WHO WE ONCE WERE
A/N: Thank for all the reviews and for all your support for these pre-Burn Notice stories of Michael and Fiona's time together in Ireland. This one continues the Derry story in Chapter 8. I'm sorry for any confusion this causes and at a later date I will sort all the chapters out into the correct order.
Also a special thanks to Jedi Skysinger for all her extra help and input into this chapter along with her brilliant BETA skills.
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Derry - February 1998
Part Two - Arriving at Braeside Hotel
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"Are ya sure this is tha right place, luv? It looks a bit fancy." Michael eased the Land Rover Defender off the main road to Derry and onto a long winding private road surrounded by beautiful parkland with large oak trees and conifers dotted over the frozen landscape. Ahead of them, a magnificent eighteenth century Georgian manor house stood dominating the scene with the snow covered Sperrin Mountains as a dramatic backdrop.
"Positive... I hope thar gonna be alright wit' us missing bookin' in las' night." Fiona leaned in close to her lover, smiling as she let her thoughts linger on their activities of the previous night and how they had spent the early morning hours together.
"I cannae imagine thar full up at this time o' year," he replied, gesturing with a nod of his head to the near empty car park in front of them.
"Oh, I don't know. Tis Valentine's in a coupla days. Some people celebrate thot special time wit' a long romantic weekend away." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and widened her smile, waiting eagerly to see how Mr. McBride responded to her words.
"It's only Wednesday. Tis too early fer anybody wantin' a weekend getaway."
Ms. Glenanne's smile fell away and she sunk back into her seat as her totally dense boyfriend manoeuvred the large vehicle into a parking space, bringing the old 4x4 to a halt next to a brand new BMW. The young couple climbed out and hurriedly crossed the crisp and white snow covered ground to the large imposing oak doors that led into the hotel's warm welcoming lobby, which was dominated by a large fire blazing in an inglenook hearth.
"Can I help you?" The voice, undoubtedly feminine, instantly reminded Ms. Glenanne of her many trips to the Mother Superior's office at St. Augustine's Roman Catholic School for Girls.
Turning towards a long elegant table set into a quiet corner of the lobby, the couple soon found themselves facing a stocky, grey haired woman dressed in a smart dark green skirt and blazer ensemble who peered back at them through a pair of tortoiseshell framed glasses that had last been in style back in the fifties.
Fiona felt her hackles rise as the receptionist continued to run her gaze over her latest guests. The older woman didn't even have the good grace to hide her disapproval at their appearance, which the younger woman had to admit was not good. There was no denying they both presented a dirty and unkempt appearance and there was a strong odour of musty old houses and open fire coming from their clothes. But that didnae give har tha right ta judge.
"I'm sorry. War fully booked. So, unless ya have a reservation..."
Fiona peered at the woman's name badge before answering. "Good day, Ms. Doherty, I hadda room booked fer two days in tha name o' Isabelle Addams." She used one of her many aliases. "But we missed our book-in time yesterday because o' tha weather."
The matron sniffed and then smiled condescendingly. "I'm sorry, me dear," she said, though her tone clearly was not regretful in the least. "But we have a strict cancellation policy. Yar room..."
Michael wa' right. Thar wa' no way tha place wa' full booked. Who tha hell does she think she...
Fiona's right hand began to curl into a fist, preparing to throw a punch at the snooty old cow behind the desk, when she felt Michael's arm drop over her shoulder and pull her tightly against his body. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and came out with a thick roll of bills.
"So, how much ta get another room... Yar best room?"
The woman's eyes went large as she stared at the three fifty pound notes he peeled off the roll.
"Thot enough ta cover tha night an' breakfast? Oh, an' a late book out fer tomorrow. We'll want tha room 'til six." He added another note to the pile on the table.
Fiona smirked as the lady in charge took the money and turned the register around for Michael to sign, pleased when he signed his name with a flourish as Mr. M. Addams.
McBride certainly did have a sense o' style- when he put his mind ta it.
"Do ya have any luggage, Mr. Addams?"
Fiona spoke before her 'husband' could say the wrong thing. "Aye, tha case is still in tha car... Michael, ya fergot ta get it outta tha back."
"Show us to tha room an' I'll get tha bag later." He winked at her.
"I'll give you room number twelve. It's on tha first floor." The receptionist held out a large iron key attached to a wooden disk. "If ya'll follow me." Her sharp blue eyes stared pointedly at the younger woman's bare left hand.
Realizing the old harridan had spotted the lack of a wedding ring, Fiona glared back at the elderly
woman, daring her to say a word and then smirking when the matron of the manor abruptly broke eye contact and began to walk towards the sweeping staircase which led up to the first floor.
"Sir, missus..." Ms. Doherty held the door open for the younger couple to enter before her. "Thar's a phone in tha corner. Ya have ta dial nine ta get an outside line." She pointed to an elegant mahogany bureau set in the corner of the room. "Tha remote controls fer tha telly ar' on tha table and yar en suite has both a power shower and a rolled top bath." She pushed open the door to display the white tiled modern bathroom which the auburn haired woman thought was at odds with the Georgian décor of the rest of the room.
