The shriek of a banshee, and the rusty taste in his mouth, the jagged flashes of black lightning and a thunderous clang of a hammer punched him to the ground.
“Griffin!” Clare screamed. She grabbed his jacket to break his fall, but he slammed onto the slate stone of the tower, and she fell on top of him.
She cupped his head in her arms, to stop it from hitting the ground. It was a struggle because he thrashed and flailed violently, like a wild bull in a rodeo.
“Oh, Griffin.” She held on to him as bestshe could so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He’d been about to tell her who his true love was, and even though she thought he was going to say her name, this latest setback would no doubt wipe even that trace of memory from him.
A tear dropped onto his face, and then another. Why should she feel this way over a man she barely knew? Why would she care about one who didn’t truly know her? He hadglimpses of heroism, love, and kindness. But each time he came back from an attack, he was a blank slate.
Or was he?
Footsteps clambered up the stairs toward them.
Clare recoiled, wondering how she would deal with Seamus and Mack.
Fortunately, two men wearing Garda uniforms emerged from underneath the stone arch.
“He’s having an epileptic seizure,” Clare explained.She stood back and let the officers take charge.
They spoke into their comm devices, and in a matter of minutes, more people swarmed around.
Griffin’s seizure stopped, and he was helped to a sitting position. He glanced her direction, but there was no recognition in his eyes—just a dazed and confused expression.
She didn’t want to push him, so she walked over to the officerin charge and asked, “What’s happened here? Where’s Griffin’s grandfather?”
“He’s in the sitting room answering questions,” the chief replied. “Are you the young lady who was reported kidnapped?”
“I must be, but I’m okay,” Clare said.
“We’ll need you to answer some questions.” The chief motioned to a young man. “Detective Donnelly, please take this woman down to the library.”
“Will Griffin be okay?” Clare asked.
“We’re calling the paramedics right now and will be contacting his doctor,” the chief said.
The detective stared at her like she was a ghost. “Why are you all in white, my lady?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m Brigid the Bride?” Again, she left out the Barbie doll part. “Actually, Griffin and I had an appointment with destiny.I’m afraid he will not remember.”
“Ah, yes, Griffin Gallagher. I know him. Let’s go to the library and talk.” The younger man gestured toward the doorway to the staircase. “After you.”
Clare’s thoughts raced as she descended the staircase. “What happened here?”
“We were called in because your friends reported you kidnapped.”
“Are my friends okay?” Clare asked.
“Oh, yes, they are fine, although I’m wondering if you and Griffin have a thing going?”
That was a strange question for a detective to ask, so Clare deflected. “I don’t believe this is any of your business. All you need to know is that Seamus O’Toole kidnapped me from Bronagh Abbey, and that he violently brought me here. Griffin rescued me, and my friends distracted Seamus and Mack.”
“Ah, yes, with tall tales of the treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I ought to arrest the bunch of you,” Detective Donnelly said. “Liars and temptresses.”
Clare came to a halt in the hall of gods and goddesses. She pointed a finger at the brown-haired man with the hazel eyes. “You are not a detective, and neither is the chief from the Garda.”
Whirling around, she picked up herskirts and tried to run back the way they came, but the fake detective was stronger.
“You’re a thief.” He grabbed her by the arms. “If I’m not mistaken, that is the Heart of Brigid around your neck. Hand it over.”
