As soon as he spotted the flitting, swirling shadows, Edmund knew they’d not abandoned Maggie and him. For once, he was grateful they had some sort of psychic connection to his fiancée.
She’d brought him to the summit a few years earlier, on midsummer’s day. His heart nearly failed him from desperate fear. That day, Maggie had drawn him to her, and he had to admit, he’d hung onto her for life itself. Yet, she’d not been afraid at all. It became obvious rather quickly that she knew them, and they knew her.
He’d never been overly religious, just enough to get by in Catholic Ireland. Here in Protestant America, no one seemed to care whether a man attended church. After his initial encounter that first day of summer in ’98, Edmund found a local parish and attended mass regularly—much to Maggie’s dismay.
What did she expect, though? He was alive only because Maggie wanted him. Edmund didn’t need a word from the Holy Mother Herself to inform him of that.
He’d known—at least he’d hoped—they would come to save his beloved. And, they’d save him, too, because of her. Yet, when the black apparitions descended on Harry, Edmund ran as fast as his legs would carry him. But now, everything was quiet. Silent as death. Not a bird sang, not an insect buzzed, not a breath of wind.
Only the sound of his labored breathing.
Gathering his strength and his courage anew, Edmund strode past the Sulky and into the farmhouse. He’d expected to find Maggie, but she wasn’t there.
Edmund burst out onto the porch and stared at the grassy knoll. It amazed him how much greener that spot was, green enough to be Ireland itself. At first, he didn’t want to go there, but he had to find Maggie. Unarmed or not, he had to search for her.
He tried to cry her name, but it got stuck in his throat when the thought occurred he shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. Edmund decided to sneak across open ground and hope they didn’t see him—or the outlaws, either, assuming Roy and Harry were still alive.
His progress was as furtive as he was capable of, and he crossed the field of dense, thick grass. About halfway across, Maggie appeared on the knoll.
“Maggie!” His heart thudded. “Maggie!” Edmund took off on a dead run until he scaled the knoll and threw his arms around his beloved.
When she didn’t react, Edmund broke the embrace and stepped back. “Are you wroth with me?”
“Why did you run?”
“Why?” He scratched his head. “Because they scare me witless.”
“I told you, you’ve nothing to worry about as long as you never wrong me.”
“Aye, you did tell me that, but I wonder what might happen were you not around. I could end up like those poor outlaws.”
“Forget those men. They no longer exist.
Besides, I was offered a proposition, and I want to discuss it with you.”
“What sort o’ proposition?”
Maggie reached inside her bodice and produced a leather pouch. She untied the draw strings and pulled it open. “Look inside.”
Edmund peered into the opening and gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”
She smiled. “Indeed. Enough ounces to give us a grand wedding.”
“In return for what, might I inquire?”
“The more souls we can lure to this domain, the more gold we’ll earn.”
The possibilities cascaded through his mind. Bring enough people, and he and Maggie would never have to worry about money again. They’d be rich…maybe as rich as Silas Carnahan. Then, a dark cloud covered the sunshine flooding his mind.
“What is to become o’ those souls?”
“As if I know, Cooney.” The muscles in her face tightened. Her eyes narrowed. “We have an opportunity to become filthy rich—an opportunity that wouldn’t be happening if I didn’t have a relationship with them already.”
“But—”
“No buts, Cooney. If you want to marry me, then you’ll do this. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life as the upstairs maid. And to think about it, did you come all the way from Ireland to manage a rich man’s stable for the rest of yours?”
Edmund didn’t like the wrestling that had begun in his mind. What Maggie proposed seemed wrong on many levels. Doing what she demanded meant the both of them would be little more than Soul Merchants. But what could he say to—
“Well? I’m telling you right now if you want me, you’ll do this. I need to know right here, right now. No pangs of conscience. Either you will or you won’t. If the latter, tell me now so I can find me a real man.”
Edmund knew what he had to do. He’d agree now, and maybe later, he’d remind her about the Almighty. For the moment, she had contracted gold fever. In time, that would cool. Maggie would become more reasonable.
“I love you, Maggie. With all me heart and soul. I will do what you ask; aye, I shall indeed.”
Her features softened. “Good. I love you too, and I want to live like the Carnahans and have servants of our own.”
“Aye, love. I do as well.”
“Good. Now, one more thing.”
Edmund cocked his head. “Oh?”
“Yes. I want you to stop going to church.”
The earth trembled again, making his joints stiffen as with the rigor. Maggie moved close. “What now?”
She took his hand. “Trust me, Cooney. They mean us no harm.”
The air behind her shimmered like heat rising from city streets in summer. Then, two huge males, dressed in formal black suits with white cravats and black bowlers, stepped from between the standing stones and headed directly toward Maggie and him.