"Breakfast is served between seven and nine. Will ya be wantin' dinner tonight, Mr. Addams?" Ms. Doherty continued to point out the hotel's amenities, speaking in a crisp brisk tone, clearly still unhappy with her new guests
"Yes," Michael peeled off a five pound note, pressing it into the older woman's hand and at the same time edging the receptionist towards the door. "A table for nine o'clock, is thot alright wit' ya, me darlin'?" He turned to his 'wife'.
"Delightful, Michael," 'Mrs. Addams' smiled back.
"I'll see ta thot right now fer ya, Mr. Addams. Ya'll find a copy of tha menu on tha bureau."
As soon as the door closed behind their elderly hostess and they were finally alone, Fiona took hold of her new lover by the front of his jacket and slammed him back hard against the sturdy wooden door. Before he had a chance to recover, she pressed herself up against him, her fingers threading through his hair while her lips ravished his mouth.
The intensity of her emotions for this new man in her life was nothing like she had felt before. Not even during her one and only long term relationship with the international dealer in death, Armand Andreani, had she ever felt the burning desire for somebody the way she did right now.
She knew deep down they were moving way too fast. But Michael McBride was everything she wanted in a man and when Fiona Glenanne wanted something, she wasn't one to hang around and wait patiently.
Her hands went from his tousled dark hair to caressing his neck and then, in a move which made him gasp in surprise, she jerked his jacket half way down his arms as she sought to reach the hard muscles and soft skin hidden underneath far too many layers of clothing.
"Fi..." he groaned into her ear as she finally managed to tear the jacket from his arms and discard it on the floor. "Fi, we need ta -"
The redhead shut him up by biting down on his bottom lip before kissing it better, while her hands found their way under his jumper and undershirt to reach his rock solid abs. Running her palms over the ridges and lines of his muscular frame, her mind was aflame with memories of how they had spent their first night together, the sensation of him claiming her for his own filling her with an all consuming need for a repeat performance.
He was kissing her back now, his tongue stroking enticingly against her own as he held her to his body. Feeling his passion grow between them, she palmed him, rubbing and kneading the bulge hidden by his jeans.
"Fi...Fiona... Luv... Please..."
Whot tha hell wa' he doing?
He was no longer kissing her and, instead of holding her in a tender embrace, his hands were now pushing her away, keeping her at a distance while he stared down at her. His clear blue eyes were full of love and – something else.
"Fi... I, er... last night..." Michael began haltingly, his gaze flickering to the side instead staying on her face. "Last night wa'... well, ya know whot it wa'..." and his smile was almost shy. "But, ah... we... well, we... ah... never discussed..." he floundered to a stop.
"Discussed what?" she demanded, her brow furrowing as she tried to work out his meaning.
"Discussed, ah, ya know... We never used – I mean, when we – "
His cheeks flushed and, all of a sudden, she understood.
Relief hit her like a punch, making her gasp. It had been years since anybody had bothered to ask her this question and even longer since it had been asked so badly. Fiona laughed, a light musical sound, and stroked a hand down his bristle covered unshaven cheek. It wa' all rather sweet really.
"Yer nae gonna get me pregnant, McBride... So, ya can quit yar fussing."
She watched closely as his features slowly relaxed, his hands sliding down from her shoulders to capture her waist and bring her back against his body.
"Sorry, I shoulda -"
She stopped his words by placing a finger over his lips.
"Nuttin' to apolgize fer, Michael... It wa' nice o' you ta ask, even if it wa' a wee bit too late."
Contraception had been a lesson taught to her by Armand. The French arms dealer, not wanting to jeopardize his blossoming relationship with the Provisional IRA by impregnating the younger sister of their chief interrogator, had ensured she had the means to protect herself from unwanted pregnancy.
Since returning to Ireland, she had found her own black market supplier of contraceptives. She'd had no intention of having to visit a family planning clinic or the family doctor to explain why, as a young unmarried woman, she needed to anything more than proper willpower and abstinence.
Besides, if she had presented a prescription in any pharmacy either north or south of the border, it was guaranteed that at some point word would have reached her mother or Liam and the thought of facing one of their lectures or, even worse, being forced to listen to one of the family priest's sermons on the subject was quite enough to have her find her own source of Depo Provera pre-loaded injections.
"So, no worries then?" he pressed for confirmation.
"No…" She grabbed a hold of his belt, undoing the buckle with a casual flick of her wrist.
"Worries..." The button on his jeans was next.
"Whot so ever..." As soon as the zipper slid down, her hand slipped inside to fondle him through the cotton of his boxers. "Any more questions, McBride?"
She smiled as he swallowed, watching as his Adam's apple rose and fell, while the warm flesh beneath her hand pulsed and grew just from her touch .
"No, no more questions, luv." He flashed his teeth in a smile of his own, his hands leaving her waist to palm her breasts through her jumper.
It was only a matter of minutes before passion and raging hormones took over and their clothes were discarded, scattered all over the hotel room floor, and they tumbled onto the large feather mattress covered with Egyptian cotton linen. After some thoroughly enjoyable wrestling, she managed to end up on top. Straddling his slim hips, Fiona looked down on her lover through her loose mane of auburn hair, her blue green eyes sparkling with lustful wantonness.
"So, whot are ya thinkin, Michael?" she asked, her thumbs rubbing over his hard pebble-like nipples. "D'ya like whot ya see?"
