by Claudy Conn
However, Uncle Kennet was right. She had to remember that he was a powerful being. It wouldn’t make sense to fall for him. This was purely physical. What could he give her—illusion? She didn’t want to fake it through life. She wanted real and lasting.
He was standing over her, taking her hands to his lips, and she felt her skin sizzle where he touched her. “I have to go, my Lia, but I will be back some time tomorrow.”
A part of her wanted to say, No, don’t go. A stronger part of her said, “Oh?”
He smiled. “I see you don’t really want me to leave, and Lia”—he had her off the bench and in his arms against his hard body—“I don’t want to go. I want to stay right here, in this room with you …” His lips at her ears were making her shiver. His voice was gentle and tantalizing. He was whispering something in an ancient tongue that Maxie sensed was Tuatha Dé, and the sound, the words, made her feel far away and dreamy.
Maxie knew she should offer him her cheek and keep him at bay. She told herself that was the sensible thing to do. So of course, she offered him her mouth. He didn’t hesitate. He parted her lips with easy persuasion, and his tongue tasted hers, gave her a taste of him. When he pulled away quickly, she knew she wasn’t the one who had backed off.
His retreat startled her, and it must have showed in her eyes. He threw back his head, and the room resonated with his joy. “Not enough, my sweet? Having tasted those luscious, full lips … I too must have more.”
That totally broke the spell. Arrogant Fae! He must have more? “I suppose …” She eyed him with what she hoped were dangerous glints in the recesses of her narrowed, green eyes. “You realize that I have something to say about that?”
Put off? Not the prince. He dropped a kiss on her cheek, and she had to force herself not to turn once more for a kiss full on her mouth.
And then, he was gone. Remember that, she told herself once more. Easy come … easy go.
~ Seven ~
IT WAS NOON, and Maxie had just come in from taking a two-hour hike up and around the hills and then through the woods that were part of the MacTalbot estate. It had been invigorating and wonderful. More importantly, she had used the time for herself. The fresh air cleared her brain as she tried to figure out just what to expect at MacTalbot. She pulled a face and whispered to the wind, “Expect everything and anything weird.”
Inside, Max called out for Uncle Kennet, who not being outdoorsy had remained behind. He had said he would be in the library, and so she made her way there. She found him with his head in an enormous book. As he looked up at her, she could see he was more animated than usual.
“What’s up, Uncle Kennet?” She went to him and rubbed his shoulder.
“Well, my dear, I have found out quite a bit about the Tuatha Dé and their powers.”
Maxie pulled off her alpaca-wool-trimmed navy jacket. She dropped it on a nearby gothic table and plopped down on a hardwood chair beside him.
“Great—what?”
“They call it Tongue or song if you will … like the ‘Siren’s Song’. They can speak in tongue—it is the use of many voices that can actually put a human in a trance, make them pliant and acquiesce to any demand. Another thing is Glamour, which we already know is the power of illusion. When they use invisibility, it is called the Féth Fiada. Come along … I will show you.”
“Where did you find all this?”
“It is here in this book, and on the Internet for anyone to read.”
Maxie pushed up the sleeves of her red sweater and threw her long, wind-tousled hair over her shoulder and bent over her uncle to examine what he had found on the net.
Only sneakers adorned her feet, and she had promised herself that she would have to remember to get some hiking boots as her sneakers were soaked from walking in the tall grass through the fields.
The doorknocker pounded and interrupted her thoughts. She looked at her uncle, who returned the look with a shrug. Bess had told her earlier that she and Cook Tally had a busy day ahead of them, so Maxie rose and moved to the library’s open doorway. She yelled out as she walked down the hall to the front doors, “I’ll get it!”
Max hurried to the double doors, wondering who it could be. When she opened a door wide, there she stood unable to take a step forward. Her mouth dropped open. Once again, Maxie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and couldn’t speak. Who is this girl? she knew her friends would ask. Once more she was speechless.
