The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) (22 page)

Brigid squeezed the flowers. “What if something happened to her?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Sister Evelyn soothed. “She’ll probably come tomorrow.”

Brigid shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”

“Come on, Brigid.” She pulled her friend gently away from the door. “Let’s get you to bed.”

S
am went for a walk. He wanted to give Glenna some space, and he needed some time to think. He turned onto a crowded cobblestone street in the Temple Bar district of Dublin. Tourists gathered around street musicians that cropped up on every corner. Voices spilled out of the smoky pubs and the scent of hops and malt vinegar clung to the air.

He spotted an outdoor counter selling fish-and-chips and filed into line behind an elderly couple with thick Boston accents. He’d been wandering the city for over an hour and he still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something in Glenna’s story didn’t add up. It made sense that she wouldn’t tell Dominic and Liam the truth about their mother when she first moved to the island. But after everything they’d been through together, why wouldn’t she tell them now?

He put in his order and the battered fish wrapped in brown paper warmed his hands as he wound his way through back alleys and parks. The noise of the city eventually gave way to a quiet tree-lined street lined by tall brownstones with gas lanterns flickering outside the doors. He let himself into her building, climbing the stairs to her flat.

It was odd, Sam thought, as he set the keys on the table inside her door, that she didn’t have a single picture or anything that might clue someone in to who actually lived here. It was a nice enough place, and an impressive collection of her artwork—mostly landscapes of the Irish countryside—hung from the walls. But it was more like an extension of one of her galleries than a home.

He set the food down on the counter and settled onto the couch. He could hear water running in the back, so he picked up the untouched glass of wine and booted up his laptop. He typed in the name of the mental institution and clicked through the articles, scanning the accounts of the protest that shut it down. But he leaned forward when he saw the picture of a group of nuns shouting outside the gates of the facility.

Sister Evelyn of St. Brigid of Kildare Parish—one of the nuns spearheading the protest—calls it a “disgrace.” She says she won’t stop until “the facility is shut down and every patient is transferred to a new home that will care for them properly.”

“Glenna,” he called when the water switched off.

“You’re back,” she said through a crack in her bedroom door.

“Yeah,” he said distractedly. “Did you know it was nuns who started the protest to shut down the facility?”

He could hear metal hangers clinking together as she rooted through in her closet. “I did.”

Sam read the rest of the article and pulled up a new window, typing in the name of the town. “You said you checked every mental institution and Brigid wasn’t in any of them?”

A sultry tune played from her speakers when she switched on the music in her bedroom. “Yes.”

“Is it possible one of the nuns took her in?”

“I thought the same thing, but I’ve checked every church in the area. She’s not there.”

“There’s a town,” Sam pressed. “Only a half hour’s drive from here. It’s called Kildare. If any of these nuns are still there, they might be willing to talk to us. They might remember something about Brigid.”

“I’ve been to Kildare a dozen times, Sam. She’s not there.”

Sam sat back, poking around the town’s website. There was a cathedral devoted to one of Ireland’s patron saints—Saint Brigid. Now
that
was an interesting coincidence. Sam picked up his wine, took a long sip. He pulled up a new search on the church and skimmed through the articles. St. Brigid’s Cathedral was part of the original monastery founded by Saint Brigid in the town of Kildare, on the same site where many believe the Celtic goddess Brigid built a sacred well thousands of years ago.

Sam set the wine down. ‘
She’s hidden,’
Glenna had said.
‘Somewhere Moira can’t see her.’
His investigative instincts hummed as he toggled back to the church’s website and saw they were advertising several special events for a Feast Day in honor of Saint Brigid on February 1st.

February 1st? Wasn’t there another Irish holiday on February 1st? He typed in a new search and stared at the screen. Imbolc was a pagan holiday, usually celebrated on Feb 1st or 2nd, that honored the Celtic goddess of fire and fertility—Brigid.

“Glenna,” Sam called through the doorway, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I think we should go to Kildare tonight.”

“I told you, Sam, I’ve been there a dozen times. She’s not there.”

“Maybe you missed something.” He checked his watch. “It’s not too late. We might be able to catch a few of the nuns at the late service.”

He heard the gentle swish of her bedroom door opening. “I didn’t miss anything.”

SAM GLANCED UP
and his hands stilled on the keyboard. Glenna had tied a robe of sheer red silk over her body and he could see every inch, every glorious inch of her, through the material. Her hair was still damp from the shower and it tumbled over her shoulders in rich chocolate curls, teasing the tops of her full breasts.

