Chapter 17
Clare could barely keep her eyes open after her dinner and shower. Surprisingly, Griffin hadn’t tried to get away or demand a phone call to let his grandfather know he was safe. He slurped up the stew Sorcha had prepared in the crockpot and gobbled up Maeve’s soda bread.He was even a good enough actor to play like he was her boyfriend, looking through her Bronagh Abbey yearbooks and asking Sorcha and Maeve about their childhood.
She allowed herself a brief fantasy, that she’d met him on the airplane, they’d hit it off with casual conversation, and now, they were in the hanging out and getting to know each other stage.
Too bad, she’d ruined it fromthe get-go because she was upset about Seamus ripping her off, and she’d taken it out on the first arrogant rich guy she met.
Now she was playing catch-up. It would be a miracle that he wouldn’t prosecute her. She fully intended to restore the diamond to him, but only if she could be sure he wouldn’t suffer another seizure, lose control, and then be told a load of nonsense by his grandfatherand butler.
Clare retired to the room which was being used for storage. Maeve and Sorcha had piled everything up against one wall, leaving the twin bed uncovered. They sat with Griffin on the bed with Maeve handcuffed to him.
The three of them had been taking turns with the handcuffs to make sure Griffin didn’t walk out the door. She’d detached herself when he went to the bathroom.Sorcha took her turn when she and Maeve washed and dried the dishes. When Sorcha went to search for the photo albums, Maeve got her turn to keep Griffin leashed while Clare showered.
“Can I stay all night with him?” Maeve asked, closing a photo album from their Bronagh Abbey days. “It’s cold in my room, and I could use a bed warmer.”
“I doubt it’ll be so comfortable sleeping withyour arm in one position,” Sorcha said. She took the key and unlocked the cuff on Maeve’s wrist. “We should let Clare and Griffin have quality time. I’m sure they have a lot to talk about.”
“Talk, smalk,” Maeve complained. “Don’t forget I’m the one who tagged his you-know-what.”
“Enough!” Sorcha slipped the cuff onto Clare’s wrist, while Griffin gave her a quizzical look.
She had to remember he didn’t know-what, because he’d only come back from losing most of his memory. Although, could it be he was pretending he lost more than he had?
After Maeve and Sorcha said their goodnights, Clare threw a pillow and blanket on the floor next to her twin bed. “I hope you’re comfortable, but there’s no room on the bed for you.”
“There would be if you slept on topof me.” He grimaced. “Not suggesting it, but how are you going to dangle your hand off the bed all night?”
“I’m going to have to,” she said.
“I won’t go anywhere. I promise.” He jiggled his cuffed hand.
“Sorry, can’t take the chance of you walking out and hailing a cab.” She yawned and laid her head on the pillow, wanting so much to close her eyes.
“Why are you keepingme prisoner? If you were Brigid, wouldn’t you want me to find your heart and make you a fairy queen? Why waste our time hiding?”
She looked over at him in the dim light, and warmth came flooding back to her at the kisses they’d shared earlier at his castle. How far away in both time and place had that felt—as if they had been in another world.
Once she found out about his memoryproblem, she’d hidden the Heart of Brigid and headed to Griffin’s castle to test him out. He seemed to have forgotten about her—at first, but she couldn’t let him figure out he was supposed to sacrifice her once he had the Heart of Brigid…
She could not show him the Green Notebook. Instead, she had to change his story and keep it that way—which meant preventing him from having any moreseizures.
The answer lay with the Poddle Neurological Institute.
“I’m going to do right by you,” she said. “The first thing I’m going to do is to take you to the Poddle Neurological Institute tomorrow morning. You need help in managing your memory loss.”
His head jerked like this was the last thing he’d expected. Yes, it wasn’t romantic or fantastical or magical. But it wasthe plain truth.
“Why would you do that?” he asked. “I already have a system.”
“You depend on others to inform you of your so-called life,” Clare explained. “Wouldn’t you want to leave evidence for yourself? In more places than books that your grandfather or Pierce can alter?”
“You’re accusing them of altering my life?” He hooked an eyebrow up at her. “Seriously? You don’tknow me, while they’re the ones who’ve been there for me all along.”
“What if they’re erasing all evidence of me? Your precious Brigid?” She turned her wrist so she could take his hand. “What if I told you I was with you all of these thousands of years?”
“Were you?”
“What do you feel in your heart?” She clasped his hand and rubbed it against her face. “Can you find a sliverof me in your memory?”
