Wild Irish Rebel (7 page)

"The cove is glowing," Morgan said quietly, her sobs coming more softly as a new and very real pain lashed through her lower back.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…I think that I'm going into labor," Morgan said, her eyes wide with shock as she brought her hand to her back, standing slowly on the beach, staring into the waters, willing her mother to come back and help her.

"You can get through this, Morgan. Remember, we are all here because you birthed this child," Fiona reminded her.

"I don't know what to do. How can I do this without her? She left me!" Morgan screamed her anger and fear into the breeze that whipped around her, blowing her hair back from her face. The cove continued to pulse with a brilliant blue light.

"You can leave, you can come home," Fiona whispered.

"No, I have to do this," Morgan panted, walking the cove, staring at the water, silently blaming her mother for leaving her.

"I will coach you through it," Fiona said gently.

Morgan began to breathe, letting out little puffs of air as she walked the beach for hours, rubbing her back, crying as pain lashed through her.

"It's close. She's close," Morgan said, wondering how she knew that she was having a daughter.

"Why don't you kneel down," Fiona suggested.

"I have to go into the water," Morgan said, stumbling into the waves. The blue light surrounded her as she stood waist deep in the water and screamed, throwing her head back to the sky, crying out as she pushed her baby into the world. Bending over, she helped her daughter from her body, pulling her from the water that was lit from within.

"Oh God, I don't know what to do," Morgan panted, immediately putting her finger in her baby's mouth and clearing the gunk out.

"Clear her passages," Fiona instructed.

"I just did. I don't know why," Morgan said, looking blindly down at the infant she held in her arms.

On a small cough, the infant seemed to come to life with a hearty wail, the cries echoing off the walls of the cove. If it was possible, the cove seemed to glow even more intensely and for a moment, Morgan found herself laughing down at the squalling baby, relief and happiness coursing through her.

"I'll never leave you, little one. I'll always be with you," Morgan promised her, pulling her dress down to help her daughter begin to nurse. The joy of motherhood pierced her, cutting through her anger with Grace for leaving her, and in a small way, it began the path of healing her pain from losing Grace.

"Do you need to stay there anymore? Did you get what you needed?" Fiona asked.

Morgan turned and began to walk gingerly out of the water with her baby in her arms. Scanning the rock walls, she wondered how she would get out of here. Or even take care of her own body's physical needs.

But a part of her knew that it was time for her to go.

"It's time." Morgan nodded.

"Then I'd like you to turn back to the room that you came from, where the staircase is."

Morgan turned and saw the large cutout in the rock wall, the wrought-iron spiral staircase highlighted in the middle. Hesitantly, she stepped towards the staircase, crossing the sand with her baby in her arms.

"What will happen to my baby?" Morgan exclaimed, looking down at the infant in her arms.

"She's safe. I promise. Now go to the bottom of the stairs. Once there, you'll see that the infant is no longer in your arms."

Morgan stepped to the bottom of the staircase and looking down again, she was surprised to see that Fiona was right. Her baby was gone, as were the robes she had been wearing. Her normal clothes were back on her body. Whipping her head around, she looked out onto the beach and saw a brief glimmer of a maroon robe walking down the line of the sand.

"I'm going to count to ten. With each number, you'll go a little higher up the staircase. One." Fiona began and Morgan began to climb the staircase. With each step she pulled further away from the beach, leaving the anguish and loneliness behind her.

"Morgan," Fiona said gently at her side and Morgan blinked her eyes open, staring again at the rafters above her.

"I'm Maeve," Morgan gasped out, sitting up and clasping Fiona's hands. A dizziness washed through her and her head was swimming with crazy thoughts. Most notably, she felt a sense of excitement course through her. "I'm Maeve! I'm Grace's daughter! I know who I am…I belong here."

Fiona watched her cautiously and then reached out to stroke her hand down Morgan's cheek.

"No, you're Morgan McKenzie," Fiona said softly, concerned etched across her face.

Morgan laughed at her.

"No, I know that. But, I'm also Maeve. A part of me is Maeve!"

Fiona watched her carefully and then nodded.

"Come, let's get a drink. We need it."

Chapter Fourteen

"
Tell me everything
," Fiona instructed, as they sat once again in the rocking chairs, tucked in front of the fire, Ronan snoring again at their feet.

Morgan sipped her whiskey, recounting all the details of what she had just seen. Her head was spinning as she tried to remember every last moment, any tidbit that could be important to her.

"So now we know how the cove began its little light show trick," Fiona mused.

"I didn't know that it glowed," Morgan said.

