Rogue on the Rollaway

Prologue

In the year of our Lord 1403

Edinburgh, Scotland

Ah, damn me…this is going to hurt.

Faolán MacIntyre lifted his head and closed his eyes, relishing the tang of the early spring North Sea on his face. The wind whipped at his long, coal black hair and tore it free from the leather thong binding it. He longed to braid it away from his eyes and he would have, had his hands not been tied securely behind his back.

The dour magistrate droned on and on, proclaiming Faolán’s multitude of sins and transgressions while the priest and hangman waited behind him on the wooden scaffold. “Sedition, heresy, the practicing of witchcraft and consorting with demons, horse thievery…”

“Borrowed,” Faolán muttered. The hangman gave him a heavy cuff on the back of the head in warning. Faolán turned and took a threatening step toward the man, who shrank away even though the taller, powerfully built Celt was obviously in no position to return the favor.

“…impersonating a priest, fornication…”

Faolán yawned. “Could ye speed it up a bit? It’s a might drafty up here.”

The gathered crowd erupted in laughter and the official’s face reddened. “Silence!” he bellowed. Relocating his place in the leather bound ledger with a bony finger, he continued his litany. “Public drunkenness, adultery, slanderous language…”

“Christ in heaven above,” Faolán roared. “Could ye just get on with it? I’m going to freeze to death afore ye get around to hanging me.”

“Blasphemer,” the portly priest gasped.

Apparently deciding enough damning evidence had been presented to justify the punishment, the official slammed the book closed and gave a nod to the hangman. With a grim smile, the executioner placed the noose around the condemned’s neck and tightened it. Faolán took a small amount of pleasure that the shorter man had to hop to get the heavy rope over his bowed head. He shook his head at the proffered leather hood.

“I wish for the man of my dreams” The faint feminine whisper pulled at the edge of Faolán’s consciousness, sounding as if it were coming from a great distance and a slow grin spread across his face.

Witnessing the unseemly smile, the priest made the sign of the cross and clutched his pudgy hands together. “’Tis obvious your imprisonment has driven you mad. Admit your sins and repent now, my son,” he pleaded. “Show regret for your actions before these good people and mayhap your death will be a swift one.”

Faolán managed a contrite nod. With a heavy sigh, he gazed at the magistrate and said, “Yer Honor, ’tis truly sorry I am I dinna bed yer wife when she begged it of me, but to be honest, there wasn’t whisky enough in all of Scotia to make that wench appealing.”

The crowd roared with laughter once again. The magistrate sputtered with outrage, turning a rather apoplectic shade of purple. “Do your duty,” he demanded with an imperious wave. The hangman leaned forward to pull the lever releasing the trap door beneath Faolán’s booted feet. The priest’s voice grew louder, beginning the recitation of the final prayer. “Pater Noster, qui es in coelis…”

Faolán gave a roguish wink to a tearful maid standing near the scaffold steps and blew kisses to two more just before the weathered boarding beneath him creaked loudly and gave way.

Chapter 1

 Present day

Brandon, Florida

Colleen O’Brien sighed with relief when her condo door swung closed behind her, aided by a well-placed hip to speed it on its way. She set the heavy grocery bags down on the tiled foyer then locked the doorknob, the deadbolt, the second deadbolt, and finally both chain locks, giving the last one a tug to make sure it was secure. “Hi, honey--I’m home,” she sang, scooping up the bags to carry to the kitchen. “The shop was a madhouse today. I’m beat, but not too beat to celebrate tonight. No, no--don’t get up, I’ve got it.”

She began putting the groceries away, starting with the frozen entrees. She stacked them by size, right side up, labels facing out. The individual Weight Watcher desserts were placed next to the dinners, favorites on top. A quart of two percent milk, a carton of eggs, slices of thick ham from the deli, a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese and low fat yogurt found their way into the fridge. Crisp gala apples and ripe bananas were stored in a faux crystal bowl on the countertop.

Colleen paused to listen. The comfortably appointed condo was silent, as it had been every night since her divorce was final a year ago. She caught sight of herself in the living room mirror and tried not to cringe. Not too bad for twenty nine, she thought, determined to ignore the specter of thirty looming over her shoulder. If the moniker O’Brien didn’t shout her Irish heritage to the high hills, her looks certainly did. Thick chestnut hair too straight to be curly and too curly to be straight fell just past her shoulders, framing a delicate, oval face with high cheekbones. Her eyes were the color of dusty jade, and to her constant mortification she had a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose that no amount of concealer or foundation would hide. Looks like country come to town, her ex-husband used to say. Lips just a little too full, mouth a little wide, she turned from side to side, surveying herself with a critical eye. Five foot five inches, one hundred thirty pounds. “Average build, average weight, average life, just average…me. Nothing special here, boys and girls,” she murmured.

Shrugging off the pending melancholy, she put away the rest of the dry goods and had just popped one of the entrees in the microwave when the doorbell rang. Tossing the empty box in the trash, she ran to the front door, rising up on tiptoe to look through the peephole. “Just a minute,” she called, flicking open the numerous locks with practiced ease.

Sandy Jasko waited patiently, a shoebox sized parcel plastered with international stamps tucked under her arm. “This came for you down at the complex office, too big for the mailbox,” she explained. “Told them I’d bring it up to you on my way home.”

Colleen grinned and accepted the package from her next door neighbor and best friend. It was much lighter than it looked. “Come on in,” she said, giving the box an experimental shake and frowning when it made no sound that might indicate its contents.

