by Kate Gellar
A little space from Brooklyn would be good for her. She couldn’t bear the thought of living at home, not after just burying her mom. She needed time to ease into her new life, and she’d take the three months in Ireland to do it.
The confirmation email had said a driver would be picking her up. She looked around the Arrivals terminal at the collection of people holding up signs with names scrawled on them. Then she spotted him. The hottest man she’d ever seen. Black hair, green eyes, muscular body. He was staring straight at her. Abby’s cheeks heated up when the man who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her gave her a smile.
She slowed her walk, still searching for her name in the sea of taxi and limousine drivers. Then she heard a man call it.
“Abby Brennan.” Her eyes snapped to the smiling, sexy man holding an iPad. Her name was scrawled in big letters across the screen.
“Hot male drivers waiting for me at the airport? This would never happen at JFK,” she mumbled. “Yes, that’s me,” she said to the man. “How did you recognize me?” She didn’t remember giving Drumm castle a picture.
The hottie wearing a pair of jeans, a navy blue sweater, and a pair of Doc Martens never took his eyes off her. Her sensitive nub throbbed thinking about what might be under the sweater. “Your university gave us your photo.” He popped the iPad into the bag slung across his shoulder then lunged for both her suitcases.
Her cheeks reddened again. “I can manage. You don’t have to...” Her words cut off when the driver picked up both bags like they weighed nothing.
“All part of the service. Follow me. The car isn’t far from here.” He had the strangest Irish accent that had a twang of English.
Abby didn’t complain as she followed the hot guy out of the airport, carrying only her giant over-sized purse. She left her tired, hungry, and grumpy self inside the airport. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad.
The cool morning air hit her and she shivered again. The driver wore no jacket. How did he not feel the cold? A sharpness to the air seeped inside her clothes. She couldn’t wait to get in the car.
The driver paid for parking and led her to a Land Rover. The body and wheels were splattered with mud, as though it had been up a mountain. What had she expected, a town car maybe? Isn’t that what drivers used to pick up people?
Her driver chuckled as he unlocked the car and placed the bags inside. Abby climbed into the back. He got into the driver’s seat.
“I can tell from your face you were expecting a town car. Isn’t that what you Americans call it?” said the hot guy. “Here we just call them cars.”
“I, uh, I wasn’t sure. This is my first time here.” It was as if hot driver man had read her mind. Or maybe this was how every American acted when they came here. “Uh, do you pick up many Americans?”
“Nope. Safety first.” He pointed to her seatbelt. “Put it on or we’re going nowhere.”
Abby sat back and clicked the belt into place. She returned to wondering if hottie driver could read her mind. She thought she heard a small laugh. But when she checked, the driver was preoccupied with getting out of the car park maze. Maybe she’d imagined it.
The drive from the airport took her breath away. Rolling pastures and green dominated both sides of the road. Sheep grazed on open spaces. They passed through the occasional town, which was nothing more than a straight road, when the highway ended. Her father had talked before about County Wexford, her mom about County Galway, the places where they were both born. But both their families had emigrated from Ireland to the US when they were young. Her mom had grown up in New Jersey while he’d spent his youth in Upstate New York. When Abby had asked about why their families had left Ireland, they’d said there had been few job opportunities back then.
Her driver said little. He fiddled with the radio, tuning it to a morning chat show. She loved the Irish accent. Cork, Kerry, Dublin; it didn’t matter. Even though the accents varied from county to county, she could listen to them all day. And now she had a new favorite accent: the driver’s. How long had he worked for the Alderdyce’s?
“How long until we get there?”
“Why? Aren’t you enjoying the view?” He glanced at her in the rear view mirror. She could have sworn she caught a glint in his eye.
“No, it’s... I mean... Yes. The view is fantastic.” She held his stare for longer than felt comfortable. Then his eyes crinkled right before they focused on the road again.