"Aye, it does. In the presence of love," Fiona said and Morgan's heart warmed as she thought about the beautiful blue light that had surrounded her as she gave birth.

"It was a powerful experience," Morgan said softly, tracing her finger down the side of her glass.

"Yes, if you were to pick any moment in time to go back to, you sure picked a doozie," Fiona agreed.

"It felt good, you know, to see my mother, I guess any mother of mine," Morgan mumbled and buried her nose back into her glass.

Fiona raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course it would be. What do you think the lesson is there?"

Morgan shrugged, then forced herself to think about it.

"I suppose that I am here to learn how to make it on my own? To know that I am strong enough on my own?" Morgan asked, the words spilling from her mouth.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Fiona asked.

"Both?" Morgan smiled weakly at her and Fiona smiled back.

"I think that your soul needs to learn that it is always loved, no matter whether your mother is there to see it or not," Fiona said gently.

"So, I just need to know that I am loved and that I am strong enough – good enough – to make it on my own," Morgan stated, taking another sip of her whiskey, letting the liquid warm its way down her throat.

"Easier said than done," Fiona commented and Morgan found herself smiling.

"You know…I think that I am getting there. This helped a lot. It gives me a piece of myself that I don't think I ever would have had. So, thank you for that," Morgan said.

"It helped me too. I now know even more about our history than I ever have before," Fiona mused.

"Though I don't think that I'd like to repeat that whole giving birth experience any time soon," Morgan said and Fiona chuckled.

"You really went through the trenches on that. I almost pulled you so you wouldn't have to experience it."

"I think that I needed to. To feel what I would do to protect that baby in my arms. To maybe get a glimmer of understanding on why Grace walked into the water. It was to protect me."

"Aye, yes. Grace was a powerful woman. If people had known she was sick, they would have challenged you, fought for your lands. Instead, she signed over her lands in the right manner and chose a private death with you there. It was a powerful decision made by a proud and powerful woman. I admire her," Fiona said.

"I suppose that I do as well," Morgan murmured, surprised to feel her eyelids beginning to droop.

"Ah, yes, you'll be feeling the effects of your experience. Why don't you go to bed? I'll get you a nice breakfast in the morning. Tomorrow's your day off?"

"I'm supposed to go with Flynn to the cove."

"I'll give him a call. He's right across the way and can come pick you up, if he still needs you to go."

Nodding, Morgan stood and turned, not sure if she should hug Fiona or thank her for her help. Fiona smiled gently up at her, patting her arm lightly.

"I know. Go on now, rest, my dear."

Morgan was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Chapter Fifteen

Morgan blinked awake
, moving seamlessly from sleep to clarity. She stared at the rafters above the small bed and took a deep breath. She felt wonderful. It was the first time in a long time that she had slept peacefully, no dreams to shock her awake. Stretching, Morgan rolled to her side when she felt a cold nose press into her arm.

"And a good morning to you, Sir Ronan," Morgan whispered over the edge of the bed, running her hand over his silky ears and smiling when he lapped his tongue across her palm. Morgan swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room to make use of the small bathroom attached to her room.

As she washed her hands, Morgan studied her face in the small wooden mirror tucked above the pedestal sink. For the first time in ages, her moody blue eyes seemed to shine, and the skin beneath them wasn't puffy or marred with dark circles.

The past-life regression had been a tremendous gift, she thought. Though it had been terribly overwhelming, and incredibly sad, it has also gifted Morgan with a sense of her background – of where she came from – that she had never known before. And, a part of her was secretly proud of herself for having given birth alone and somehow managing to get out of the cove alive. She wondered what had happened to Maeve after that and made a note to work with Fiona about researching more of Maeve's story.

Morgan splashed cold water on her face and patted it dry with a soft cotton towel that hung near the sink. Feeling lighter, if not almost a bit wiser, Morgan wandered into the main room to see what Fiona was about.

"Ah, you've risen. How did you sleep?" Fiona put down a bowl that she was mixing at the counter and crossed to Morgan, clasping Morgan's face between her weathered hands and searching Morgan's eyes.

Morgan smiled and bent down to press a kiss to her papery cheek.

"Better than I have in years, actually."

"Really? How fascinating," Fiona murmured and turned to walk back to her bowl. Today the old woman wore a long woven skirt and a loose cotton blouse. She must not be planning to go into the fields, Morgan thought.

"Really. I don't know. I feel good. Like I know myself a little better. I don’t know, it's like my confidence has grown a bit," Morgan said, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down to prop her head up in her hands.

