A Wish to Build a Dream On #2
“Or you’ll die, Mary Samson. And this time, it’s for ever.”
Ireland, 1173
Cian MacCorban was a man who trusted his instincts. Though some would accuse him of being ruled by his dreams, he knew differently. They weren’t dreams; they were realities yet to occur. Too often, the visions came upon him without warning. And every last one had come true.
Even the deaths.
That was the cursed part of the Sight. He saw friends, family members, knowing how they would die. But not when. Never that. He hadn’t known that a death was about to happen until it was too late.
His people feared him, and most had abandoned him. His ring fort was falling apart, and he no longer cared. What did it matter, when he was nearly the only one left?
Cian mounted his horse, preparing to ride out.
He let the horse lead, opening his mind to the vision he’d seen again last night.
A woman’s face, her honey-blonde hair cut short to her shoulders.
Intelligent grey eyes and an uncertain smile.
For so many years, he’d hoped this vision would come true: the woman who was meant for him.
He’d seen the morning sun rising through the circle of standing stones. One day, she would be there. For ten years, he’d ridden out to the circle, hoping to find her. But when he glanced behind him, he sensed that even she would not want a man like him. A man cursed with visions of death.
It was easier to be naked in public if you had a tiny waist and a perfectly toned body.
Mary had neither of these, and it was her own fault for avoiding the gym.
Kevan, the man of the Daoine Sídhe, had vanished some time ago, and she was left trying to decide what to do.
She couldn’t exactly make clothes out of the grass, and there weren’t any palm leaves lying around either.
Before long, she heard hoof beats approaching.
Mary dived behind one of the standing stones, trying to hide what she could of her body.
A man was on horseback, likely a historical re-enactor, given his simple clothing and the blue cloak fastened with a brooch.
His blond hair was unkempt, hanging across his shoulders.
His dark blue eyes were tired, like a man who hadn’t slept in years.
Though he was tall and handsome, it was the bleakness that held her attention.
When he started to walk towards her, she held out her hand. “Wait! Don’t come any closer. I don’t have any . . . that is, I’m not wearing – Oh, damn it, just stay where you are.”
He startled, as though he were trying to puzzle out her words. “You’re real. Not a dream.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Instead, she pleaded, “I’m in a bit of trouble here. Could you please throw me your cloak?”
Without questioning her, he unfastened his cloak and threw it. It fell slightly short, but Mary eased it towards herself with one foot. Only when she’d covered herself from neck to ankle, did she step out from behind the standing stone.
“Thank you,” she said. “I wish I had an explanation for why I’m not wearing any clothes, but the truth is, I’m not sure how I got here. Am I still in Ireland?”
He nodded. “May I come closer to speak with you?”
“I . . . um . . . yes, sure. Oh, and I promise I’ll give you back this cloak as soon as I can. I suppose you’ll need it for the re-enactment.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “The what?”
She stared at him. Utter confusion appeared on his face, as if he didn’t know what a re-enactment was. Don’t panic, don’t panic. He’s just staying in character.
“I’ll give it back to you later,” Mary said. “In the meantime, maybe you could help me find my tour group?”
He shook his head slowly. “There is no one here. But if you’re needing food and shelter, I can give you that. Perhaps there might be a gown you could borrow.”
A gown? She gripped the edges of the cloak together. One minute at a time was all she could handle before going crazy. Was this the man she was supposed to encounter? The one who had to love her before the third day, or she would die?
“I appreciate your help.” She walked alongside him towards his horse. “What is your name?”
“I am Cian MacCorban, chief of the MacCorban clan. Or what’s left of them.”
Mary introduced herself, and Cian reached out to assist her on to his horse. When he swung up behind her, she was startled at his body warmth. Though it was early summer, the weather wasn’t as warm as the Florida heat she was used to.
His arms came around her waist to grip the reins, and Mary felt self-conscious at his inadvertent touch. Wasn’t this a dream? She’d had vivid dreams before. Surely this was one of them. But the sensation of riding a horse and feeling a man’s arms around her was all too real.
It felt safe, being with Cian. Though she knew it wasn’t wise to go off with strangers, she didn’t have a choice. If she was dreaming, then there was no harm in it. And if she wasn’t dreaming, then she was already half-dead to begin with, and it didn’t matter.
