Wild Irish Rebel (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

It might be from
your ancestors. Morgan shook her head again as she sipped on a small glass of whiskey in the reading cove of Fiona's cottage. A cheerful fire burned in the stove, warding off the hint of chill that still clung in the early spring evenings. Ronan curled at her feet, every once in a while letting out a sleepy snort, his feet moving with his puppy dreams.

It was perhaps the most comfortable and most welcoming place that Morgan had ever been in. If Fiona truly meant her words, then Morgan could start to consider this cottage like a second home.

She'd always been jealous of her schoolmates and how they'd so casually mentioned going home to their family, or talked about what posters they were putting up in their rooms. The best Morgan could ever do was briefly mention a place that she was staying at. And, most of those homes had strict rules. Posters of cute movie stars had never been taped to her walls. She'd grown so used to being on her own that being welcomed into a home by Fiona as part of her brood that she watched over was a surreal experience.

And a welcome one.

"Ah, okay, I think that I may have found something. Though, I need to dig a little deeper. Can you tell me more about your dream again…no so much what they were saying, but are there any identifying articles of clothing or jewelry?"

"Hmm, let me think about this for a moment. Usually I try not to remember these dreams at all," Morgan said.

"I don't blame you. But, if I could date this a bit, I might have a better idea whose experience you are reliving."

Morgan shuddered a bit, thinking about how someone else had gone through even worse treatment than she had.

"I remember dark robes, crosses of course, and a silver and gold cup of sorts."

Fiona peered at her over her worn leather book.

"Like a chalice?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be a good word for it. Yes, a chalice of sorts. It held the holy water with which they continue to draw crosses on my naked body."

"Were there any identifying marks on the chalice?'"

"Hmm, I guess it is hard to say. I know that it was silver with a gold band around it. There were probably marks but you'd have to be really close to it to see all of the design work."

"Does it look something like this?"

Fiona turned the book around and Morgan gasped at the hand drawing of an intricately designed chalice. The ink color was aged to a light brown and the paper that it was on looked like coffee had spilled across it.

"Yes, that's it."

"That's the Chalice of Ardagh, my dear. There is no known written history of its use. Only speculation. Didn't you learn about it in school?"

Shock wove its way through Morgan as she tried to connect one of Ireland's most famous treasures with the chalice that she had seen in her dream. She'd never bothered to connect the two images, but now that she had, certainty rang through her.

"It's the same chalice. Oh my God, do you think that I may have historical information on it use?"

"You may. You know there is speculation that there are two chalices, right? That the real Chalice of Ardagh is hidden in the cove."

Morgan's mouth dropped open and she turned in the smooth wood rocking chair, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs until she was tucked in a little ball, waiting on Fiona's every word.

"I had not heard that. In fact, I know little of the cove other than it is for sure cursed, blessed, however you want to look at it."

Fiona cocked her head and studied Morgan. She took a small sip of her whiskey.

"What makes you say that?"

"Aside from Aislinn and Flynn telling me?"

"Yes." Fiona gestured with her whiskey glass for Morgan to continue.

Morgan shrugged her shoulders.

"I just feel it when we go in there on the boat. It's like passing through a thin veil or something. The curse, or magic, or whatever, seems to hold a weight. It presses against me a bit and part of me feels like if I held my hand to the air I could trail my fingers through it. I don’t know how else to explain it," she said.

"You're the first of my girls to feel it," Fiona observed.

A warmth slipped through Morgan at Fiona's words. Her girls. She belonged somewhere. The thought almost made her giddy. Yet, a part of her wanted to reserve these emotions. She'd learned long ago that sometimes if it looked like it was too good to be true, it probably was. She would proceed with caution.

"I think that I have more than one particular ability," Morgan admitted.

