Celtic Evil: A Fitzgerald Brother Novel: Roarke (2 page)

“I thought you were raised
away from them.” Molly frowned, sensing his unease. “What happened
with the bird, Ian?”

“My foster parents and my
Da’s mother told me years later that my parents were killed in an
accident on Skelling Michael Island the day they died.” He turned
to look at the sky and tried not to consider the pain this was
bound to bring.

Molly sat down next to him,
frowning. “That’s what the talk around the campus always said.” She
blushed when she saw his look. “Your parents did have five famous
singing sons so their deaths got some attention, I take it, when it
happened.”

“Kerry was the famous one,”
Ian laughed then turned serious. “I was about eight, five years
after they died, when I heard Sybil and Brandon talking one night.
They were concerned about how safe I was since no one knew how long
my Da had managed to shield us from the evil that killed him and
Mum.”

Thinking on this caused
Molly to frown deeper. “Your father died…” She stopped to think of
the right word.

“I only know certain things
but I think Kerry would know more and that bird’s quoting about
‘the Five’ means something so I need to go find out,” Ian sighed,
shrugging. “Worse thing to come out of it is I find out I’m bloody
crazy.”

Molly watched her friend leave and knew deep
inside that whatever else Ian Fitzgerald was, crazy was not one of
them.

Fitzgaren, County Kerry, Ireland:

The Irish town of
Fitzgaren, not far from Kenmare in County Kerry, had been named for
the first Fitzgerald family that had settled there when it was
founded back in the 1600s.

It has always been said
that, due to the town’s proximity to the Druid Circle of stones,
the land had magical powers. These days most of that talk was only
in whispers but the older folk who remember way back when still
recall events, still recall whispers and are wary of speaking ill
of any of the family, be it living or dead.

Outside of the town proper
set the original Fitzgerald home, on the land where a house has
always set. This last great house was built some two hundred years
prior by Angus Fitzgerald for his young bride Molly, and passed
from son to son until finally Sean Fitzgerald and his wife Kathleen
took up residence, and then their son Toryn, and finally it was
passed to its current owner and sole resident, Kerrigan
Fitzgerald.

It was a large three-story
manor with over one hundred twenty rooms, many outbuildings and a
private stable. The encompassing wooded area had a stone circle of
its own and a private cemetery.

The eldest of Toryn and
Brenna Fitzgerald’s five sons, it was Kerry’s gift for song that
started his life in music. Fabled all over Ireland and the world,
he sang with his brothers until the age of nineteen when it all
changed with one fateful day.

Now at thirty-four, Kerry
mainly kept to himself at the family manor in the small Irish town
his ancestors created. He worked private businesses or investments
mainly as amusements or to take his mind off troubles, and as he
stepped outside to the cobblestone patio that was filled with roses
and other flowers planted by his beloved mother and tended to by
the housekeeper, he knew trouble was brewing closer than he
liked.

A cool breeze blew his
stylishly short blond hair away from smoky gray-blue eyes that were
also a Fitzgerald trait. Eyes that could go to near obsidian black
with anger. They could also go to pure smoke with power that he had
trained himself to keep in check.

Pausing to adjust a vase of white roses, he
caught his reflection and blinked. He knew he resembled his father
with his eyes and face but his light hair came from his mother, as
did his temperament.

He was tall at 6’3” with an
athletic build that the regular daily workouts kept trim. His
tanned face had a strong jaw and a firm mouth that always seemed
more serious these days.

“G’morning lad,.” the
bright cheerful voice of Deirdre O’Connor spoke from the patio
table where the ever-present housekeeper was setting up
breakfast.

The short, stocky older
woman had been a presence in Kerry’s life since he’d been a baby
and since the events fifteen years prior, she’d been even more
vital to him.

“Just a guess I’d be eating outside this
morning?” he asked curiously, his voice still carrying the accent
of his birth even though his tone could change easily.

“You always eat breakfast
on the patio on Tuesdays, boyo,” she replied, setting glasses of
fresh orange juice and strong coffee in front of him. “Just like
your Da you are, Kerry.”

Sitting down slowly at this, the innocent
comment made him think of the dreams he’d been having and know the
inevitable visit from his paternal grandmother was coming
closer.

“How much like him am I,
Deirdre?” he asked curiously, interest not on the warm breakfast
she was serving but on the memories he had of his parents eating on
this very patio; too many memories.

Sitting the tray down on a cart next to the
table, the older Irishwoman took a long look at this boy she’d
helped bring into the world and saw his worry.

Patting her graying red
hair as she took a seat next to him, she gently laid a hand on his
arm. “Your Da was a great and gentle man, Kerry.” She began easily,
a soft smile forming as she recalled his parents. “Toryn loved life
to its fullest and he loved his family. He’d be proud of
you.”

“Would he be proud that I
let her take his sons away?” Kerry countered bitterly; the one
thing he hated himself for was also the biggest thing he despised
Kathleen Murphy Fitzgerald over, “that I haven’t seen all my
brothers together in this house in fifteen years.”

“Your Mum and Da would know
if it’s meant to happen it’ll happen, laddie,” the older woman
replied, not sure what to say to comfort a man who was like a son
to her.

Kerry scowled into his
coffee, wishing he could see that clearly, but his gift of sight
wasn’t always clear and what it had been showing him these days he
could do without.

About to ask about the new mare that was due
to be brought in this week, Kerry was suddenly brought short by the
wave of pain searing through his head as the clear blue morning sky
darkened with black clouds and howling winds.

“Well, this storm certainly
blew in quick,” Deirdre spoke over the howling winds as she grabbed
for a plate of food. “You get yourself in before it
starts…”

“It’s not real.” Kerry
sighed, reaching for his coffee to sip when a strong gust of wind
like a hand slap took it from his grip. “Not wise.” He spoke coolly
as his tone began to frost over.

