The Castle of Earth and Embers (Briarwood Reverse Harem Book 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

  My mouth moved, but I couldn’t think of any words. What do you say to a hot Irishman kissing your hand?

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” I finally managed to choke out. Flynn stood up, but he didn’t drop my hand. Instead, he yanked me around the end of the sofa and pulled me down beside him.

  “Come pull up a pew and tell us all about yourself. Your accent is outrageous. You sound like someone from the telly.”

  “What’s a telly?” I asked, and Flynn burst out laughing – a deep, belly laugh that coursed through his whole body, causing his leg to vibrate.

  “A television, luv,” Corbin explained. “Flynn, the girl’s been in the country less than four hours. You can’t expect her to have re-learned her entire vocabulary in that time.”

  “Yes, I can!” Flynn slid his foot across the table and knocked off a stack of books. “Arthur, where’s the booze, mate? We’re celebrating Miss Maeve’s arrival. This calls for a round.”

  “All right, all right, hold your horses,” snapped the largest of the four guys, who I’d deduced must be Arthur. He wiped a long strand of dirty-blond hair out of his eye, and gave me a wink. His eyes were blue, too – a cold, ice blue to Flynn’s deep ocean shade. I was too busy admiring him to respond.

  Arthur’s blond mane spilled over his shoulders, flowing down his back nearly to his butt. It too shone in the sunlight, rippling like a shampoo commercial as he moved. I longed to run my hands through it. Andrew from Astronomy Club had the same dull buzzed haircut as all the guys in Arizona. The same haircut you got when you joined the armed services, which was not a coincidence in my town.

  But back to Arthur, because no way should I even be thinking about Andrew when I was looking at him. Wow. He had this strong, staunch face that said he took no shit from anyone, but his eyes shone with this beautiful kindness that made me want to fall into them and get lost forever. The strength in his features was accentuated by a dark beard, not trimmed like a hipster, but wild and free. An ornate earring dangled from his left earlobe, and I caught the edge of tattoos peeking over his collar and wrists. I saw what Corbin meant by his marauding Viking comment, although to me Arthur looked a bit like a blond Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. A seriously hot Aragorn.

  Right now, Arthur was standing behind a large oak bar in the corner of the room, fiddling with some epic glass bottles. He held up a bottle and nodded at me. “Mead?”

  “What’s mead?”

  “It’s wine made with honey,” Arthur explained. “It’s an ancient drink that used to be shared among warriors while they drank in their halls.”

  Fuck, he really is Aragorn.

  “Arthur brews it himself,” Corbin said, indicating that he’d also like a glass.

  “You brew your own alcohol? Does it strip paint off houses?” The football team quarterback brewed moonshine in his dad’s barn, and it was shared around at high school parties. I’d never imbibed paint stripper, but I imagined they shared a similar taste.

  “It’s really sweet. I think you’ll like it.” Flynn said. “Not for me, though. I’ll have a dram of that famed Tullamore Dew whiskey, cheers mate.”

  “I’ll get some tea.” The fourth guy – dark-skinned and beautiful, with dreadlocks spilling down his back – got up and scurried from the room.

  “Rowan’s a mite shy.” Flynn settled in the couch, accepting a glass filled with amber liquid from Arthur. “We keep telling him that girls don’t bite, but he always makes a holy show of himself.”

  “Don’t be cruel.” Corbin helped Arthur with the goblets. “You know Rowan can’t help the way he is.”

  “Who’s being cruel? Rowan made eccles cakes this morning. He’s a good mate, unlike the rest of you gobshites.”

  “This is so cool.” I took the goblet Arthur offered me and sniffed the pale liquid. It smelled rich and syrupy. “I’m fascinated by fermentation. I used to make kombucha, but no one in my family would eat it because it was ‘ethnic.’ I tried to make ginger beer once, but it exploded all over the cupboard. I always wanted to try alcohol, but my parents didn’t want any alcohol in the house.”

