Spellbound-Legend

by Claudy Conn

  His thoughts were hammering at him as he walked towards the castle and then into it. He heard music. Loud and somehow very enticing music. Naturally he made his way towards the sound. Maxine was singing with everything she had, and to him it was a sexy voice that put his engine into first gear.

  He heard Kennet joining her with a chorus that sounded like absolutely rollicking good fun, and bloody hell, her voice tickled his insides and made him want to hear more.

  And then he saw her.

  She was dancing with every inch of her body. She was moving around the floor as though she were made of song, and he could see that all she heard, all she knew, at that moment was the beat of the music racing through her tantalizing form.

  He had seen how the young people danced. Cahal showed him TV programs and movies enough while he was in Tir. He knew the tunes, the new sounds. He even knew some of the songs. He knew the style of dance. Julian’s body started making demands. He felt the sensual music go through him, and it was infinitely arousing. When he had watched dancing on TV, it had never had this effect on him. What Maxie was doing was turning him inside out and handing him back to himself.

  Now as he looked at Miss Reigate, all he wanted to do was bend her over and drive himself into her. It was a primal desire … but if he thought too much about it, he might find that it was more. It was a simple thing begging to be examined. He shut it out—he had to shut it all out … but then she was taking off her black cardigan and revealing the low cut of her black tank top. Her breasts were full and exquisitely shaped. Her nipples whispered to him, and he felt the crotch of his jeans getting increasingly more uncomfortable. He slipped into second gear before he could stop, and he steeled himself to find some control. His blue eyes moved to her low, hip-hugging jeans. Her ass was tight and moved … and moved. Oh damn, he loved the way she moved.

  Everything about her said, ‘Come and get me’—and he wanted to. She swayed with an abandonment that was driving him mad. Her head with that abundance of black, shiny hair falling about her face and shoulders—and those shoulders—slowly invited a man to come on over. Her green eyes seemed to call his name. The fire in their depths promised a man a treasure trove of delight. He wanted that delight, and wanting it was choking him.

  Suddenly Maxie reached for him and pulled him to the dance floor. She touched him, and it made him quake with hunger for more touching, so much more touching …

  He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to. He was on bloody fire! He was moving with her in rhythm to the music. It filled his head and she filled his eyes. Her lips mesmerized him. He wanted to taste her … and then out of nowhere, someone in his guilty head said, She isn’t your bride.

  And in that guilt-filled moment he discovered that, even so, he still wanted her. It filled him with pain. He stopped dead and backed away. He went to the sound system and shut it off. Both Kennet and Miss Reigate roared their objections. He said quietly, “Graves is bringing us a couple of horses, Miss Reigate. We shouldn’t keep them standing. I thought you might enjoy accompanying me as I take stock of my land?”

  * * *

  The music abruptly stopped, and Maxie thought, Lord Julian MacCrazy just keeps on giving me way-out, conflicting signals. One minute he is looking at me like he wants me, and the next moment, he turns me up cold!

  She shook this off and put it aside. Now he was talking about horses. Riding. She so loved both. She had stopped during her morning walks past the horse pastures with carrots to feed, pet, and coo. Did she want to ride? Hell, yes!

  She turned to her uncle and asked, “Okay by you?”

  He smiled. “Precisely what you need.”

  She started for the door. “I’ll just get my chaps!”

  Ten minutes later when she returned, she had on her navy jacket, her navy suede chaps hugging her lower body, and a smile wide across her face. When she saw the gray mare, she turned into a blabbering child, cooing and petting and playing with the mare’s nose, which was relaxed. “Thanks to your Graves—thank you, thank you … she is wonderful.”

  “Her name is Dimples. Graves told me that she is a lovely, sweet mare with just enough spice to give you a spirited ride, but more than enough manners to listen to your hands.” Julian’s words were hoarse as he said them, so he cleared his throat and continued, “The saddle is new and needs breaking in, but I fancy you’ll be doing that over the next few days.”