Her earlier tiredness hit her. She closed her heavy eyes for a minute. Then she yelped as she remembered a task she was supposed to do and fumbled in her bag for her phone.
“Is everything okay, Abby?”
Drivers were too familiar here. Miss or Mizz Brennan would be the proper way to address her.
“I forgot to text people back home. To tell them I landed safely.” She held up her pink covered phone, and the driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror. He had the most beautiful green eyes that almost stopped her heart. Her cheeks betrayed her again as she turned off the airplane mode on her phone. She waited. No messages.
She fired off two, the first to Paul.
Landed safely. I hope Wendy behaved herself last night. Chat soon.
The second was to Wendy.
I hope you behaved yourself last night, because I’d like for Paul to still talk to me when I get home.
She added. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe who picked me up at the airport. A fucking hot man who is, get this, my personal driver! Well, maybe not personal, but right now he’s driving me, so I’m pretending he is. Swoon.
She pressed send and looked up in time to see the driver’s eyes flick away.
6
Abby
The driver, whose name Abby planned to learn before the end of her trip, drove the car toward a tall set of black wrought iron gates set into gray brick walls. Abby recognized the gates from Wendy’s street-view crawl a few days ago. The car drove through the gates and a strange sensation hit Abby. Her hands tingled, her skin felt flushed. She touched the Celtic symbol hanging from the chain around her neck. It felt hot to the touch. She hissed and yanked it away from her neck.
“Is everything okay, Abby?”
The driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror once more.
“What? Yeah. Okay.” The metal between her fingers had cooled. She rested it against her skin once more and shook off the weird feeling that was dissipating.
Her attention drew to the magnificent tree-lined avenue that Google maps hadn’t shown her. It was like a vision out of a fairytale. Maybe Wendy was right and she would meet an Irish prince, even if the idea of Irish princes and royalty in Ireland sounded ridiculous. It took the Irish eight centuries to rid the English from their land. Still, maybe some stayed.
Without warning, the trees disappeared and the driveway opened up to reveal a beige pebble-lined courtyard that ran to the castle front. Abby’s mouth dropped open. Even though she knew what the castle looked like, it looked much grander in the flesh.
The driver pulled the car up to the front step and, except for the fact she looked like a slob from her plane journey, she felt like a princess. Abby wondered if they held any events here. The size of the place lent to the possibility.
Abby climbed out of the car and waited by the front door while the driver got her bags out from the back. A stone archway surrounded a heavy oak door that looked like the original. She was about to touch it when the driver stepped in behind her. Her skin pricked at his proximity, even though he wasn’t close enough to touch her. It felt similar to what she’d felt in the car moments ago.
“Don’t be shy. The door’s open.”
“Really? You don’t lock your doors around here?”
The driver laughed. “We do, but during the day it’s fine.”
She could have acted like a real princess and waited for him to open the door. But Abby came from a working family. Her Irish parents had instilled a strong work ethic in her.
Abby wrapped her fingers aro
und the circular knocker, lifted, and pushed. The giant door creaked open to reveal a stone foyer every bit as magical as she’d imagined it would look. A red tapestry rug adorned the floor. To the left was a dark wooden staircase covered in the same red carpet leading to the next floor. A bunch of rooms she couldn’t see led off and from the foyer. The entire castle was made of gray stone.
“It looks cold in here, but the stone is actually volcanic,” said the hot driver. “It’s very good at holding in the heat. The entire property is made of it. The rock, shipped in from the volcano site Eyjafjallajökull in Iceland in 1925, was used to rebuild the castle walls when the interior was gutted by fire.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I know everything about this place. Shall I show you to your room?”
She looked at the driver still holding her bags, one in each hand. “Uh, doesn’t the castle have maids to do that?”
“Maids?” The driver laughed again. It was a sexy sound. “You’re here to work, not to be waited on hand and foot.”
“I didn’t mean that, I thought...it’s such a big place and clearly they can afford to send a driver to pick me up.”
