Night Games (14 page)

But Brian . . . During competition a woman could hold on to them, feel their strength with each thrust. Hmm. He'd said the women couldn't touch him. That was poor planning by the rules committee. Every woman should have one moment in her life when she clasped the perfect buns.

Perfect.
Ally's flight of fancy crashed and burned. Perfect didn't exist. She'd found that out the hard way. She hurried to catch up with him.

They found the donkey driver standing in the large opening at the front of the keep. Old, bent, and wearing rumpled tweeds, he turned to stare at Brian.

“Ye're a Byrne, lad. No one would be missing those eyes.” He peered closer at Brian. “Odd, but I've lived near the old place since I was a babe and never knew that Kieran had a son.”

Kieran? Brian thought about his history chip. Yes, he remembered a Kieran who'd had a son, Brian. In fact, the time-travel agent had listed Kieran Byrne as his father on his identification papers. He hoped Kieran and the other Brian didn't show up until after he left. “My mother
raised me. Never knew much about my father. Does Kieran live around here?” He hadn't brought the information with him, but he could have sworn Kieran had died sometime before 2000. And Brian hadn't shown up on his history record until 2003. He'd thought he was safe.

“Kieran's been dead these twenty years.” The old man cast him a sly glance. “He died in Boston.”

Brian allowed himself a moment of relief.

“He was a priest. So ye understand why I was after thinking he had no sons.”

“Hmm.” He offered the old man a weak smile. “Even the holiest of us can lapse.” Brian figured Father Kieran would be waiting at the gates of the beyond to punch him out for that one.

The old man returned his attention to the castle. “Aye, the sins of the flesh were a weakness with all the Byrnes.” He glanced at Ally. “Ye have a fine caravan wagon. It be a calm way to travel.”

Ally looked doubtful.

“Did yer family come from Ireland?”

She nodded. “The O'Neills.”

His gaze softened. “It's home ye've come. The O'Neills be a fine old Irish family, one that has the
bean-sidhe
, the banshee, to mourn their passing.”

Ally smiled at him. “My great-aunt is searching for Irish fairies. The O'Neill banshee is one family member I hope we don't meet.”

The old man nodded, but seemed to have other things on his mind. “There be many stories about
the castle and grounds. On moonlit nights many have seen the pooka, a dark horse with yellow eyes and a long wild mane. Those who've seen him say he roams the countryside around the castle tearing down fences, opening gates, and scattering livestock. A grand mischief maker he is.”

“Opening gates?” Ally looked thoughtful; then her expression cleared. “Nah, not possible.”

The old man looked offended. “Ye have not spent many nights here. Wait, listen, and when the chill of the night wraps itself around yer soul, and the waves pound against the cliffs, calling ye,
then
tell me ye don't believe.”

Brian shifted his gaze to the large opening in the keep's wall. The old man sure made
him
believe.

Ally looked doubtful. “I've never—”

“Ye have nothing to equal this in America.” He spat on the ground for emphasis. “Ye have no castle that has stood for eight hundred years, that has seen murder, treachery, and worse.”

Brian shifted uneasily. This wasn't helping him to bond with his ancestors.

Ally was starting to look interested. “Tell me one of the stories about the castle. My great-aunt wants to write a book about Irish spirits and fairies.”

The old man seemed mollified. “It was in the time of Cromwell when Donal Byrne ordered that the huge boiling pots the kelp gatherers used be covered with the hides of Tyrone oxen to make
drums. They used the beasts' thighbones to sound the drums all along the coast when Cromwell's fleet sailed into sight.” His gaze turned distant as he looked toward the cliff that fell to the sea below. “On a stormy night ye can still hear the drums warning of invasion.”

Ally looked thoughtful. “Couldn't that just be the sound of waves hitting the air holes and caves in the rocks?”

Immersed in his story, the old man ignored her. “It be said the ghosts of Cromwell's victims haunt the castle. The devil's own slaughtered them as they slept.”

