Bound by Song (Cauld Ane Series, #4)

by Piper Davenport

  Max raised an eyebrow. “That was cryptic.”

  “Brodie’s planning a secret wedding for Payton,” Niall explained.

  “What’s that got to do with the price of fish?”

  “Nothing really.” Niall laughed. “Brodie wants me to be there, because he knows Payton will want me there.”

  “We don’t do weddings.”

  “I know we don’t,” Niall said. “But Payton loved Samantha’s. She enjoys the human custom, so Brodie wants to do this for her.”

  Max slipped his wallet into his back pocket. “He’s going to all that trouble?”

  “Of course he is. He’d do anything for her,” Niall said.

  “Just seems over the top.” Max rolled his eyes. “Ready?”

  Niall nodded. “Would now be a good time to point out that you’re doing an interview in order to get the attention of your mate?”

  “I plan to find her, bind her, and bring her home where she belongs. Once she’s settled, things will go back to normal.” Max held the door open and motioned Niall out.

  His brother let out a guffaw as he left the suite. “Oh, this is going to be bloody brilliant.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Max, Niall, Oliver Bardsley, Fallen Crown’s bass player, and Henry Keys, strangely enough, their keyboardist, all sat in producer’s chairs facing Christine Beach, the pretty blonde reporter from KRTV. Cameras and lights had been strategically placed around Kenna’s suite, and she went over the last-minute list of questions with Max and Niall as the band was mic’d up.

  Max hated interviews. In all honestly, he’d rather have his teeth pulled, so when Kenna told the rest of the band he’d agreed to an interview, they suspected he was up to something. Which he was. Just not what they thought.

  Before Max could dwell on whether or not this was a good idea, the director counted down from three and the camera’s red light popped on.

  “Fallen Crown. Welcome. I must say, this is a rare treat,” Christine said. “I understand you’ve only done one interview in the last six years and that was in London. Thank you for taking some time out from your busy tour to meet with me.”

  “It’s our pleasure, Christine,” Max said. “Thank you for having us.”

  He saw his brother grin at him out of the corner of his eye. In the rare times Fallen Crown had done an interview, Max let Niall or one of the other guys speak. He would sit, silent, sunglasses on, and brood. According to the media, it added to the mystery surrounding the band and led to six-figure offers for an exclusive. “So, how do you like Portland?” She glanced at her notepad and then at Niall. “I understand you’ve never played here before.”

  “We’re loving Portland, Christine,” Niall said. “And it’s true, we’ve never been here. The closest we’ve played is Seattle.”

  “That’s right. In fact, your last American tour was almost a decade ago. What made you wait so long to come back?”

  “We’ve been recording and focusing on shows in Europe,” Niall explained. “We just never made it back.”

  “Well, gentlemen, the city’s abuzz with your arrival. What made you choose Portland this time around? I understand you canceled your Seattle show not long ago.”

  Niall chuckled and Max forced himself to keep a blank expression on his face.

  “We did, Christine,” Niall confirmed. “We decided to spend a little extra time here after meeting a family from Vancouver at our last show.”

  “The other Vancouver.” Christine giggled. “But in all seriousness, there are quite a few Washingtonians who claim to be from Portland, you know. But who wouldn’t? We take great pride in our city.”

  Max and Niall shared a familiar look which the outside world probably wouldn’t be able to translate. Even Niall, as nice as he was, didn’t like pretension on anyone, and Christine Beach was full of it.

  “So,” Christine continued, “you’ve had to add another date to your tour schedule. Friday’s show sold out in three minutes, which is unheard of here. You’re playing the Moda Center Saturday as well, correct?”

  “Aye,” Niall said. “We’re looking forward to it.”

  “Any plans to reschedule Seattle?”

  “Not at this time,” Max said. “But we would like to take this opportunity to invite Grace, Spencer, and Maggie Wilson to one of the shows this weekend. We’ve got backstage passes for them.”