A portrait hanging in the foyer caught her eye and she walked over to it. It was the same picture of the family that Wendy had found, and matched the one on the website. Sam Alderdyce senior with his wife and child. Except this one looked like an original painting.
“Is Mr Alderdyce here? I’d like to thank him for this opportunity.”
“He’s already here,” said the driver.
Abby spun round. “Where?”
She stared at the driver’s outstretched hand and the bag he’d placed on the floor. “I’m Sam Alderdyce. Nice to meet you.”
“No you’re not.” She frowned and pointed to the portrait. “That’s Sam.”
“That’s my father. He died three years ago and left this place to me in a trust. I was twenty-two.”
Abby blushed at her mistake. She gave Sam’s outstretched hand a feeble shake. “And your mom? Is she still alive?”
“Dead, three years now.”
“What, they died together?”
Sam nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Abby swallowed back the lump in her throat. She pretended to marvel at the foyer again, if only to hide the tears forming in her eyes. His loss reminded her of her own. She missed her mom.
“Would you like to see your room now?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, and after, take a shower.” Sam started for the stairs with both of her bags. If their combined weight bothered him, he didn’t let on. “I’m sorry for not knowing who you were.”
“That’s okay. I don’t employ drivers. It’s a luxury I can’t afford. This is a working castle.”
“How many others are here?” Abby’s fingers grazed the dark oak banisters. The red patterned runner on the stairs dulled her footfall as she followed Sam.
“Clara, our housekeeper, works one day a week, then us and the ten interns.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, me and the other three owners.”
Okay, now she was confused. “I thought you said you owned this castle. You’re an only child, right?”
“Yes, but this castle has trustees. My father appointed them before he died.”
Sam continued up the stairs. Two quarter turns brought them to the first floor. They landed on a corridor that ran both left and right. He led her down the right corridor.
“How does that work?” she said to his back.
“The castle doesn’t really belong to me. It belongs to the next generation, and the next after that. You could call me a caretaker, even though my family owned it. It’s my duty to keep the castle in working order until I can pass it on.”
“To your heirs?”
“Possibly, or to an appointed family or group. The ownership doesn’t matter as much as the people in charge do. I manage this place alongside Brendan, Murphy, and Liam. We’re all responsible for keeping this place going.”
The corridor had the same red carpet as the stairs. There were four doors, all on the same side, each decorated with what looked like magical runes. She had no idea about runes but she’d watched enough Shadowhunters on Netflix to know what they were, just not what they meant.
“Why do you have runes on each door?”
Sam stopped at the last room with a beautiful oak door and set one bag down to open it. She followed him inside a small, but pretty, room with baby blue curtains and a single bed covered in a matching baby blue duvet. The floor was stripped and varnished in a color that matched the door.
“Bathroom’s to the left of the stairs. None of the rooms on this floor have ensuites. Just the ones on the top floor.” He set the bags down. “And they’re Celtic symbols, not runes.”
Abby ran her fingers over the old wooden chest of drawers she was sure was older than her family house. “What?”
“The symbols on the doors, yes they represent magic in the fantasy world, but they’re actually Celtic symbols.”
“Really? What do they mean?”
Sam stood at the door, his heated gaze warming up her chilly, non-acclimatized skin. “If you fit in here, I’ll tell you about them.”
He shut the door, leaving Abby alone in her small bedroom.
If she fit in? What did that mean?
7
Sam
Sam had felt a connection to Abby Brennan the second he laid eyes on her. He was certain she was the girl they’d been waiting for.
At the airport, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful redhead. It came as a surprise that she looked so Irish. All he knew about her was she came from a magical bloodline. Similar to the other invitees. All women.
Sam always felt trashy about inviting women to a castle that four red-blooded males owned and were named as trustees. But Drumm castle was an important part of history, and Sam was next in line to protect its secret.
