Always a Wanderer Read online

  Also by Danica Winters

  The Irish Traveller Series

  Once a Gypsy

  Always a Wanderer

  Forever a Queen

  Standalone

  Sweet Wine: Romance Short Story

  Always a Wanderer

  The Irish Traveller Series: Book Two

  Danica Winters

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are not intentional and purely the result of coincidence.

  Copyright © 2017 by Danica Winters

  Cover art and design by FrinaArt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, redistributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, print, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.

  www.DanicaWinters.net

  Praise for Always a Wanderer

  “Always a Wanderer is a powerful, inspiring tale that proves not all who wander are lost.”

  —Sabrina York,

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  “Readers will be captivated by the enchanting and mysterious world of The Irish Traveller series.”

  —Kate SeRine,

  National Readers’ Choice Award-winning author

  Praise for Once a Gypsy

  “A haunting and fresh voice in paranormal romance. Be prepared for Danica Winters to ensnare you in her dark and seductive world.”

  —Cecy Robson,

  2016 Double-Nominated RITA® Finalist

  “Winters’ sweet opener to her Irish Travellerseries bodes well for future titles.”

  —Booklist

  To Mac—

  May we always wander together.

  The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

  —William Butler Yeats,

  Letter to Frederick J. Gregg, 1886

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Chapter One

  IT SEEMED THAT PEOPLE who were like her, people with the Gift, were always searching for the truths of the universe while their bodies struggled with reality. Helena O’Driscoll refused to be like the rest of them, the ones who forgot they were standing in the middle of a room, only remembering they were still alive when the lights were off and everyone else had gone home. She couldn’t let herself get lost in the mist, the veil that obscured life at Adare Manor—regardless of how badly she sometimes wanted to dis-appear.

  The wind stroked the few leaves that clung to the trees, tickling them until they whispered their secrets into the evening air, only to be garbled by this place’s mysteries. The breeze carried the scent of the River Maigue, earthy and round, rich with the heady aroma of an Irish fall. She pulled the smell deep into her lungs, hoping for a brief moment that it would fill her with the same promise of renewal, but as she exhaled, she realized the truth—her new reality had become her cage. It trapped her in a way she had never thought possible, a way that went against everything she’d ever been taught and the blood in her veins—she was imprisoned by her heart.

  Graham stepped beside her and put his hand to her lower back, his touch hot on her skin. “Are you okay, lass?” he asked with a smile. His full pink lips were the lips she had kissed a hundred times, but each time she noticed them as of late, it was as if they belonged to a stranger.

  “Aye, I’m fine,” she answered, with a smile that mimicked his—the same tight lines and forced edges.

  She could see her lie register in his eyes, but he didn’t push further. She stared at his strong features and the way his dark brown eyes seemed to have lightened the moment they had left Adare’s grounds. He was so very handsome, and it made her heartbeat quicken as she thought about reaching up and running her thumb over the stubble on his jaw. Somehow it felt off to touch him like that now.

  Graham slipped his hand into hers, but his fingers were tight and she let go as he opened the doors to the Clonshire Equestrian Center and followed her inside. It was sweet of him, really, to try and take her out when there was so much to do at the manor to get ready for the new hospital’s grand opening.

  A man on a piebald gelding rode up to them. The horse’s hooves struck the soft dirt with heavy thumps as the man pulled the animal to a stop. “’Ello, so glad to have you here, Mr. Kelly. How’s your da?”

  The man had an indiscernible accent, and as he sat back in the saddle, he ran his hand through his thick curls of blond hair. He reminded her of the models on the covers of the array of horse lovers’ magazines that always seemed to adorn the tables of the sitting rooms around the manor.

  “Mr. Shane is right as rain,” Graham said, his voice as tight as his smile. He glanced over at her, checking her expression.

  She knew what he was thinking. The last thing—or person—either of them wanted to talk about was his stepfather. Thanks to differing opinions about the hospital, the manor, and life in general, they had endured little but constant fighting and bickering with Mr. Shane over the last few months, and his name left them both with a sour taste in their mouths.

  “Glad to hear it,” the man on the horse answered. “It’s been a while since he’s graced us with his presence. His mare, Glenda, is missing ’im.” He motioned toward the corridor, where the stables could be found. “No one can handle her as well as your step da; she always seems to want to please ’im.”

  “That horse sounds just like my mother,” Graham whispered, so low that only she could hear.

  Helena bristled at the thought. She couldn’t understand how anyone who really knew Mr. Shane could fall for him. He might come off to some as ever so likable, but it was nothing more than a businessman’s show—all for the money and prestige—and when it was stripped away and he stood bare, he was nothing more than pound signs.

  “Are you Ms. Helena, ma’am?” the blond man asked.