  “So, which one of them made such a huge impression on you?”

  Kenna cleared her throat and shook her head at Christine. This question was off-limits.

  Christine took a deep breath and then smiled. “Right. So, I understand that you, Max and Niall, were knighted by the queen several years ago...”

  Now that he’d let the Portland Metro area know that he wanted Grace to come to the show, Max was confident she wouldn’t be able to resist him. His job was done. He let the guys finish the rest of the interview and then went back to his room for a drink.

  “GRACE!” MAGGIE SQUEALED. The bang of the slamming door reverberated in the large foyer. “Gracie, where are you?”

  “In here,” Grace called from the kitchen.

  Maggie came running into the room and grabbed the remote for the flat-screen television that hung in the great room just off the kitchen. “Holy shit, you’re not going to believe this.”

  Grace wiped her hands on a towel and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s all over the news.” Maggie surfed until she found the channel she was looking for, pausing to sneeze.

  “What’s all over the news?” Grace asked as she handed her sister the box of tissues. “Magpie, what are you doing? You know I hate inaccurate media reporting.”

  “But you’re going to love this.”

  A commercial telling everyone to hail to the V was currently overshadowing whatever it was Maggie wanted to show her. Grace shook her head and went back to her recipe book. She could see the T.V. just fine from the large island in the kitchen, and right now, she was craving chocolate chip cookies.

  “Here it is!” Maggie squeaked as she turned up the volume and flopped onto the large sectional.

  Deborah Miller, a popular news anchor for KRTV, smiled into the camera. “Good evening, everyone. Tonight’s top story: Fallen Crown, the popular band from Scotland is here in Portland, kicking off their first US concert tour in over a decade. Our own Christine Beach was granted unparalleled access to them in a rare interview earlier today. Here’s Christine.”

  “Thanks, Deb. Hello, everyone. I was indeed lucky enough to be granted access to the most reclusive band in the world. Even their lead singer, Maximilian MacMillan, said a few words, which is a very rare occurrence.”

  Because he’s such a diva. Grace rolled her eyes as she followed the instructions on the recipe page, half-listening to the interview. She did glance at the screen for a second and had to take a deep breath to calm her heart. Max was honestly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, just as beautiful on television as he was in person. But she knew she wasn’t alone in that opinion. Standing in line at the grocery store, watching women fawn over the magazine covers he graced with his presence, was all it took to know that he could have any woman he wanted, and more often than not, did.

  No wonder he has the man-whore label, she thought, ungraciously.

  “Not at this time,” Max said. “But we would like to take this opportunity to invite Grace, Spencer, and Maggie Wilson to one of the shows this weekend. We’ve got backstage passes for them.”

  Grace was so unprepared to hear her name on the television, she dropped the measuring cup full of flour. “Shit!”

  Maggie squealed again and paused the TV. “See? Ohmigod, Grace!”

  “Grace...Maggie!” The front door slammed and Spencer jogged into the room. “Did you hear?”

  Grace wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Rewind that, Mags, would you?”

  Maggie played it again and then started jumping up and down. “Maximilian MacMill
an said my name on television.” Another squeal. “Laurel is going to die. Suck it, Laurel Shane.”

  Grace couldn’t help but giggle. Laurel Shane had always been Maggie’s arch-nemesis, a mean girl to the nth degree who liked nothing better than to one-up Maggie in their mutual circle of friends. It was difficult to find fault with Maggie. She was beautiful, sweet, and charmingly naïve, which was why the jealous Laurel continually bad-mouthed her behind her back.

  “Well, that was very nice of them,” Grace said. “You guys are going to have a blast.”

  “What do you mean ‘you guys’? You have to come!” Spencer said.

  Grace grabbed a broom and began to sweep up the flour. “I can’t, Spence. I promised Kristen I’d sing at her church this weekend, and I’d rather not be out late tonight. I’ve got songs to learn. You guys go.”

