Perfect Timing (11 page)

“Ah,” she said, the sound tremulous. Then, “Pray tell me—what are
tires
?”

That cinched it for Quincy. Losing what little patience he had left, he flipped on the stereo to end the conversation. At the sudden sound of music and lyrics, Ceara jumped as if he’d stuck her with a hatpin.

“Holy Mother!” She clamped her hands over her mouth, gaping at the dash. Then, apparently getting over the start, she leaned as far forward as the seat belt allowed to finger the electronic screen. “Where are they?” she asked tremulously.

Quincy shot her a wary glance. “Where are
who
?”

“The minstrels,” she said, her voice quavering. “Do ye have a crystal ball in there? I can hear them, but I canna see them.” She traced the square outline of the display. “’Tis naught but a box.” She fixed wondering, frightened eyes on him. “Do ye have people trapped in there? ’Tis cruel beyond words, sir! And all fer yer pleasure? What manner of life can they have, imprisoned in so small a place?” She twisted on the seat to rest her palm over the speaker in the door panel. When she felt the vibration, she jerked her hand away as if something had burned her. “Lord, have mercy. ’Tis a horrible world I’ve landed in, fer certain.”

Quincy had always prided himself on having a halfway decent imagination, but this gal took fantasy to a whole new level. Even so, for just an instant, Quincy could almost believe she truly was from the fifteen hundreds and seeing things for the first time that she didn’t understand.
Bullshit
, his voice of reason told him. If he allowed himself to buy into this poppycock, he was crazier than she was.

“It’s a stereo, for God’s sake. People aren’t trapped in there, and you know it as well as I do. We don’t use
crystal balls
to see and hear people. We use airwaves.” He’d be damned if he allowed her to play him for a fool. “I’ve had it with this game of yours, Ceara, if that’s even your real name. Don’t screw with me. You’re way out of your league.”

He increased his speed, signaled to change lanes, and studiously ignored her dramatic performance until they reached his ranch.

* * *

Nona Redcliff must have heard Quincy and Ceara enter the house, because she appeared in the kitchen before Quincy could divest his guest of the jacket he’d lent her. Nona’s dark eyes settled with glittering intensity on Ceara, quickly taking in the details of her appearance and dress.

“So,” Nona said, “you are our mysterious Ceara O’Ceallaigh? Just the lady I’ve been hoping to interview.”

Dragging a startled gaze from the many appliances in Quincy’s kitchen, Ceara straightened her narrow shoulders and clasped her hands at her slender waist. Until that moment, Quincy hadn’t realized how small she was. Compared to Nona, a woman of average height, she looked tiny. Quincy guessed her to top out at no more than five-two, if that. He noted that she’d resumed staring at his stainless-steel Sub-Zero freezer and refrigerator, side-by-side built-ins that had cost him a small fortune. Then she gaped at his double ovens, the two dishwashers, the steamer, and the microwave. It took her a full half minute to return her attention to Nona. “Ye have me at a disadvantage,” she replied. “Have ye a name?”

Nona introduced herself but didn’t extend Ceara the courtesy of an outstretched hand. Instead she led the way to Quincy’s office, where she leaned a hip against his desk, folded her arms, and gave Ceara a long, burning look. Quincy, standing just behind Ceara, studied the flame-red braid that trailed down her back to well below her knees. Convinced it had to be a hairpiece, because he’d never seen a modern-day woman with tresses so long, he searched in vain for a clip or comb that attached the rope of hair to the back of her head, but he saw nothing.

A fax came in, and Ceara jumped at the sound. Her delicate brows pleated in a bewildered frown when paper was ejected by the machine. The next instant, Quincy’s desk phone rang, and Ceara jolted yet again. When the answering machine picked up the call and a man’s voice came over the air, she weaved on her feet, as if she might faint. Quincy’s first instinct was to grab her shoulders, but instead he only moved closer to catch her if she fell.

Meeting Quincy’s gaze, Nona asked, “Do I have your authorization to question this woman?”

Quincy waved a hand. “Go for it.”

Nona relaxed against the desk and crossed her ankles. A stare-down ensued, with Ceara at the receiving end. “How did you gain entry to Mr. Harrigan’s arena, Ms. O’Ceallaigh?”