“Just for a minute,” Sandy said, stepping past her into the tidy living room. “Bill and I are going out for dinner--we’re going to try that new steakhouse over on the Causeway. You know you’re welcome to join us…”

Colleen shook her head firmly, setting the package down on the large sectional sofa. “And be a third wheel? Don’t think so. Besides,” she added loftily, “I have my own culinary delights awaiting me.”

The microwave dinged and Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “Healthy Choice?” Colleen nodded enthusiastically. “Manicotti, my favorite. I’m celebrating the loss of two hundred unsightly pounds,” she said.

The petite brunette’s eyebrows shot up in apparent confusion, but her lip twitching gave her away. “Do tell. What’s your secret?” she asked.

Colleen burst into laughter. “My divorce was final a year ago today,” she explained.

Sandy laughed too, making her mop of curls bounce. “Marc was a first class asshole, so it’s worth celebrating. It’s not every day one loses that big a chunk of wasted carbon.” She studied her friend a little closer. “You can’t stay locked in here forever, you know,” she said gently. “You’ve got to start getting out, you know, socialize…meet people. Why don’t you join us tonight? Bill has a friend I bet you’ll love…” She launched into her old familiar matchmaking refrain.

Colleen raised her hands in surrender and laughed. “Your husband always has a friend. I meet people every day at my job, and tonight I’m having dinner with…” She paused to look at the DVDs lined up on her coffee table, “Viggo Mortensen and Orlando Bloom.”

“Lord of the Rings again?” Sandy rolled her eyes. “God, you are such a geek. How many times--”

“A bunch. I can recite entire passages and reenact the battle scenes using interpretive dance. Aren’t you going to be late?” Colleen interrupted.

Sandy looked down at her watch and shrieked at the time. “I gotta go. Call me if you change your mind!”

“I won’t, but I do appreciate the offer. You go on and have fun. Tell Bill I said hello,” Colleen said, following her friend to the door and relocking herself in before heading to the kitchen. She placed her cooling dinner on the TV tray, grabbed a diet soda and headed for the couch. “I’ll open you after dinner,” she said to the box, pushing it aside to sit down.

When she was finished, she set the tray aside and eased the box into her lap. “You’re not very heavy,” she mused, looking at all the colorful stamps. After giving her dinner knife a careful lick to catch the last drop of lingering gravy, she used it to cut away the tight packing tape. Her grandmother in Ireland passed away six months ago, and Colleen guessed someone was just now getting around to cleaning out her sprawling farmhouse. Sure enough, there was a note. Dear Colleen, Your grandmother left specific instructions this was to go to you. Moire O’Brien was a fine woman and will be missed by all who knew her. I am truly sorry for your loss. Sincerely, Mary Catherine McDermott

Colleen smiled. She met her grandmother’s neighbor during her childhood visits, remembering her as a kindly woman if slightly on the nosy side. Excited, she dug around inside the box, scattering the Styrofoam packing peanuts. Her hand closed on something hard, smooth and curved. Getting a firm grip on the unknown object, she pulled it from the container and stared in wonder. “Buccinum undatum--the common whelk. What a beauty!”

She ran her hands over the large shell, holding it to her ear to hear the distant sea it came from. Childhood memories of walking the beaches with her grandparents looking for discarded shells and other aquatic treasures brought a smile to her face. “You need a special place,” she decided, clearing out a spot in the center of her bookcase. She regarded it carefully before re-appropriating a lace doily from a nearby flower arrangement. Slipping it underneath the whelk, she pronounced it properly displayed. “Thank you, Grandma,” she said out loud to the ceiling, and wrapping herself in her favorite quilt settled back down on the couch to watch good triumph over evil once again in Middle Earth.

Colleen awoke much later to find she had fallen asleep on the couch--again--and gasped when she dared to peek at the time. 3:33 AM. Triplets. Quick, make a wish. “I wish for something…better. A life. A happy life.” She groaned loudly as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “God, I’m pathetic,” she said, turning off the TV with the remote and pitching the room into darkness. “Maybe Sandy’s right. Maybe I should start getting out…” Her voice trailed off when she realized although the room was supposed to be dark, it wasn’t. Neither was it silent.

A low humming broke the stillness. Her gaze lit upon the bookcase, where the new whelk sat glowing like a night light was hidden inside. She studied it until she was certain that was also where the sound was coming from. Flicking on the end table lamp, she rose and moved to pick it up. As soon as her slender fingers made contact, the humming ceased and the shell glowed more brightly than ever. “Well, aren’t you special,” she murmured, turning it over to look for an on-off switch. Not finding one, she gave it a slight shake. Something rattled in response. When she shook it again, the something fell down to the plush carpet and the light in the shell snuffed out like a candle.

She set the empty whelk back on the bookcase and picked the shiny object up, realizing with a start it was a necklace. She flipped on the overhead light and peered down at her unexpected find. A gold star inside a circle with a large stone the color of skim milk in the center, the whole amulet was just a little larger than a quarter. “Aw, it’s scratched,” she noted, fumbling for the magnifying glass on the shelf. “No, wait…these are deliberate markings. Symbols of some kind all around the circle and the arms of the star. What language is that?” Turning it over, she found the back was covered with the same oddly slanted etchings. She peered at the opaque gem through the magnifier and for a moment, it looked almost as if something shifted inside it. Pausing, she shook her head at the outlandish thought. “Talk about your overactive imagination. Pretty, though. I’ll wear it to work tomorrow--no, today. Shit.”

Without another thought about the strange amulet, she headed for bed to try and catch another couple of hours sleep before the morning alarm.