Celtic Evil: A Fitzgerald Brother Novel: Roarke Read Free

clarity what this was
and suddenly felt weak done to his bones. “You have no power here
nor does your master. Leave now and tell Sebastian that my father
stopped him for fifteen years and he should stay where he is
because he will not win.”
    Smoky eyes showed with
power as Kerry’s hand moved and lightning flashed to strike the
shadow in its heart. “My father and mother gave their lives to
protect what was theirs and he still won’t hurt them,” he murmured
to himself as the sky cleared and he sat down heavily.
    “Kerry?!” Deirdre was by
his side, concerned. She hadn’t seen or heard the entire event but
knew by the way his eyes were still slit and his fingers sparked
that something major had happened. “Are you alright?!”
    After several shaky
breaths, Kerry finally was able to shake off the past and look at
the woman. “I’d prepare some rooms, Deirdre,” he sighed, standing
uneasily a moment before regaining his balance and heading for his
private rooms in the upstairs.
    Before the confused
housekeeper could ask for whom, Kerry paused to look back with an
odd look of mixed emotions. “For the first time in fifteen years,
this house will have all five of my parents’ sons in
it.”
    “Blessed be.” The older
woman breathed at that thought, unsure of how that would be, and
knowing that it could cause more problems.
     
    Cork, County Cork
Ireland:
     
    “I need to examine my own
damn bloody head for this.” It was hard not to hear the grousing
voice muttering to himself as he crossed the yard from the
stables.
    The voice was strong and
with a light and natural Irish accent but seemed to fit the rugged
build of the tall and lean man it matched.
    Patrick ‘Mac’ Fitzgerald easily vaulted over
the stone fence of his patio to see the reason he was muttering to
himself already setting up a tape recorder.
    “Your cook said I could
come on out and set up, Mr. Fitzgerald,” a soft, lilting musical
voice called his way as Mac approached the table.
    Maggie Cavanaugh was a
freelance reporter for a local newspaper from Mayo who had been
badgering him for months for an interview, and for some reason this
time Mac gave in and allowed the young woman into his private home
in Cork.
    Mac had done enough
research on her to know she was a decent writer or else he wouldn’t
have agreed to talk to her, but he hadn’t been expecting the 5’4”
ball of energy with long wild and curly red hair that was waiting
on him.
    “Yeah, well she’s not much
on guests so you’re lucky she showed you this far,” he shrugged,
sitting in a chair across from Maggie to watch her set up some
equipment, but what intrigued him most were the glasses she kept
pushing aside.
    “Near or far-sighted?” he
asked offhandedly, figuring it was probably the former since she
had spotted him a good five yards away.
    Maggie blinked bright green
eyes as she paused to think then she remembered the glasses. “I’m
near-sighted, really but I only use ‘em when I’m working.” She
replied, sitting back in the chair to look closer at her
host.
    A professional writer and
reporter, she’d done a lot of research into the Fitzgerald family
in general and the second-born son in particular.
    He was better looking than
she’d been expecting. He seemed more rugged with long legs. His
dark blond hair, cut very short, had streaks of a lighter blond
running in it.
    She knew from family
sources about his singing career with his brothers and that it had
stopped when he’d been sixteen. The information since was sparse
and muddled except he grew up in County Cork with relatives and was
very diverse in his occupations.
    Mac sat and waited,
figuring on and amused by what she was doing. “So, what makes me so
interesting to your paper that you’d spend months badgering my
office?” he finally asked, a small pull in his mind putting him off
slightly.
    Looking up with a genuinely
honest and chipper smile, Maggie just grinned at him.