Quincy saw that Ceara trembled, an almost imperceptible quivering of her whole body. Yet despite her apparent fear, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and replied in a steady voice, “I canna say
how
I gained entry. ’Tis beyond me how it came about. I came forward in time to end the curse on the O’Hourigans. Begging yer pardon, the Harrigans. While saying the traveling prayer, I asked the Blessed Ones to guide me to a place where I would be most likely to find Quincy O’Hourigan, and the stallion’s stall is where I landed.”

A chill coursed the length of Quincy’s frame as he recalled his thoughts earlier about Beethoven’s stall being his favorite thinking place. And
that
was where he’d found Ceara, asleep in the straw.

Nona’s team members appeared in the office. Quincy quickly decided everyone needed to adjourn to the living room, where there was more space. After his guests were settled, all eyes turned to Ceara, who stood at the center of the room as if she were facing a firing squad. In a sense, that wasn’t far wrong. Quincy knew countless questions would be aimed at her, each carefully worded to trip her up and trick her into revealing the truth. He felt almost sorry for her but pushed the sentiment aside.

The interrogation proceeded quickly, Nona taking the lead and rephrasing the same question over and over again until Ceara began to pace in a tight circle, chafing her arms as if she were cold. Quincy had laid a fire that morning before leaving for the arena, but he was so focused on the drama playing out in front of him that he didn’t bother to get up and strike a match to the paper and kindling.

Spinning on a heel, her long green skirts swirling around her slender ankles, Ceara hugged herself and gave the same answer Quincy had now heard a dozen times. “I stood on the knoll by the stream with me family gathered ’round. Me mum was crying, with her face pressed against Da’s inar. He had tears in his eyes as well. ’Twas a very sad moment, ye understand. ’Tis possible fer druids to go forward, but never back, and we all knew we’d never see each other again. Seeing their grief, I almost changed me mind, but I had memorized the traveling prayer and knew deep in me heart that I had to go. I likened it to when me father and brothers went forth into battle, not knowing if they would ever come home to us again. I stayed on the traveling star, closed me eyes, and whispered the words, asking the Blessed Ones to guide me forward on my journey to a place where I would most likely encounter the man I sought, Sir Quincy O’Hourigan. Me mum and I—we had seen in her ball that he was the only unmarried O’Hourigan left. He was the man I needed to meet, no other. And the Blessed Ones granted me request.”

“So you didn’t enter the arena by a door, window, or skylight?” Nona persisted.

Ceara threw up her hands and widened her pacing circle. With a pronounced shiver, she passed the hearth, then spun back. She gave a flick of her wrist, and the kindling burst into flame with a muted roar, then began to crackle and snap. Nona gasped and recoiled. Quincy started violently and swore. An eerie silence fell, broken only by the pop of burning pitch.

Ceara stared at the flames as they licked higher onto the crisscrossed log rounds. Then, with a laugh, she cried, “Praise God and all the saints, I havena been stripped of all me powers. Weak as I am, I can
still
make fire!”

Chapter Five

Q
uincy couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. Instant fire with a flick of Ceara’s wrist? Frank, who had arrived a few minutes earlier to attend the circus, looked as mystified as Quincy felt. As if Ceara noticed the stunned silence in the living room, she suddenly glanced back over a slender shoulder, her glad smile swiftly fading. “’Tis sorry I am if I gave ye a start. I forgot meself fer a moment.”

His gaze shooting to the fireplace, Quincy pushed to his feet and crossed the room in three swift strides. How in the hell had she done that? He moved closer to the flames, looking for some sort of ignition device hidden in the kindling. He could detect nothing, but he knew there had to be something. He crouched for a better look. Still nothing.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

Ceara rubbed her palms on her skirt. “’Tis one of me gifts, the ability to make fire. ’Twas a mistake to use it in the presence of others, and I apologize. I felt chilled, and I dinna stop to think afore I did it.”

Nona joined Quincy by the hearth. She clearly shared his suspicion that there was an ignition device under the wood. She grabbed the poker to give the logs a good stir. Then she sent Quincy a bewildered look before resuming the inquisition. No matter how Nona phrased her questions or how many she asked, Ceara stuck tight to her story and never once got caught up in her lies. If it was true that a person needed a good memory to be a liar, then Ceara’s memory was phenomenal.