Here again was yet another male whose size and good looks were simply off the charts! He was taller than six feet. He was ruggedly built. He had torrents of shiny, black, layered hair. He had chiseled, unbelievably handsome features, but that wasn’t what threw her for a loop. It was who he was. She knew him—at least, she recognized him from the painting she had often stood in front of in her father’s study. So Max looked into his blue eyes and said, “Ah … ah …”
He had one hand on the lapel of his wool-trimmed tan jacket, and he dropped it as his eyes raked over her and his expression twisted. When he spoke it was a hoarse whisper. “Good afternoon …”
Maxie remembered her manners. “Afternoon … yes … good.”
“May I come in?” He still wasn’t smiling, but he was staring at Maxie, looking at her from the top of her head to the tip of her dirty wet sneakers.
“Oh … yes … yes … come in.” Maxie stepped aside and watched him as he hauled two huge duffel bags inside and set them down.
Maxie looked at him and thought, Too bad I don’t faint. Fainting would be good. I really should try it. I think I should faint. Here in the flesh this … this man from my dreams, this man from a portrait in my parents’ study. This man—back from a coma, back from Faery, here after a nearly two hundred years? Time to pass out and let someone else handle it.
Uncle Kennet saved her by arriving on the scene. He was there, touching her arm and saying in his practical way, “Hello. May we help you?”
Maxie realized that obviously Uncle Kennet didn’t have a clue. He had probably never really noticed Julian’s portrait in her dad’s study, or if he had, it wasn’t the sort of thing that he would remember. He probably hadn’t even noticed the portrait of Julian right there in the central hall of the castle. Maxie had, and every time she passed it she had to stop a moment and stare.
Julian of Talbot had been stunned when he looked at Max. He worked hard to get control over himself. She stood the very image of his beloved, and he nearly scooped her up to hold her and never let her go. However, he hurriedly told himself, this is not my Maxine.
Max watched him as she suddenly realized he had known this moment would come. He had been told about her. He had been told about her uncanny resemblance to his bride. The Fae had told him. Max felt sure of this; even so, she saw it had been quite a shock to find her on the other side of the door, right in his face. Here was a fact she couldn’t do a thing about. She was his dead wife’s twin. She wished she weren’t, but there it was.
Maxie didn’t want him to think of her as his lost bride. Sorry to say, his bride was gone. She didn’t want to take her place. She didn’t want the awkwardness of such a situation. She knew a little about pure Druids. She knew they believed that the soul moved on and reunited with its true love off in some future afterlife. She knew from her journal that Maxine had thought her spirit would be reunited with Julian’s spirit. She wasn’t sure what she thought of all that. All she knew was that she was only who she was … not someone else. When I fall in love—I want someone to love me back … me. I don’t want to be used in place of someone else. Conclusion? As attractive as this hunk was, she would have to hold him at bay.
She watched him as he turned to give his attention to Uncle Kennet. He wore a half-sad smile as he avoided looking at her. “Well, it would be nice if you could help me, sir. I am Julian Talbot.”
Uncle Kennet blinked. He put his forefinger to his nose and said nothing. Maxie, however, had found her tongue enough to stammer, “Co-come … in … come in, don’t stand ther
e in the weather.” She tried smiling and didn’t know if it worked. “This is my uncle, Kennet Silbury, and I am Maxine Reigate.”
Talbot picked up his really heavy-looking duffel bags and stepped further into his own home as though he were a guest. He looked towards the main staircase. He had the look of a man who wanted to escape in that direction. Maxie wondered just what he’d thought when she told him her name.
Talbot stood dominating the central hall. As Max closed the door against the cold, she couldn’t help but watch him She was sure he was purposely restraining himself from looking at her. She could see he was uncertain of what he should do next and realized by his aloofness that there would be no need for her to keep him at arm’s length. She was pretty sure he would do that for them both. She also recalled that he had never been to MacTalbot Castle. He was a stranger in his own home …
Talbot either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak—Max wasn’t sure; all she knew was that no one was speaking. For an overlong and uncomfortable moment they all just stared at one another and kept their thoughts to themselves.