The old man turned his gaze back to the large space where once the main entrance had stood. He touched the keep's wall, sliding his fingers over the rough stone, and Brian had a feeling the old man wanted to enter, but couldn't. That didn't make sense. He was probably imagining it.

“Donal Byrne escaped, but all others in the castle died.” His voice grew soft. “There was a serving woman in the castle that cursed night. It was only to take the place of her sick husband that she had come from the village to work.”

Brian took a deep breath, trying to dispel his unease. This was simply a story told by an old man.

“Her husband drove his cart to the castle when word came of the massacre, but none would let him in to claim his wife's body.” The old man turned from the castle and started hobbling
down the hill. “His heart failed while he waited by the gate for her body to be dragged out so he could take her home.”

Mesmerized, Brian followed while Ally walked beside him.

The old man stopped when he reached his donkey. “They piled the bodies in the great hall. There are those who say on a moonless night ye can hear Bridget's body being dragged from the hall. The chill of it will freeze ye as it passes ye by.”

“Thank you for sharing your story.” Ally looked as uneasy as Brian felt. “You never told us your name.”

He nodded. “Eamonn Clancy.” With no other words, he drove away, and they watched until he disappeared from sight.

Ally glanced up at Brian. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Yes.” Both kinds. The ghosts of those who'd died and the tortured ones who lived in his soul. But Ally didn't need to know about the second kind.

“Why? I'd think the further into the future you traveled, the less people would believe in the supernatural.”

He smiled down at her. “Not true. The more we've learned, the greater our belief in possibilities. Take the Old One and me. Once you accept that I've traveled through time and the Old One is a shape shifter, then you have to believe in things you can't explain.”

She sighed. “I guess that makes sense.”

He laid his hand across her shoulders. “We ought to get our soup and sandwiches before the Old One decides to eat our share. She's never had a delicate appetite.”

Ally refused to be led toward the wagon. “I need to take care of something first. You go inside, and I'll be there in a minute.”

Brian stopped, puzzled. “I can wait for you.”

She turned an exasperated glance his way. “What I was trying
not
to say was that I have to use your bathroom.”

He grinned. “I'll walk you over, show you how everything works.”

“I think I can figure it out all by myself.” Every word was a shard of ice. “I don't for a minute believe you want to help. You just want to see my reaction.”

Brian nodded. “That too, but—”

“So you don't feel cheated, I'll give you my reaction
before
I see it. Because I
won't
see it with you.” She offered him her I-know-how-yourmind-works glare.

“You know, you're not a whole lot of fun sometimes, babe.”

She ignored him. “Okay, here it is. I'll open the door. I'll look inside. I'll cover my mouth to keep from screaming. I'll pick my way through the statues of naked cherubs, sunken marble tub, and fountains in the shapes of various erotic body parts. I'll sit on the john while trying to ignore the paintings of naked women in need of six
months at Weight Watchers. Maybe I'll take a minute to peek at your magazine that tells me what men want and how they look when they get it. I'll flush, then fight my way back to the door past red velvet drapes and strategically placed hanging plants. When I get outside, I'll take a huge gulp of fresh Irish air to clear my nasal passages of the scent of sin.” She smiled up at him. “There. You have the whole experience. See you in the wagon.”

“You're a cruel woman, Ally O'Neill,” he murmured as he watched her walk to the bathroom door and open it. When she'd closed the door behind her, he sauntered over and leaned against the wall. To listen.

 

 

 

 

“What the . . . ?” Ally scanned the room. White. Everything in the room was pure, shiny white.

Talk about unexpected. She paused for thought. She raised her voice. “I know you're listening, Byrne, and this is too weird.” This
wasn't
Brian Byrne. Brian was color: intense, brilliant. Colors that soaked into you and played in your memory long after they were gone. She took a deep breath. When had she learned so much about him, and why did she care?

She focused on the only thing in the room that could possibly be a toilet and ignored the antiseptic quality of the rest of the place. This was not somewhere she would come for a long, sensual soak.