"Whot am I thinkin'?... Am thinking ya need ta be somewhar more comfortable – fer both o' us."
He twisted, flipping her onto her back, his body covering hers in an instant.
"Now, isn't thot better?" Her boyfriend grinned down at her, shifting his hips to the side just enough so he could reach between their bodies.
She sighed her answer, long breathy sound that hitched when first one finger and then a second slipped inside her, rubbing against her inner walls, sending her pleasure synapses into overload as the dark haired man found the small bundle nerves deep within her core.
Writhing under his touch, Fiona arched upwards, crying out his name when his lips latched onto one breast, sucking the pliant flesh into his mouth while his tongue flicked over her sensitive nipple, before turning his attention to the other.
It wasn't long before she came in a rush, gasping and panting as she soared on a cloud of rapture before floating back down to earth still in the arms of her lover, his hand tenderly stroking her forehead and smoothing her hair while he whispered sweet endearments into her ear.
Still tangled together, they kissed softly at first as her breathing evened out. But gentle teasing pecks gradually turned more ardent. Hands and mouths were once again exploring one another until finally he slipped between her legs and into her warm welcoming center. It was just as powerful as it had been their first time together the night prior. Staring into each other's eyes, they continued to move as one, in a sensual dance which took them ever upwards to the heights of euphoria.
A little while later, snuggled together under the luxurious goose down duvet cover, Fiona felt a sudden wave of melancholy wash over her. The feeling came out of nowhere. Tears welled in her eyes and it was all she could to choke back a soulful sob.
Here she was in the arms of a man she believed she could truly love, so incredibly happy and filled with utter contentment, but now all she felt right at that moment was nearly overwhelming guilt. It had only been a little over two years ago that her sweet baby sister had been killed, cut down in the middle of a crowded street, choking on her own blood. She was sure Claire's last thoughts were how much her big sister hated her.
"Fi? Fiona, luv...? Whot's tha matter?" Michael shifted, turning onto his side so he could face her, his large hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away an errant tear.
"Nothing," she sniffed, trying her best to reassure him nothing was wrong.
But when he just kept staring back at her, his whole expression showing his concern, she had to break the silence and explain that it was not his fault.
"I'm being silly... It just struck me... Ahhh," she breathed. "I hadda little sister, she died. It wa' an anniversary o' sorts nae thot long ago an' -"
"An' ya feel guilty fer being alive when she's gone?"
"How...?" He was so understanding and it made her love him even more.
"I lost me own family too... All o' tham." Now it was his turn to pause. She could see the pain of his own loss etched into his features as he continued. "I've lost friends, compatriots over tha years an' sometimes... sometimes yer left thinkin' it shoulda been me thot took tha bullet or -" He shook his head and blinked hard. "But it does ya no good ta let tha guilt take over, luv. Would yar sister want ya ta grieve fer ever?" He kissed her lightly, a gossamer soft peck to her forehead. "Or would she want ya out enjoyin' yar life?"
"I'd been such a bitch ta her," she sniffled again, remembering how dissatisfied and frustrated she had been with her brothers and her own choices in life and how, in a fit of despondency, she'd turned her anger towards the one person who deserved none of it.
"We all say things in tha heat o' tha moment, luv... But whotever ya said, I don't believe ya meant it and I bet she didn't either, nae down deep."
Fiona felt as if a weight was lifting. He was right, of course. Claire would have hated seeing her family still deep in mourning after two years. She had hated seeing anybody unhappy. It had been the main topic of their final argument.
The auburn haired Irishwoman let go of her sorrowful thoughts and smiled through her tears.
Claire would definitely have approved o' Mr. Michael McBride.
"Yer a clever man, Michael. Ya know jus' tha right thin' ta say." Her mood changed in an instant. "An' fer thot, ya deserve a reward." Molding her body against his, she drew him into a deep lingering kiss, doing her best to show him how much he meant to her.
Breaking the embrace to take in some air, Fiona glanced across the room to the open door of the en suite, her animated eyes settling on the large roll top claw foot bath with the fancy gold taps.
"Michael, I think ya should go get tha case outta tha car," she announced casually as she rolled onto her back and out of his arms.
"Ya packed a bag? I dinnae notice one. Are ya sure ya remembered ta put it in tha Defender?" he queried.
Fiona tried her best to remain confident. This was another little deception on her part. He had taken her arranging for them to have some alone time before the meeting with the Real IRA's arms dealer without complaint. But would he feel the same after this second piece of deceit?
"O' course I remembered. D'ya take me fer a fool? It's under tha passenger seat. I packed a coupla changes of clothes - fer us both. I know it wa' forward o' me. But I guessed yar size. I've got four brothers I buy fer sometimes. I know how ta judge these things." She paused, filled with doubt.
Wa' this a step too far? She had been told in the past she had a tendency to be over powering.
They had been secretly dating for only a few weeks when she'd sprung the two night stay in a four star hotel on him and now she was admitting to buying him whole new outfits without even asking his opinion. Most men, she was pretty sure, would be heading out of the door at the first opportunity, fearing that they were already being set up for a trip down the aisle straight to the altar.
The redhead waited as her lover stared back at her through hooded eyes, his expression totally unreadable. Then just as she was about to speak, to her utter horror, he threw back the duvet and began to pick up his discarded clothing.