Maxie finally managed, “No doubt you have had a long journey and would like to first go to your room?”
“As a matter of fact. I would.” Relief flooded his voice. He had to look at her again, and Max noticed that his brilliant blue eyes filled with emotion.
“Then, please. No need to stand on ceremony. This is your home.” Maxie realized he might not know where his room was. He had never been to his Scottish castle. However, Bess had shown them his suite of rooms when she gave them the tour the day before.
“Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” She turned to Uncle Kennet, who still was making no attempt to speak as he studied this new player in the game. “I’ll meet you in the library in a few moments, Uncle Kennet.” So saying, she started taking the stairs as fast as she could manage. She was nervous, and the only comfort was that she could see he was as well.
* * *
Julian Talbot, you are a fool, he told himself roughly. He knew she was going to be there. He knew her name, and still it had thrown him in a way he couldn’t describe. Cahal had told him how much she looked like his bride. He was prepared, and even so, when he saw her standing there—his heart stopped.
He wanted to reach out and grab hold of her and touch her and kiss her … and then the pain of what he had lost beat through his mind. She is not my Maxine—not my bride. She only looks like her.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he tried to ease into the impossible situation. She knows my story, he told himself. She knows. She looked right into his eyes, and he saw her compassion. So much like his little love that his heart began to ache …
He watched her when she skipped up the staircase and found himself staring at her beautiful, tight little butt. Her jeans were low on her hips, displaying her slim waist. She was swaying as she moved. Hell and fire! It’s enough to drive a man mad. He felt himself frowning. He hadn’t been able to stop frowning since he first saw her. He had been frowning since he woke from the coma and found his bride forever gone. It was all he did …
So much about her was the same—her black, beautiful hair falling all about her shoulders, although it was shorter and cut differently. Her shimmering green eyes were lit with another light behind them—her own. This one’s pert nose was slightly upturned. Her body size and shape were just a bit different as well. This woman was slightly taller, and her legs just a bit longer.
This one was a beauty in a right all her own. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she flaunted her incredible body in those clothes but conceded it was the style of her century. He thought about her breasts and cursed himself. Her full and tempting breasts in the tight red sweater she wore had nearly undone him. Her nipples were pert and begging to be licked. And these thoughts made it difficult for him to breathe. He damned himself for wanting her. He damned himself for being alive while his true love was not.
Here was a modern woman, the kind that Cahal had introduced to him on all those films. He liked her aura—it was light and airy—and she was secure in herself. She appeared to be a happy young woman who was centered. She seemed to him to be a conservative woman with a touch of exuberance. He had liked the way she looked at him, sized him up. She had innocence about her … and yet, she appeared to be what Cahal would call streetwise. It made an enchanting combination. All this he had seen while she brought him to his room. No. She was not his Maxine and never would be—that was his bottom line. DuLaine had stolen his life and murdered his beloved. He would have his core of justice. He meant to protect his bride’s descendent, this modern-day Maxine, and he would see DuLaine destroyed.
DuLaine would eventually sense that his bride’s bloodline, this Maxine, lived, and her insane jealousy would drive her here to find and harm this woman in some heinous way. He sneered with hatred. He hadn’t been able to save his love, but he damn well meant to save this one!
He thought of the way Maxie had turned on the stairs to give him an encouraging smile. It had gone right through him, burning him with emotions he didn’t want to feel. He saw her lovely brows come together and her green eyes deepen in color as her thoughts raced through her pretty head. He could see she had questions, but instead she led him quietly to a large suite of rooms and smiled as she opened the door, moving aside to say, “I understand this is yours.”
He had stepped inside, put his bags down, and immediately took up the large door handle. “Thank you.” It was all he could manage.
“I love your accent. It is so deeply English—Old World English … different a bit from today’s British accent.” She showed him she knew … really knew just who he was. He liked her gentle directness.