  She tried not to notice the way he stared at her for a moment too long. He shifted in the saddle as though he were making room for her to climb up and ride away with him.

  Truth be told, he looked like the type of man who could have any woman he wanted, but she had no interest in adding her name to the list of women he’d taken for a ride. She glanced over at Graham, but he didn’t seem to have noticed the man’s unspoken dialogue.

  She gave the man a polite smile. “Aye, and you’d be?”

  “I’m Neill Morgan, the riding instructor here at Clonshire Equestrian Center. It’s mighty fine to meet you, ma’am. I’ve been hearing much about ye.”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised that she had been talked about even outside the manor. She was a freak—a gypsy who had strayed too far from the path of her culture, and she was an outsider amongst the upper echelons.

  “Nothin’ of merit, I’m sure,” she said under her breath.

  “What was that, my lady?”

  She shook her head and waved him off. “Nothin’, just sayin’ there ain’t no reason for you to be callin’ me my lady. Just call me Helena.”

&nbs
p; “Aye, as you wish.” He smiled, and his gaze moved down her as though he were stacking her against the ladies she was now expected to emulate.

  He would be sorely disappointed in her if he thought she could be anyone other than the Traveller woman she had been raised to become.

  “What kind of riding do you like to do, Ms. Helena?” Neill continued.

  She had grown up around horses. When she had been young, Da had always taken them to both the Appleby and Ballinasloe horse fairs. It had been one of the family’s few annual traditions. She and the other children loved it—that was, until Da had been carted away to the clink and their family fell apart. Now, like so much else, the thing that had once made her who she was had become nothing more than a fading memory.

  “I grew up around Vanners. Always loved the thrill of the race, they are wicked fast beasts,” she said, trying to ignore the feelings of nostalgia that swept through her.

  “Racing, eh?” Neill said with a chuckle. “I guess I ain’t surprised...You bein’ who you be and all.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Graham’s head rose at the man’s innocuous words; perhaps he had misunderstood the tone.

  “Ah, nothin’, sir. I just be sayin’ it’s nice to meet someone who fits into this place as well as I do—you know, about as well as a culchie comin’ up to Dublin.”

  From the looks of him, Neill fit in just fine, with the thick blond locks that framed his face and the jawline that could have been chiseled out of marble. The only thing that gave the man away as other was his thick accent.

  As much as he wanted to make her think their lives resembled each other’s, he wasn’t anything like her. Regardless of his background, he belonged here—surrounded by the elite women of high society, who likely fawned and coyly batted their eyelashes until they found themselves alone with him in the recesses of the stable.

  “Do you got any Vanners here?” she asked, more than aware that they would have been just as out of place in the equestrian center as she was.

  Neill shook his head, but he smiled as he must have realized that she had asked the question not out curiosity but out of spite. “’Fraid not. I’ve been pushing to diversify our breeds, but right now we concentrate on Irish sport horses, like this guy here.” He ran his hand down the gelding’s neck. “How about we do a little riding, aye?”

  She glanced over to Graham. He was checking his mobile, likely thanks to the seemingly hundreds of e-mails he got each day asking him questions about the manor and its employees. There was always something that needed his attention—normally more than her.

  He looked up at her and caught her gaze. “Sorry, lass.” He turned off the screen and slipped the thing into his pocket, as though he were as annoyed by it as she was.

  “Aye. Everything okay at the manor?”

  He nodded. “They’re having problems with the...” He paused as he looked at Neill. “The new venture,” he said, carefully avoiding the word “hospital.” “They can’t seem to get everyone settled.”

  “Was there another runner?” Her thoughts went to Herb and the near tragedy they had faced earlier in the year.

  Graham’s face grew pinched. “Let’s just say they are missing us—or more accurately—you.”

  There must have been someone who needed her gift, the power of her healing touch. She stretched her fingers and drew them into a tight ball. Her body was tired, but she couldn’t deny anyone the help they needed and, in truth, she wanted to get away from Neill as quickly as possible.

  She turned on her heel and moved toward the door. “Let’s go back.”

  Graham grabbed her hand. “No. The staff can handle everything for a few hours. This is our time. We’ve been working so hard; we need a wee break. Everything will be there when we get back.”

  He was right, but that didn’t make her feel better about staying. If she’d learned anything in her last few months at the manor, it was that she was really good at only one thing—helping those whose bodies needed healing. Everything else, like love and relationships...well, those were things that, no matter how hard she tried, she always failed to master.

  Graham slipped his fingers between hers. “Let’s have a go.” He motioned toward Neill. “Are the horses ready?”

  Neill nodded, but his features tightened as he glanced down at Helena’s and Graham’s entwined fingers.

