend had as much substance. Soon she would know for certain.
Did she dare even attempt to summon Ciaran now? The thought of Redmayne's inscrutable eyes watching from the shadows as she performed the rite made her cheeks burn. If she failed he'd be so amused.
No. She had to do this as quickly as she could. Surely a legend could dispatch one English captain.
Fallon hurried to the stone hearth and laid the brooch upon fire-blackened stone. She cast a desperate glance toward the windows. What had Mama said? That the light of the full moon would strike the jewels? But it was so misty, the silvery light a darting, uncertain thing. What if it never touched the jewels at all?
This was crazed. And yet, they needed Ciaran more than ever now, to battle an adversary like Redmayne.
Mama had said to call Ciaran with her heart, her soul. She settled for her lungs. "Blast it, Ciaran, wherever you are, we need you! Please, for God's sake—" But they'd been pagan when Ciaran walked Ireland. Had she committed some sort of blasphemy?
"Please... Mama said you'd come." Tears stung her eyes, the mist swirling, mocking, darting about in feathery wisps, obscuring the moonlight. She wished she could reach up, bend the rays with her hands.
"I don't know what else to do," she choked out. "Please, Ciaran, we need... I need... This is hopeless! Hopeless!" She caught up a broken piece of stone and hurled it at the brooch, the pin skittering to one side. At that moment, a piercing ray sizzled down, burying itself in one of the jewels.
Fallon couldn't breathe. She stared, half afraid, half hopeful, disbelieving, yet believing with all her heart.
She stared at the golden circle until her eyes burned and blurred and her head ached. Was it her imagination, or did light sparkle, fragment, swell within the stone? Was it some trick born of her desperation, or the mist itself? The brooch burst into countless fragments of light—red and green, blue and gold, leaping like a hungry flame up the beam of moonlight. Even if Redmayne hadn't doubled back to the castle, what were the chances that this odd light might bring him riding? If it was real...
The fire in the jewel soared, raged, half blinding her. A gust of wind buffeted Fallon as if to punish her for her lack of faith. She stumbled back, half expecting Ciaran to emerge from the pin like Athena bursting from the head of Zeus.
Then, in a heartbeat the wind stilled, the brooch dulled, emptied of all its magic.
Fallon sank down, drained, tears searing her eyes, disillusionment battering at her. Had she truly believed in the legend? She'd wanted it to be real, needed it so badly. A hollow ache swelled in her chest. What had she done? She'd been a fool. A fool. How could she have failed to realize how much she would risk by testing the brooch's power? Now she understood, but it was too late to change anything, she thought, sick at heart. A world that could summon Ciaran from the mist was a far brighter place than the world she stood in now.
"Hugh was right. It was only a story, something to drive back the chill, or the hopelessness. I was a fool ever to believe it was true."
She stilled, the sound of a footstep making her cheeks burn and her hands tremble. It must be Redmayne. If he had seen what foolishness she'd been about, she'd never recover from the humiliation.
She pushed to her feet, swiping away her tears and squaring her shoulders as she turned.
Damned if she'd let him see her heartbroken.