  “But he said your name,” Maggie pointed out.

  Grace smiled. “And he said yours as well.”

  “But...but...it’s Fallen Crown, Grace!” Maggie argued.

  “You act like they’re the second coming.”

  Spencer crossed his arms. “Pretty close,” he joked.

  Grace laughed. “Yes. They are very talented.”

  “And gorgeous,” Maggie supplied.

  Yeah, too gorgeous to be anything but degenerates.

  “You’d totally go if it was one of your stupid country bands,” Spencer accused.

  “Actually, Spence, this weekend’s just not—” She looked at him and shrugged. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. If Lady A or Little Big Town offered up backstage passes, I’d bail on the worship team. I admit it. I’m going to hell.”

  Maggie clapped her hands. “Well, if you’re going there anyway, come with us.”

  “Nah, you guys go. I just remembered, I promised Mom we’d watch a movie tonight. You know she hates being in the house alone at night when Dad’s traveling.” Grace glanced at her watch. “And you guys should get ready. The show’s in less than two hours.”

  “You’re right,” Spencer said, and left the room.

  Maggie frowned, but followed her brother upstairs.

  * * *

  Grace was pulling out the last batch of cookies when her sister walked into the kitchen. Maggie wore a slinky black dress with a short skirt, and tall boots that stopped at the knee. Her makeup was light, except for her smoky eyes. She looked gorgeous.

  “We’re going. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  Grace smiled. “Nope. I’m good. Have a great time. You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ready?” Spencer walked in, swiped a cookie off the cooling rack, and grabbed his keys. “We’ll swing by and pick Aisha up on the way.”

  “Sounds good,” Maggie said.

  The siblings left and Grace settled in for a quiet night.

  * * *

  Max swore and pushed open his hotel room door so hard it slammed against the wall.

  “Take it easy on the door, Max,” Niall warned as he pried the doorknob out of the drywall and closed it. “That’s going to cost us.”

  Max swore again as he paced the room. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

  Niall tried not to smile as he watched his brother. No one, and he meant no one, had ever said no to his brother. They literally couldn’t. Max had the power of suggestion and could make anyone, outside of a few of their own people, do anything he wanted them to. Humans had no power against him, and Max had often used that to his advantage.

  Max had been prepared to sweep Grace off her feet, and was ready when the security crew said the three Wilsons had arrived. However, Grace wasn’t the third in the group. It was her brother’s girlfriend.

  Niall had to give it to Max. He’d put on a happy face and greeted each of them, took pictures, and even managed to finish the show, but the band could feel his anger and frustration throughout the concert, making the performance uncomfortable for the musicians. Niall dragged Max back to the hotel as soon as possible in an effort to keep him from hitting something or someone.

  “You heard her brother. She’s singing this weekend and didn’t want a late night,” Niall tried to explain.

  “At church!” Max poured himself a drink and downed it. “She’s bloody well singing at a fucking church!” He poured another drink and downed that too.

  “You sent the note. Maybe she’ll come to the show tomorrow.” When Max reached for the bottle again, Niall grabbed it before he could. “This won’t help.”

  Max’s response was to throw the empty glass at Niall’s head.

  Niall caught it before it could hit the wall, and set it on the desk. “Max. Calm down, brother.”

  “How the hell did I get stuck with a mate who goes to church?”

  Niall laughed. He couldn’t help himself. That was a very good question.

  Max’s eyes glowed red as he swore and rushed Niall, who, luckily, was ready for his brother’s attack. He managed to get his hand wrapped around the back of Max’s neck, and within seconds, Max’s eyes returned to blue and he was calm again. The only two people able to manage Max in a rage were Niall and Max’s closest friend, Connall Gunnach.

  “Thanks.” Max flopped onto the edge of the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. “Sorry, Nye.”