Two more faeries appeared behind the men in black. These wore simple brown robes, their faces hidden in shadows created by the cowls that covered their heads. They too closed the distance and flanked the first arrivals.
Maggie curtseyed. The nearest robed figure pushed back the cowl, revealing a crushingly beautiful woman with short, spiked black hair. She glided toward them, making Maggie and him tilt their heads back as young children do when making eye contact with grownups. The woman smiled down at Maggie. “My how you’ve grown since our last sojourn together.”
“Aye, Mystress.”
The woman turned her attention to him. “You must be Edmund Patrick Blough. I am Brianag of Clanneslaire. Welcome.”
Not knowing what else to do, Cooney bowed. He doubted he could speak even if the words came to him. He straightened and cast a glance at the two males. They remained aloof, their eyes casting about as the breeze caused their red ponytails to dance along their shoulder blades. Haughty, as though each was above acknowledging a human being.
The other robed figure, also female, examined Maggie but ignored Cooney entirely. “You've put a bit more colour in those cheeks and filled out quite nicely.”
Maggie curtseyed again. “Thank you, Mystress Fionnaghal.”
Brianag touched Cooney's shoulder “I see a wedding in your future, Edmund Patrick.” She smiled and peered skyward, evidently enjoying the sun's rays on her face. “My offer still stands. Margaret Katherine deserves a feast fit for faeries, aye?”
Maggie beamed. “Thank you, Mystress!”
Brianag kissed Maggie’s forehead. “The wedding will take place on Clanneslaire. You may make use of my suite at the palace.”
“Will Comyn and Gillean be attending?”
“No, child. They’re on to Washington D. C. to consort with the vice-president.”
Maggie arched her brows. “Why not with the president, himself?”
“We have it on good authority your President McKinley shall not live to see the autumnal equinox. Gillean and Comyn are to instruct the Rough Rider in the progressive ways of Realm governance. But, Fionnaghal and I will be most happy to attend your wedding in our Hall of Union.”
“Thank you, Mystress.” Maggie looked back at him. “See you on the other side, Cooney.” She turned and ran toward the shimmering air and disappeared.
He back pedalled as the fight-or-flight response leaned heavily toward the latter. Before he got three steps away, the faerie females speeded to him, snared his arms, and dragged him toward the point where Maggie had disappeared.
“Do not be afraid, Cooney. This is your wedding. This is a happy occasion.”
She’d brought him to the summit a few years earlier, on midsummer’s day. His heart nearly failed him from desperate fear. That day, Maggie had drawn him to her, and he had to admit, he’d hung onto her for life itself. Yet, she’d not been afraid at all. It became obvious rather quickly that she knew them, and they knew her.
He’d never been overly religious, just enough to get by in Catholic Ireland. Here in Protestant America, no one seemed to care whether a man attended church. After his initial encounter that first day of summer in ’98, Edmund found a local parish and attended mass regularly—much to Maggie’s dismay.
What did she expect, though? He was alive only because Maggie wanted him. Edmund didn’t need a word from the Holy Mother Herself to inform him of that.
He’d known—at least he’d hoped—they would come to save his beloved. And, they’d save him, too, because of her. Yet, when the black apparitions descended on Harry, Edmund ran as fast as his legs would carry him. But now, everything was quiet. Silent as death. Not a bird sang, not an insect buzzed, not a breath of wind.
Only the sound of his labored breathing.
Gathering his strength and his courage anew, Edmund strode past the Sulky and into the farmhouse. He’d expected to find Maggie, but she wasn’t there.
Edmund burst out onto the porch and stared at the grassy knoll. It amazed him how much greener that spot was, green enough to be Ireland itself. At first, he didn’t want to go there, but he had to find Maggie. Unarmed or not, he had to search for her.
He tried to cry her name, but it got stuck in his throat when the thought occurred he shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. Edmund decided to sneak across open ground and hope they didn’t see him—or the outlaws, either, assuming Roy and Harry were still alive.
His progress was as furtive as he was capable of, and he crossed the field of dense, thick grass. About halfway across, Maggie appeared on the knoll.
“Maggie!” His heart thudded. “Maggie!” Edmund took off on a dead run until he scaled the knoll and threw his arms around his beloved.
When she didn’t react, Edmund broke the embrace and stepped back. “Are you wroth with me?”
“Why did you run?”
“Why?” He scratched his head. “Because they scare me witless.”
“I told you, you’ve nothing to worry about as long as you never wrong me.”
“Aye, you did tell me that, but I wonder what might happen were you not around. I could end up like those poor outlaws.”
“Forget those men. They no longer exist.
Besides, I was offered a proposition, and I want to discuss it with you.”
