walls."
Sniffing, she tilted back
her head and looked into his eyes. "But wha' if this fate doesna
think me useful anymair?"
He chuffed. "Fate is mair
the paths we choose in life."
"But tis wrong o' me to
exist in yer world."
His eyebrows jerked upward.
"Is it now? Fegs, lass, wha' o' me? I'm a century and a half off
kilter!"
She chuckled. "Aye, we be
both ou' o' our elements here."
"No. You and I belong where
we belong, which is in the here and the now."
Two breathless men ran into
the room, Roan flushed, Winston's face the color of ash. Roan sat
on the settee to the sofa's right, while Winston hesitantly seated
himself on the edge of the sofa next to Lachlan. Deliah looked at
Winston through watery, troubled eyes, her chin quivering, one side
of her face pressed against Lachlan's shoulder.
"I didna want ye to know,"
she told Winston tremulously.
Winston was at a loss for
words. His breathing was erratic, his eyes dulled with worry. After
a few seconds, he released a gust of breath and raked the fingers
of one hand through his tousled hair.
"You haven't eaten since
late this morn—yesterday morn," he corrected, glancing at his
watch. It was just after 2:00 AM.
"I havena felt weel for
some time," she said, fresh tears brimming her eyes.
Lachlan stiffened and
stared off into space. His body tingled almost uncomfortably, and
his brain felt afire.
"How long?" Winston asked
her.
"Mair'n a week. I be sorry
to worry ye."
"Never mind me!" He cast
Lachlan and Roan a look of helplessness, not noticing the former's
eerie, frozen state. "We can't take her to a doctor. Bloody hell,
if she is sick, wha' do we do?"
"Don’t panic," Roan
muttered, then briskly rubbed his palms up and down his face.
"Wait," he said, lowering his hands, "ye're psychic. Can’t you
mentally determine wha's wrong wi' her?"
Winston eagerly took her
left hand between his own. He breathed hard in concentration,
moments later pressing the back of her fingers to his
brow.
"Please, God, help me," he
pleaded in a tight, strained tone, but the harder he tried to scan
her, the colder became his brain.
When a full minute passed
and no information awarded his attempts to screen her condition, he
jerked back, his face ravaged with bitterness. "Nothing," he bit
out, kneading her hand. "Ma mind's meeting wi' a wall!"
Lachlan drew in a sharp
breath, blinked and grinned a bit dazedly. "Uirisg," he said, staring down at
Deliah's upturned face. He saw puzzlement flash across her
expression, and repeated the Gaelic word.
"Wha'?" asked Roan and
Winston in unison.
"No," she murmured. "Tis a
myth, a legend among fairies. It canna be."
"Wha'?" both men asked in
unison again. They glanced at each other with frowns then focused
on Lachlan and Deliah.
"Wha' can't be?" asked
Winston testily.
Deliah sat up, her eyes
locked with Lachlan's, a wondrous expression glowing on her face.
"No, but I wish it be so wi' all ma heart."
"If someone doesn't tell me
wha' the bloody hell is going on, ma liver will burst through ma
ears!" Winston cried.
Lachlan passed him a
comically chiding look then grinned at Deliah. "Weel, lass, yer
wish is true enough."
Wide-eyed, she stared at
Winston, who couldn't decide whether she looked horrified or
ecstatic. Her gaze unwavering, as if looking into Winston's soul,
she asked Lachlan, "How can ye believe this?"
"I just know."
"Tis a myth," she said
dreamily.
Roan jumped to his feet,
scowling at Lachlan. "Wha's this uirisg?"
"A joinin’ o' God and
nature," Lachlan laughed and hugged Deliah.
She remained in a dazed
state, inwardly screening herself. Yes, it was there. Inside her.
As real as anything she had ever encountered.
"Lannie," Roan growled, his
nerves raw with concern, "there isn’t anythin’ funny abou' the lass
being sick!"
Lachlan put on an air of
affront. "Weel, me laddies, if you knew yer Gaelic like a good Scot
should—"
"Please," Winston pleaded
in a hoarse whisper of a tone, his eyes imploring Lachlan to
Sniffing, she tilted back
her head and looked into his eyes. "But wha' if this fate doesna
think me useful anymair?"