  “I’ll teach you if you like.” Arthur raised his own earthenware goblet and clinked it against mine. “Corbin said you were into science, and home brewing is basically just delicious chemistry. We have our own hives on the property, so there is lots of honey.”

  I turned to Corbin. “How do you know I’m into science?”

  Corbin looked uncomfortable. “I… well, I saw the chemistry kit on your desk and the space posters in your room, when I—”

  “Right.” I gulped. When he helped carry me home after I nearly died in the same accident that killed my parents, and somehow managed to treat all my wounds and burns so they healed perfectly in just a few days.

  An awkward silence descended on the room. Corbin and Arthur exchanged a glance. I wanted to sink into the floor. Great, way to bring the conversation to a grinding halt, Maeve.

  “Got the tea.” The fourth guy was back. He mumbled his words into the floor as he sat down opposite me, balancing a delicate tray filled with a painted china teapot and tea cups.

  “This is Rowan.” Corbin nudged the fourth guy with his elbow.

  “Hi,” I said, watching him lift the pot and fill one of the cups, which he set on the table in front of him.

  Rowan leaned forward, dreadlocks flopping over his face. He was dark skinned – black as night and twice as alluring, with a wide, toothy smile that set my stomach aflutter. His hand slid against mine, and when he spoke his soft voice was smooth as silk.

  “Hey, Maeve, welcome to Briarwood. It’s brilliant to have you here at last.”

  That at last was weird. After all, no one could predict that my parents would be killed and my childhood home taken away and my scholarship rescinded.

  My parents are dead. I’m an orphan for the second time in my life.

  The force of that realization hit me again, and I jerked away. Here I was, smiling and flirting with these guys in the home of the woman who’d birthed me but who I never met, and all the while on the other side of the earth, the Crawfords lay under six feet of dirt.

  And I still couldn’t cry. The horrible, consuming numbness clung to my body, and I struggled to breathe against the tightness in my chest. I dug my fingers into my palm, but even that pain felt remote – something that was happening to some other girl in some other place.

  Rowan shifted, his gaze falling back to the floor. “I said something wrong. I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from him and staring at my palm. My nails had drawn a drop of blood. “No, it’s… my parents only died two weeks ago, and I’ve left them five thousand miles behind me. It’s still pretty raw.”

  “Then it’s lucky for you that you’re here with these fine lads.” Flynn flopped down beside me, his arm slipping around my shoulder and pulling me against him. “We’re here to do all the cheering up you need.”

  “Wait a sec…” I scanned Flynn’s face, and suddenly, it came to me. He was a little older, more filled out, more rough-around-the-edges, but it was him. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You went to my…”

  “High school,” Flynn ran a hand through his wild red hair as he held out his hand. “A few weeks of senior year. You caught me, Inspector Morse.”

  “Inspector who?”

  Corbin laughed. “It’s a detective show on the telly, luv. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “You were an exchange student,” I went on, trying to remember the loud, obnoxious boy who’d disrupted my classes and who made my heart beat uncomfortably fast every time I passed him in the halls. “But you had a different name—”

  “Same name my mammy gave me, but most of the kids called me Irish, or Red.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” I reached up and ruffled his red mop. “I remember you being an absolute terror. I was relieved when you went home.”

  I had been, in a way. It was much easier to focus on my gra
des and my MIT application without the hot exchange student distracting me.

  “Aw shucks,” Flynn grinned wide. “Mission accomplished.”

  “This is such a crazy coincidence.” I took another sip of my mead and tried not to focus on just how close Flynn’s leg was to mine. “That I’ve met two of your before – in Coopersville, of all places. It’s not exactly a happening metropolis.”

  Flynn and Corbin exchanged a look. Flynn started to say something, but Corbin talked over top of him. “It’s not as strange as you’d think. Both of us have family in Arizona, so we visit a lot. Flynn wanted to do a year overseas, and it seemed a logical place to go, but it turns out that he doesn’t really have the attention space for school. But that’s a story for another day. You must be pretty knackered from the jet-lag. Do you want to take a kip?”

