by Claudy Conn
“Not alone, you are not.” He moved towards his Jag. “Get in,” he said as he opened and held the passenger door wide for her.
She thought she should just walk away, but she was reluctant to give up her trip into town. Should she just go with the flow and the company? He was a stunning hunk of male, and his car wasn’t bad either. She went with the flow.
She got into the luxurious car and glanced around herself. “For someone who has been asleep for two hundred years, you sure know how to pick out a car!”
He looked at her quizzically. “Cahal—my Fae educator—arranged for its purchase, and it was delivered to the airport. It was there when I arrived. I can’t take credit for knowing about such things yet. Before I came here, I was … er … transported to London, where Cahal and I spent some time. Did some shopping, and I learned how to drive. Cahal had this notion that a man in my position must dress and drive the part.”
Maxie laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, Cahal did a good job, but I kinda think you would look the part even if you were dressed in rags.” She had said it before she realized what she was saying, and the color flooded her cheeks. Hurriedly she changed the subject. “So … got the driving down pat, do you?”
He grinned back in response to the challenge in her voice. “What do you think” And he punched it into a higher gear.
“Oh yeah! Down pat.” Maxie’s smile was beautiful as she watched him hold the road. She loved speed.
He saw her out of the corner of his eye, and it did something to him inside his chest. He shoved this away and concentrated on driving.
Maxie felt just a bit awkward in his company and decided to dispel the sensation by examining the inside of the luxurious car more thoroughly. She swept her gloved hand over the plush leather upholstery of dark gray leather. It had that new smell. She adjusted the seat and brought herself forward and then back again. He eyed her quizzically.
She ran her gloved finger over the dashboard as she examined the instruments and the sound system. She turned on the radio, which rocked loudly. She lowered the volume and smiled up at him. She still couldn’t seem to relax with his big, quiet self sitting rigidly beside her. Silly girl, she told herself. Do something. Say something. Catch his interest. Flutter your eyelids. She sat frozen in place and couldn’t think of one thing to say. He wasn’t making it easy. All at once, his lordship decided to let the Jag carry the conversation, and he let it roar!
They sped along at top speed, and both of them were smiling. Maxie loved high-powered cars. She and her father had always enjoyed rebuilding and super-charging old classic vehicles he had discovered …
She blinked the memory away. Right then, she felt exhilarated, and she hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Racing in a powerful car always pulled on something deep inside her. When that happened she felt like an unruly teen in her heart and soul, and that felt good. Right then, she wanted to just go on driving at top speed—no regrets. She felt like laughing right out loud.
She saw him glance her way. Her own gaze was drawn to his kissable lips curved ever so slightly as he took the speed to the next level and they soared forward even faster. They both laughed. She made a strategic error and looked at him at that moment when he wasn’t thinking, when he was only feeling, and he was the man in the portrait she had been drawn to and infatuated with for so long. He was real and sitting right next to her, and the notion tingled inside her.
She saw a gloriously macho, broad-shouldered, sexy man. She saw a strong man with a will of his own, with confidence and power. She saw a man of honor. And she saw a man who could deliver in other ways as well. There was a great deal of passion pent up inside Julian Talbot, and she wouldn’t mind being the one to release it.
What? Just what am I thinking—stop! This is crazy. He is still in love with his lost bride. You are not she—she is not you. That was the bottom line. He would never want her. He will always think of her when he looks at you, she told herself, though she still turned to look at him. She saw the set of his jaw line, and she heard a resigned sound escape his lips. He had come to a decision.
“Right then, Miss Reigate. Shall we call a truce?”
“Were we at war?” She frowned. “What exactly does that mean—call a truce?” She felt she had been open and honest with him, except for her ‘mind-viewing’ experience. He had been the one holding out …
He slowed down and inclined his head with a half smile. “You wanted to know about Shamon? You want to know why it is that Shamon is managing my accounts.”
“I do, and what is more, I have a right—”
He cut her off. “Yes, I agree. You have the right to know. You seem to know a great deal more than I realized, and you should be filled in on some of the rest.”
“Some? Oh for God’s sake—” She didn’t want to settle for tidbits.
He cut her off. “Do you want to know about Shamon or not?”
“Yes,” she said without smiling at him. What? Did he think he was being a sport?
He ignored her ‘attitude’. “Shamon was brought to the Isle of Tir, the land of the Fae. There he received an education, especially in law, both international and the law of the United Kingdom.”
“Well, that was treating him royally—I mean, he did nothing to stop DuLaine—”
“As I was saying, Shamon was released to London with the credentials of a magistrate. He lived and worked in London in the 1800s. Evidently he married during that time—her name was Nell, and they had a little family. During those years he aged as any of us do on Earth. His aging could only be halted when he was in Faery. Time in Tir does not move as it does here.” He put up his finger to still her, as he could see her questions forming and he wanted to proceed. “Shamon is not the person you believe him to be. He is a tragic figure.”
“Why? I don’t see it … he loved her, but he was a part of it all.”