Eventually Quincy grew weary of the grilling. This was getting them nowhere fast. He politely requested that Nona and her team take off for the day and return tomorrow. Only seconds after the living room cleared, Frank, who had remained behind, got a call on his cell from Clint. He listened to whatever Clint was saying and grunted a couple of times.

When the call ended, he met Quincy’s questioning gaze. “Loni is home and settled in. Your brother sounds like he’s been dragged through a knothole backward.” He glanced at Ceara, who stood near the fire again to absorb some of its heat. “I think it’s high time we introduce our little guest here to your sister-in-law.”

Quincy nodded in agreement. Damn right it was time. So far as he was concerned, the sooner this fiasco was resolved, the happier he’d be. As convincing as Ceara was, he still doubted her story, and if anyone on earth could tell them for certain whether she was lying, it would be Loni. “I’m all for that. You want to drive over with us, Dad?”

Frank declined the offer. “I wanna swing by and pick up Dee Dee. I think havin’ her there to fuss over Loni will make Clint feel a little better. Maybe he’ll even see fit to grab a short nap.”

Quincy nodded. “We’ll see you there then.” His dad’s place was nearby, and Quincy knew it wouldn’t take Frank long to collect his wife. “Don’t drive like a bat out of hell. There’s no rush. We can wait for you to get there.”

Frank was already heading out. Over his shoulder, he said, “I appreciate that.”

Silence settled over the living room. Quincy heard the kitchen door click closed, followed by the tap of his father’s boots on the plank veranda. He planted his hands on his hips, stared at Ceara for a long moment, and then sighed. She looked as exhausted as he felt. He guessed that this had been a pretty grueling day for her. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care, but it was difficult to remain unfeeling when she was so pale and unsteady on her feet. He detested the thought of putting her through anything more—truly he did—but he couldn’t postpone her introduction to Loni until tomorrow. His hope was that Loni would touch Ceara, say she was a fraud, and leave Quincy free to wash his hands of the lady before it grew too late to take her back to the station and let the authorities take over.

Still, he had to ask. “Would you like something to eat, Ceara? I can rustle something up.”

She shook her head. “Loni, the one I am to meet, she is the sick one, yes? The one who sees what others canna.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

She pushed at a stray curl that dangled in front of her ear. In the firelight it glistened like copper. “I saw many things in me mum’s crystal ball.”

Quincy bit back a curse. So they were back to that, were they? He had to give her credit for being persistent. “Good,” he settled for saying. “Then you know I can be one ornery son of a bitch when someone messes with me.”

She tipped her head to study him. “And ye believe I am messing with ye? What does that mean, exactly? I’ve done no harm to yer home or arena.”

Quincy rolled his eyes and strode past her. “If you aren’t hungry, we’d best get going.”

She trailed behind him to the kitchen like a duckling after its mother. He grabbed his jacket off the coat tree and thrust it at her. “It’s cold out there. I’m surprised you didn’t think to bring a coat when you beamed forward from Ireland. At this time of year, I don’t think the weather is much better there than here.”

She accepted the jacket. “Snow in me Ireland is like a good houseguest who stays fer only a few days. It seldom gets verra deep or remains to bedevil us overlong. But ye’re correct about it being cold. I brought no
coat
—at home, we call it an inar—because it was too bulky to fit in me satchel and much too cumbersome for the journey I was about to undertake.” She arched a glimmering brow. “If I wear yer jacket, what will ye have to shield yerself from the chill?”

“Right now,” he bit out, “I’m too damned angry to worry about it.”

“Angry? Now there is a word I know. So it is angry with me that ye are? And why would that be, Sir Quincy? Yer Loni is dying. I am here at great cost to meself to save her. Do ye not appreciate me efforts?”

Quincy allowed himself a derisive snort as he ushered her out onto the porch. It was getting dark a little later now, with daylight savings time in effect, but it was still colder outside than a well digger’s ass. Bubba and Billy Bob, impervious to the weather with their thick coats, bounded up onto the porch, bypassing Quincy to sniff Ceara’s skirt and slippers.

“Ach,” she said, her tone meltingly sweet. “Ye
do
have dogs in this time!” She crouched and laughed when she received their wet kisses. “I thought I heard them barking this morning right afore ye let the constables take me away.” To the canines, she said, “’Tis so good to make yer acquaintance, me fine friends. Seeing ye lightens me heart!”