  A few moments later, as they put their horses into an easy trot, Maxie crooned, “Oh Julian … this mare is a dream.” Maxie was almost singing again she was so happy. And as she put the mare through her paces she discovered Dimples was everything promised. She watched Julian astride his big bay gelding. They both looked magnificent. She had a difficult time looking away.

  The countryside they traveled was a checkerboard of stunning glens. The pastures were of different shades of cropped greens. A pine forest that Julian explained consisted of Caledonian pines bordered these variegated meadows and pastures. He smiled as they slowed to a stop at the peak of a rolling pattern of wide-open farmland. “From what I could read from the survey”—Julian was frowning again—“ … this must be where we border the Afric Glen.” He looked around. “Aye … further off would be Strathfarrar Glen. MacTalbot’s one thousand acres touches it here …” They had slowed to a walk and pointed their horses towards the dark forest of pines up ahead.

  “Look at that field of white and yellow … oh those wildflowers are amazing!” Maxie called and then immediately pointed at yet another of nature’s wonders.

  Julian laughed and surprised her suddenly by jumping off his horse. He walked round to her and put a hand to chap-covered calf. “Come on then, Miss Reigate …” He reached up to take her waist.

  It was the first time she had seen him really happy, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment with questions. So she allowed him to lift her out of the saddle and set her booted feet down in the grass.

  He was close as she leant back against her mare. His hard body came in closer. Something in his blue eyes glittered before he shuttered them. She felt an earthquake under her feet, and just like the song, there was trembling—definitely hers.

  She dropped the reins and bent to get them, surprised that he had taken a step away from her. She thought to herself that he was always moving in and then backing off. As she unbent, he laughed. She noted to herself he was doing more of that lately—laughing. She realized then he had been looking and laughing at her butt.

  Chaps made a cutout circle around the butt, leaving it to stick out of the equation. Julian’s century of course was devoid of chaps for women. She looked askance at him, and her expression said he should be dazzled by her ass, not laughing at it.

  Lightly, one eyebrow up, his lips drawn in a smile, he said, “The chaps hug your legs, but leave your pretty er … derriere exposed. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Miss Reigate, it is a magnificent derriere …”

  “Then why the objection?” She was supposed to keep this gloomy, moody hotty at bay. She had told herself over and over that he was not for her. Yet she heard the tone in her voice, and it had implied, Come on honey, come and get it.

  He came and got it. He was right up against her. She felt him breathing hard. She saw fire dancing in the recesses of his bright baby blues. His arms were wrapped around her and pulling her towards him, molding her to fit his body, and since his was not pliable hers bent right into him so, oh so easily. She wanted this. She had wanted this for a long time, perhaps since she had been a young teen looking at his portrait in her father’s study. She thought she was going to hell faster than she could count to ten and told herself, This virgin is going down.

  Then all at once that dark place in her head kicked on. That Druid portion of her brain that connected her to so much and yet held her apart tickled her for attention. Out there, it said to her. Out there … look … A Fae in the woods!

  Here was that sixth sense that had been hers for as long as she could remember. This was not a new power. This wa
s an ability that had always been hers. Over the years it had become finely tuned.

  Right then, it was demanding she look with her mind’s eye instead of her vision. She compromised: she did both. Sure enough, there was a Fae in the woods.

  Now why would a Fae in the woods who was using the cloak of invisibility need to wear a dark and hooded monk’s robe?

  Then she saw him hold up a rifle.

  Second question: why would a Fae in the woods wearing a cloak of invisibility and a monk’s hooded robe need to use a gun?

  Then she saw that the gun he held was pointed right at Julian. No time for any other questions. There was no time for thinking. She reacted and pushed Julian hard with all her strength. He stumbled back, pulling her off stance, but not in time.