He nodded a dismissal. It was cold, and it was rude, he knew, but he had to get her out of his sight or he was going to grab her, pretend she was his bride, throw her down on the bed, rip off her red sweater, and lick those luscious breasts! It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and this one who looked so much like his love …?
She sighed and did not seem to take offence. She started off, and he waited for her to reach the staircase before he closed the door. Alone, all he could do was lean his shaking body against the dark oak door.
* * *
Whew. Poor guy. Maxie felt sorry for him. She saw that he was still carrying a torch for her namesake. Now, that was sad. Bitterness glowed from his blue eyes. He looked at her like he was looking for someone else. She didn’t like that. She didn’t want him to reach out for a Maxie that was gone when he was with her. She hated that she would be a constant reminder to him of someone he would never see again, but she guessed the two of them were there for the duration—until the DuLaine was dead.
Maxie went into the library and closed the door. She turned to find Uncle Kennet at the desk. “Oh, fabulous. What a wonderful fire.” She hadn’t had a chance yet to really warm up after her hike. She went right to the hearth and rubbed her cold hands together. Her sneakers still felt damp, so she hurriedly pulled them off and set them up to dry near the fireplace screen. Rubbing her hands together by the fire, she turned halfway to look at Uncle Kennet and remark, “I guess spring is cold in the Highlands.”
Ignoring spring and the cold, he answered, “Hmm … so, that is Lord Julian Talbot? Out of his two-hundred-year coma and on his feet. Remarkable.” His face was a quizzical mask. “What do you make of him?”
Maxie rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding?”
“Yes, well, it is all really fascinating.”
“Understatement.” She laughed as she dragged a chair to sit near him and study the screen on his computer.
As he had said earlier, there it was: anything and everything you ever wanted to know about Tuatha Dé Danaan—sort of. Some things Maxie knew by firsthand experience the Internet had gotten very, very wrong. Historians and researchers of mythology knew better than to refer to the Tuatha Dé as little winged things even though many storytellers did. It was the Banshee and the wood nymphs wh
o allowed themselves to be seen that got the big press. Fae were far more careful. As the two read, however, they found a great number of actual facts that were quite informative.
“You see, the prince looks very human … extraordinary in every detail, but human. That is not really their true appearance. That is the Glamour they use for our sakes. There are specific differences—” Uncle Kennet remarked with a frown.
“Yes,” Max immediately said, cutting him off, “like their eyes—when not in human Glamour, their eyes are iridescent.”
He cleared his throat, and because she had interrupted him, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her. Maxie saw at once that he was irritated by the interruption and giggled.
He eyed her as he tried to maintain his annoyance, but something lit up inside of him before he was able to ignore it. When he proceeded it was with a twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we say, in every facet of the prince’s appearance he creates this aura of illusion of being human. As I was saying a moment ago, they use a thing they call Glamour. The Fae are very fond of the power of illusion and use it often. They can use it in many ways to take many shapes. They often use invisibility so that they can watch us undisturbed, putting on their human Glamour only when they wish to play and work among humans as human.” He was pulling at his lower lip, something thing he did when he was really absorbed. “There were Irish women, not the Banshee we hear so much about, but seers of a different kind. These women were apparently able to see past the Fae magic—they were immune to the Glamour and the Féth Fiada. They were called by different names. I read that some called were them Sidhe-feic, which means Fae see. Some today call these women Fios. I believe the Fae refer to them as Sidhe-fios, meaning much the same. These women could see a Fae, and some of these Fios had other powers as well.”
He put a hand through his hair, shook his head, and then continued, “Apparently these women carried this ability in their bloodlines, passing it off from mother to child, though there is evidence to believe that now and then a generation misses receiving the gift. In ancient times, when the Tuatha Dé and the humans were at war, the leaders of the villages used the seers when the Fae raiders were on their way. When the Fae walked immersed in the Féth Fiada, cloaked in invisibility, amongst them, the seers or Fios if you will, were immensely valuable.”