Abigail Brennan. Irish last name, American first name. He could hear her moving about in her room, opening cases, then drawers. His hand hovered over the symbol on her door. It felt warm, even though he wasn’t touching it. Not surprising since the symbol had absorbed some of Abby’s untapped abilities. And the barrier surrounding the property, the one he’d driven through, had alerted him to the magic within her. The barrier was the first test and not all of the girls had caused a reaction. But that didn’t mean anything. Dark witches could fight a protection spell.
If Abby was what he hoped, her bloodline could help to protect this castle, but more importantly, this country.
His cock went hard from the moment he’d laid eyes on her alabaster skin and light blue eyes. It turned to diamond when he imagined her without clothes on. But if Abby was the right girl, he could never take what he wanted.
Abby had no clue as to why she was here. The castle had been purpose-built centuries ago to cover a seal that required constant magical protection to prevent it from opening. Magic from the right girl combined with the strength of all four trustees could permanently close the seal. No more reliance on local witches and magic spells to get the job done. No more mishaps like in 1932, when dangerous souls slipped through the tear in reality separating their realm from this one and set fire to the castle interior. Or a year ago, when the same escape happened and it had taken Sam and the others three days to track them all down and trap them in the seal again.
To protect the Irish land, the right girl must give her body and mind freely to Sam and the other trustees. But the four trustees were no ordinary guys. Sam, Liam, Murphy, and Brendan were immortal guardians. Alongside the spells of a white witch, the guardians could control the power that simmered below the surface. Only a queen could help them fight what the seal prevented from entering this world. Dark witches or escaped souls could kill them.
He stopped at the door next to Abby’s. The other nine women had arrived yesterday. Abby was the last. He’d agreed with Liam, Brendan, and Murphy that he’d pick them
up alone. As alpha and first to obtain his guardianship of the four, his power was greater than theirs and more sensitive to the one they sought. For the last three years Sam had run this sham exchange program with Liam and Brendan. For three years they’d never come close to finding the one to help them permanently shut the seal. Murphy only arrived on the scene a year ago.
It didn’t mean the other girls weren’t powerful. Some were. Others were mortals. Those who showed magical promise didn’t fit with this castle, or with these four guardians. Other castles around Ireland needed similar protection, similar pairings. On occasion the woman was the right fit, but for a different group of men.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he walked past the remaining three doors and stopped at the last one. He held his hand over the last rune feeling barely a flicker of a flame. He’d felt nothing for Sylvie AuClair when he’d picked her up from the airport yesterday. But he sensed magic within her and so had the protection spell surrounding the grounds. It just wasn’t compatible with his.
He checked the message. It was from Liam. Are they all there? Any good vibes?
He typed a reply. One has potential, but I won’t say which.
He would wait to see how the others reacted to Abby Brennan. He’d also trotted out that exact line before. Many had potential but none had been right for them. They all had to feel the connection. Not only Sam.
Maybe his hard-on had nothing to do with Abby’s power and more because he had a thing for redheads. Maybe he couldn’t tell anymore who was supposed to complete their group. Their guardianship had been searching for three years. Last year, before Murphy’s arrival, the seal had split in half. It took every ounce of magic the guardians had and several witch spells to repair it. Mary and Sue, the most experienced white witches in the local coven, had even called on their ancients to help repair it.
Liam replied. Don’t give up, Sam. She’s out there.
Yeah, maybe. We’ll see tomorrow. Truth was Sam was close to giving up on the whole thing. The bonding required a magical compatibility, but on certain days he felt jaded by the experience of searching for the one queen in a giant haystack of potentials. The trinity—a trio of immortals who had bestowed to them their guardian powers—would back off whenever potentials came to the castle. But once Sam and the others had whittled down the numbers the trio would make their presence known. Maybe he should let other guardians in waiting step up. If he relinquished his place to the trinity overseeing his guardianship, they would return him to mortal status and he could forget about this whole deal with the dead.