“An unwilling part. She had infused him with her blood to stall his aging because she wanted to keep him longer than his life would allow. She worked her spell, which made him hers. She could read his thoughts … whenever she wanted.”
Maxie was temporarily diverted by this and was quiet while she considered it.
Julian saw her face, and his eye twitched before he proceeded. “Shamon belonged to DuLaine, but not all of it was his choice. She had infected him with blood to help keep him young for a little bit longer than his human years would allow. However, Shamon loved the DuLaine. He was grateful to her for giving him life when he had none. He became her lover when he was still just a boy. He adored her—still adores her—and he obeys her.
“Her problem was that she could not give him, or me for that matter, immortality without inserting the Druid ‘forbidden gland’, a thing created by killing young girls, taking their pituitary gland, and infusing it with Dark Magic before surgically inserting it in their chosen loved one.”
Maxie’s silence ended. “What then—she gave you her blood … but couldn’t keep you forever?”
“I imagine she thought she could stall my aging while she looked for a way to create the gland. She doesn’t have that knowledge.”
Maxie flinched. What should she do? Should she tell him that DuLaine could now make the dreaded gland? “What if she did … what if I tell you that something I saw in one of my visions makes me believe that she found the book … and … and knows all about the gland. What if she knows how to create it, how to surgically install it?”
He stared at her. “Then both of us have to remain committed to our goals. You have to stay clear of her, and I have to destroy her.”
“And Shamon—won’t he help her make this gland? Won’t he help her kill?”
“Shamon loathes the destruction of human life. He is helpless to stop her, but he won’t go on helping her. In the end, we believe Shamon will help us.”
“I am not so sure of that. I think Shamon will help her to the end.”
“Perhaps—and yes, we would be wise not to put too much trust in him, yet
the Fae believe he has a part to play that will aid us.”
“I don’t agree with that way of thinking.” She shook her head. “Okay—Shamon can’t stop her, he has no choice. I get that. What I don’t get is why then keep him alive? He is tied to her and has no choice but to enable her. He will be at her beck and call. Why didn’t they just give him his freedom while she was in her prison in the Mist and let him die a natural death?”
“Because they think that we need him.” Julian’s voice was quiet and thoughtful.
“Need him? To what end? She will read his thoughts. She will probe his mind. She will know if any of us have been in contact with him. He could put us all in danger.”
“No. The Fae queen took care of that problem. The power of the Fae is enormous. And the Fae queen’s power is unlimited! She has blocked his mind in such a way that DuLaine cannot read any but the most mundane thoughts.”
“What about us? Will DuLaine be able to read our minds?”
“Druids are born with certain magic in our genes, and that is passed on. Some of us are better at healing, others at foretelling the weather, still others at precognition, or if you will the gift of sight—”
“Yes.” Maxie waved impatiently. “But what I want to know is will this DuLaine be able to read our minds?”
“I was getting to that, Miss Reigate.” He waited, and Maxie motioned for him to continue.
“As Druids we train and build up our own personal shields. Not all of us have the ability to do everything, but all of us have the ability to put up mental shields.”
Maxie digested this. “What other powers do Druids have the capacity to control?”
“Ah, there is mindbending … or the art of compulsion, which some call the power of voice. To a Druid, speech is everything. Most of our spells require speech—voice if you will. In fact, during the reign of the Christians, some would cut out the tongues of Druids to prevent them from using their power of speech. For most of us, we need to train for nearly twenty years to strengthen all those innate qualities and abilities to their fullest capacity.” Julian could see she was about to interrupt and put up his hand. “Patience … let me finish.”
Maxie inclined her pretty head and waved him on. “Sorry.”
“The Art of Compulsion allows us to draw on the magic of our ancestors and use their voices in conjunction with ours to compel another to our will.” He glanced towards her and then back at the road. “The Tuatha Dé gave the Druids these abilities—it doesn’t matter how. A Druid is so because of his bloodline, and his bloodline was endowed specifically by the magic the Fae gave that particular bloodline.”
Her mind did a whoa. This was a lot to absorb. However, Maxie always went for the simplest solution, and it came to her in that moment. It was the direct line theory. “Why not just kill the DuLaine?”
“The Tuatha Dé are compelled by a treaty they signed with mankind. The Seelie, which is the Court of Light Fae, do not intervene, and they do not kill humans. I am certain that there are Fae who break, bend, and whip at the rules. Just as humans break the law. However, the majority know from firsthand experience that interfering with destiny, with the life-force of a world, could bring down their own destruction.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Very well. This is how it was explained to me. Let us say that out there, walking the earth, is a man … a man much like Hitler. His death will occur because Lamia chooses him as a victim. If the Fae with their superpowers kill her before the Fates have completed their work and allowed her to kill the villain, off he goes on his merry way to wreak death and destruction on millions. It is the Lia Fail. The Stone of Destiny. Some things are written. It is very deeply believed by most of the Seelie Fae. Humans and human events should be conducted by humans.”
“So what you are saying is this is a human-Druid sort of problem, and only a human Druid should be the one to play it through?” Maxie shook her head. “What if we kill her before the fates have done their work?”
