12
Happy Birthday
Lawson’s Landing, end-October
Happy birthday, brother.
Rafferty closed his eyes in frustration hearing the familiar voice. Get out of my head.
Ah, but today’s a special day.
Yeah, well, forty -year-old men do not communicate telepathically.
And the very last thing he needed was for his brother to probe his deepest secrets. Worse, share his dreams .
He glanced at the shrinking bulge tenting his black boxers. “Fuck,” he muttered and scrubbed his hands over his face. His dreams were unwelcome. Highly forbidden. And fucking disturbing. Literally and figuratively.
Bzzz-bzzz.
Turning his head to look at the cellphone vibrating on the nightstand, he debated answering.
Answer the call, brother, so we don’t have to communicate telepathically.
Rafferty swore again, surged upright, and grabbed the device, swiping at the green icon. “We agreed to stay out of each other’s heads,” he growled.
“I made an exception for today.”
“ No exceptions,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He stalked across the room and yanked back the curtain. It was still dark outside, but not enough to hide the blustery wind and lashing rain. Great, another wet and icy day, the cold front that moved in last weekend not letting up.
“Marielle sends birthday greetings.”
“And how is your charming princess?” He fought to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He’d yet to meet Marielle in person, but the couple of video conversations he’d had with her were downright awkward. How his brother fell for the uppity woman was beyond him. Marielle was nothing like—
Stop . Not thinking of her .
Bad enough Brandy-Lyn invaded his unconscious moments.
He shook his head, focusing on his brother saying something about a lighthouse. “Lighthouse?”
“We’re on Quoin, one of the small fishing islands …”
Rafferty lowered his head to the cold window as his twin enthused about his great life with the woman he loved. And he was glad Sullivan had found happiness. Truly.
But he couldn’t stop the sliver of envy piercing his soul.
Complacency had ripped Charlie from his life, and he had learned his lesson.
It was his penance to live his life alone.
A future with a woman was not on the cards for him.
Especially not his brother’s ex-girlfriend, no matter how much he was drawn to her.
He had gone to great lengths to avoid her since that night at Daisy’s.
“… need to go. Have a good day, brother,” Sullivan said, rudely interrupting his thoughts.
Straightening, he murmured, “Yeah. You too, brother.” He ended the call and tossed his cellphone on the bed. “Time to shower, eat, and tackle whatever punishment Aidan dishes out.”
*
Fifteen minutes later he entered a dark and quiet kitchen.
It was unusual for him to beat his mom, but his day had started much earlier than normal, so he wasn’t surprised.
He set the coffee to percolate, checked today’s menu on the chalkboard, and gathered the ingredients.
Soon, a pot of oatmeal simmered, the aroma of cinnamon and apples intermingled with brewing coffee.
Mammy walked into the kitchen and came straight to him. “Happy birthday, grandson,” she whispered in Irish, pulling him into a hug, a fragrant cloud of roses wrapping around them. It was the same perfume Charlie had worn.
Her hands stroked his back, light and soothing, and he exhaled, easing into her hold. They’d always shared a special bond. As a boy, there had been countless times she’d simply held him like this, steadying his restless spirit. And somehow, speaking in Irish only deepened that sense of peace.
God knows, he could use a little peace in his life. Too soon, she released him and stepped back. “How about fixing this old woman some coffee?” she said, continuing in Irish.
He grinned. “Old woman? You’ll outlive us all.” He poured them both a mug, adding pumpkin spice creamer, her flavor for the month.
“Thanks, my boy,” she said. “Did I ever tell you about my great-grandfather?”
Rafferty sat at the foot of the table, catty-corner to her chair. “Only that I’m named after him.”
“Hmm. Dónal ó Raifeartaigh. He was a chieftain. I never met him, but my grandmother often spoke about him. About his bravery and loyalty. And his great love for the girl he lost.”
“The girl he … lost?”
“Hmm. Saoirse was the daughter of a blacksmith in a nearby village, totally unsuited as wife to the next chieftain. Besides, he was betrothed to the daughter of a local landowner. My great-grandmother. Dónal married his fiancée, and they had one child, a daughter, Maebh, my grandmother, before he died.”
“He died young. How?”
“From injuries sustained during a fierce battle. He passed away clutching the miniature of his Saoirse.”
“That’s a sad tale, Mammy.” He tilted his head, figuring the wily woman had a reason to tell him the story. “But there’s more …?”
