She looked back at me with a puzzled frown. "What? You knew he was already here, and you didn't tell me?"

"Given how it went, it wasn't exactly high on my priority list."

"Don't blame him, Felicity, it's understandable," Austin interjected. "Like Rowan said, it wasn't what you would call a pleasant meeting." He gave her a meek shrug then nodded toward me. "I'm afraid I'm the one responsible for marking up his face."

My wife instantly turned a heated glare back at her brother and snapped, "You hit him?"

"Aye, I hate to..."

The rest of his sentence was cut short by the sound of Felicity's open palm connecting firmly with his cheek.

"I can't believe you would let our father get to you that way, Austin," my wife admonished her brother as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him then scooted into a seat on the opposite side of the breakfast nook.

Between the two of us, we had given her a rough sketch of the events that had transpired the previous evening before I received her call. Austin volunteered the fact that he had spent the night only a few miles away in a cell at the Briarwood police station. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be holding a grudge against me in that regard. Of course, Ben may not have told him that I had sanctioned the idea, and right now wasn't the time for me to be making confessions.

"Well, remember, I was drinking," he offered as an explanation.

"Obviously," she shot back. "But, even then you should know better."

"Maybe you're right. I don't know for sure," he half-agreed. "I'll be honest, I didn't believe him, not at first. Not until he showed me the letters. Then I had to start wondering if maybe he was telling the truth."

"Letters?" she asked. "What letters?"

"That's a little detail that got left out earlier," I offered.

"Go on, then," she urged. "One of you add it back in."

"He has letters, Felicity," Austin began. "From you. Letters written in your own hand begging him to help you get away from Rowan and his cult."

"Cac capaill!" she spat, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her face and shaking her head adamantly. "He does not."

"Aye, he does. He showed them to me."

"Are you sure you didn't imagine all of this, Austin? Just how much did you drink last night?"

"I didn't imagine them, Felicity."

She shook her head again. "I know he's got his problems with Rowan and our religious path, but that's just insane."

"You're not going to get any argument from me there," I interjected.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Can you explain them?" Austin asked.

"Yes. Like I said, you were imagining things."

"Hand to G.o.d, dear sister, I saw them with my own eyes."

"And, were you already seeing double?"

He shook his head and objected. "I may have been drinking, but I was sober enough to know what I saw."

"I can't imagine why daid would make up something like that, but all I can tell you is that they aren't real."

"Are you certain?" he pressed.

"Aye, do you think I'm daft? Don't you think I would know if I had written them?"

I watched as Austin hemmed and hawed for a moment then made a shallow nod in my direction. I'm sure he thought he was doing it on the sly, but I caught it easily, and the significance of the motion wasn't lost on me.

"What?" Felicity asked, shaking her head. "Spit it out."

"He's trying to tell you he thinks you might be lying because you're under duress since I'm sitting right here," I offered.

"That's ridiculous!" she sputtered.

"I can go in the other room if it would make you feel better, Austin," I offered flatly, starting to rise from my chair.

"You, stay put," Felicity ordered, then she turned back to her brother. "Austin, are you still drunk? Do I look to you like I'm afraid of my husband?"

"No, but the letters were written in your own hand, Felicity," he appealed. "How can you explain that?"

"How can you be so sure?" she countered. "When did you become an expert on handwriting a.n.a.lysis? And, besides that, when did you last see anything I'd written by hand?"

"He showed me some old letters you sent home from university," Austin explained. "I checked and the handwriting looked the same to me."

"Well, I'm telling you..." she started then immediately stopped herself and c.o.c.ked her head to the side thoughtfully. After a moment she resumed speaking. "Wait a minute. He had the letters I'd sent home from school?"

"Aye, that's what I said."

"Did you ask to see those?"

"No, he just offered."

"That's it then."

"What's it?"

"Remember when we were kids, how daidi used to have people write down their names, and then after looking at the signature for a minute, he would make a copy with his own hand?"

"Aye," Austin replied with a slow nod. "I do remember that."

"Shamus was into forgery?" I queried.

"No." Felicity shot me a glance and gave a quick shake of her head. "It was just a trick he could do, a bizarre talent. He used to entertain everyone by doing it. Of course, they weren't perfect, but they were close enough."

"So you're thinking he forged the letters he showed Austin, using your old correspondences from college to work from?" I asked.

"That's the only explanation I can think of," she replied. "Because I d.a.m.n sure didn't write them."

"Aye, and I suppose if anyone could do it, Shamus...o...b..ien would be the one," Austin agreed.

"That would also explain why he made it a point to show you the old college letters," I added, directing myself to Austin. "It gave you something to compare them to. It was his way to prove to you that the forged letters were legitimate. But, given what you two just said, I think that move might have just backfired on him and tipped his hand."

"But why?" Felicity asked. "Why forge letters like that? I still don't understand why he would do something so mean."

"Because he doesn't see it as mean," I offered. "He's doing it out of love for his daughter."