“The prevailing mode of thought is the earth and mankind are linked. The Fates are the bond between man and his earth. What man does or does not do is somewhat written. If the Fae used their magic to change things—the earth and man would no longer be linked to the Fates, and all nature might be effected.”
“Philosophy is not fact,” Maxie said thoughtfully. “So we get no help here? It is up to us?”
“You are a quick study.” He softened the sarcasm of the words with his smile. He looked across at her, and she felt his eyes rake over her body before he stopped himself mid-look. Now she was the one who couldn’t stop frowning. She wondered if he was comparing her with …
Beauly came into view, and it was absolutely charming. Maxie pointed out pretty buildings and rooflines to Julian. She spoke about her favorite ones and pointed out flower arrangements that were unique. He was entranced with her. The bloodsucking woman was forgotten for the moment as he saw the village through her eyes.
Julian pulled into a parking space in front of a teahouse designed in the Shakespearean style. Maxie was ready to jump—though she managed to control herself—out of the Jag, rush into the place, and start ordering everything on their menu. She had been good and had no breakfast, after all.
He gave her a half-smile. “Shall we first have lunch?”
Her stomach was grumbling. Had he heard it? “Yes … lunch, we must have lunch before boots!” All control was gone, and she was out of the car.
He pulled a face as he came around his Jag. “You could allow a gentleman to be one.”
She smiled. “Didn’t they teach you about modern-day ladies? We open doors, we go to work—we buy the bacon.” She saw the consternation on his face and laughed. “Okay … you can open it for me when we get back to it … if we are still on speaking terms.”
She watched him with interest as he threw back his head and roared. He was a beautiful man, both inside and out, if only he would smile and laugh more.
* * *
Don’t stare at her. However, Julian’s inner man ignored the instructions. What the bloody hell was he to do? She was bewitching, and everything about her made him stare.
Guilt berated him. It welled up in his throat and made him gag. The fact was, he was alive, and she—his bride—was dead. Worse than that was the fact that he knew she died because she had tried to save him. He had no right to anything—not the air he breathed, or the chuckle that tickled his throat when he watched this Maxie’s antics, and certainly not the life he could live …
Her death was his fault. Cahal had said that was illogical. Cahal had said there was a fault, and it was all DuLaine’s. Part of him believed that—the part that wanted to walk on Scottish grounds and breathe Scottish air and live again. Yes, it was DuLaine that had killed her, but she was gone because he had not saved her. He cursed himself for enjoying even a minute, and yet when he watched this pretty Maxie with her luscious face and her pixie expressions, he felt … something he shouldn’t. When he looked into her warm green eyes, he felt himself catch fire in his blood. He wanted to reach out and take her into his arms and be forever damned—damned, oh aye, he was in bloody hell!
Druids were taught that the soul moved on when the body died. They were told that true mates reunited in another life, but that was not what he felt now. Something about it was off. This girl was not infused with his bride’s spirit. This girl was a person unto herself, and although he had made up his mind to keep his distance from her, he found that resolution dissolving. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t get to know her, and yet, here he liked her—too much.
He was burning still with the need for revenge, and to that end he was determined. However, there was something else nearly as important to him now. He wanted to see this Maxie Reigate safely out of DuLaine’s clutches. To that end he had already set things in motion. This time he was not going to allow his pride and arrogance to trap him. It had been pride that sent him rushing to take down DuLaine that fateful time. It had been
arrogance that made him think he could do it alone. Not this time. This time he knew his enemy, her lifestyle, her powers, and her sense of self. And this time … he would be watching, probing, because he had a new Druid power—one he had been given in Faery.
In the meantime, he had done his research. Cahal had kept tabs on the DuLaine for him until he was fit enough to do so himself. This time, Breslyn, Prince of Dagda, was more personally involved. Last time neither he nor the prince had been there to save his Maxine, and she’d faced her death alone.
Miss Reigate—he could not call her Maxine—had her back up. He knew he had offended her sense of self. He had meant to do just that. He needed to keep her at a distance, and then like an arse, he thought, what must I do, but go after her, and apologize.
Julian closed his eyes as these thoughts burnt a hole in his head, because something else troubled him. While he kept Maxie at arm’s length, the prince did nothing of the sort. She liked Breslyn too much for his comfort, and Breslyn had made no secret of his intentions.
He had told himself he should be grateful to Breslyn, for it was he who had retrieved his unconscious body, brought him first to Reigate and his beloved back in 1814. He also knew that the prince had done it for her, for Maxine, because he had feelings for her then—however, evidently not enough to watch over her and keep her from being killed, or to bring her back from death afterwards. Not enough to break Fae law.
What Julian knew now and for certain was that he shouldn’t be taking this Maxie—no matter how good were his intentions—to lunch. What he wondered was just how had that happened. He had only accompanied her off their warded land to offer her his protection.
She needed protection. And now … now he was taking her to lunch. So what the hell am I doing? She makes me laugh. She makes me forget who I was … what I am. Hell and fire! What the bloody hell am I doing?
