Chapter 33
The time will come when we shall know what the amount of mortality has been; and though you may groan, and try to keep the truth down, it shall be known, and the time will come when the public and the world will be able to estimate, at its proper value, your management of the affairs of Ireland.
I sat, back straight, on the chaise that sat at the end of the hall of the guest wing. Waiting. Gaze flitting between the haze of incense escaping through the space at the bottom of Teddy’s door to the darkening sky behind me.
The triskele necklace bit into my palm, slick with sweat as I clenched my fist around it. It pulsed in my hand, coaxing me to place it around my neck. To anchor myself to this house, this village. To shackle myself in its noose.
But I wouldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, I’d listened as the clop of hooves clipped down the gravel drive—Cormac. As Beth coaxed my son outside with the promise of buttered bread sprinkled with sugar. As the household gathered in the entrance foyer to receive the order to vacate—Aggie.
I listened now to the thud of my heart, to the call of a bird beyond the window, to the steady tick of the grand clock that stood sentry on the landing.
I told ye the child wasn’t here. That the sins of the father outweigh those of the mother.
The now-familiar wave of ice that meant Michael was near nestled into my left side, but even as his presence urged something primal in me to run, warmth permeated through my chest. I smiled.
“I didn’t know what ye meant then,” I said, softly, tugging my lips into a sad smile.
I would’ve brought him to ye if he were.
“I know.” I turned to my left, but there was nothing there. No wisp of an apparition. No hint beyond this feeling, and his voice in my head. “I’m glad he’s alive.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry you’re not,” I whispered, glancing down at my lap.
“I’m sorry all this happened, and that I caused it.
I’d planned on making it right, by earning a place to live and land to farm, where I could put up a headstone for ye all.
So ye could live on not just in memory, but so those who come after would know ye lived.
’Tis all gone to shite now, though. Lady Catherine is dead, along with any hope of payment. ”
A cool touch enveloped my hand, and I sighed.
Get it done so ye can live yer life at last, Maggie. Be the mother ye always wanted to be. I can’t go until ye’re safe.
“Why now, Michael?” I asked, fiddling with the necklace. “Why did ye never come to me before?”
I’ve always been with ye. But here … ye could hear me. See me. Must be the sorcery.
I nodded. Nothing here made any sense, yet it did in the same breath.
It’s time. Have ye everything ye need?
Lady Catherine’s letter was safely tucked into one skirt pocket, along with the key to the attic—I’d checked ten times. I quickly patted the other pocket, and sighed. I had that too, the other thing.
Pursing my lips, I brought the golden triskele to my throat and tied the length of black ribbon at my nape.
And as I did, Michael’s icy presence was replaced at once.
By a wave of heat so fierce, I feared the house had caught fire.
The Cailleach wasn’t a mere presence, but a melding. The moment I’d secured that necklace around my neck, I could feel her. Inside my thoughts, my body, compelling me. But I was prepared. Lady Catherine had warned me of it in her letter.
Lightning zipped through my veins, as though I had captured a storm and consumed it, channeled it into something else, something other, until I was no longer me.
Steady.
Michael. I nodded. Steady. One foot before the other, as always. Open the door to the guest room.
I strode forward in a daze, pushed in the door, and was met with an outpouring of smoke so fierce I had to cover my nose and mouth with an arm.
The curtains were drawn, but a four-poster bed stood in outline thanks to the still-roaring fire, dead center, a ways into the room.
One foot. The other.
A march toward my past, present, and possible future.
Teddy consumed my every waking moment. I recognized that now.
He was the past, so dark I had to bury it to keep moving forward.
He was the present, so bleak I had to shut my eyes against the spark of what could’ve been.
And the future … so unsure that dread had latched onto him as the cause.
But as I looked at him now—head bound, blond curls matted against the stark white of his pillow, chest rising and falling, bathed in the foul fog of Browne House—fear gripped my gut.
I shook my head and circumvented the bed before perching on the edge of the mattress.
I had to face it. For Diarmuid. To save him.
And with a final breath for courage, I lay back and rolled onto my side to face him—the man I’d once loved and cherished—and took his hand in mine.
“Show me. Make him remember,” I called, and in the recess of my mind, the Cailleach purred with pleasure.