Page 51 of Beat of Love
“Hmm. Saoirse was the daughter of a blacksmith in a nearby village, totally unsuited as wife to the next chieftain. Besides, he was betrothed to the daughter of a local landowner. My great-grandmother. Dónal married his fiancée, and they had one child, a daughter, Maebh, my grandmother, before he died.”
“He died young. How?”
“From injuries sustained during a fierce battle. He passed away clutching the miniature of his Saoirse.”
“That’s a sad tale, Mammy.” He tilted his head, figuring the wily woman had a reason to tell him the story. “But there’s more …?”
“The battle he died in … A rival chieftain pillaged the village, kidnapping women and children, among them Saoirse.Dónal led the rescue.”
“Did he save her? And the other women and children?”
“He did. But knowing his wounds were fatal, he ordered his captain to see Saoirse to safety.”
“And?” he prodded when she remained silent.
Mammy shrugged. “His captain and Saoirse were never seen again.”
“Oh. That’s rather … anti-climactic.”
“My great-grandmother ordered the miniature destroyed, but my grandmother, a woman who had inheritedhergrandmother’s powers, couldn’t bring herself to follow her mother’s orders and saved it.”
Curious, he asked, “And what happened to the portrait, Mammy?”
“I have it.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a faded dark green velvet pouch. “But it belongs to you.”
“It belongs to …me?”
She met his puzzled stare, her gaze so intense, it sent a shiver down his spine, raising goosebumps along his arms. “Yes,” she said, placing the worn drawstring bag on the table. It was no more than four by three inches, and judging by its weathered appearance, it likely dated back to the days of his namesake. A family heirloom. His to keep safe.
But he merely stared at it, for some odd reason reluctant to take ownership.
For fuck's sake, it’s an inanimate object. Just say thank you, give it a quick look, and then shove it in the back of your closet.
So why were his hands trembling when he finally picked it up? Holding his breath, he tugged the end of the ribbon, pulled the pouch open, and upended the small oval-shaped object into his palm.
He almost dropped it as sparks shot up his arm.
And the vision simply popped into his head …
“Dónal!” his beloved cried. Her unbound hair, a cascade of red, whipped about her face as she fought to get free and jump to the ground. But the man atop the stallion held her firm against his body.
“Take her, Fearghal,” Dónal rasped. “Far away. Keep her safe.”
“Yes, my lord.” His loyal captain took hold of the reins and snapped his horse around, thundering away.
Dónal watched until they vanished into the forest. Only then did he sink to his knees, give in to the pain wracking his body. The pungent smell of earth and copper made his gut churn, and the groans of men,dyingmen, filled him with sorrow. But she was safe. Their sacrifice was worth her life. He reached into his tunic, unsteady, blood-slicked fingers closing around the small enamel object safely hidden within the velvet bag. He didn’t have the strength to pull it out, but that didn’t matter, for her image was etched into his mind.
And as he drew his last breath, he whispered her name, “Saoirse.”
As sudden as the vision arrived, it left. Pulse racing, he stared at his hand still clenching the small oval painting, the edges digging into his skin.
Mammy lightly touched the back of his hand. “You okay?”
He lifted his eyes, shock still coursing through his veins. “I think I saw him.Dónal. Or rather, I experienced his … last moments? What the hell, Mammy? How is that even possible?”
“It’s not for us to question the unexplainable. It’s in our lineage, darling. These inexplicable visions of past or future. Sometimes it’s a blessing, sometimes a curse. But that you have such a strong connection to Dónal Ó Raifeartaigh does not surprise me.”
“Why?” he croaked.
