off. But Tommy’s a terrible liar. It’s the reason I like him.”
“Do you know the story of Oisín and Niamh, Mr. Collins?” I asked softly, letting my mouth find comfort in the sound of their names—usheen and neev. I’d learned the story in Gaelic, speaking the language before I’d learned to write it.
I’d startled Michael Collins. He’d expected an answer, and I’d asked a question instead. An odd one.
“I know it,” he said.
I fixed my gaze on Thomas’s pale eyes, on the promise he’d made not to turn me away. I’d thought of Oisín and Niamh more than once since I’d fallen through time; the similarities of our stories were not lost on me.
I began to recite the tale the way I’d learned it, in Gaelic, letting the Irish words lull the table into a hushed silence. I told them how Niamh, Princess of Tír na nÓg, the Land of the Young, had found Oisín, son of the great Fionn, on the banks of Loch Leane, not so different from the way Thomas had found me. Collins snorted and O’Reilly shifted, but Thomas was still, holding my gaze as I wove the ancient tale in a language every bit as old.
“Niamh loved Oisín. She asked him to go with her. To trust her. And she promised to do all in her power to make him happy,” I said.
“This is an odd way of answering my question, Anne Gallagher,” Michael Collins murmured, but there was a softness in his tone, as if my Gaelic had calmed his suspicions. Surely one who spoke the language of the Irish could never work for the Crown. He did not stop me as I continued with the legend.
“Oisín believed Niamh when she described her kingdom, a place that existed separate from his own world, and he went with her there, leaving his land behind. Oisín and Niamh were very happy for several years, but Oisín missed his family and his friends. He missed the green fields and the loch. He begged Niamh to let him return, if only for a visit. Niamh knew what would happen if she let him go back, and her heart broke because she knew Oisín would not understand unless he saw the truth for himself.” My throat ached, and I paused, closing my eyes against the blue of Thomas’s steady gaze to gather my courage. I needed Thomas to believe me but didn’t want to see the moment when he stopped.
“Niamh told Oisín he could go but to stay on Moonshadow, her horse, and to not let his foot touch Irish soil. And she begged him to return to her,” I said.
“Poor Oisín. Poor Niamh,” Joe O’Reilly whispered, knowing what came next.
“Oisín traveled for several days until he returned to the lands of his father. But everything had changed. His family was gone. His home too. The people had changed. Gone were the castles and the great warriors of the past,” I said. “Oisín stepped down from Moonshadow, forgetting, in his shock, what Niamh had begged him to remember. When his foot touched the ground, he became a very old man. Time in Tír na nÓg was very different from time in Éire. Moonshadow ran from him, leaving him behind. Oisín never returned to Niamh or the Land of the Young. Instead, he told his story to whomever would listen, so the people would know their history, so they would know they descended from giants, from warriors.”
“I always wondered why he couldn’t return, why Niamh never came for him. Was it his age? Maybe the fair princess didn’t want an old man,” Collins mused, locking his hands behind his head, completely serious.
“Cád atá á rá agat a Aine?” Thomas murmured in Gaelic, and I met his gaze again, my stomach trembling, my palms damp. He wanted to know what I was really trying to say.
“Just like Oisín, there are things you won’t understand unless you experience them for yourself,” I urged.
Joe rubbed his brow wearily. “Can we speak English? My Irish isn’t as good as yours, Anne. A story I already know is one thing. Conversation is another. And I want to understand.”
“When Michael was a child, his father predicted he would do great things for Ireland. His uncle predicted something very similar. How could either of them possibly know such a thing?” I asked, reverting to English once more.
“An dara sealladh,” Michael murmured, his eyes narrowed on my face. “Second sight. Some say there’s a touch of it in