Deirdre had heard that tone
before in her former employer but not in Kerry, at least not in
awhile. So as she started to turn toward him, the large shadow at
the edge of the woods caught her attention. “Lord preserves us,”
she whispered, automatically crossing herself. “Kerry, do ye
see…”

The hand on her arm that gently nudged the
woman behind him said that the master of the house had indeed seen
the creature of shadow standing on the outside of the main property
line.

“The land’s been protected
by circles cast by generations of my family, so you aren’t coming
any closer than you have.” His voice had gone to icy frost with
power that came from both sides of his family; gray-blue eyes were
starting to change. “I’d back off if I were you, mate.”

Wind kicked up and swirled as the shadow’s
red eyes seemed to glow with hate but even as Deirdre started to
gasp, Kerry’s hand that bore a ring passed down from his father
raised and the wind stopped.

“Child’s game,” he sneered.
“You want to impress me, try something else.”

“Your baby brother has more
power than you, boy,” the creature seemed to speak from the
wind.

Kerry felt his blood run
cold then his eyes went to slits. “Mind your tongue, demon, and
leave my land.”

A mocking laughter came
from around them, as the wind seemed to sing. “You were born the
eldest of the five. Five into one, one to become five but it will
take only one to fall to break the circle,” it taunted, loudly.
“The weak one will fall. Will you fall this time, Kerrigan Douglas
Nolan Fitzgerald?

“Named for the whore that
brought you into this world, will it be you who falls this time as
your weak-willed father fell fifteen years ago protecting her and
the brat?” it asked in a sneer.

Feeling his temper starting
to spike, Kerry knew with a sudden burst of clarity what this was
and suddenly felt weak done to his bones. “You have no power here
nor does your master. Leave now and tell Sebastian that my father
stopped him for fifteen years and he should stay where he is
because he will not win.”

Smoky eyes showed with
power as Kerry’s hand moved and lightning flashed to strike the
shadow in its heart. “My father and mother gave their lives to
protect what was theirs and he still won’t hurt them,” he murmured
to himself as the sky cleared and he sat down heavily.

“Kerry?!” Deirdre was by
his side, concerned. She hadn’t seen or heard the entire event but
knew by the way his eyes were still slit and his fingers sparked
that something major had happened. “Are you alright?!”

After several shaky
breaths, Kerry finally was able to shake off the past and look at
the woman. “I’d prepare some rooms, Deirdre,” he sighed, standing
uneasily a moment before regaining his balance and heading for his
private rooms in the upstairs.

Before the confused
housekeeper could ask for whom, Kerry paused to look back with an
odd look of mixed emotions. “For the first time in fifteen years,
this house will have all five of my parents’ sons in
it.”

“Blessed be.” The older
woman breathed at that thought, unsure of how that would be, and
knowing that it could cause more problems.

Cork, County Cork
Ireland:

“I need to examine my own
damn bloody head for this.” It was hard not to hear the grousing
voice muttering to himself as he crossed the yard from the
stables.

The voice was strong and
with a light and natural Irish accent but seemed to fit the rugged
build of the tall and lean man it matched.

Patrick ‘Mac’ Fitzgerald easily vaulted over
the stone fence of his patio to see the reason he was muttering to
himself already setting up a tape recorder.

“Your cook said I could
come on out and set up, Mr. Fitzgerald,” a soft, lilting musical
voice called his way as Mac approached the table.

Maggie Cavanaugh was a
freelance reporter for a local newspaper from Mayo who had been
badgering him for months for an interview, and for some reason this
time Mac gave in and allowed the young woman into his private home
in Cork.

Mac had done enough
research on her to know she was a decent writer or else he wouldn’t
have agreed to talk to her, but he hadn’t been expecting the 5’4”
ball of energy with long wild and curly red hair that was waiting
on him.

“Yeah, well she’s not much
on guests so you’re lucky she showed you this far,” he shrugged,
sitting in a chair across from Maggie to watch her set up some
equipment, but what intrigued him most were the glasses she kept
pushing aside.

“Near or far-sighted?” he
asked offhandedly, figuring it was probably the former since she
had spotted him a good five yards away.

Maggie blinked bright green
eyes as she paused to think then she remembered the glasses. “I’m
near-sighted, really but I only use ‘em when I’m working.” She
replied, sitting back in the chair to look closer at her
host.

A professional writer and
reporter, she’d done a lot of research into the Fitzgerald family
in general and the second-born son in particular.

He was better looking than
she’d been expecting. He seemed more rugged with long legs. His
dark blond hair, cut very short, had streaks of a lighter blond
running in it.

She knew from family
sources about his singing career with his brothers and that it had
stopped when he’d been sixteen. The information since was sparse
and muddled except he grew up in County Cork with relatives and was
very diverse in his occupations.

Mac sat and waited,
figuring on and amused by what she was doing. “So, what makes me so
interesting to your paper that you’d spend months badgering my
office?” he finally asked, a small pull in his mind putting him off
slightly.

Looking up with a genuinely
honest and chipper smile, Maggie just grinned at him. “You’re
interesting,” was her reply, opening a small notebook. “You were a
member of the famous Fitzgerald brothers who even sang for the
Queen.”

“I was eight and hardly
remember that.” Mac shrugged it off, reaching for a glass of tea on
the table and shooting a look that clearly spoke volumes but if the
reporter caught it, she chose to ignore it.

“You’ve got licenses in
medicine, law and veterinary medicine.” Maggie went on easily,
looking up. “You seem to want to be a lot of things.”

Mac’s smile was easy, the
one he used when wanting to distract. “I get bored easily so I have
a lot of ways to go.” He poured her tea out of manners his mother
pounded into him.