  * * *

  Breslyn was pacing. He was irritated and held the gold rope around his slender waist with two fists. The prince believed he had good reason to be annoyed with his dear queen. However, he had to curb himself if he could.

  He had gone first to his castle on his private island and donned his royal Dagda tartan of blue and gold. He took care to wear all his insignias because he knew that the queen enjoyed certain formalities at times, and this would be one of those times. His formal code of dress would serve to remind her of his position and of the sacrifices he had made over the centuries in her service. By Danu, he would need that in his pocket when he began his questions.

  He came to her palace and made his presence known. She, however, kept him waiting.

  And waiting! His eyes snapped, his teeth clenched, and he reminded himself that he had to keep his temper under control.

  Finally the queen entered the anteroom where he was waiting and saw at once that her prince was seriously ticked. Her soft lips curved in a smile, and she greeted him with affection. “Ah, my dear Prince. I enjoy seeing you in your tartan … but I must ask myself why my very earthy Prince has chosen to go formal?”

  “For your pleasure.” He did not meet her penetrating gaze.

  “Really … and yet, I feel … know that you are troubled.”

  Breslyn’s eyes were burning in his head. “What is troubling me is the fact that we have a grave situation spitting at us, and you seem unconcerned …” His voice quieted as he added, “my Queen.”

  “Breslyn, why all this drama … now?” She could not read his mind, but she had read his body language. “You think I have not kept myself apprised of events taking place with our human Druids? You know me better. You think I kept you waiting without cause? Fie, Breslyn, fie. Even I cannot be in two places at the same time. Now … tell me what is on your mind.”

  The Fae were pragmatic. Their years served to quell most of their basest feelings. However, all of them, including the queen, were certainly capable of great emotion. It was their code of conduct that required no display of emotion. They kept such things in check … for the most part. Breslyn’s queen had often accused him of having a streak of human in him. He supposed now that might be true. He certainly felt a whole lot of feelings welling up inside of him—none of them good. When his mouth opened, the words burst out without the finesse he had planned.

  “Conall MacTalbot! I need to speak to you of Conall MacTalbot.” He felt the glint of anger in his eyes as he stared at the queen and immediately looked away as he regained control of his temper.

  She stopped, and her body glistened with sudden ice particles. Her ancient, beautiful eyes held the prince in place with her stare of steel. “You will not speak his name.” Her words were a hiss as her fingers clawed her palms.

  Pride was one of the prince’s less attractive features. Most of the time he had it under control. He never got down on one knee for anyone, not even for his queen. In fact, she had once sent him into the core of the earth, where it had been very uncomfortable, for some misdeed. She’d wanted him to consider the error of his ways, and he still had refused to beg forgiveness of her on one knee. It had been difficult. However, this was different. This was something that was going to hurt her. The prince was more than loyal to his queen. He honored and respected her. He did not wish to hurt her, and so he did go down on one knee. “Forgive me, but circumstances demand we speak of him.”

  “What circumstances?” Her chin was up, and the room was uncomfortably frosty. She waved at him to rise.

  He returned to his full height and lowered his head to say softly, “An ancient journal written by one of er … Conall’s descendents in the fifteenth century was spelled into preservation and placed in a hidden compartment to be opened only by a direct descendent. Julian discovered and opened it. There can be no mistake about its authenticity. It was engraved with runes that whispered the name of the author. In it is more than just a reference … to …”—he looked at her and tried to convey with his silence that he understood—“a reference to the high Druid priest in question. Apparently this story had been handed down by word from son to son over the centuries, and finally this fifteenth century MacTalbot put it down to page.”

  “And what were these written words?” The queen had already come forward and given her hand to the prince, leading him to a settee where she sank with some feeling and pulled him beside her. They no sooner sat than he felt the shift, settee and all.

  The queen had transported them to another dimension.

