Page 18 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

The time spent with Maggie in his tower had been sweet torture, and the walk back to the estate as morning light faded into a magical afternoon glow divine—even with Cara’s interloping presence.

When Maggie had lifted her mouth to his at the castle, inviting a kiss, need had nearly swamped him.

Only his considerable self-control restrained him from taking what she offered.

Now, outside her guest room t o check for Wendy’s presence, Cara deposited elsewhere, Kellen had no desire to leave Maggie’s side.

Arousal still burned beneath his skin, a writhing, breathing entity that left him aching and miserable, yet he could not succumb to her sweet, tempting charm.

He had taken a risk earlier, revealing information about Sorcha and the curse, and yet Maggie’s reactions had been sincere.

He had not detected a single trace of duplicity in her words or aura.

While the first ritual had not exposed any magic in Maggie, it had confirmed what they had already known—she was indeed the last heir of his enemy…

and the sole woman in his long, long life who had warmed his heart.

A woman whose bravery, determination, and commitment to her values only made him want her more.

The one woman whose death would free him.

With only four full days left, Caedmon had yet to find a substitute for Maggie’s blood. Sorcha must be cackling in glee.

As Maggie opened the door to her room, he grasped the knob, his hand covering hers. Electricity shot up his arm, followed by a bolt of pure desire that went straight to his groin.

He cleared his throat. “Allow me to inspect your chambers for intruders or traps before you enter. In fact, I insist.”

She gave him a look that he had already become familiar with, the one that implied he was either overly controlling or unreasonably suspicious, perhaps a bit of each. She saw straight through him—both were true enough.

“What will your guests say if they hear there are security issues at Ravenwood Estate?”

He cared not what others thought.

“Indulge me.” He smiled and tried not to use too many teeth.

She huffed a breath. “Okay, since you asked without snarling.”

An adorable dimple appeared in her cheek when she teased.

Maggie made little effort to hide her emotions, and he had a distinct yearning to learn each of her expressions and how to elicit them.

Such as the deepening blue of her eyes and the flush of her face when he had pulled her against him.

He suspected it was merely a taste of what her appearance might be after he had thoroughly kissed her, touched her, disrobed her.

But he should not daydream of things that would never transpire between them, no matter how fetching her smile, how enticing her lips, how she made him feel truly alive for the first time in centuries. In his lifetime, even.

His voice emerged gruffer than he planned as he opened the door. “I will be but a moment.”

Entering the room Maggie occupied was another round of torture.

Her lily perfume scented the air. Her clothing and personal belongings scattered around the chamber in feminine claim.

A book rested on the cushioned window seat, and he could not resist reading the title.

The Hobbit . ’Twas unfamiliar. He found no trace of lingering enchantment or dangerous objects in the main chamber or bathroom, nor any indication that Wendy had returned.

When he headed to the door, the white envelope resting on the narrow end table glinted in the gathering shadows.

He leaned over it. The red wax seal held Sorcha’s sickle and bramble symbol.

Either he had not noticed it when he entered, or by some sinister magic, Sorcha had made it appear only just now.

“Find anything dastardly?” Maggie poked her head in the open doorway and immediately noticed the envelope. “A new clue card from Wendy!” She grabbed it from the table before he could snatch it first, ripped the seal, jerked the card free, and read its contents aloud.

The ring you have found

Now the rock and the key

By new moon’s first flight

To secure my chosen for eternity.

A shudder spread down his spine. This year of all years, the new moon fell on Samhain. He liked not the coincidence.

Maggie turned the card over, and a smile lit her face.

She nearly vibrated with excitement as she held it up for his inspection.

“‘Find the key where books and bygones unite.’” Her sparkling gaze met his.

“The library, it has to be! And Wendy must be all right if she’s leaving more clues.

See? She’s just having fun with this. Everything’s fine. ”

Naught was fine . Sorcha had cleverly set her scheme, concealing her tricks with an activity Maggie could not resist. He had to find a way to show her the truth, the hard proof she desired. “Maggie—”

Jeeves appeared behind her, and she jumped with a squeak.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you always have to sneak around like that?”