  For a moment, she thought about pulling away from Graham, but instead she squeezed his hand tighter. They had their problems, and they were still trying to fix what was awry in their relationship, but that didn’t mean that she was ready for another man—another gorger, no less—to make a move. Not that he was making a move—maybe the way he kept looking at her, and the way he smiled when she caught his eye, maybe they were nothing more than attempts to make a friend in a world where he felt he didn’t belong.

  Regardless, she stepped closer to Graham’s side.

  Neill nudged his piebald gelding around and moved toward the stables. The horse pinned his ears back, annoyed at the man’s prodding, but Neill forced the horse forward with a press of his foot. The gelding sidestepped, fighting the command, and threw his head up with an irritated nicker.

  “Ya need to get down,” Helena called.

  “He’s just throwing a right fit. He needs to know he can’t get away with it,” Neill answered, pulling the horse’s head straight.

  She could feel the energy as it radiated from the horse. It buzzed through the air, building as the animal’s muscles rippled and flexed beneath the man in the saddle. The horse didn’t like the man on his back, or the way he pressed him forward when he wasn’t ready.

  Neill raised his hand, ready to strike the horse.

  The horse looked back, the whites of his eyes showing as he watched Neill’s hand rise into the air.

  “Don’t. No,” Helena called, but it was too late.

  Neill moved to strike, and the horse lurched, catching him off-balance. Seizing the moment, the horse pitched forward. Neill swayed in the saddle as he tried to hold on to the animal’s body with his thighs.

  The gelding sprinted ahead, forcing Neill back in the saddle. He struggled, but as he moved, his actions threw the horse’s balance off and the animal tripped.

  Helena watched in horror as their bodies spun through the air. Neill’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. A shrill whoop of fear and surprise escaped him.

  His body hit the ground with a heavy thump. Dust filled the air, shrouding the man in a blanket of fine silt, as though he were being buried alive.

  She gasped as the gelding flipped, his legs flailing as he struggled in vain to right himself. No matter how hard the beast fought, he could do nothing to stop his descent, and he came crashing down atop Neill.

  There was a flurry of motion, the animal’s legs thrashing as he panicked and kicked at the air. Catching himself, the horse rolled over the body beneath him with a creak of leather and the sickening crunch of bone.

  The sound—the echo of what was undoubtedly the man’s death—was something Helena would never forget.

  Chapter Two

  THE BLOOD DRIPPED FROM Neill’s chin, falling to the ground and forming a shallow pool. His chest was concave where the saddle had crushed his ribs. His arms had already taken on a sickening, mottled purple-gray color.

  Helena rushed to the man’s side and laid her hands on his chest. His energy seeped into her fingers, weak and leaking out just like the blood that poured from his wounds. The constant thump that marked life was faint as he clung to the land of the living.

  “It’s all right, Neill...you’ll be all right...you’ll be okay,” she said, though every cell of her being told her he was far from fine.

  He looked up at her with icy blue eyes, desperate.

  “Help him...” Graham urged.

  “Ring the medics.” She laid her hands on Neill’s crushed chest. Her fingers brushed over the oily surface of a bone that had broken through his skin and torn into what had once been his crisp whit
e shirt.

  The horse stumbled as he regained his balance, his eyes white with fear. As Helena looked at him, he tossed his head and squealed in pain.

  “Take the horse to the stables. The animal needs to be checked out.”

  Graham took the horse’s reins and ran his hands down the skittish animal’s neck. The horse pulled, but as Graham spoke he started to calm, and Graham was able to slowly coax him toward the stables.

  Neill’s chest shifted under her fingers, pulling Helena’s attention back to his wrecked body. Her powers had grown stronger since coming to the manor, but looking at the state of him, she wasn’t sure how much help she could actually be. Mending a bone here and there was far different than putting together a man who looked more like Humpty Dumpty after his great fall.

  She grounded herself, pushing her fingers deep into the soft dirt as Ayre had been teaching her. “Powers of the earth, be with me. Bridge the gap between the world of the living and the land of the dead. Fill the space with your energy. Help me to help those in need,” she whispered. “A libha sarog. A karkn lugil. A dha ogaks moniker, d’umiik a libha nalks, dha karkn fhas, dha lugil kuldrum.” She repeated the old Cant prayer in English—she needed all the power she could get. “The blood is red. The flesh has pain. In the old one’s name let the blood dry, the flesh grow, the pain sleep.”

  A wave of energy ran up from the ground, pooling in her core like she was a battery being recharged. She sighed, letting the power fill her. Hopefully this would work. Hopefully she could put the man back together again.

  Then again, if she did...he would know her secret.

  She stopped for a moment, and the flow of energy ceased.

  What would happen if he found out who she was? What she could do? He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t a supernatural. If she healed him, he would have the knowledge and power to strike down everything she and Graham had been working toward.

  Was this man, and this one man’s life, worth putting their kind and the people they were trying to save at risk?