“Your Majesties.” DooNell dipped a curtsey when she entered and then moved forward. “Good, glad to have the formalities over.” She shuffled across the room. “Tanna, dear, how lovely you look.”
The old crone planted a kiss on his wife’s smooth cheek before she turned her dark eyes on him.
“And you, Oberon. I must say you’re looking a little”—she appraised him from head to toe—“like you ate a green apple. Why are you so sour today?” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m afraid what I have to say will only add to your problems.”
“What would that be, DooNell?” Oberon worked to keep his voice noncommittal and his face blank. How dare she comment on his sour expression? He wouldn’t have one if she’d stop creating problems. “I understand you’ve meddled in the lives of others again. Would what you’re about to tell me have anything to do with that?”
“Could be.” DooNell leaned on her staff.
Oberon waited.
As time dragged, he found what little patience he head dwindling. “Well, get on with it, Cailleach. What is it you have to tell?”
DooNell turned her attention to Tanna. “Does he take this tone with you when he’s out of sorts?”
Tanna smiled and nodded. “There are moments when he tires.”
The old crone patted the queen’s arm.
“Then my dear, I must tell you how sorry I am to have saddled you with such a difficult burden to bear through all these centuries.”
“Old woman, you try my patience.”
“Very well, My King.” The Hag stood as straight as the crook in her back would allow. “It seems you are aware of my efforts to help love bloom as I’ve been directed to do by the Powers. And so, it is with great sadness I’ve come to inform you, things have hit a snag.”
“The Powers? Help love bloom? You call your charms and spells helping love? You dare to place blame for your meddlesome ways on the Powers,” Oberon sputtered while his face turned the exact shade of red as his vest.
Instead of taking offense, The Hag merely supported her weight on her staff and let him fume. “When you’re done with your vent, Sire, I’ll finish.”
Dumbfounded by her impudence, Oberon gasped like a fish out of water. A glance in Tanna’s direction didn’t help, since his wife held her hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles. The pounding in his head stressed the need for this audience to be over and end his misery. He managed a quick nod for her continue.
DooNell took it from there. “As I tried to explain”—she cast an uneasy glance in Oberon’s direction—“things have taken a turn for the worse. Glamour is much needed to cover a time element.”
Puzzled by the statement, Oberon hated to ask why glamour was needed to the extent he had to be made aware of it. “Tell me, old woman. Who in our realm has your latest meddling involved?”
DooNell’s face crinkled into a smile that lit up all her wrinkles, and her watery eyes danced with merriment. “Why, Sire, that is easy. The only single male I wish the same happiness as you and Tanna share. Young Prince Ian. Your grandson.”
Chapter Thirteen
The room went dark as blood rushed from Oberon’s head. By all the Powers, the interfering old crone had gone too far this time. This announcement exceeded his worst fears, and she would have to pay. All sense of loyalty to the Cailleach forgotten, he turned to vent his rage. The words froze in his throat. Tanna, hands clenched at her sides, stood nose to nose with The Hag.
“How dare you? What gives you the right to interfere in the life of the royals?”
DooNell glared back. “As I recall, I’ve not done so badly in that area with past efforts, my dear. Look at what my intrusion accomplished for you.”
Tanna flushed to the roots of her pale blonde hair, and tears welled in her eyes. “True enough, DooNell, but you’ve mixed our only grandchild with a mortal. Surely he deserves better than that?”
“Aye. I see what you mean, but there is magical blood there. The human isn’t aware of her magical ties. They are well diluted, but they do exist. As with Ian, the magic covers more than one realm.”
“And you would know this how, old woman?” Oberon came to stand beside his wife, slipping an arm around her waist.
Tanna’s warm body pressed against his and made him unsure if she was seeking or offering support. Whichever, he was secure in the knowledge they would face whatever path that needed traveling, stronger because they were together.
“I sought to arrange a match between two of The Realm folk many centuries ago.” A pensive expression flitted across her face as DooNell stared into the past. “Not all efforts are successful on my part. I only plant the seed, and love must grow and bloom from there. What will be will be and is determined by those involved.”
The sigh she emitted would have been the envy of any Banshee as it vibrated through the room, ending as a pitiful moan. “In this case, the female faerie’s heart had already been captured by another man, a fisherman. She chose to leave the sea to follow him to a strange land called America when he abandoned his life on the water.”
“So this human you have connected to our grandson is descended from her.”
“That is so, Your Majesty.” DooNell bowed her head. “But there is more.”
Oberon scrubbed his face with a hand and prayed to the Powers for patience. “What more can there be?”
Rheumy eyes stared at him, and the old woman cleared her throat. “There was magic in him too.”
“He was Fae?”
“No, Sire. He was a warlock—a male witch—who attempted to escape his heritage. The couple had a son, and he is the father of this girl, though she thinks her father is another.”
The King shook his head and tried to focus on this bit of news. At least the female wasn’t completely mortal, and with time, he could adjust to the union if it did happen.
“And now a problem has arisen that calls for glamour?”
“Correct again, Sire.” DooNell hesitated and squared her thin shoulders. “The problem has been caused by another of The Realm. The Faerie Morgana has interfered in the budding relationship between Prince Ian and Emma Grant, causing not only pain for them but a problem for us.”