"Yes, you're definitely the strongest of any of my girls too," Fiona hummed. "We'll get to that in a moment. Now, the chalice. Grace's Cove got its name from the Great Grace O'Malley, our strong and powerful ancestor. She was credited with keeping much of Celtic heritage alive and was a phenomenal woman in her own right. When it was time for her to die, she made her way to the cove, along with her pregnant daughter. The night that she walked into the water, she and her daughter worked a very powerful magick. Adding to the spell was the birth of her granddaughter on the beach that very night."

Morgan gasped as she tried to imagine saying goodbye to a mother and welcoming a baby within the same moment. It was no wonder there was powerful magick at the cove.

"Those who know whispers of the story began to assume that much of Grace O'Malley's treasure followed her there. But, that isn't true. Only one thing did. The chalice. Now, what's interesting to me is that the same chalice was used on you in a dream. So, the question is, did it leave the cove at some point and was returned or was it used on Grace O'Malley during her lifetime? Because as far as I know, Grace was the one who did the pillaging; she was not the subject of any torture."

Morgan imagined that her eyes had grown to the size of saucers as she stared at Fiona so casually recounting the legend. It was hard to believe that these people existed in real life.

"Gosh, I really don't know. I am just learning about all of this," Morgan said and Fiona waved her words away.

"Of course, I don't expect you to know the answer to that. I wonder though…" Fiona tapped the arm of her rocking chair and studied the flames for a bit. She opened her mouth and then closed it, shaking her head a definitive no.

"What?"

"Ah, nothing. I was thinking we could try something to find out more information, but there is really no need to lead you through the trauma. All it would do is add to the story, it doesn't necessarily solve any of your current problems with nightmares. Though…hm," Fiona said again and pressed her lips into a tight line.

"Well, I can't really give you any feedback if you don't tell me what you are thinking about," Morgan said cautiously and Fiona laughed softly.

"You're right at that."

"So? Go on and tell me then. I'll let you know if I think it is worth it," Morgan said, gesturing to Fiona with her whiskey glass. The fire caught the warm honey tone of the liquid and Morgan admired it briefly before turning her eyes back onto Fiona.

"Well, two things occurred to me as an option. One is called regression therapy. Essentially, I would hypnotize you and lead you back through past lives. But, I'm not sure that would matter unless you were a soul reincarnated that was also a direct line of Grace O'Malley. The chances of that are slim."

Morgan felt her mouth hanging open again as Fiona bowled her over with her words.

"The other would just be a dream regression hypnosis. I'd walk you through the dream, get more details on it, and then figure out a way you can have power in the dream so it no longer hurts you."

"I don't know if it will hurt me anymore actually," Morgan said.

Fiona tilted her head and studied Morgan.

"Why?"

"I don't know, really. It is just something that you said…about my ancestors experiencing the same. It made me feel less alone and for some reason, the fear in that dream seemed to slip away."

"So it was the connection of knowing that you weren't alone that made it less scary for you."

"Aye, I suppose so," Morgan said, leaning down to scratch at Ronan's ears. "I think we should do the first option." Surprised at herself, she looked down at the glass of whiskey, wondering if the whiskey was causing her to make rash decisions.

"You do? Hmm," Fiona said and paged through her book. For a moment, silence except for the quiet crackle of the fire descended upon them.

"I don't know that I've heard much about Grace's daughter," Morgan said, breaking the silence.

"Margaret was her name, or sometimes called Maeve in the history books."

"Isn't your daughter named Margaret?" Morgan asked.

Fiona only smiled at her and resumed paging through the book.

"Why doesn't Maeve show up in the history books?" Morgan asked, deciding that she liked the name better than Margaret.

"We don't know. The last record we have of her is the night on the beach and that isn't even public record. She was frighteningly young when Grace died, probably only fifteen or so."

Morgan's stomach clenched a bit as she tried to imagine being pregnant, alone on a beach with no medical care, and having to watch your mother die as you went into labor.

"How did she get through that? She was so young," Morgan breathed, fighting back tears for Maeve's struggles.