  “What about this?” Niall asked as he pulled the desk chair over and sat down. “We don’t have to leave until Friday, so after the show tomorrow night, if she doesn’t make it, why don’t we come back to the hotel instead of doing the after-party, and we can make some plans. We’ll still have almost a week to find her.”

  Max shook his head. “She’ll come tomorrow night.”

  “What if she can’t?”

  “She’ll come.”

  “Well, just remember, after the show in Alaska, we have to bury Kinnon.”

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “You’re really convinced she’ll come tomorrow?”

  “Aye, Niall. Just stop yer yabberin’.”

  “Suit yourself.” Niall shrugged. “I’ll quit me yabberin’, but what are you going to do now?”

  “I’m kind of in the mood to write.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “Alone.” Max rose to his feet. “I’m calm enough not to kill anyone, Nye. How about we call it a night?”

  “Fine.” Niall stood. “But I’m taking the scotch with me.”

  Niall left his brother and made his way to the room next door.

  * * *

  Long after her mother went to bed, Grace was still up, surfing the Net, job hunting...well, no, not entirely true. What she was really doing was trying not to think about Maximilian MacMillan, and refusing to admit which of those two subjects was taking up more of her brain space. She heard the hall clock strike one before she finally conceded defeat and shut down the computer. Suddenly a hankering for the cookies she’d baked earlier came over her, so she pulled on a pair of sweats and slippers and snuck downstairs. She walked into the kitchen to find Maggie pouring herself a glass of milk, a stack of cookies next to it.

  “Hi,” Grace said. “How was the show?”

  “The show was Am-AH-zing.” Maggie grinned and nodded toward the milk. “Want some?”

  “Please.” Grace grabbed a glass and the jar of cookies.

  “Oh, I have something for you,” Maggie said, brushing her hands off and reaching into her purse. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” Grace asked, setting her milk down and taking the letter.

  “It’s a love note. From Maximilian MacMillan,” Maggie whispered as though no one else should hear.

  Grace snorted. “Shut up, it is not.”

  “Kidding. I don’t know what it says. But it is from Max.” Maggie rinsed her glass and set it in the dishwasher. “I think he likes you.”

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” Grace giggled nervously. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Hand to God, no joke. Max
seemed totally bummed you weren’t there. He wrote this and asked me to give it to you.”

  “I don’t even know this guy.”

  “Open it.” Maggie rubbed her hands together. “What does it say?”

  Grace opened the well-sealed envelope and pulled the note out.

  Miss Wilson, I was disappointed you were unable to make it tonight. Please know that you’re welcome to come tomorrow night. In fact, I’ll send a car. Just let me know your address. Please give me a ring or send me an e-mail with your information and I’ll take care of everything. Yours, Max.

  He’d put his e-mail address and phone number under his name. Grace shook her head in confusion.

  “So?” Maggie pressed.

  “He wants me to come to the show tomorrow night. He said he’ll send a car.”

  “Oh, Grace. That’s fantastic! You have to go now.”

  “I can’t. Jeez, what’s up with everyone? I can’t just blow off the team ’cause some self-indulgent rock star summoned me to his gig.” Grace was starting to get irritated.

  “But he likes you.”

  “So?”

  “So, he’s young, gorgeous, rich, talented, and can you even imagine what you’d sound like if you sang together?” Maggie hummed in delight. “It would be incredible.”

  “I don’t think he’s young, sissy.”

  “He must be,” Maggie argued. “He looks younger than me.”

  Grace sighed. “Do the math, Mags.”

  “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s old. They’ve been around since the eighties.”

  “No way, really?”

  “Really.”

  Maggie bit her lip and then shrugged. “Well, either he sold his soul to the devil or whoever said they formed in the eighties is wrong. He looks like he’s in his twenties, maybe early thirties.”

  “I know he does,” Grace said with a sigh. “But he can’t be. He’s gotta be in his forties, at least. Way too old for me.”

  “So what? Age is just a stupid number. I think you should give him a chance.”