"Because you know who you are?" Fiona asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe it is because I went through the experience of giving birth and know that I survived. Or, perhaps it is simply getting true validation that our souls do come around again. It's comforting, you know? Kind of makes everything not seem so serious." Morgan shrugged, wishing that she could put her feelings into words better.

"Sure and I can understand that. There is great comfort in knowing that this isn't it for us. It's why people have sought out religion for thousands of years. We all seek to gain the knowledge that we are going to be okay."

"Yes, that's true. I…I think it will help me to not take myself so seriously," Morgan said.

Fiona turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You mean with Patrick?"

Heat crept up Morgan's cheeks and she nodded. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she thought about it a bit more. "With Patrick, or with anything. I obsess over what people will think of me, if they will like me, if I'll be accepted. It's one of the reasons that I stay away from forming relationships. I'm worried that people won't like me or that I'll let them down. I think that I'll be able to ease some of that anxiety now. Maybe." Morgan shrugged again and smiled up at Fiona as she brought her a pot of breakfast tea.

"That's a very astute observation," Fiona said.

"Ah, well, Baird's been helping me, I guess."

"He's a good man," Fiona observed.

"He is. I do feel comfortable with him and I love him and Aislinn together."

"Yes, they make a good team. He's steadfast and logical which makes a good contrast to Aislinn's dreamy, creative side."

"Yes, they balance each other well." Morgan blew on her tea before pouring cream into the cup, watching the swirl of light and dark liquids mix together.

"And how do you think Patrick will balance you?"

Morgan felt a sliver or excitement go through her before panic set in. She gripped the mug and stared down at its contents, unsure of what she thought.

"I don't know. I've never been in a relationship before. I don't know how to," Morgan admitted.

"Why don't you start by making him dinner?" Fiona suggested as she slid a plate with a Full Irish in front of Morgan. Morgan stared down at all of the food in dismay and then looked up at Fiona, her heart in her eyes.

"I…I don't know how to cook."

Fiona stopped and stared at her, her mouth open in surprise. She clenched her hands into fists and placed them on her hips.

"Now that is positively un-Irish. Alright then, I see we have a lot of work to do. Can you stay here today? I'll teach you a meal and one trick for controlling your powers when Patrick kisses you. It will at least start you in the right direction."

Warmth spread through Morgan and she smiled up at Fiona, grateful for her, happy that Aislinn had pushed her into coming out here. It had been the right step for her and Morgan wondered why she had fought it for so many months.

"I'm assuming Flynn doesn't need me today as it's already mid-morning?"

Fiona lifted a hand and waved it in the air.

"I told him that I was stealing you for today. He was fine with it."

For a moment, Morgan felt angry that Fiona had made this decision for her. Then she remembered that she wasn't supposed to take things so seriously, and she let the anger go. Flynn would understand. She'd still be able to work with him next week. It would all be okay. Blowing out a small breath, she smiled at Fiona before digging in to her eggs before they got cold.

"So what do you eat then?" Fiona asked.  "You've a lovely figure, but I wonder if you are getting enough nutrition."

Morgan rolled her eyes and laughed, but it felt good, knowing that someone cared about her health.

"I eat fairly simply. Apples, carrots, those kinds of grab-and-go healthy foods. Sandwiches with some meat. That type of stuff. I don't eat a lot so my grocery bill isn't much." Morgan shrugged.

"Do you know how to cook meat?" Fiona asked, her head cocked.

"Not really. In a pan?" Morgan asked and Fiona sighed.

"Okay, let's start simple. Men are fairly easy to please so I am thinking spaghetti and meatballs along with some garlic bread should do the trick. What is your kitchen like? Do you have a stove?"

"I do, though it is tiny. I was surprised though. I just expected a cook top or something of that nature, but I have an oven. Shane outfits his properties well," Morgan said.

"Aye, perfect. Okay, we'll start your lessons when you are finished."

Morgan looked down at her plate, surprised to see that she had eaten her way through two-thirds of the food. Pushing it away, she stood and took the plate to the sink.

"I'm finished. Usually I just have a banana for breakfast." Morgan shrugged and rinsed her plate in the sink, her eyes drawn to the view of the cove. "Sure and this is a lovely spot to cook at. Just look at that view."

Fiona joined her at the sink and looked out of the window with her.

"It is. I once tried to live away from here, and it just never felt right. After my husband passed, it made no sense to try and live in the city anymore. This spot is home. It makes my heart happy and that is all that matters to me."

"Do you miss him?" Morgan asked, turning to look down at Fiona.