"I don't know, Morgan. I really don't. I know that those were different times. People were stronger then. There were more expectations placed upon them, and surviving was a daily battle. I suspect that Maeve had already built up a fairly tough exterior by that point. But, my heart still grieves for her."

Something flashed through Morgan, a sense of understanding, a knowing.

"I want to do the regression."

"If you are sure?"

"Right now, tonight."

Fiona drew back and looked at her, laying the old book in her lap.

"Why tonight?"

"It seems as though I am on a path of enlightenment today. Why stop now?" Morgan shrugged, unable to put into words her feeling of absolute certainty that she needed to do this regression tonight.

"I don’t know if it is wise, Morgan. I feel that since you already feel better about your nightmares, it might be best to leave well enough alone."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Morgan asked, realizing that she sounded like a line in a B horror movie, right before the hapless lead character enters the woods.

"You might find out something that could change you forever."

Chapter Thirteen

"that might be a good thing,"
Morgan found herself saying, surprised that she felt that way. "Maybe, I need this to feel complete."

Fiona studied her a moment before rising, Ronan at her heels, to cross the room to the door. She pushed the latch down and locked the door. Morgan's eyes tracked her as she went around the room, pulling the shutters closed on all of the windows. Fiona turned and motioned to Morgan.

"Let's do this in the guest room. You'll be more comfortable if you can lie down."

Her throat dry, Morgan swallowed and stood, a strange humming running down her skin. She felt overly sensitized, like she was about to step into another world.  

"Morgan, I want to caution you again about this. You might not feel complete at all after this. Past life regressions often open up more questions than they do answers."

Morgan shrugged, affecting a calmness that she certainly didn't feel.

"It will be fine. It won't be the worst thing that I have gone through in my life."

Fiona stopped and turned to look at her again, her hand on the door to the bedroom.

"You don't know that."

A shiver trickled down Morgan's spine and she straightened, surprised to find that Fiona's words made her angry.

"And you don't know that this might be the best thing for me. So don't go all doom and gloom on me, okay?" Miffed, Morgan shot her chin into the air and sailed past Fiona into the bedroom.

A warm chuckle followed her.

"That's the spirit," Fiona commented and then went across the room to a small chest of drawers. "Go on, make yourself comfortable," she called over her shoulder, digging around in the drawers.

Morgan turned towards the single bed tucked under an alcove with a window that overlooked the water. Whitewashed walls and a hand-stitched quilt completed the simple corner, and in its own way, it was soothing. No distractions, this room seemed to say. Just be.

Moving to the edge of the bed, she sat, running her fingers over the intricate design in the quilt. Morgan could all but feel the love pulsing from the soft fabric. This was a safe spot, she could feel it down to her core.

"What do you know of reincarnation?" Fiona asked, coming to the bed and laying a variety of items on the bedside table. She turned and pulled a chair from a corner.

What did she know of it? Morgan shrugged. "Not much, I guess. I know that the nuns believe that we go to heaven. And I know that we come back in other lifetimes. I guess that I don’t know how I know that, I just do?" Her voice went up a note at the end of her words, uncertain, yet certain at the same time.

"We do come back. But, from what I gather, we come back to learn more. Each time around, we are working something out. Our souls have a lesson to learn while we are here."

Morgan nodded, watching as Fiona began to place crystals around the bed.

"So what do you think that I am here to learn?"

Fiona turned and met her eyes.

"What do you think you are here to learn about?"

"I…I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it. Abandonment, maybe. Or just feeling like I matter, I guess." Morgan shrugged off the words, not yet ready to deal with the emotions behind them.

"Well, I can tell you that you are worth something. But, until you feel it, my words won't matter much," Fiona observed. She sat and clasped Morgan's hands, searching her face with her brandy-colored eyes.

"Will this help me?" Morgan whispered.

"It might. But knowing is only the first step. You've a ways to go before you heal yourself. Let's see what happens." Fiona gestured for Morgan to lie flat on the bed. Morgan leaned back, situating herself so her hair wasn't stuck under her. She stared up at the wood beams that crisscrossed the ceiling above her.