"You're defending him?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not so much defending as understanding," I replied. "Believe me, over the past two days I've had my fill of your father. But, like I said to Austin last night when I was trying to convince him that you couldn't possibly have written the letters-if I had a daughter, and I had any inkling at all that she could be in danger, I would do anything in my power to help her. Even if she didn't want my help. I can see where that would include forging some type of evidence to help me effect that rescue."

"But I'm not. Not from you, anyway."

"Agreed, but that's not how he sees it. I'm not saying he isn't misguided, and I'm also not saying that I don't want to wring his neck because I do. But, stepping away and looking at it from a different viewpoint, I can understand how his skewed logic is driving him to do it."

"But all he's doing is creating a bigger rift," she replied.

I nodded. "I know. But, remember, he told me himself that he has already contacted someone about having you deprogrammed."

"He'd best forget that idea right now," my wife spat.

"I agree, but I don't think he's going to. I think the fact that he went to the trouble of forging those letters is evidence enough of that."

"I'm afraid Rowan might be right, Felicity," Austin agreed. "He was talking of it yesterday when he showed them to me."

"What did mathair say about it then?"

"She wasn't happy about it at all." He let out a small huff. "In fact, when I left the house they weren't speaking. She had gone upstairs, slamming doors all the way."

"So that's where you got it," I commented, but my observation was met only by Felicity frowning and rolling her eyes at me.

"Well, maybe she's talked some sense into him by now," she mused.

A moment of sullen quiet fell over all of us as we sat and sipped our coffee. Finally, Austin cleared his throat.

"Aye, well how did he sound when you told him they let you go?" he asked.

"I haven't called yet," Felicity returned coldly. "And, now I'm not so sure that I'm going to."

Her comment wasn't an idle threat. As it turned out, she never actually made the call herself. It was the other way around, for Shamus began calling us as soon as her release was reported on the midday news. At last count he had managed to leave six messages. How many attempts it took for him to accomplish that feat was a mystery, however, because the phone itself was ringing non-stop before Austin ever left. Reporters from every television and radio station, as well as newspaper, in the area were looking for an interview-or at the very least a comment from the newly freed and wrongly accused Witch. Felicity ignored those as well, leaving them to me. But, after I doled out more "no comments" than I could tally in my head, I gave up on the annoyances myself and started allowing the machine to get the calls.

The first two messages from my father-in-law were relatively calm, though they were definitely replete with general concern and a note of relief. But, by the time the total reached the half-dozen mark, he was right back at verbally berating me, this time for keeping Felicity from talking to him, as he was sure that was the case. I suspect Austin and Maggie were all that was keeping him from actually showing up on our doorstep by that point.

I found myself in a bit of a quandary about the outbursts. On the one hand, I was glad Felicity was hearing him so that she could understand why I felt this was more than just his usual disdain for me. But, on the other, I hated for her to be subjected to listening to his tirades. It was never my aim to alienate her from her family, even if at least one of them thought so. I even started to pick up during one of the rants if for no other reason than to bring it to an end. However, when I reached for the handset, I suddenly found her hand pressing down on the back of mine as she muttered in a cold voice, "Leave it be."

It was almost eight p.m. when my wife finally elected to step over to the phone as it once again began to peal. The angry stream of Gaelic which spewed from her mouth the moment she had the device in hand was enough to tell me who was at the other end.

I decided then that it was a good time for me to work on straightening up the office upstairs.

CHAPTER 23:.

"Good mornin'," Ben said as soon as I swung open the front door.

"It is Monday, isn't it?" I asked in reply.

"Last time I checked."

"Then shouldn't you be at work?"

"I am. Sorta. Here." He shoved a fold of paper into my hand as he invited himself in. "You got anything ta' eat?"

He wasn't even completely through the door when he handed me the envelope and just kept going toward the kitchen. I looked at it, slightly puzzled at first then suddenly fearful. Felicity's name was typed across its face, and the return address of the prosecutor's office was imprinted in the upper corner.

"This d.a.m.n well better not be another warrant," I snapped.

"It ain't."

"Okay, then what is it?"

"Look at it."

"Let's not start that again," I replied, swinging the door shut then following along behind him.

"Don't worry, it ain't anything bad."

"Famous last words. So, what is it?"

"You got coffee on," he asked, completely bypa.s.sing the query.

"Yeah, actually Felicity just made a fresh pot a few minutes ago," I replied. "And, you know where the cups are. Now are you going to answer my question or not?"

"Jeezus, calm down and just open the d.a.m.n envelope," he replied as he snagged a mug from the cabinet and began filling it over the sink. "It's a property release. Ran into the prosecutor, and I offered to save the city some postage."

"You just happened to run into the prosecutor?" I echoed, interrupting him. "Isn't that a little out of the ordinary, even for you?"

"Yeah, well, kinda." He shrugged. "I'll admit it was accidentally on purpose 'cause I was doin' some diggin' and happened ta' be standin' in his office, but that don't matter right now." He paused to take a swig of the coffee then topped off the cup before sliding the carafe back into the base. "Anyhow, all ya' gotta do is take that an' your copy of the property voucher the crime scene guys had ya' sign then go downtown and ask to see the properties officer. Give 'em those, show 'em your ID, coupla' signatures, and ya' can pick up everything they took during the search."

"Really?"