“What sort o’ proposition?”
Maggie reached inside her bodice and produced a leather pouch. She untied the draw strings and pulled it open. “Look inside.”
Edmund peered into the opening and gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”
She smiled. “Indeed. Enough ounces to give us a grand wedding.”
“In return for what, might I inquire?”
“The more souls we can lure to this domain, the more gold we’ll earn.”
The possibilities cascaded through his mind. Bring enough people, and he and Maggie would never have to worry about money again. They’d be rich…maybe as rich as Silas Carnahan. Then, a dark cloud covered the sunshine flooding his mind.
“What is to become o’ those souls?”
“As if I know, Cooney.” The muscles in her face tightened. Her eyes narrowed. “We have an opportunity to become filthy rich—an opportunity that wouldn’t be happening if I didn’t have a relationship with them already.”
“But—”
“No buts, Cooney. If you want to marry me, then you’ll do this. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life as the upstairs maid. And to think about it, did you come all the way from Ireland to manage a rich man’s stable for the rest of yours?”
Edmund didn’t like the wrestling that had begun in his mind. What Maggie proposed seemed wrong on many levels. Doing what she demanded meant the both of them would be little more than Soul Merchants. But what could he say to—
“Well? I’m telling you right now if you want me, you’ll do this. I need to know right here, right now. No pangs of conscience. Either you will or you won’t. If the latter, tell me now so I can find me a real man.”
Edmund knew what he had to do. He’d agree now, and maybe later, he’d remind her about the Almighty. For the moment, she had contracted gold fever. In time, that would cool. Maggie would become more reasonable.
“I love you, Maggie. With all me heart and soul. I will do what you ask; aye, I shall indeed.”
Her features softened. “Good. I love you too, and I want to live like the Carnahans and have servants of our own.”
“Aye, love. I do as well.”
“Good. Now, one more thing.”
Edmund cocked his head. “Oh?”
“Yes. I want you to stop going to church.”
The earth trembled again, making his joints stiffen as with the rigor. Maggie moved close. “What now?”
She took his hand. “Trust me, Cooney. They mean us no harm.”
The air behind her shimmered like heat rising from city streets in summer. Then, two huge males, dressed in formal black suits with white cravats and black bowlers, stepped from between the standing stones and headed directly toward Maggie and him.
Two more faeries appeared behind the men in black. These wore simple brown robes, their faces hidden in shadows created by the cowls that covered their heads. They too closed the distance and flanked the first arrivals.
Maggie curtseyed. The nearest robed figure pushed back the cowl, revealing a crushingly beautiful woman with short, spiked black hair. She glided toward them, making Maggie and him tilt their heads back as young children do when making eye contact with grownups. The woman smiled down at Maggie. “My how you’ve grown since our last sojourn together.”
“Aye, Mystress.”
The woman turned her attention to him. “You must be Edmund Patrick Blough. I am Brianag of Clanneslaire. Welcome.”
Not knowing what else to do, Cooney bowed. He doubted he could speak even if the words came to him. He straightened and cast a glance at the two males. They remained aloof, their eyes casting about as the breeze caused their red ponytails to dance along their shoulder blades. Haughty, as though each was above acknowledging a human being.
The other robed figure, also female, examined Maggie but ignored Cooney entirely. “You've put a bit more colour in those cheeks and filled out quite nicely.”
Maggie curtseyed again. “Thank you, Mystress Fionnaghal.”
Brianag touched Cooney's shoulder “I see a wedding in your future, Edmund Patrick.” She smiled and peered skyward, evidently enjoying the sun's rays on her face. “My offer still stands. Margaret Katherine deserves a feast fit for faeries, aye?”
Maggie beamed. “Thank you, Mystress!”
Brianag kissed Maggie’s forehead. “The wedding will take place on Clanneslaire. You may make use of my suite at the palace.”
“Will Comyn and Gillean be attending?”
“No, child. They’re on to Washington D. C. to consort with the vice-president.”
Maggie arched her brows. “Why not with the president, himself?”
“We have it on good authority your President McKinley shall not live to see the autumnal equinox. Gillean and Comyn are to instruct the Rough Rider in the progressive ways of Realm governance. But, Fionnaghal and I will be most happy to attend your wedding in our Hall of Union.”
“Thank you, Mystress.” Maggie looked back at him. “See you on the other side, Cooney.” She turned and ran toward the shimmering air and disappeared.
He back pedalled as the fight-or-flight response leaned heavily toward the latter. Before he got three steps away, the faerie females speeded to him, snared his arms, and dragged him toward the point where Maggie had disappeared.
“Do not be afraid, Cooney. This is your wedding. This is a happy occasion.”