“Are you the man I was supposed to meet?” she blurted out. “The one waiting for me?” Great, Mary. That made a lot of sense. He won’t think you’re crazy now.
Instead, his grip tightened around her waist. “I’ve seen you in my visions for over twenty years, Mary Samson. I’ve dreamed about you every night, wondering when you would finally be here.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of what else to say.
It should have felt creepy, like he was a stalker.
Instead, there was a strange sense of relief.
She’d made her wish, and here he was – the man fate had paired her up with.
If he’d been waiting for her for over twenty years, then it shouldn’t be so hard to make him fall in love with her, should it?
But she was supposed to love him back. And if she’d learned anything from her relationship with Garrett, it was that love couldn’t be forced. It either happened, or it didn’t.
She rode in front of Cian for nearly an hour before she saw a ruined fortress ahead.
Built upon a small crannog, the ring fort probably housed ten to fifteen people.
But as they rode across the bridge and through the gate, her suspicions sharpened.
The place was falling apart, with hardly anyone to take care of it.
Rotting hides and animal manure gave the place an indescribable odour, one that wasn’t at all welcoming.
She saw only four other men, and they were all staring at her.
After Cian helped her down, she took in her surroundings. “Is this where you work? Is this a re-enactment village?”
“This is my home.” Distaste lined his face, as though he didn’t care for it either.
Though her brain warned her not to ask, she couldn’t stop herself. “Cian, is this real?”
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her chest. “What year is this?”
“It is the Year of Our Lord 1173.”
No. No, it wasn’t possible. But it was as if she’d stepped back in time, into a medieval world where the men wore swords and the women sewed their own clothing. No modern medicine, no cars. No toothbrushes or personal hygiene.
Her brain was screaming. Maybe it was better to just let herself die. After all, surely they had toilets in heaven. She didn’t like primitive conditions, and the stone roundhouse certainly qualified as that. She’d never even been camping, for heaven’s sake.
Cian adjusted the fire, dropping more peat bricks on top of it. He gestured towards a pile of furs. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Make yourself comfortable.”
And though she promised herself she wouldn’t do anything stupid like pass out or scream, her knees buckled of their own accord, and she found herself crouching on the ground. Breathe. Just breathe.
Cian was at her side instantly. “Are you all right, a chara?” He sat down, pulling her on to his lap.
She almost laughed. All right? She’d been sent back in time nearly a thousand years and he wanted to know if she was all right? If she recalled her history properly, they burned crazy women at the stake.
You’re already dead, her conscience argued. Well, almost.
It doesn’t mean I want to become a human barbecue.
“I . . . need a moment,” she whispered.
His hands moved to the sides of her face, his fingers threading through her hair. “It’s softer than I thought it would be,” he murmured. “And you’re prettier than the woman I saw in my dreams.”
She couldn’t answer because, at the moment, he was holding her like a cherished possession. As if he couldn’t believe she was real. His blue eyes were shadowed, his face haggard. But there was a fierce hope within his expression.
Her pulse quickened as she reached out to his face. What sort of man was he? His face was clean-shaven, unlike his kinsmen. The bristles on his face were starting to grow smooth. A small scar ridged the edge of his chin up to his lip.
This was a man who had waged battle upon his enemies, a warrior who lived by a different set of rules. And he was staring at her as though she meant everything to him.
“Cian.” She said his name, testing it out.
Before she could speak another word, his mouth lowered to hers.
Softly, like they were reunited, he kissed her.
Beneath the cloak, she shivered, her flesh rising up with unexpected arousal.
He wasn’t the barbarian she’d expected. No, his kiss was seductive, alluring.
She could kiss a man like him all night long.
You might have to do more than that, her conscience warned. Three days was a heartbeat in time, barely enough for anyone to become friends, much less fall in love. But a kiss was a start.
He deepened the kiss, cradling her head as his mouth coaxed and tasted. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?” He broke free of her, staring at her swollen lips.
Mary clutched the edges of her cloak, not knowing what to say. “It’s not such a bad dream.” Even if he was a stranger, she felt an unusual connection to him.