She walked toward him, her hips swaying in the lamplight. “We’ll go tomorrow,” she said softly. “If it’ll make you feel better. I want to go back to the island and check on Tara anyway, but the ferry doesn’t leave until morning. We’ve both had a really long day.”

Sam stayed where he was, but his mouth went dry when she leaned down, sliding his computer off his lap and setting it on the table. His pulse thrummed in his ears as she lowered herself slowly to the couch, with both legs on either side of him. The aroma of sandalwood and vanilla clung to her hair, and his skin burned as she straddled him.

“Sam.” She ran her fingers through his hair softly—so softly every nerve ending inside him tingled and sparked. “I want…” she touched her lips to his, a whisper of a kiss. “I want to forget.”

A warning went off inside him. This wasn’t the first time Glenna had seduced him to get what she wanted. She had lured him back to her cottage the first day they’d met to distract him from finding Tara. His fingers dug into the couch cushions, but the front of her robe was falling open and her breasts were so close to his mouth. She was naked—completely naked—on top of him and he could feel the throbbing heat of her through his jeans.

“Sam.” Her fingertips brushed over his cheek, teasing touches that had him yearning for more. “I promise we’ll stop by Kildare on the way to the island tomorrow. Tonight, I want to forget.”

He knew what it was like to want to forget, to want to cut off the past and run from it. But he was finally starting to get a complete picture of this woman. He needed to back up, to slow down, to find that missing angle and shed light on the whole picture. There was still something missing from her story.

But when she laid her lips on his again, he was lost. Every candle in the room lit, one by one. The lamps flickered off, submerging them in darkness and heat. Her eyes, only inches from his, were honey-colored pools of desire as she reached for the hem of his shirt.

His stomach muscles clenched when her fingers met his bare skin. He ran his hands up her heated thighs until he found the ties binding the robe. He untied the flimsy sash and eased the sheer fabric off her shoulders. It dripped like a scarlet waterfall to the floor.

She was pale alabaster in the candlelight. And even though they were miles from the ocean, he swore he could hear it—the pulsing beat of the sea, the notes of her song twisting into his soul. Seawater dripped from the ends of her hair. Shells threaded through her curls. A string of pearls encircled her throat, and his fingers toyed in the long strands that draped down the front of her, tugging her closer.

Steam rose up between them and her lips, full and soft, brushed against his. “Sam,” she whispered, pressing her soft breasts into his chest. “Please. I want to forget.”

In one swift motion he stood, hooking her long legs around his waist. The candles hissed as his mouth captured hers. If she wanted to forget, he would make her forget. But he would do it his way, and before dawn she would be begging to tell him the truth.

GLENNA EXPECTED THE
soft mattress, expected his hard body to cover hers as they tumbled to the bed. But when her back met the cold hard wall by the door, she felt a wave of panic. No. She needed to do this her way, before she had a chance to change her mind.

She yanked Sam’s shirt over his head, exposing his long lean muscles. Her fingers kneaded into his shoulders, trying to push him into the bedroom. But his strong arms pinned her hips to the wall, and his mouth moved warm and insistent over hers. The contrast of his grip on her and the tenderness of his kiss had her mind reeling.

She couldn’t do what she needed to do if she let him set the pace, if she let him regain control. But he nibbled and tugged on her bottom lip, changing the pressure from tempting and teasing to desperate and needy. And those traitorous spirals of fire reared until she melted against him.

She ran her hands urgently over his body, imprinting the hard planes of muscles and bare flesh in her palms. His biceps flexed under her touch, his arms molding her body to his as he deepened the kiss. She felt the swell of emotions—those wings frantically beating inside her, desperate to break free of the cage around her heart.

But she fought them back, running her hands down the front of him, branding every inch of him into her memory. After tonight, memories would be all she had left. Her fingers danced down the rippling muscles of his stomach and she unfastened his jeans, pushing them down his slim hips and long lean legs. His eyes, when they opened, burned into hers.

“Sam—”

He silenced her with his mouth, wrapping one hand around that long string of pearls as his other hand came up to cover her aching breast. She fought the urge to wrap her legs around him, to let him take her right here against the wall. She felt herself slipping, tumbling as he skimmed those warm lips down her throat and dipped his mouth to her breast. Desire pooled between her legs.

What would happen if she gave into him, if she allowed herself this one night of passion? Her breathing grew shallow as his mouth moved south. He anchored her to the wall and knelt, the rough stubble along his jaw rubbing the inside of her thigh.