  She was composed as she indicated for him to continue. Her private place was beautiful with its abundant flowers, topiary plants, palms, and a babbling brook. The prince had been there with her on other occasions. No other Fae could enter without her leave. This was her secret world, created by the might of her power. It was a spatial dimension that she alone controlled. With scarcely a motion she had taken them where absolutely no one, not even the most powerful of their kind, could eavesdrop or follow.

  The prince took a moment to look around, and then another to incline his head to her.

  To him, she was strength untold, but she was also capable of great wisdom. She was his queen, and he was bound, as his father before him had been, to serve her best interests always. He owed it to his name. He owed it to her trust.

  “My Queen …” The prince tried to be gentle. “It was written that your Druid priest had the power of a Fae Seer …?”

  “Yes, he was my beloved, and I awarded him this ability for his bravery in a matter that concerned me at the time. His seer ability was not one that would be passed on … I used the Rowan Wand.” She inclined her head for Breslyn to proceed.

  “It was also written that he saw what looked to him to be a powerful male Fae concealed with invisibility in his private quarters. This Fae was unknown to him, and I can think of no reason why he should have been in Conall’s private chambers on the night he died so suddenly.”

  “And how was this known?”

  “His son was with him when he … passed, and he was able to tell him of his suspicion.”

  “His suspicion?” Pain lined her voice and her face.

  “He believed that the Fae had poisoned his nightly drink.”

  “His sons and I were close. After his … death, I brought them with me to Tir for a time until they wished to return to their home. I provided them with an educator to watch over them, and yet … they never told me this.”

  “Perhaps they did not wish you any more hurt …?”

  The queen got to her feet. “My Conall saw a male Fae? Who … who dared to murder my priest?

  “I was hoping you might have someone in mind.” Breslyn’s eyes narrowed with his thoughts. He watched her as she gave the question some consideration. However, after a moment he saw her anger turn her skin into solid ice. Her skin, which always glistened with ‘come hither’ dew now sparkled frigid blue. Her eyes nearly froze everything in their path.

  He saw the moment she got control of herself, and she turned her attention back to him. “You know me well, Breslyn. Do you think I would keep such knowledge, and not act on it? I had no idea that my Conall was murdered. And now … I cannot imagine who would have dared such t
reason … who walks our world unscathed by what he did.”

  “It was many centuries ago, and you must give this some thought,” the prince offered quietly.

  “Breslyn … my dear loyal Prince. I never thought I had such an enemy—one that would want to harm my dear priest.”

  “Who amongst us might not have approved? Think on that.” His brows were drawn together. “If time travel had not been closed off to us, you could go back and perhaps witness—which brings me to the question, my Queen, about our realm … there are spots and places in our atmosphere that are off. I am certain something is pulling at the fabric of the dimensional walls.”

  She shook her head. “Not even I can go back that far in time now. And yes, you are quite right. Something is off, and time travel has become elusive. When I try, I hit a white cloud that will not open. And I am immediately returned to the present.” Aaibhe frowned. “I know this much, my Prince. It has something to do with the Dark King and his alliance with the Daoine Sidhe.”

  “The Daoine? Why would the Aos align themselves with him?” The prince had never encountered one of the Daoine Fae. He knew about them, heard about their way of life, but had never encountered one in all his ten thousand years. They were touted as the most supernatural race, the highest-ranking class of the Tuatha Dé. Their years were far greater than the lifespan of most Tuatha Dé. They liked to think of themselves as above the fray. Breslyn wasn’t sure he wanted to encounter one of them. They called themselves the Fae of Nature. When the war all went wrong with the Milesians—when the queen was crafting the Treaty with Man, the Daoine Shee created their own invisible world, a dimension that none could enter without invitation. They resided there in quiet peace, having nothing to do with man, or their lesser brothers.

  “Would they condone a traitor’s actions?”

  “No, although they do take an interest in certain matters.”

  “They have not appeared here in centuries, and I thought them content with their own.”

  “They have not appeared to you … and to all other Tuatha Dé.” The queen was looking into her garden thoughtfully.