Chapter 32
He didn’t remember her.
Clare blinked to hold back the tears gathered under her eyelids. She’d hoped the kisses would awaken his senses and enlighten him, but even though he kissed her with vigor, and she could feel the effort he put into it, she was firmly groundedinto the current reality—not transported to a magical realm or filled with a symphony of colorful creations.
She sighed and broke the kiss in mid-air.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking nervously.
“I wish you well, Griffin Gallagher.” She caressed his grizzled cheek. “Have you no memory of me?”
The look on his face was intense with clouds of emotion Clare could notdecipher.
“I may not know your name,” he said. “But I know you are the one the stone speaks of. You are the woman of my heart. The one I will grow to love.”
He had no clue who she was, and what memories they’d already shared. But at least, he bought the story—that she was the one who would restore Ireland and reign at his side as his lover. She could count this as a gain, but couldshe live with knowing he didn’t truly know her, and therefore couldn’t possibly love the real Clare Hart?
“Let’s leave this underground bunker and go find your grandfather.” She sat up on the bed. “You should also let your doctor know you’ve had another seizure.”
“All that is a distraction.” He waved his hand at the surroundings. “I want to spend more time with you. Moment by moment.Don’t you believe each moment is precious?”
“I do believe that.” A pang of grief pierced her along with the acknowledgment that he’d lost the special moments she’d had with him—less than twenty-four hours ago.
A series of sharp raps sounded at the door.
“Griffin, have you finished the transformation?” Seamus’s heavy voice resounded into the bedchamber.
“Yes, I havemy Brigid,” Griffin said, standing up and beaming at Clare with pride.
“We’re coming in,” Mack said. The lock clicked, and the door handle jiggled.
Clare leaped from the bed, rushed to the door, and shoved against it. “How dare you barge into the marriage chamber of a fairy queen? Leave us!”
“Sorry, no can do,” Seamus said. “We areG.E.M.S.Guardians of Éireann. We need tomake sure the changeling is gone, and the real Brigid is restored.”
“Ireland is green again,” Clare said. “Why don’t you go up and take a look? Buds are sprouting; flowers are blooming. The waters sparkle clear and clean, and the air is sweet with the scent of spring.”
A clanging of cowbells sounded from above, and a part of female voices reverberated into the tunnel.
“Seamusand Mack, Seamus and Mack.” Two musical voices laughed and tittered. “We have the Quill of Niamh and the Hairpin of Aine.”
“Sorcha and Maeve,” Clare exclaimed. “Looks like my friends are joining us.”
“For what?” Griffin asked, looking dazed. “Unless I asked them to come.”
He snapped his fingers and slapped the side of his head. “I seem to remember a Sorcha person. They havemagical items.”
“We have the other treasures of Ireland,” Sorcha’s voice called out. “If you don’t catch us, Ireland will be doomed.”
“The Quill of Niamh will rewrite history,” Maeve’s voice echoed through the chamber.
“Howya! Let me shoot the Hairpin of Aine through your heart, and you will be instantly in love with me,” Sorcha shouted, although she sounded like she was rollingher eyes and twisting her lips at the same time.
“Griffin, tell Seamus and Mack they’d better retrieve those treasures. Sorcha and Maeve are slippery characters,” Clare said in a low voice.
“We’d better get those treasures before those dastardly fairy women steal them,” Griffin shouted. “Seamus, Mack, instead of worrying about my Heart of Brigid, shouldn’t you and your grandfathersbe guarding your treasures?”
His words worked, because the only sounds were of retreating footsteps. Doors slammed and footfalls echoed, along with shouts mixed with the tinkling giggling of Maeve and Sorcha.