He chuffed. "Fate is mair
the paths we choose in life."
"But tis wrong o' me to
exist in yer world."
His eyebrows jerked upward.
"Is it now? Fegs, lass, wha' o' me? I'm a century and a half off
kilter!"
She chuckled. "Aye, we be
both ou' o' our elements here."
"No. You and I belong where
we belong, which is in the here and the now."
Two breathless men ran into
the room, Roan flushed, Winston's face the color of ash. Roan sat
on the settee to the sofa's right, while Winston hesitantly seated
himself on the edge of the sofa next to Lachlan. Deliah looked at
Winston through watery, troubled eyes, her chin quivering, one side
of her face pressed against Lachlan's shoulder.
"I didna want ye to know,"
she told Winston tremulously.
Winston was at a loss for
words. His breathing was erratic, his eyes dulled with worry. After
a few seconds, he released a gust of breath and raked the fingers
of one hand through his tousled hair.
"You haven't eaten since
late this morn—yesterday morn," he corrected, glancing at his
watch. It was just after 2:00 AM.
"I havena felt weel for
some time," she said, fresh tears brimming her eyes.
Lachlan stiffened and
stared off into space. His body tingled almost uncomfortably, and
his brain felt afire.
"How long?" Winston asked
her.
"Mair'n a week. I be sorry
to worry ye."
"Never mind me!" He cast
Lachlan and Roan a look of helplessness, not noticing the former's
eerie, frozen state. "We can't take her to a doctor. Bloody hell,
if she is sick, wha' do we do?"
"Don’t panic," Roan
muttered, then briskly rubbed his palms up and down his face.
"Wait," he said, lowering his hands, "ye're psychic. Can’t you
mentally determine wha's wrong wi' her?"
Winston eagerly took her
left hand between his own. He breathed hard in concentration,
moments later pressing the back of her fingers to his
brow.
"Please, God, help me," he
pleaded in a tight, strained tone, but the harder he tried to scan
her, the colder became his brain.
When a full minute passed
and no information awarded his attempts to screen her condition, he
jerked back, his face ravaged with bitterness. "Nothing," he bit
out, kneading her hand. "Ma mind's meeting wi' a wall!"
Lachlan drew in a sharp
breath, blinked and grinned a bit dazedly. "Uirisg," he said, staring down at
Deliah's upturned face. He saw puzzlement flash across her
expression, and repeated the Gaelic word.
"Wha'?" asked Roan and
Winston in unison.
"No," she murmured. "Tis a
myth, a legend among fairies. It canna be."
"Wha'?" both men asked in
unison again. They glanced at each other with frowns then focused
on Lachlan and Deliah.
"Wha' can't be?" asked
Winston testily.
Deliah sat up, her eyes
locked with Lachlan's, a wondrous expression glowing on her face.
"No, but I wish it be so wi' all ma heart."
"If someone doesn't tell me
wha' the bloody hell is going on, ma liver will burst through ma
ears!" Winston cried.
Lachlan passed him a
comically chiding look then grinned at Deliah. "Weel, lass, yer
wish is true enough."
Wide-eyed, she stared at
Winston, who couldn't decide whether she looked horrified or
ecstatic. Her gaze unwavering, as if looking into Winston's soul,
she asked Lachlan, "How can ye believe this?"
"I just know."
"Tis a myth," she said
dreamily.
Roan jumped to his feet,
scowling at Lachlan. "Wha's this uirisg?"
"A joinin’ o' God and
nature," Lachlan laughed and hugged Deliah.
She remained in a dazed
state, inwardly screening herself. Yes, it was there. Inside her.
As real as anything she had ever encountered.
"Lannie," Roan growled, his
nerves raw with concern, "there isn’t anythin’ funny abou' the lass
being sick!"
Lachlan put on an air of
affront. "Weel, me laddies, if you knew yer Gaelic like a good Scot
should—"
"Please," Winston pleaded
in a hoarse whisper of a tone, his eyes imploring Lachlan to
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