"Aye, at times, I miss him so badly that I want to curl up in a ball and die. I don't know if that ever goes away. But, it's been over thirty years since he's been gone. You learn to live with it, even if you don't want to."

"What was he like?"

"Oh, John was just…larger than life. His laughter, his heart, he did everything big. Our house was always full with friends; he was legendary for his stories. I miss him," Fiona said simply and turned to put the dishes on the drying rack. "Alright, enough reminiscing. Which do you want to start with? Cooking or learning to control your powers?"

Morgan straightened, her palms feeling a little sweaty, as she tried to decide which would be the lesser of two evils.

"Powers." She decided.

Fiona nodded and motioned for Morgan to follow her. They reached the door leading outside and Fiona snagged a worn leather book, the same she had been reading the night before, from the table before opening the door and allowing Ronan to dart out into the sunshine. Together, they stepped outside and Morgan followed Fiona around the cottage to where a small table and chairs were set next to the cottage. Morgan smiled as Ronan raced across the fields and then gasped as another dog shot across the ridge behind them and down into the field to meet up with Ronan.

"That's Teagan, Flynn and Keelin's dog. She and Ronan are best friends."

Morgan watched them circle each other and then race across the fields together, their ears streaming back in the wind. It pinched at her heart, just a bit. She wanted to have that freedom and ease with someone in her life.

They settled onto the chairs and Morgan closed her eyes for a bit, reaching out with her power in her mind to allow the energy of nature to pulse at her. If someone had asked what she was doing, she wouldn't have been able to explain it. At best, it was almost like feeling the energy of the natural world. She did this sometimes, usually when she was angry or upset, and it soothed her. There was something so raw and beautiful about nature and the energy that it emitted that it would inevitably calm her down and show her how petty her anger was.

"What are you doing?" Fiona asked.

Morgan opened her eyes and smiled at Fiona and shrugged. "Just, uh, feeling the energy here, I guess."

"Like Aislinn then? You know that is part of how she paints, right?"

"Yes, I suppose that it is the same. Though I'm not creative like she is." Morgan shrugged.

"I find it fascinating that you have a touch of what each of my girls have. Except, I haven't asked you about the healing. Can you heal?"

"I honestly don't know. I've never tried."

"Do you ever get scrapes or bruises and massage them with your hand? They disappear right after?"

Morgan thought about it. She was often scraping herself throughout the day on Flynn's fishing boats. It was normal for those in an active lifestyle and she didn't know many fishermen that weren't used to nicks and scrapes as part of their daily routine. She looked down at her arms, and saw no marks there.

"I suppose that I do, though I've never though about it. In fact, I have no scars anywhere," Morgan said, looking down at herself and lifting her arms to look.

Her heart stopped.

Just for a second, panic raced through her.
Breathe, Morgan, just breathe
, she told herself.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Fiona said, standing over her, running her hands over Morgan's body, feeling for something.

Morgan held up her left hand, palm up. A thin white ridge sliced across her palm, a scar that looked like it had been there forever.

Except it hadn't.

Fiona reached for her hand, running her finger over the smooth white line that broke the creases in her palm.

"This wasn't there yesterday, was it?"

Morgan shook her head, unable to comprehend how living through a remembered past in her soul could bring to surface the scar.

"This is powerful magick," Fiona whispered and leaned down to press a kiss to Morgan's palm. "This is also an incredible gift. I think she wanted you to remember that you aren't alone. Whenever you doubt yourself or feel lonely, look down at that scar and know that you are loved."

Morgan swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat, unable to comprehend or process all of the emotions that were swarming through her.  She closed her palm and brought it to her lap, running her fingers over the smooth ridge in her palm. As a reminder, it was a brilliant one.

"How could this happen? I don't understand," Morgan said.

"I don't quite know. Yet, the power of Grace O'Malley never ceases to surprise me."

Turning, Fiona gestured to the objects she had placed on the table. A few rocks, a crystal, a stick, and a cup.

"First, I'd like to see how your power works. You're the first that I know of that can move inanimate objects. Can you do that for me?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow at her and then, reaching out with her mind, she visualized the cup rising into the air. The cup did as she asked, hovering two feet above the table, staying completely still in the air.

"Wow, just wow," Fiona murmured. "It doesn't even shake."

"I can hold it like this while I talk," Morgan said, not looking at the cup; instead her eyes followed the dogs across the fields.

"So you don't even have to watch it?"

"Nope." Morgan shrugged.

"Can you hold more than one thing at a time?"