"So, how does this work?"

"I will lead you through a few relaxation exercises. I must tell you that you will always be in control. So, even if I lead you somewhere that you don't want to be, you have total power to leave that space. Understand me? You are in control. I am simply your guide."

Morgan was grateful for Fiona's explanation. Control was vitally important to her.

"Okay, thank you. I'm ready."

Morgan closed her eyes and waited, not sure what to expect.

"Morgan, I'd like you to begin by taking a few deep breaths, just allowing the muscles in your body to relax."

She drew a breath in, holding it for a moment, allowing it to reach all of her muscles, before exhaling in one slow breath. Repeating this, she began to soothe herself, doing her best not to try and attempt to read Fiona's mind to anticipate what would come next.

"Now, I'd like you to continue breathing like that, but imagine yourself at the top of a beautiful spiral staircase."

Morgan immediately pictured herself at the top of a wrought-iron spiral staircase. It just appeared beneath her, and there was nothing but a flat black floor around her. The only way to go was down.

"This staircase is leading down from where you are now, to even greater depths of your being, where greater levels of knowledge await you, where the truths you seek are waiting for you, the answers to every question. Know that as you descend this staircase, all that waits for you is truth, support, and healing. I will start counting slowly from the number 10 down to 1. When we reach 1, you will have arrived to the place where all the answers you are seeking may be found."

The pull of Fiona's voice was lulling Morgan into a soothing breathing pattern. She nodded slightly to show that she understood and as Fiona began to count, Morgan took the first step.

"Ten. You will begin the journey down. Start the journey down to the deepest, most knowing part of yourself.

"Nine. Deeper and deeper. You find yourself relaxing more."

Fiona's voice seemed to come from a great distance as Morgan descended the staircase in her mind, excited to see what lay at the bottom. Her hand trailed over the cool metal of the railing, and she circled the middle support, enjoying the spiraling of the staircase.

"Deeper still. Deeper and deeper. More and more relaxed. So peaceful. So deep. So peaceful. So deep. So beautiful. So deep."

Fiona's voice had taken on a hypnotic chant in the background, and Morgan allowed the words to carry her forward to the last step, knowing that she was cradled in the safety of Fiona's great powers.

She stopped at the bottom step and looked around her. The staircase ended in a dark room, and she couldn't see anything behind her. Turning her head towards the light source, Morgan gasped. It was like an entire wall of the room had been knocked out and the gentle sound of waves lapping on a beach reached to her. Light from the sun shot into the dark room, and Morgan held up her hand to shield her eyes, straining to see what lay beyond the walls of the room.

"You are now in a special and safe place. Know that you are protected as you step forward."

Fiona's words seemed to carry to her on a sea breeze that tickled her cheeks.

"Look down at yourself. Are you wearing anything?"

Surprised, Morgan looked down at herself. A gasp shot from her mouth and she covered her face with her hand, gaping down at herself.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm pregnant! Hugely, hugely pregnant!" Morgan gasped out, completely in awe of the large belly that stuck out in front of her.

"Are you clothed?"

"Aye, I'm in a deep maroon gown of sorts. A woven cloth. It's seen better days, but for some reason, I feel like it is my best. I wear this with pride."

"A ceremonial robe?"

"Yes…yes. That feels right."

"What do you see around you?"

"I'm still standing at the bottom of the stairs. But, I can see what I think is a beach across the room from me. Should I go there?"

"Go ahead, you are safe to leave the staircase."

A thrill of excitement shot through Morgan as she left the staircase and began to walk towards the open wall. Instinctively, she rubbed her belly softly, making soothing circles across the great mound. Even her gait felt different, off-kilter from the weight of the child that lay within her womb.

The room seemed to fade behind her as she stepped into the sunlight, her bare toes pressing into the sand.

