Page 39 of Druid Cursed

Maggie slowly slipped it free of her sandal. The spindle itself was plain, unadorned other than a spiral notch near the top. A knot design decorated the whorl near the bottom—an iron whorl.

Her pulse thrummed hard as she straightened.

The spindle had to be from Wendy. One year for her birthday, Wendy had given her a replica of one of her favorite illustrations, an Arthurian romance depicting a fierce woman jousting with an unarmed knight.

She used her distaff as a spear, the spindle flying in the air like a bird of prey.

She’d always wanted to be as brave as that woman.

How is a spindle going to help you, Wendy?

She set the spindle on the table and flipped the clue card over. It was completely blank.

Maggie frowned at the familiar red wax seal.

What was the point of sealing up a blank card, let alone putting it in her room?

It had to mean something. The only item left on the list was the rock, but what could emptiness mean?

And if Wendy had left the spindle, did that mean the scavenger hunt was Sorcha’s idea?

Setting the card aside, she leaned over the diary. Only a few sentences marked the bottom of the page, written in the same elegant hand as the rest of the journal. Several words were illegible, as if raindrops had fallen on the pages, smearing the ink. Or tears.

…bear your indifference no longer. I will seek your face one final time …any sign …your heart. Mayhap in death …remember me.

Maggie replaced the card between the pages and closed the diary, the chill creeping from her fingers to her blood. It sounded an awful lot like the author had done something drastic to herself in an effort to gain the attention of a man who clearly cared nothing for her.

She retrieved the sack of salt on the nightstand and poured a thick line in a semicircle by the doorway, leaving enough space for the door to clear without disturbing the barrier. If Sorcha got through again, she’d know for sure.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean sweater and jeans, Maggie followed Jeeves to a lovely, private sunroom that overlooked the gardens. She plopped into the chair next to Kellen and set the diary on the table in front of him.

“I found a clue card inside.” She leaned into him, and his ebony cashmere sweater caressed her wrist, his lemon-licorice scent and the fresh tang of soap called her to crawl into his lap and just breathe him in.

Somehow, she found the strength to instead open the diary to the clue card and the final, unhappy entry.

“There has to be a reason Wendy put it right here.”

“Or Sorcha, who still eludes us and, despite wards, spells, and a new lock, is able to infiltrate your room.”

“The good news is she hasn’t done anything besides leave clue cards. If she meant to hurt me, she probably would’ve done it already, right?”

“I will not take that risk. From this moment forward, when you are in your room, Jeeves, Caedmon, or I will be guarding the door.” His black eyebrows drew together as he focused on the smudged words of the journal. “Who wrote this, do you surmise? And why place it in my tower?”

“I was hoping you might figure that one out. Part of it’s written in Gaelic, which I can’t read.”

He thumbed through a few pages. “No names. No dates. A tragic tale of love unrequited.” His scowl deepened. “I like not what it implies. Loss. Heartbreak. Death of love.”

Maggie swallowed hard. Loss and death could affect any of them—all of them.

“The meaning of this clue depends greatly upon who is orchestrating the hunt—Wendy or Sorcha. Initially, Sorcha may have allowed Wendy to plan the game as a means to test the wards, to see if she could walk among us without detection.” His black gaze met hers. “Now, I am no longer certain.”

“Could she…” She refused to send words like kill into the atmosphere. Who knew what effects it might have in a world where witches and druid rituals held such power? She cleared her throat, the words hard to say, not sure she wanted to know the answer. “Could she alter the curse? Make it…worse?”

Kellen slipped his fingers beneath her hair and kissed her, light and sweet and heady. “We will fight her,” he said near her ear, making her shiver. “Until the last stroke of midnight on Samhain.”

Which wasn’t an answer at all, but when he nibbled on the sensitive spot beneath her ear, she found it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“Ahem.”

At the polite cough behind them, Kellen leaned back. He took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Jeeves bowed and presented a large rectangular box with a red ribbon. “As you requested, Master Kellen.”

“Timely as ever.” Kellen gave Jeeves a tiny, knowing grin. “Set it on the table, if you please.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes at Jeeves. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Every century or so, my lady,” he said without hesitation or change in expression. “Contrary to the evidence, I am not a deity.”

She studied the butler as he smoothly laid the box on the table. “Are you a druid, too?”

Kellen pressed his lips together.

“I am but your humble servant, my lady.” Jeeves looked to Kellen. “Is there anything else you need, master?”

He coughed, which sounded suspiciously as if he hid a laugh. “That will be all for now. Thank you.”

With another bow, Jeeves strolled away at a stately pace, his back perfectly straight.

Maggie turned in her chair to watch him go, hoping she’d catch him fading into the shadows or simply vanishing altogether, but he opened the door and went through it like any normal person. She met Kellen’s gaze. “What is he?”

“The Ravenwood butler.” His secretive smirk was enough of a clue that he wouldn’t dish on Jeeves without some pressure.

Slowly, she crossed her arms while giving him her best unyielding stare.

“You are truly frightening when you choose to be.” Kellen steepled his fingers over his mouth, probably to hide any humor while he pretended to contemplate the wisdom of telling her what she wanted.

It was so easy to push back with him, to be completely herself, unafraid to voice her opinion and risk being rejected for it. Who would have thought she’d find that sort of freedom in a centuries-old druid?