  I shook my head. Weirdly, as soon as I’d stepped into the house, the weariness of the journey lifted from my shoulders. “Research shows that the best way to combat jet lag is to sync with your destination’s schedule as quickly as possible. I’ll stay up as late as I can. What time is it now, anyway?”

  Corbin checked his phone. “It’s just on half twelve.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” I didn’t know what half the things they said meant. Knackered. Kip. Eccles cakes. It was like they were all speaking another language.

  “Eleven-thirty, luv.”

  Arthur gulped down the rest of his mead and slammed the earthenware goblet down on the table. “In that case, we’ll give you the tour of your new home. As you would have seen when you came up the drive, the castle is pretty big. We only live in this one wing, around the original Norman keep. Most of the east wing – that’s the late medieval and Tudor wing – is reserved for the English Heritage tours, and some of the third floor rooms are empty.”

  It sounded completely overwhelming. “Lead the way.”

  The guys all stood, downing their glasses. I raised mine to my lips and gulped back the sweet mead. Warmth spread through my stomach as the alcohol entered my system, and another tiny bit of pressure fell away from my chest. I followed the four guys out of the hall, admiring their asses as they jostled each other to be first through the next door. If nothing else, they were a great distraction – exactly what I needed to feel at least somewhat normal.

  A shiver of anticipation shuddered through me. I couldn’t wait to see the rest of the house.

  8

  CORBIN

  The day we’d waited for had finally come: Maeve Moore was home.

  Briarwood recognized her presence – the entire castle buzzed with energy, a charged atmosphere that was perfect for working magic. Or perhaps it was just all our pent-up tension unleashing itself. Being in the same room as Maeve lit my body up like a bloody Christmas tree, and I could tell from the way the others moved and talked that they were the same. Even Flynn’s flamboyant personality was subdued today.

  Maeve Moore; our queen, our goddess, our priestess. After everything the fae had done to try to destroy her, she was finally back where she belonged. With us.

  Of course, she had no idea who she was or what she was capable of, but we’d get to that. For now, simply having her here was enough to enhance Briarwood’s protections.

  We exited the Great Hall and crowded into the narrow passage leading down to the old servant’s quarters and kitchens. Flynn grabbed Maeve’s arm and dragged her toward his workshop, which was outside in one of the Tudor barns. I was happy for him to lead the tour for now, mostly because I didn’t want Maeve to see the tent in my jeans.

  When I’d seen Maeve at the fairground in Arizona, that had been the first time I’d laid eyes on her since I’d gone to visit my dad on one of his surveillance missions when I was twelve. I had no idea what to expect, but I sure as fuck didn’t count on the knock-out beauty standing her ground against Kalen. Every time she moved, her curves swayed like some kind of hypnotic dance. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It took a burning Ferris wheel toppling to the ground to break the spell between us and my protective instincts to kick in. As soon as I touched her to drag her to safety and felt her power leaping through her skin into my own, I was gone forever. I was hers.

  But even if she chose me – which I felt certain she would – and our combined powers strengthened the coven, Maeve could never be mine. No matter how desperately my body demanded her. Not after what I’d done.

  And now Maeve was here, at Briarwood. We all knew what that meant. Well, everyone except Maeve. But she’d figure it out soon enough, when her own hormones went into overdrive, and she discovered the power she possessed. Flynn and Arthur wanted to hit her with the news today, as soon as she walked in the door. They always did favor the baptism by fire approach. But I’d overruled them – until Maeve’s initiation ceremony, until she chose one of us as her magister, I was still officially the leader – and Maeve would get a few days, maybe weeks, to discover things on her own.

  I hated lying to her, but it was necessary. After all the years of listening to my parents talk about nothing but her, and of arranging her surveillance and listening to the guys tell me stories about her – I knew her. Maeve had a scientist’s mind – she wanted logical explanations, well-constructed arguments, everything neatly ordered and organized. What we had to tell her was going to sound like a bunch of New Age bollocks, and if she didn’t already feel her connection to the castle and to us when she found out the truth – if she wasn’t already aware of what was at stake – she’d run as fast as her curvy legs would carry her back to Arizona, and we’d be completely fucked.