"Am sorry, I shoulda told ya what I wa' plannin'." Fiona reached out to him, her small hand landing on his shoulder in a desperate effort to repair the damage done. Damn his bloody male pride... Thar all tha same.
"Fi...?" He half turned to look at her, his jumper balled up in his hands, a puzzled look on his face. "It's fine, luv. I've gotta put some clothes on ta go out ta tha car or would ya prefer I parade through tha reception wit' all me assets on display?"
"Ya don't mind? I jus' wanted -" Her explanation came to an abrupt end as he pulled her onto his lap and kissed away her speech.
Holding her close, he looked into her blue green eyes that were staring back at him almost in amazement. "Let me get dressed now an' while am gone ya can run thot bath ya war eyeballin'."
Once she was alone, Fiona slid off the bed and went from frame to frame, drawing the heavy velvet curtains closed over the sash windows, blocking out the view of the mountains in the distance. Turning on the wall lights to give the room a soft muted atmosphere, the Irishwoman then headed for the en-suite.
Standing next to the large fancy bath tub, the petite redhead checked out the hotels supply of complimentary toiletries. Twisting the top off the sample size bottle of bubble bath, she lifted it to her nose. Lavender was not her favorite scent, but it would do for now. Emptying the contents of the small bottle into the swirling hot water, she watched the bubbles grow and spread out over the surface.
Wa' this tha start o' somethin' bigger? Her hand shook as she twisted the tap to close off the flow of water. She had liked McBride from the first time she had spotted him watching her in that shady Dublin pub during her initiation into the RIRA and, when she had discovered he was part of her brother Sean's large circle of friends, she had made sure he got the chance to keep watching her.
Fiona didn't know much about him. The only things she was sure of was he was no international merchant of death like her last beau turned out to be, nor was he a Provisional IRA shot caller like Sean or Liam. In fact, he was as far as she could tell a perfectly ordinary guy, apart from his criminal background and his skirting around the edges of the RIRA.
The Irishwoman pushed back her concerns about his views on the peace process taking place in Belfast and Dublin. A lot of disenchanted young men were being drawn in by the hate-filled rhetoric of a few hard liners who had broken away from the Provisional IRA. But she was positive McBride wasn't a cold blooded killer. Sean's sister was sure that given a bit of time, she could change Michael's mind on any allegiances he might be forming and get him to help her out with her mission to bring down the rival organization.
Ms. Glenanne tested the water, checking that it wouldn't scald her, before climbing in and sinking down amongst the soft foam. Resting her head back, she stared up at the high vaulted ceiling, smiling to herself. Yes, she wa' indeed a lucky girl and jus' mabbe Michael McBride wa' goin' ta be a very lucky man.
Hearing the door creak as it was opened, Fiona tilted her head. "Michael, tis thot ya?"
"Aye, luv, I stopped off at tha reception an' got us a pot o' tea an' some pastries," he called back. "I cannae believe I missed this bag. How long did ya think we'd be away fer? Tha thing weighs a ton."
"It's just a few essentials." She heard the zipper open and wondered what he was thinking. She had spent an afternoon in Belfast city center perusing several department stores for jeans, shirts and underwear for him. "Did I get yar size right?"
"Aye, ya did good...But d'ya care ta explain tha rest o' tha stuff? I thought this wa' meant ta be a simple collection."
"Thar's no such thing as simple in this line o' work, Michael. Trust me. I know whot am doin'."
"C-4, AR15s, ammo, your bullet proof vest and thot god awful wig... Whot tha hell have ya got planned, girl?"
Fiona smiled. He had found the things she had buried amongst the clothing. "A girl has ta be prepared fer all eventualities, Michael... Now, ar' ya comin' in ta join me?"
"I thought I'd have a shower af -"
"Jayzus, yer thick, McBride." She twisted around, spilling water over the sides of the bath, so she could see the door. "Jus' get yar arse in here... Unless ya want ta bathe alone."
He came into the white tiled room, barefoot with his jeans undone and hanging low on his hips. Taking hold of the hem of his jumper, he pulled it up and over his head giving the lady reclined in the bath a perfect view of his toned torso.
"Hurry up. Tha water tis getting' cold an' I want ya ta wash me back."
"Anythin' you say, sweetheart." He sent her a toothy grin and pushed his pants down all the way before nearly falling over as he pulled his feet free of the denim pooled about his ankles.
Fiona wiggled forward to make room for her boyfriend to slide down behind her. With his long legs on either side of her, she reclined back, leaning against his broad chest. He reached around her, one hand settling over her left breast massaging the soft mound, his thumb rubbing over her sensitive nipple, while his other large paw glided down her torso and under the water before settling between her legs.
"Yer right. Tha water tis getting cold. Let me warm ya up, me beautiful girl," he whispered into her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine.
"Ya really don't mind me organ – nizing all this?" The hitch in her voice came as his teeth grazed on her neck, nipping and kissing in a line from just behind her ear down to her clavicle.
"Why should I mind?" he muttered as his fingers brought her closer to heaven by the second.
"I-I di-did it all behind yar – back. Some people wouldnae -"
"Some people ar' idjits, girl. And now," he growled softly into her ear. "I'm behind yar back."