“I do not sneak, Miss O’Malley. I am merely the epitome of discreet.” As Maggie muttered beneath her breath, he bowed to Kellen. “Master. Your brother wishes to see you.”

“I am occupied,” Kellen snapped.

Without so much as a flinch, Jeeves added, “He insisted that I convey the matter is of utmost urgency.”

A growl built in Kellen’s chest. Caedmon would not summon him for frivolous reasons, yet he despised leaving Maggie’s welfare—nay, monitoring —to anyone other than himself. Sorcha had conducted a ritual of blood and bone, aimed at her, and he suspected ’twas tied to this strange quest.

“Do not go to the library, not to investigate or for any other reason,” his command rumbled.

Maggie’s eyebrows shot up, an obstinate expression he recognized, and he sought to curb his natural tendency to lead.

He was unused to relying on others for responsibilities belonging solely to him, loathed handing control to another.

Maggie sought independence and did not appreciate being ordered about, yet he could not allow her to venture to the library alone, not when Wendy’s state remained unknown, as did Sorcha’s whereabouts and schemes.

He attempted to erase any hint of a scowl or frown and hoped he looked apologetic. “Wait for me.” He softened his voice and held her gaze. “Please.”

After a heartbeat, she turned to Jeeves. “I hate it when he says please. It makes me feel like I’m being completely irrational.”

“Master Kellen does have a particular way about him, Miss O’Malley,” Jeeves replied, his eyes glittering silver, for a moment revealing his true nature. “I strive not to become involved in situations whereby he feels inclined to use such disturbing verbiage against me.”

“Then you will not protest personally serving Maggie while I see about Caedmon.” Kellen bared his teeth at his butler. “Please.”

Jeeves bowed, smooth and pristine. “As you wish, Master Kellen.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Maggie planted a hand on her cocked hip. “Or a guard. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Do you pledge not to venture to the library until I return?” He narrowed his eyes as she pressed her lovely lips together, a certain sign she did indeed intend to do so.

“If you vow to wait for me, Jeeves will bring you blueberry muffins or whatever else you may wish. You have not eaten since this morn, have you? And I believe the kitchens are closed until the evening meal.”

“Which will not be for another two hours,” Jeeves added, and Kellen hid a smile. He truly was an incomparable butler, among the other formidable skills that he kept hidden behind his pristine and proper facade.

Maggie’s stomach rumbled loudly, and pink tinged her cheeks. “That’s low, using food as collateral.” She sniffed. “Fine. I’ll wait for you… if Jeeves can conjure some pepperoni pizza.”

“Whatever the lady desires.” Jeeves dipped his head.

“I thought the kitchens were closed?” She arched an eyebrow in challenge.

“The kitchens are indeed closed. However, the nearest tavern makes excellent pizza, and they deliver their wares to the front gate upon request.”

As Maggie tucked the card in her pocket, conceding, the knot in Kellen’s neck loosened somewhat.

Jeeves was perfectly capable of protecting a small lass within the confines of the main hall and its considerable wards.

And if Wendy appeared, Jeeves could determine the level of Sorcha’s influence, if any, and take appropriate action.

“I shall return soon.”

“Is your name really Jeeves?” Maggie asked as Kellen strode away.

He couldn’t deny a smirk. Jeeves would never reveal his true name, but he had no doubt Maggie would try her best to finagle it free with her natural sweetness and enchanting dimple.

Heat curled in his gut and dropped lower, making it difficult to concentrate on aught beyond the pounding blood in his veins.

Mayhap some distance from her would be beneficial, an opportunity to regain full possession of his deteriorating restraint.

Kellen entered the workshop his brother disguised as a modern study and growled, “What is it?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, brother mine.” Caedmon looked up from where he leaned over a long table littered with herbs and stones, bottles and candles, all circled around a parchment that appeared to be older than their original Ravenwood predecessors.

He paused for a moment. This could be the spell to his freedom.

’Twas a constant itch at the back of his mind.

Sorcha’s spell restricted him from personally seeking or assisting in any remedy to his curse, another measure of torture.

His sole hope lay in another’s hands—a cruel twist considering his inclination to aid and protect, to lead and control.

“Have you discovered the counter-spell?” His pulse sped up as he approached the table, but he dared not let his hope swell beyond a kernel.