  Stop thinking about it. I forced myself back to the present. Just enjoy this time with Maeve while you still have it.

  We followed Flynn down a short path to the barn that had once served as the castle’s stables when the castle had been a stately home. Maeve’s eyes widened as she took in the high pitched roof and the piles of rubbish stacked in every corner. Flynn called it his Viking horde, but it was – as Maeve would say – trash. Coils of rusty wire, old stained-glass windows with smashed panels, bits of marble tile, old pieces of farm equipment, broken bits of car engines. In the center of the room, Flynn’s latest project stood nearly as tall as the beams – a crouching dragon made from scrap metal and stained glass fragments. A single beam of sunlight reached into the room from a tiny, high window, hitting the dragon’s stained-glass scales so that it glittered. Maeve walked all around the statue, her eyes wide with wonder.

  Damn Flynn and his artistic talent. He always knew how to charm the ladies, and maybe Maeve would be no exception. Would the dragon win her from me? In that moment, it certainly looked possible.

  Flynn darted around, his arms flying everywhere as he spun Maeve in circles and pointed out his various projects. Flynn’s art brought in a decent amount of income – he could sell a couple a large piece like the dragon and make enough to pay his bills for the year, but he got distracted easily and abandoned projects unfinished.

  “What’s this?” Maeve asked, pointing to the stepped fountain in the corner of the room. Flynn had fused together three giant cauldrons we’d found in one of the outbuildings and a stone and iron frame to create a series of cascading pools.

  “Prepare to be astounded.” Flynn reached around and flipped a switch. Maeve squealed with delight as water trickled into the first cauldron, which overflowed into the second, the pressure of the water causing a tiny iron windmill to spin lazily as the water cascaded down into the third cauldron.

  “I like to have water flowing when I work,” Flynn said. “It drowns out the voices in my head.”

  Arthur glanced at me and rolled his eyes. I resisted the urge to roll mine back. Typical Flynn, hogging the spotlight. Time to get Maeve out of here. We agreed – we all get a fair chance.

  We entered the kitchen next, Rowan’s domain. Arthur and I hung by the door, giving him this small window to shine. Even Flynn stepped back a bit and kept his stupid comments to a minimum. Rowan squared his shoulders. I could see him
mentally counting the spice jars on the shelf as he took Maeve by the arm. None of us – not even Rowan – expected Maeve to pick him, with his strange tics and quietness and obsessions. But he deserved a chance, the same as the rest of us.

  Rowan showed Maeve around the space, pointing out the spice racks and explaining his stupidly complicated fridge-stacking system. Maeve listened attentively, and she didn’t laugh or poke fun of any of Rowan’s OCD tendencies. The tension slipped from his shoulders. She was affecting even him.

  “What are you making here?” Maeve peered into the baskets of produce and empty preserving jars on the island.

  Rowan’s face reddened and his shoulders hunched back up again. I winced. That didn’t last long. Maeve looked at Rowan’s face as his jaw locked. He stared at his feet and twirled the end of a dreadlock around his finger.

  “Rowan, is something wrong?” Maeve’s voice tightened with concern. She reached out a hand to him, but he stepped back, leaving her arm hanging in the air. The awkward tension in the air ratcheted up a notch.

  Time to save this situation. I stepped forward and grabbed Maeve’s arm, doing my best to ignore the tingle of energy that shot through me when our skin touched. I’d have to get used to ignoring it. I dragged her across the room.

  “This is really cool,” I said, opening a door at the back of the kitchen to reveal a narrow staircase. “This was installed when the castle was a grand stately home so the servants could rush meals up to the bedrooms without being seen in the main part of the house. It comes up near the staircase that goes up to your bedroom, so it’s a good shortcut down to the kitchen if you fancy a nightcap.”

  “Duly noted.” Maeve sashayed across the room and peered up the narrow staircase. “Are the bedrooms upstairs? Can I see?”