"It's the cove! I'm in the cove," Morgan exclaimed, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked around at the rocky walls that hugged the cove. "It's the same. But different."

"How is it different?"

"There are just more rocks piled up on the walls…I don't know. I don't see a path up to the top either. I wonder how I got here."

"How do you feel being there?"

Morgan stopped and thought about it, staring out at the blue waters as they gently lapped against the sand beach. She should feel happy; her baby was to be born soon and it was a beautiful day.

"I feel incredibly sad. Oh, it hurts so much. I don't understand…why am I so sad?" Morgan gasped out, feeling tears well in her eyes.

"It's okay to feel sad. We all do at times. Are you alone there?"

"I…I don't know," Morgan said, wiping the back of her palm across her eyes as she turned to walk along the beach. A figure seemed to appear through a mist, her arms outstretched for Morgan. Without a thought, she found herself lumbering across the sand in a half-joyous, half-pained trot, desperately wanting to be with this person.

"Mother!" Morgan cried out, lost in the vision, no longer hearing Fiona's words.

Arms embraced her and Morgan could smell a faint scent of lavender and sea moss as she buried her face in the woman's shoulder, holding on as tight as her large belly would allow her.

"Who is your mother, Morgan?" Fiona's voice broke through the moment and Morgan looked up to see a stunningly beautiful woman looking down at her. This woman radiated strength as much as she did love.

"It's Grace. Grace is my mother," Morgan whispered.

"Which would make you Margaret O'Malley," Fiona whispered.

"Maeve," Morgan automatically corrected her, knowing it was right.

"Maeve it is then," Fiona murmured.

Morgan continued to hold her mother, needing the connection, knowing it wasn't long now. She didn't want her to go. She wasn't ready for this.

"No," Morgan said, whispering to the woman who stood before her.

"No, what?" Fiona asked.

"No, I don't want her to do it. I don't. She's going to walk into the water," Morgan gasped, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"Why is she doing this?" Fiona asked.

Morgan knew she was speaking with Grace, but the conversation seemed to flow past her. A thought flashed into her head.

"She has a blood disease. Something of the blood. She's dying. It's her time. I have to help her," Morgan gasped out.

"How are you helping her?"

"Magick," Morgan whispered, holding out her arm as Grace slashed a shallow slice across her left palm, and doing the same to hers. Placing her hand to Morgan's, she squeezed tight as she pulled Morgan into a circle of stones. Grace smiled at her with love and placed her free hand on Morgan's belly, completing the circle. Immediately, she began to chant.

"What's happening?" Fiona asked.

"She's cut my hand, blood is pouring down from us, her hands are on my belly now; she is blessing my child."

Morgan's face felt sticky and wet with tears as she stared down at the marks of blood across her belly, knowing the time was now. Grace leaned over, kissing her gently on the mouth, before she turned and raised her hands to the cove, crying the words that would forever enchant the waters with her power.

Morgan crossed her arms over her belly, falling to her knees as her mother, her life, walked slowly into the water, her arms raised above her head as she continued to chant.

"I don't want her to go. I'm so young. I'm so scared. I can't do this alone. I can't be a mother alone. How am I going to give birth without her?" Morgan's words panted out of her, real physical pain lashing through her as she thought about her mother leaving her. "Why is she abandoning me?"

"She is most likely saving you from having to care for her as the disease takes her body," Fiona suggested gently.

"If she's so powerful, why can't she save herself?" Morgan gasped, watching as the water crept up her mother's neck.

"Because we all must die. And then we come back. It was her time," Fiona said quietly.

"She's leaving me! The water…no, the water is going over her head…" Morgan cried out as the waves lapped over her mother's head and in an instant she was gone. "No, noooooo," Morgan said on a keening wail, sobbing as the most important person in her life disappeared into the sea. With a flash of light, the waters lit with a brilliant blue glow, so bright, so stunning, that Morgan had to shield her eyes from it.

"Shhh, Morgan, you're okay. You're safe," Fiona said.