“Very well, to appease your relentless quest for information…” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Centuries before my time, a Ravenwood druid saved his life. The fae are even more long-lived than druids and always keep a bargain made.”

A shiver ran through her. Witches, druids, magic, and now a freaking fae ? Her tiny, mundane world was never going to be the same. She had so many questions still—like how long did druids live, exactly—but she supposed those could wait until a witch wasn’t flying her broom all over Maggie’s life.

Kellen jerked his chin at the box on the table. “You should open it.”

“That’s for me?” Maggie slumped in her chair, her emotions twisting into different directions.

A present after everything last night felt like a payoff.

Or a bribe. And even if Kellen’s intention behind it was neither, she wasn’t sure she was ready to face the underlying gravity of accepting another gift from him.

It implied a relationship, albeit undefined. A future.

Every minute she spent with him she adored him more, but was she ready to let another man impact her life?

Only days ago, she’d regained her independence.

It was too soon to decide if she could trade even a sliver of her dreams for the unknown, and her heart couldn’t take another direct hit.

If she walked through that door with Kellen, and Caedmon didn’t break the curse… it was too much to face.

“’Tis neither viper nor vermin.” He rubbed his jaw, studying her, as if he could read her mind. Hell, he was a druid. Maybe he could. “Nor does it contain a marriage band.”

Yep, he totally could read minds.

“Trust me, mo chuisle ,” he said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. He lifted her hand to his mouth, turned it over, and kissed the pulse point on her wrist. “Open it.”

The tension in her shoulders eased. She shouldn’t waste time worrying about possibilities. Here, now, was all that mattered until Halloween. “Promise it’s not a box of spiders?”

“Beyond viper and vermin, I make no admissions.” He flashed a smile that made her toes curl. Every once in a while, that charming sense of humor of his peeked through.

Giving the box a suspicious look, she poked it with one finger.

The contents didn’t make any noise, and the box itself slid an inch or so at the light push.

Whatever was within didn’t weigh much. Kellen maintained an innocent expression, his hands folded over his flat, sexy midriff, waiting for her to make a move.

Maggie heaved a sigh and untied the red, silk ribbon. In one quickfire move, she pulled the lid off and tossed it at Kellen. He caught it with a little laugh. She loved his laugh, all deep and rumbly. She turned back to the box and went still.

A mask rested on top, and not one of those boring, black plastic masks that kids sometimes wore at Halloween.

This one was exquisite. She stroked the peacock feathers in brilliant green, turquoise, and the deepest purple.

Plumage covered the entire surface, a startling replica to a real bird, and the mask even had a hooked beak to cover the nose, encrusted with gleaming black jewels.

“It’s amazing.” She lifted it out of the box. Fine silver stitching circled the eyeholes, glimmering in the light, and three long feathers formed the crowning glory. “Where did you get it?”

“A druid does not reveal his secrets.” He lifted his chin, imperious. “And what of the dress?”

Dress? What dress? Who cared about a dress when she had a mask like this?

She set the mask aside and pulled out the garment that had served as a cushion to the glorious mask.

A silk bodice in a shimmering shade of purple so deep it was almost black bled into full ombre skirts.

There were no ornaments or embellishments, merely an elegant design with spaghetti straps that left all the bling and attention on the mask.

And she loved it even more because of the simplicity.

Equally amazing were the delicate flats at the bottom of the box, as if Kellen somehow knew she wasn’t a heel girl. How could a man who’d only met her days ago know her better than her ex-husband ever had?

“Kellen.” She could hardly speak, her throat was so tight. “Everything, it’s…perfect.”

“I am delighted you find it acceptable.” He actually sounded relieved.

Maggie dropped the dress in the box and flung her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder. “Thank you. So much better than a box of spiders. It might even make a snooty Ravenwood social event slash ritual halfway tolerable.”

She kissed his neck, and a low groan thrummed in his throat.

“Maggie.” His voice held a warning even as he grasped her hips with both hands.

“Hmm?” She licked his earlobe. He smelled and tasted so good, and she was having trouble deciding how she liked his hair best. Pulled back gave him an archaic, dangerous edge, but when all his thick, dark hair was free and disheveled by her hands?

Even thinking about it made he r ache in all the best places.

“Maggie,” he repeated and firmly set her off his lap.

His heated gaze burned into her, and she didn’t miss the hard, telltale spring of his arousal.

“I am already sorely tempted by my need for you. When you put your mouth on me, when you touch me…” He closed his eyes briefly.

“I am only a man, and you, leannán , are my weakness.” He gave her a stern look.

“We have a quest to fulfill, do we not?”

He swiped the clue card, as if needing something to focus on, fast. She didn’t have time to tell him it was blank before he ripped it free of the envelope. He frowned. “This does not bode well at all.”

“How could a blank card bode anything?”

Still frowning, he lifted the card for her to see. Where it had been blank earlier, a lifelike colored pencil drawing of a mask filled the space.

Her breakfast felt like a lead ball in her stomach as she followed the intricate details of yellow, brown, and orange leaves taking the distinctive shape of Wendy’s face.

“It appears,” Kellen said, straightening to his full, intimidating height, “that Sorcha means to attend tonight’s festivities.”

“Good. Great-Granny Sorcha has monopolized my best friend long enough. It’s time for some payback.” Maggie sucked in a long breath and slowly released it, wishing she felt as brave as her words.