Page 63 of Her Irish Treasures
“You don’t recognize it?” Warwick asked softly.
I jerked my head around, searching his face. “Me? I did this? But when? How?”
“This canvas was my first solid lead that you were near. I saw it on a student display in Crown Center and immediately brought it here to keep it safe.”
Stunned, I turned back to the painting, trying to see my hand in its creation. I did tend to pull on gothic or strange elements, and the darker color palette was my style. But I felt no resonance when I looked at it. No sense of ownership or pride of creation. “When would I have created it?”
“The display was for the Kansas City Art Institute. I immediately tried to find you there, but the trail was cold. My guess is that I must have just missed finding you right after the changeling made his connection. You don’t remember creating it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t recognize it as mine. It could be, certainly, but I don’t even have a faint memory of the concept, let alone the execution. I was only at the Institute a month or two before…” My heart ached, stealing my breath.
Before I’d given up on my dream and walked away from a full-ride scholarship at an art college. I couldn’t remember any of the paintings I might have completed in that first semester. So where had this painting come from? Had I done it before I got to Kansas City? But then how did it end up on display?
“How did you find it?” I finally asked.
“The magic called to me.”
Magic? What magic? I looked at the painting again. It was good. Captivating, sure. I loved the play of dark and light, and even the light had an otherworldly quality. It wasn’t yellow or even white, but seemed to carry light like a prism. Amazing work—but not magical.
Not like colors so bright they touched my sense of taste and hearing. Not like a Faerie queen who could dazzle my mind or a drink that could heal my injured leg. Or turn a man into a gargoyle.
Warwick moved his hand closer to the painting so that more light spilled across the canvas. “Look at the wonders you have wrought.”
As the canvas brightened, the shadows seemed to swirl and move. The light pouring through the doorway had movement, as if the woman was shooting rainbows through the doorway. In the dark silhouette of her dress, I could suddenly make out the flow of layers, very much like the gown that the queen had been wearing. Even a hint of tucked wings behind her back. Though her hair flowed loosely like a cape over her shoulders and down to the ground.
In the inner folds of her gown, a large cat blinked at me. Black cat, green-gold eyes, as large as the girl in the painting. For a moment, I could hear purring. Not from the painting, but inside me, a memory, perhaps. A cat curled on my lap, a thunderous purr rumbling through me.
The eyes winked out but the rainbows still flowed from the doorway, an active flow of light, spreading through the shadows in the border. Bringing to life more shapes in the darkness. Dark creatures with sharp teeth. Red eyes. Black sweeping wings and razor-sharp claws clattering on stone. Curling deep-purple tentacles writhing in the light. Flinching away from the rainbows—but still trying to reach the girl.
She held something in her hand, lifting it up toward the woman in the doorway. It glowed with golden light. A candle, maybe? Though as I bent nearer, trying to see through the swirling rainbows, I realized it was a paintbrush.
Me. It had to be me. Even though I couldn’t see myself in the girl’s features or remember painting it.
Warwick’s light dimmed and the swirling rainbows faded. The writhing shadows quieted. It was still a lovely painting, but the motion—the magic—stilled.
“Imagine seeing this in broad daylight,” he whispered. “Even humans stared at it in wonder, though I doubt they could see the same magic flowing through every stroke. It still captured attention. I nicked the canvas immediately and brought it here to keep it safe, hoping I could find you before it was too late. But I couldn’t see your face in the painting. I had no idea what you looked like or where you were. Only that you must be found and protected.”
He sighed heavily. “I failed to find you in time. Your light was already stifled. I had to settle for leaving the coins throughout the city, hoping that you might still have enough magic to find one and break through toShamrockedbefore they could kill you.”
Stunned, I couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. Staring at that painting—that I had evidently created, but couldn’t recognize—had broken something in me. Or at least derailed me.
That wasn’t me. But it was.
I didn’t paint that. I couldn’t have.
But I did.
“I admit that I fell in love with the creator of this painting long before I ever saw your face. There’s so much of you in this painting, Riann. Every stroke sings of the beauty of your soul. The way the light falls on your skin and sparkles in your eyes. Magic hums all around you, even though you’re unaware. I was obsessed with you, but I didn’t know where to find you. Until you walked into me pub.”
I swallowed the giant lump in my throat. “And then I saw the gargoyle on the shelf.”
He laughed softly, though it broke my heart. “I knew you were the treasurekeeper so it was no surprise. But aye, I felt the weight of Stoneheart’s glare burning a hole in the back of me head as soon as he saw you. It’s grateful I am for even a wee corner of your heart reserved for me.”
I turned toward him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and leaned against him. Staring up into his eyes, I let him see exactly how much he meant to me. The way my heartbeat surged whenever I was near him. “You helped me when no one but Vivi believed a word I was saying, even though that meant we were able to free Doran. Instead, you could have whisked me here to your Summer Isle forever, and I would have loved you without ever even knowing about the treasures. Which only makes me love you more, Warwick Greenshanks.”
Bending down, he cupped my face in both of his hands. Arcs of green sparked around him, a magical aura that warmed my skin. “And I love you, Riann Newkirk. I bring all the powers of the Summer Isle to assist you in any way possible.”
He slid one hand up into my hair, tangling his fingers in a firm grip that made my lips part on a soft sigh. Desire coiled through me, sparked by his magic and the fiery green light in his eyes. He slanted his lips over mine, his other hand turning my head just so. Pinning me for a soul-searing kiss that stole my breath. And my heart. All over again.