“The battle he died in … A rival chieftain pillaged the village, kidnapping women and children, among them Saoirse.Dónal led the rescue.”
“Did he save her? And the other women and children?”
“He did. But knowing his wounds were fatal, he ordered his captain to see Saoirse to safety.”
“And?” he prodded when she remained silent.
Mammy shrugged. “His captain and Saoirse were never seen again.”
“Oh. That’s rather … anti-climactic.”
“My great-grandmother ordered the miniature destroyed, but my grandmother, a woman who had inherited her grandmother’s powers, couldn’t bring herself to follow her mother’s orders and saved it.”
Curious, he asked, “And what happened to the portrait, Mammy?”
“I have it.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a faded dark green velvet pouch. “But it belongs to you.”
“It belongs to … me ?”
She met his puzzled stare, her gaze so intense, it sent a shiver down his spine, raising goosebumps along his arms. “Yes,” she said, placing the worn drawstring bag on the table.
It was no more than four by three inches, and judging by its weathered appearance, it likely dated back to the days of his namesake. A family heirloom. His to keep safe.
But he merely stared at it, for some odd reason reluctant to take ownership.
For fuck's sake, it’s an inanimate object. Just say thank you, give it a quick look, and then shove it in the back of your closet.
So why were his hands trembling when he finally picked it up? Holding his breath, he tugged the end of the ribbon, pulled the pouch open, and upended the small oval-shaped object into his palm.
He almost dropped it as sparks shot up his arm.
And the vision simply popped into his head …
“Dónal!” his beloved cried. Her unbound hair, a cascade of red, whipped about her face as she fought to get free and jump to the ground. But the man atop the stallion held her firm against his body.
“Take her, Fearghal,” Dónal rasped. “Far away. Keep her safe.”
“Yes, my lord.” His loyal captain took hold of the reins and snapped his horse around, thundering away.
Dónal watched until they vanished into the forest. Only then did he sink to his knees, give in to the pain wracking his body.
The pungent smell of earth and copper made his gut churn, and the groans of men, dying men, filled him with sorrow.
But she was safe. Their sacrifice was worth her life.
He reached into his tunic, unsteady, blood-slicked fingers closing around the small enamel object safely hidden within the velvet bag.
He didn’t have the strength to pull it out, but that didn’t matter, for her image was etched into his mind.
And as he drew his last breath, he whispered her name, “Saoirse.”
As sudden as the vision arrived, it left. Pulse racing, he stared at his hand still clenching the small oval painting, the edges digging into his skin.
Mammy lightly touched the back of his hand. “You okay?”
He lifted his eyes, shock still coursing through his veins. “I think I saw him. Dónal. Or rather, I experienced his … last moments? What the hell, Mammy? How is that even possible?”
“It’s not for us to question the unexplainable. It’s in our lineage, darling. These inexplicable visions of past or future. Sometimes it’s a blessing, sometimes a curse. But that you have such a strong connection to Dónal ó Raifeartaigh does not surprise me.”
“Why?” he croaked.
“Your name was to be William. After your grandfather’s father. But when I held you for the first time, I thought of Dónal.” She tapped his hand still holding the miniature. “And their story. And I knew you weren’t to be William. Open your hand, Rafferty. Look at her. And understand.”
Opening his hand, he finally looked at the woman depicted on enamel.
Shock raced through him, leaving him breathless.
He brought it closer, examining Saoirse’s exquisite features. Even in miniature, the resemblance was uncanny. Long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Plump, delicately shaped lips and green eyes. Flaming hair.
He tore his gaze away from the image to fix it on his grandmother’s. “How is this possible?”
“I saw the resemblance immediately.”
He lightly rubbed his thumb over the face before slipping the miniature back into the velvet. “Mere coincidence,” he muttered, ignoring the cold feeling snaking up his back.
“Maybe. But” — she leaned forward, locking eyes with his — “it might be interesting investigating her lineage.”
He scoffed. “For what purpose, Mammy? She’s my brother’s ex. That alone renders her out of bounds.” His laugh bordered on the hysterical. “Never mind all the other factors that make me a highly undesirable partner.”
“Some things are destined to be.”
“ Tsk-tsk. There’s no happy ever after for me, old woman.” He folded his arms and kicked back in his chair. “I am destined to a life of penance. It’s what I deserve. What I want .”
Nearing voices were heard. His parents.
Stretching out his arm, he flicked the velvet back to his grandmother. “It’s not for me.”