The shocked expression on Tanna’s face carried into her words. “But Morgana has been Ian’s friend since he was a child. Why would she want to cause trouble for him?”
“I’m afraid the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head when the willful Morgana saw young Ian with Emma. Just when I placed him on the path of love, the wicked little thing sent him down the road of heartbreak.” The ancient woman shook her head. “Morgana’s had her cap set for him for some time, but being male”—DooNell winked at Tanna—“he didn’t pick up on the hints she dropped or the reason she appears so often at the castle.”
“But surely Shaylee would have noticed.” Tanna said.
“Aye, a mother most likely would. Remember, Morgana is a sly one and went about courting your daughter’s friendship in hopes of gaining her trust to encourage Prince Ian to consider Morgana more than just as a friend. Problem with that idea was Shaylee didn’t see the two being a match. Since the Princess and her husband decided to return to The Realm, the little imp has made a nuisance of herself at the castle. She creates all sorts of problems for the staff with her tricks, and they don’t focus on work for fear she’ll pop up. The cook has banned her from the kitchen since she turned the milk sour.”
Time for Oberon to cut into the conversation. They’d be here all afternoon with DooNell’s tales and Tanna lapping up every word she could glean about the life a grandson she resented seeing so little of these days.
“DooNell, even if Morgana has caused a rift on this primrose path you think our grandson was on because of your spell, why is glamour needed? Is it necessary to erase this Emma’s memories of meeting Ian, and if so, why didn’t you just take care of it?”
“Believe me, Your Majesty, if I could have taken care of the situation without involving you, I would have. No, this
will require more than my power alone.” DooNell hesitated. “In fact, we may need to seek the help of Ian’s other grandfather, the Nordic god Odin.” She coughed and shuffled her feet. “Possibly even his grandmother, Aphrodite.”
“Odin! Aphrodite!” Stunned, Oberon stared at the old woman in disbelief. What catastrophe had she created that involved not only coming to him for help but also needed assistance from other realms? “Explain yourself on this matter, old woman, and this had better be good.”
“Well, Sire”—DooNell looked down at her feet, not meeting Oberon’s eyes—“you see, there was a little detail I overlooked in my spell to bring the lovers together.”
Dread snaked through Oberon’s stomach like a reptile across the jungle floor. Once again, he wondered why most of the major problems in ruling seemed to be created by women. Couldn’t they ever resist the urge to interfere or direct others’ lives? “What detail would that be now that it’s come to your attention?” He waited impatiently for her enlightenment.
DooNell stared at the ceiling and then the floor. Finally, she lifted her head and met the king’s eyes. “It seems our Emma is a tour director. She’s guiding a tour around Scotland and has a small group of ladies with her.”
Resisting the urge to strangle the old bat, Oberon fought to keep his temper under control and respond in a normal tone. “This bit of news is important to our situation…how?”
“Because, Sire”—the heat of DooNell’s glare matched his—“not only did Emma end up spending a few days at the castle, but the rest of her tour group did as well. With the castle being under The Realm’s creation, those days were in our time.”
At this moment, Oberon understood why rulers abdicated their power. He wondered briefly if Shaylee would like to try her hand at ruling as queen. Retirement to a nice quiet knoll sounded better and better. “So you’re telling me this group of women went missing in the mortal world for over a month?” He could now vouch for the fact that Faerie Kings did get headaches because, right now, he thought his head would explode.
DooNell smiled. “Now you see the reason for such powerful glamour and why we need the others’ help. We need to create glamour strong enough in the human world to erase all the news reports the disappearance of the bus has generated as well as the knowledge from the minds of all who heard the news.”
Emma understood how a chick with a brood of mother hens clucking over it must feel. The group never let her out of their sight other than when she retired behind the closed door of whatever hotel room she had for the night. She’d almost swear they took turns standing sentry outside the door to make sure no one, especially Ian McCabe, disturbed her.
Yeah, fat chance that would happen. It had been two weeks, and she’d heard nothing from him. So what if she kept her cell phone turned off unless she needed to make a call. The only ones attempting to reach her were either work, or Cori, and they had sense enough to leave messages. Emma chose to forget several from a strange number that always hung up.
Fine. This was her last night in Scotland, and once she returned home, Ian McCabe would be the last person on earth she thought about. She didn’t need some handsome Scot who looked so good in a kilt he was probably the reason God had man invent them. Nor would she remember how his touch made her melt or his kisses set her body on fire. No way, no how would she think about any of that once the plane left this land of faerie tales.
The clerk behind the check-in counter went through each of the passports Emma handed him with the speed of a snail. She and her entourage were at the same Edinburgh hotel they had spent their first three nights in for their farewell. When the manager appeared and motioned the clerk aside, she wanted to do a happy dance. Most of the documents received a cursory glance, but he paused and looked up when he opened hers. What the hell was the problem?
“Happy Birthday, Miss Grant.” The dimpled cutie shot her a toothsome grin as he gathered the stack of passports and handed them back to her along with a sheet of paper listing the room assignments.