He brought his ankles up and over her calves, pinning her legs against the sides of the tub as he began to pump his fingers faster and harder building her up to a crescendo that tore a loud breathy moan from her lips as she threw her head back against him.
This was too much... Held in his arms, with his legs holding hers to the bottom of the bath, all she could do was surrender to his touch. The orgasm left her breathing ragged and her body shaking each time his hands past over her overly sensitive skin.
"Ar' ya all warmed up now?"
She could hear the smugness in his tone and it brought out her competitive edge.
"Very. Thank ya." She wriggled out of his arms. "But yer still in need o' a wash an' maybe a little warming up yerself."
Turning to face him, Fiona sat astride her lover's thighs, one hand gently stroking along his hardening length. "Let me help ya wit' thot."
But instead of relaxing back, Michael surprised her by placing his hand over hers, stilling her attempt to return the pleasure he had just given her.
"Tha water is cold and war both in need o' a good wash." He gestured with a nod of his head to the shower in the corner of the room. "An' as we only have this place fer one night, I want ta make use o' all tha facilities."
Clinging to each other, they climbed out of the bath tub and made their way to the glass enclosed cubicle. With water cascading down upon them from the shower head, Fiona pushed her boyfriend back against the tiled wall, trailing kisses from his jaw along his throat and down his chest, her small hands teasing and pinching his nipples while she sank down to her knees in front of him.
The slender Irishwoman remembered with crystal clarity how he had made her feel when he had worshipped her body the night before. How his hands, fingers, mouth and tongue had driven her to the brink of insanity and now this was what she wanted to do for him. Her hands curled around his muscular thighs holding him in place as she continued to kiss and lick her way over his abdomen until she reached the spot where he wanted her most.
Taking a moment to look up, blinking the falling water out of her eyes, she focused on her lover's expression of adoration staring back at her. Without breaking eye contact, she swirled the tip of her tongue around the head of his engorged manhood, tasting him for the first time, savoring the flavor of his masculinity. She watched as his lips parted in a throaty groan and she felt his fingers combed roughly through her hair.
Taking him into her mouth until she felt him at the back of her throat, she held him there, her tongue lavishing attention along his throbbing length. Then, tightening her grip on his trembling thighs, she began to bob her head up and down, tasting him, breathing in his scent and exulting in her power to make him shiver and moan in ecstasy at her touch.
It wasn't long before she felt him tugging on her hair, his words lost under the sound of the water still falling upon their heads. Then, all of a sudden, he was pulling her to her feet, pushing her back against the wall.
"I want ya," he gasped, "I want ya now."
"Have me then," she answered and, at the touch of his hands on her thighs, she raised herself up, wrapping her legs about his waist.
He entered her in one slow continuous thrust, impaling her, pinning her against the tiled wall, supporting her weight with his hands cradling her buttocks as they came together under the torrent of water and steam. Fiona revelled in being in the intimate grasp of such a powerful man, his limbs, his muscles, his member, all working in concert with determined thrusts to bring them both to bliss.
Panting, her body still being hit by the aftershocks of her orgasm, the petite woman slowly lowered her shaky feet back to the floor as she clung onto her lover. With her head resting on his chest, she listened to his heartbeat gradually slow as he regained control. Time seemed to stand still as they let the water wash over them until finally Michael turned the shower off and reached outside the door to where two fluffy white towels hung off a rail.
Taking their time, they dried each other, still getting to know one another's bodies. They took this as a time to acquaint themselves fully, but it wasn't long before they retreated back to the bed and under the covers to fall asleep, their bodies entangled.
The tea and pastries Michael had brought up to the room were left forgotten on the bureau.
()()()
When Fiona next opened her eyes, the digital display on the alarm clock beside the bed told her she had been out for more than two hours. Watching the man beside her sleeping soundly, she knew the time had come to make the call she had been dreading since the snow storm had interfered with her original plans the day before.
Carefully leaving the warmth of the bed without disturbing her slumbering lover, the auburn haired woman pulled on a T-shirt and panties and then collected her mobile phone from the pocket of her jacket.
Going through to the en-suite, she pulled the door shut and only then opened the device to stare at the display which informed her that she had ten missed calls and had sixteen unanswered text messages on the screen. Her mother, Sean, Liam and Liam's not so secret lover Jeannie Donahue had all been trying to get hold of her.
Liam had to be going wild by now. There were two things guaranteed to send her oldest brother into a meltdown and she had committed both acts: missing a scheduled check in and not answering immediately when he called.
Turning her phone over and over in her hands, for a moment her nerves nearly got the better of her and she seriously considered texting her big brother with her location and the news that she had decided to use the unknown and untested Michael McBride as her back-up. But deep down she knew a text message wouldn't satisfy the oldest Glenanne sibling.
But before she could risk his ire and type in the message, the screen flashed up with the head of the clan's name, announcing another incoming call. With a resigned huff, she pressed accept, closed her eyes and raised the phone to her ear.
"Whar tha bloody hell have ya been? I have half tha feckin' Belfast Brigade on standby."
"Am fine, Liam. I've been busy, thot's all." She tried to calm her rapidly hammering heart as she listened to the angry breathing coming through the phone.
"Busy wit' whot?" he asked quietly, though she could still detect an edge to his tone.