Ally walked over, sat down, and thought longingly about the bushes. She gazed at the phalanx
of buttons beside her. Which one would flush, and which would change her into a spider? Taking a deep breath of courage, she pushed one.

A scene materialized on the walls, surrounding her. For a minute, Ally didn't realize what she was seeing. A strange-looking stadium with thousands of people. Something about those people . . . She blinked. They were all bald. Every single person in the stadium was bald and . . . She peered more closely. They had pictures painted on their heads. If she could only get a close-up she could see . . . Something else caught her attention. They were waving things. At first Ally thought it was the large numeral one that fans waved to indicate the hoped-for position of their team. But it didn't quite look like . . . Ohmigod, it was a—

Ally hit the button and the scene disappeared. Just in time. Probably the next scene would be the competition. She didn't want to see that.
Yes, you do.
Okay, so she did, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't even take a peek at Brian's workday.
Because it would bother you.
And that was the biggest shock of all.

Scanning the bathroom, she realized something else was missing. No toilet paper. Oh boy. First she'd find the flush button, then shout for Brian to get the roll they kept in the wagon. Katy could hand it in to her.

She heaved a sigh of defeat. No way would she push another button at random. Time to yell for help. “Where's the flush button, Byrne?”

“The one at the top.” His shout sounded muffled.

Ally narrowed her gaze on the door. If he was laughing at her . . . She pushed the button and wondered why there wasn't a flushing sound. Her eyes widened. With a startled yelp, she leaped from the seat with enough forward momentum to carry her to the door. Pulling up her jeans, she tore open the door, then pushed past a laughing Brian.

Ally found her courage halfway to the wagon. She turned to face him. “You will build a new toilet, or I'll never go in there again.”

He shrugged, but his eyes still glittered with laughter. “It's the future, sweetheart. In my time, we don't need water. We vaporize and sanitize everything. Air pulses combined with robotics do the rest. Humans don't have to do a thing anymore.”

Ally realized her face must be neon red. “No one touches my bottom except me, Byrne. Remember that.”

“Hmm.” He still sounded way too amused.

“Why the white? After what you did to the wagon, I didn't expect white.”

“Earth's gotten a lot warmer in 2502. White's cool. Everything is white.” He stopped and leaned against the side of the wagon. “I like it here. The crisp air, the colors.”

Ally could feel his gaze on her.

“It's special.” His softly murmured comment incorporated her in its specialness.

Ally clasped her arms across her chest to dispel her shivery reaction to his words. He didn't mean anything by them. She smiled up at him. “Must be hard to be bad when you're surrounded by pure-and-chaste white.”

He didn't smile back. “Earth is perfect. No war, no violence, not even games that might result in injury. There're regulations for everything. No smoking, no drinking. All discomforts are gone. In your time, scientists learned how to clone allergy-free cats. We don't even sneeze anymore.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “It's a different story on the outer planets. There it's every man for himself. Violence, hunger. Earth doesn't worry too much about them. Maybe in time . . .” He shrugged.

Ally tried to keep it light, afraid if she looked too deeply, she'd care too deeply. And she wasn't ready for caring on a large scale. “So everyone on Earth lives a saintly life?”

His smile hinted at dark, warm places. “I'm the only sin in town, babe.”

Gimme a double scoop of sex with some hot sin on top.
No, she had to modify her thinking. He'd help her with her writing, but he'd made it perfectly clear he wouldn't make love to her. The only heat would be between the pages.

Something about his determination bothered her. She was a competitive person. He teased her with his sensuality, but then said hands off. What would it take to make him forget about his almighty contract and go for the gold? Thought
provoking question. Might be worth investigating.

One thing she had to know before they went into the wagon: “I pushed the wrong button in there, and a scene flashed on the walls. I saw a stadium, and people were waving oversized . . .”

“Penises?” He frowned. “Oversized? What made you think they were oversized?”

She blinked.