Shit, that was right. She was thirty-nine today. That was one subject he didn’t have to bring up, but when she turned on her phone, there’d probably be half a dozen messages from Cori reminding her, too. “Thank you,” Emma mumbled and turned to the women clustered around her and handed out passports and room keys.
“Okay, ladies, I’ll meet you in the dining room at seven o’clock”—Emma glanced at her watch—“which will give everyone time to relax or shop since this is our last night in this magical land.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and picked up her briefcase and headed for the elevator with several of the women.
Thank goodness I have a private room. I need time alone.
“Your Highness, you didn’t eat your breakfast again.”
Ian offered no resistance when Helmond took away the plate of cold food in front of him.
“I know, Helmond. I don’t have much of an appetite these days.” He wasn’t able to concentrate on work either. Since he’d returned home from London and found Emma and her group gone, he was bewildered. His efforts to reach her on her cell phone had been unsuccessful. She never answered, and somehow he knew it would do no good to leave a message.
The initial confusion had then been replaced with anger and now depression. Most days he spent walking the moors and staring over the cliffs at the pounding surf below.
Ian pushed his chair from the table and tossed his napkin on the empty spot his plate had occupied only moments before. “I’m off for a walk, Helmond.”
The turmoil of the waves splashing against the rocks matched his inner angst and offered him solace. The wild surf connected him to Emma when he remembered how she loved to watch the incoming tide spray the breakers in the air when water crashed against the boulders.
“Sire, your agent has called several times and requested your return his call.”
“I will. I will.”
Just not now. I’m not in the mood to answer Brian’s questions on when the latest book will be finished or to find out what idiotic idea the New York agent has this time.
Ian made his way across the moor to the cliffs and sat down on his favorite rock. Suspended in time, he stared at the water, allowing his misery to wash over him like waves on the rocks below. How could a woman he’d only known for such a short period of time create this void in his heart? The question plagued most of his waking hours.
Bloody hell. The day’s mortal world date popped into his head, and he jumped to his feet. Ian made his trek back across the moors with a determined gait instead of the mindless meandering that had bought him out earlier.
Emma and her group were due back in Edinburgh today, and he’d be there to greet them. A face to face meeting with Emma Grant should get him the answer to the question of why she’d left him.
Chapter Fourteen
The sadness in Emma’s heart lifted briefly when she entered the dining room and saw the group seated around the table. Over the past two weeks, she had developed a fondness for these eccentric women she’d never imagined possible. Yes, several of them drove her to distraction at times, but they had her back as they’d proved when the tour continued after the castle detour that changed her life. They all made an attempt to sidetrack her pain with stories of their own lives and questions about the Denver area.
“Emma, there you are, dear!”
Dear, the name that only a few weeks ago had made her see red now brought a smile. She regretted her initial irritation with them over minor details the first few days of their trip. If she’d focused on something other than looking for all the reasons they should have stayed home, she would have learned a lot more from the spirited women. Now she hoped when she reached their ages she’d view life with the same kind of zest.
“Sit, dear.” Mary pointed to the chair at the head of the table.
“Yeah, you’re going to need to be sitting for your birthday surprise.”
Mildred’s smirk gave Emma a small shiver of alarm. “Birthday surprise?
How did you know it’s my birthday?”
Barb shot a scornful glance in Emma’s direction. “We’re not dead, you know. Our brains still function, and some of us have pretty good eyesight as well as hearing.”
“Knock it off, Barb,” Deena snarled from the other end of the table.
A light bulb went on in Emma’s head when she looked at Deena’s face. The woman had been quiet since they’d left the castle, and when she did interact with the group, most of her responses were grumpy. She was in pain too. There must have been more going on between her and Helmond than Emma had realized. How selfish and self-absorbed she’d been with her own heartbreak to not notice the same pain in another.
“Y’all play nice.” Sue Ann fluffed her hair with a well-manicured hand. “I think we should have a spectacular dinner and then get to the surprise.”
The others mumbled agreement and Mary signaled for the waiter. Emma had to give the man credit. He managed the orders without blinking an eye over the numerous changes yelled to him after he moved on to someone else.
While they waited for their food, a disagreement broke out between Barb and Deena. Each cranky woman tried to best the other with cutting remarks.
“If you wanted to stay with the short-shit so much, why didn’t you?” Barb’s steel curls bobbed. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in our sides since we left that castle behind.”
“Oh, yeah, like you’re ever anything but a pain in everyone’s ass. You’re just jealous because it’s been so long since a man paid attention to you that your woo-woo has dried up.”
“Well, I—”
“Ladies.” Emma cut off Barb’s response. “I think our dinner is arriving. Let’s play nice.”
The two glared at each other but said nothing else as their food was set in front of them.
Emma toyed with her meat, but each bite of the delicious chicken on the plate in front of her stuck in her throat like everything she attempted to eat these days. Well, she’d wanted to take off a few pounds, and given her lack of appetite lately, she’d probably succeeded. Maybe the surprise birthday gift the group had put together would go down easier. She hoped it wasn’t something heavy, or it would push her already heavy luggage into an overweight charge at the airport.
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