"I'm sorry. I couldnae call las' night. I got caught up in tha snow storm on tha way north and the road wa' closed, so I hadda take cover at our old home an' thar's no cell signal out thar... Yer making a fuss about nuttin' Liam. I jus' decided ta make tha trip early so I could check out tha meeting place. Ya know, make sure thar's no surprises waitin' fer me... I know whot am doin', brother."
"Am sure ya do, sweetheart... Sean said he sent one o' his men wit' ya. He behavin' himself?"
Fiona smiled. Sean hadn't told their big brother who she was with or that she had a new boyfriend. It had to be a first for any of the boys to hide something like this from Liam, which had to mean her other sibling must approve of their relationship.
"He's been a total gentlemen." She would have to buy her favorite brother a drink or three for keeping quiet about Michael. The last thing she needed was for the rest of her family scaring off her first boyfriend in nearly three years. "It wa' good ta have a strong back around when we hadda get thot ol' beast outta tha snow drift and movin' ag'in at first light." Ms. Glenanne smiled to herself, knowing which of Sean's men the head of the family would now be assuming was her escort based on her comment. She hadn't actually lied about anything.
"Good, ya call me once ya have tha guns... Oh, an' Fiona, give our mum a call, would ya? She's been drivin' me mental wantin' ta know yer alright."
"I'll call ya late tomorrow, and yes I'll give our mam a quick call, happy?"
"I'll be happier when this is over. I told ya I don't like tha council using me family this way."
Liam ended the call the same way he ended all calls, especially when in the midst of a mission, without a goodbye. Staring at her phone, Fiona bit down on her bottom lip, then almost reluctantly she turned her thoughts to Michael McBride. This conversation had been a sharp reminder of how much time she had left before she had no choice but to explain to her new lover that she was actually working against the very organization he wanted to be a part of.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur for the troubled Irishwoman as she was fast running out of time to come clean with her new beau about her true motives for collecting an arms shipment for the RIRA as they sat in the nearly deserted restaurant making small talk while eating their meal.
Playing the role of tourists to the full, talking at some length about their plans to go sightseeing in Londonderry, as the city was referred to by the loyalists of the North, in her mind she was desperately trying to avoid thinking about the consequences if she had misjudged his loyalty to the rival group.
Leaning slightly forward, clasping a wine glass in her hand, she found herself lost in the deep blue of his eyes. How could she kill this man who already felt like a part of her? It wouldn't come to that, she reassured herself. Michael McBride was a good man, he wanted peace. He would never countenance the bombing of a church or murdering children to make a point.
That night as they snuggled together, too tired to do anything more than sleep, Fiona was no closer to an answer to her problem.
()()()
The following morning, she wasn't surprised when as soon as she climbed out of the bed, Michael rolled over and within minutes followed her into the shower, insisting on helping her wash. His help however didn't involve any soap or even a sponge. Instead, he used his hands and mouth to work her into a frenzy until she could barely stand on her own two feet.
It was ridiculous really the way they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. But the urge to be with him, to constantly want to touch him was too strong to ignore and besides who was she to fight against something that felt so completely right?
"I could get used ta this." His lips trailed butterfly kisses over her abdomen, just above where they had just been the moment before. "Waking up every morning ta such a pretty sight." He smiled up at her, squeezing her buttocks before getting back to his feet, wrapping his arms around her and letting her feel his hardness pressing against her stomach.
"Yer insatiable, McBride," she declared with a light laugh, wriggling an arm free so his could stroke a hand along his freshly shaven jawline. "An' incorrigible. But we have a job ta do and not much time left ta get it done, remember?"
"Aye, tha job... I've already memorized tha Derry street map. It wa' tha first thing I did after Sean asked me ta do this job fer him." He leaned in to steal a kiss. "I thought it would save us some time." Another kiss, more demanding this time...
How tha hell wa' she supposed ta concentrate on an arms deal when this man seemed ta be doin' his utmost ta keep her occupied in other ways?
She surrendered his wishes as he began pushing her backwards towards the white tiled wall of the shower, his lips kissing away any protests she might be thinking of making while his hands stroked and petted their way over her body in a way guaranteed to make her forget why this was a bad idea.
When they finally made it downstairs, Ms. Doherty coldly informed them as it was ten to nine, there was no more cooked breakfasts available and they would have to be satisfied with the hotel's continental offering of toast or cereal.
"Thot's fine." Michael had sent the older woman a dazzling smile. "We'll take tha cereal an' then we'll grab a bite in Londonderry."
"Yes," Fiona leaned into her boyfriend and stared up into his eyes. "Tea an' a slice o' toast is about all I could manage."
Ms. Doherty looked between the two love birds and huffed before turning away muttering something about the younger generation.
"Are ya really gonna be satisfied wit' a bowl o' cornflakes an' some toast?" Michael gestured with a nod of his head to the only things left on the buffet style table set up in the middle of the room. "We should jus' go straight out and find another place ta eat."
"Yer right." She agreed. "We're already behind schedule. But we should have a hot drink before goin' out into thot." She pointed to the large window and the heavy downpour of rain and sleet outside.
()()()
A half hour later saw Michael behind the wheel of the Defender, driving them towards the city of Derry. Staring out of the passenger window, Fiona watched the passing Ulster countryside. The heavy rainfall was already washing the snow out of the trees and bushes and patches of green were appearing in some of the fields.
The foul weather suited the Irishwoman's mood as the rivers of water running down the edge of the roads reminding her of the cost to the people of Ireland if she failed to complete the assignment she had been given. If the fledgling Real IRA got hold of the weapons she was charged with collecting, they would have the fire power to truly make the streets run red with blood.
Glancing over at her companion, she thought about his part in all that was happening. She hated lying to him and dreaded what his reaction was going to be when she finally told him the truth. As if sensing her surveillance, the dark haired man glanced in her direction, flashing her a toothy smile.
"Ya want me ta drive straight ta the port or would ya prefer ta find somewhere ta eat in tha city?"
"Ta tha port, lets get this over with." She pursed her lips. She couldnae carry on like this. It wa' time ta test how strong McBride's ties war ta tha RIRA.
Shifting in her seat, Fiona half turned so she could watch her lover's expression while she attempted to dig into his allegiances. "These guns wa'r buying, d'ya care about whot thar gonna be used fer?"
He raised an eyebrow and his eyes flickered in her direction. "Thot's fer others ta decide. Thot's tha way it works, isn't it?"
"Aye, tha commanders make tha decisions, but thot's not whot am asking."
"Fi...?" He slowed the old Defender down and pulled over to the side of the road. "Whot's goin' on? Ya've been quiet all mornin'... Have I done sommit ? – D'ya nae trust me?"
"I trust ya, Michael," she answered truthfully. "I jus' want ta be sure ya know whot yer getting' yarself into... Not everybody is cut out fer this."
He gazed back at her, his expression deadly serious, and as he began to speak she saw a look come into his eyes that she had seen a hundred times before, the spark of fanaticism which caused death and destruction about the world.
"Fiona, ya have ta believe me, Am a true patriot, I love me country dearly and will do whotever I have ta ta make it safe an' free."
A great hollow was forming in her chest at his words. He sounded so earnest, so full of fire it reminded her of father and eldest brother when they used to speak of the glorious cause. Masking her true emotions, the young woman forced her lips into a smile. It wasn't the answer she had wanted to hear, but she still held on to the hope that she could make him see things differently.
"Good, we must all do whot we can... I'm glad ya feel tha same way. Let's get along. We've lots ta get done today."
They made the rest of the drive in near silence until they reached the entrance to the quayside.
Parking the Defender far enough away that it wouldn't be picked up on any security cameras they took a stroll hand in hand along the waterfront, acting as an innocent couple out for a walk to look at the boats in the harbor. As they admired the local fishing fleet vessels, they also casually directed their attention to the storage sheds behind a tall chain link fence.
"I'm meeting Brendon out har and he's gonna take me through ta meet up wit' his arms dealer friend... Yer ta keep yar mouth shut an' wait wit' tha vehicle. Once tha deal is done, I'll signal ya ta come in."
"And when Brendon or the mystery man double cross ya? Wit'out radios, whot's tha signal gonna be fer me ta come in guns blazin'?" he asked in a dry humorless tone.
"Am here on RIRA business," she spoke, as if to a small child. "Nobody will dare ta interfere, not if they wanta keep thar kneecaps. Jus' follow me lead." She waited, watching how he scanned the whole area. "Trust me, Michael. I've done hundreds o' these deals."
"Fine," he muttered in such a way to make it clear everything was most definitely not fine.
"Come on," she urged, pulling on his hand before he could find any more holes in her plan. "Let's check our escape routes an' rally points in case we need 'em and then you get ta take me shopping."
"Shopping?"
"Yes, if thing's go wrong, I don't want anybody at the Braeside Hotel thinking there was anything strange about tha couple stayin' in Room Twelve. Ya have taken me ta see all tha pretty boats and now yer gonna take me ta tha fancy city shops befer we head back home tonight."
The rest of the day went far too fast for Fiona Glenanne. She was impressed at how well Michael knew his way around the back streets of the port area. When he had said he'd studied the routes, she hadn't expected him to be able to navigate his way through the city like a native.
"I make me money driving getaway cars, luv. I can do this job wit' me eyes shut."
And she sincerely hoped he was right.
()()()
It was dark by the time they arrived back at the hotel and there was only an hour left before they had to vacate the room. As soon as they were inside, Fiona locked the door and turned to her partner in crime.
"Pack tha bags while I get ready," she told him, reaching for a change of clothes and the wig of long black hair.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was standing before the ancient fireplace, staring morosely at the flames of the small fire.
"Ya shouldnae have bothered lighting thot. We're going soon."
"I wanted ta," he answered softly.
Crossing the room she picked up her hairbrush and sat down in front of the dressing table to brush out her long fake hair. Watching his reflection in the mirror she could see how unhappy he was and though she hoped it was because he believed they were about to complete an arms deal for a bunch of murderers, she doubted that was the reason.
"Why ar' ya so quiet?" She got to her feet to face him.
He sighed and then, picking up her bullet proof vest, he walked over to stop before her. With a slight melancholy smile, he combed his fingers through the false hair, a mild look of loathing marring his features.
"I don' like tha idea o' people shooting at ya," he replied softly. "And I don' like this, ya said thar wa' no risk. So, why tha disguise?"
"In case ya hadn't heard, I have a brother who isn't keen on whot me and Sean ar' doin' at tha moment. He follows tha official Provo line... So, this way if am seen, am a mystery woman wit' long black hair an' Liam stays out of it. I don' agree wit' ham, but I don' want ta make any more trouble fer ham wit' the Council. He's me family, pigheaded bastid thot he is."
"An' when we leave har? Ya should wait ta -"
"Me hair will be hidden by tha hood on me coat, nobody will see. Is thot was has ya so worried?"
He helped her into the vest, drawing the velcro tabs tight across her chest, his palms lingering over over her Kevlar protected breasts. "I don' like tha idea o' people shooting at ya," he repeated.
"Yer worried?" she queried, unused to the idea of somebody being worried about her safety on a job.
"Yer not?" He squeezed her waist and sighed quietly.
Her family cared for her deeply, but they would never worry. They trusted her skills so completely now... So different than when she'd first come home... Well, maybe Liam would worry regardless... Sean liked to call their eldest living sibling a mother hen and it was a fair description, if mother hens came armed with deadly weapons and a natural skill in the art of intimidation and torture.
"One thing ya will learn about me, Michael McBride. I don' worry, nae since I wa' a little girl."
She sat down and tried to see what he was staring at out the window. The dark haired man drew her attention back to himself, gently running the backs of his fingers over her cheek.
"Everybody worries sometimes, luv." he pointed out.
"Not me," Fiona replied, moving past him to settle on the couch opposite the window.
Sitting there on the sofa once again, she remembered their earlier conversation before they had headed to Londonderry as McBride had remarked on what a great man her father had been with such pride in his voice, as though he held the man in great personal regard.
"And how do ya know anythin' about me Da?"
Her lover looked conflicted for a moment, as if he hadn't wanted to reveal a secret. "Sean said," he answered sheepishly at length. "He wa' very proud o' ham...about whot he'd done fer tha Cause."
She had to smile at that. The youngest Glenanne male was always trying to fill the shoes of his deceased sire and his eldest brother. In some ways, they were very much alike, both of them trying to live in the shadow of the demands of their family code of honor, but each trying to be their own person as well. Such was the life in their large clan where reputations cut both ways.
"When I wa' younger, me father wanted ta protect his family and thar beliefs no matter whot." She had spoken as if telling a story. "I watched him get beaten and shot at. But if he wa' afraid he never showed it. He always said thar wa' a difference between living and living free."
"And how did thot work out fer ya all?" Michael had asked, almost as if he'd known the answer.
"Well, o' course, living wit' honor, it put us in more danger. But me father came up with a plan ta warn us if he knew trouble wa' brewing. He would say time ta be brave little angel..."
"Time ta be brave little angel?" he had echoed in obvious confusion.
"I suppose it wa' a code of sorts. Whot it really meant wa', get down on tha floor, close yar eyes an' start prayin' til it's over."
Watching Michael approach her from the window frame, she wondered briefly about what Patrick Glenanne Senior would have thought of what she was about to do.
"Time ta go," she said, coming to her feet. She smiled at him as he put the coat on her and fitting it around the vest as she reached up to cup his cheek.
"Faith and prayer might get ya through tha worse o' it..." he began quietly, pulling her snub nose revolver out from the waistband of his jeans. "But praying won' stop Brendon Callum an' his friends fram shooting ya if they decide ta keep tha guns an' tha payment."
Her gaze strayed to the weapon in her lover's hand. She had been wondering where it had gotten to. Michael must have taken it during one of their rendezvous at Sean's house. Smiling, she accepted the gun, letting her fingers brush over his palm as she took the Smith and Wesson revolver and tucked it against the small of her back.
"Which is why war nae carryin' tha payment. When I've seen tha guns, others will be takin' care o' the financial arrangements." Fiona reached up and kissed the tip of his nose. "Me family's been in the gun dealin' business fer awhile, Michael. I know whot I'm doin' so don' get yar knickers in a twist," she jibbed, trying to tease him out of his somber mood.
Looking around the room, Fiona was pleased to see he had packed all their belongings. Buttoning her coat, she let Michael arrange the hood so little of her hair or features were on display.
He looked so sad and serious that his lover couldn't help but give him a quick peck on the lips.
"It'll be fine Michael, everything is arranged..." She willed herself to believe her own words. The RIRA wanted the guns and she was there to get them. Anyone with the PIRA would know to leave them alone... that only left the police and the army to worry about... whot else wa' new? "Once we have tha guns and war away, I'll explain everythin' I promise ya."
Her dark haired boyfriend picked up the case, the conflicted emotions still clear on his face.
"An' – and we'll spend Valentine's at me place whar we won't be disturbed. How does thot sound?" she offered in a rush, hoping she wasn't being too forward again. Now that they were lovers, she didn't know how she would be able to go back to what they had before.
His expression softened, a look of anticipation overlaying the anxiety there. Michael reached out with his free hand and drew her in for a soft, lingering kiss.
And as she kissed him, Fiona Glenanne knew in her heart the frightening truth was that she was far less worried about facing down the blood thirsty members of the newly formed RIRA or the gun runner who would be supplying their means to commit mayhem than she was about what would happen if she couldn't convince Michael McBride to see things her way once he knew the truth.