Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1 (20 page)

“It seems we’re both keeping secrets.” Isabel took his elbow.

Cairbe grabbed the torch from the wall as they started up the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, Isabel saw one of the other cell doors open. Oisin slipped out and darted across the hall to the cell where Edith had been. The last thing she saw before the stairs took them out of sight was the Lord of Summer dropping to his knees as he examined the scene in the cell.

C
hapter Seventeen

H
igh King Cormac sat upon the throne with an ease that spoke of power. Looking at him like this, Aed had a hard time believing what Isabel had said about him being sick. Cormac looked the same as he always had, but then again, the past day had taught Aed that there were things happening in Fae that he would never have seen without Isabel.

She was at his side, fearless despite the late afternoon sun that cast squares of light across the floor. Aed had been prepared to say no when the summons for an audience with the High King came an hour ago, but Isabel had insisted that they go, wrapping her forgotten cloak from the first visit over her shoulders. She’d shed it once they reached the great hall, moving with apparent unconcern between the deadly pockets of sunlight.

Cairbe stood on his father’s right, very much the Lord of Spring.

“Aed mac Goll, by my order and that of the leader of the Fianna, you have been commanded to join the Vampire in the human realm. You will serve as our representative there.”

Aed dropped to one knee at the king’s words, bowing his head. He knew it wasn’t really banishment, but he felt sick.

“Isabel, Sage of Bucharest and Counselor to Duke Drakul.” Cormac’s gaze shifted to Isabel, who was like a carving of ebony and ivory in the emerald and crystal great hall. “I see your hand in this.”

Aed peeked a glance at Cairbe, who was looking at his father with a slight wince. It seemed he had not fooled the king.

Isabel only curtseyed. “Your Majesty, accept my assurance that there is none more dedicated to upholding the Wraith Accords than I. If I had any influence over this decision, it was only to affirm the excellence suggestions Prince Cairbe made.”

Cormac raised one silvery brow. “I hope we will see you at court again, Lady Isabel. I cannot help but feel that there are those among us who would benefit from observing you.”

Aed remembered what Isabel had said about Drakul choosing her to be Drake’s wife because she’d be a good asset. For one long, horrible moment, Aed feared Cormac would suggest a similar union between Cairbe and Isabel.

“It would be my great honor, Your Majesty.”

The moment passed and Aed released a sigh of relief. If Isabel were going to marry anyone, it would be him.

“And you will bring Aed with you,” the king continued. “The loss of so noble a Fenian makes Tara a poorer place. I would lessen that by seeing him frequently in my hall.”

Aed’s throat tightened. The king’s words eased the ache in Aed’s heart caused by the thought of leaving Fae.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I think that both our peoples would benefit if we were to spend more time mingling so that we might better understand one another.”

Cormac nodded. “Again there is wisdom in your words, Lady Isabel. I invite the Vampire to join us for the celebration of next solstice.”

Aed met Cairbe’s gaze and saw the same trepidation there that he felt. But that was a problem for another day.

Cormac tapped his palm on the arm of his throne. “Give my regards to Drakul.”

“I will, Your Majesty. And I assure you he sends his own regards to you.”

Isabel dropped into a deep curtsey, the skirt of her dress falling to the side, revealing a long length of creamy leg. Aed couldn’t stop himself from staring. Isabel caught him ogling and winked.

Cormac rose, and Aed caught the slight trembling in his arms as he pushed up. “Go with my blessing.” The High King looked at Aed. “Be happy.”

With that, the High King of the Tuatha de Danaan waved his hand and disappeared. Cairbe nodded once, then he too was gone, leaving them alone in the great throne room.

Aed rose and looked at Isabel. There were questions they still had to answer, but for now they would put those aside. The changeling human was safe, the immediate threats dealt with. There were already rumblings among the court about Fionnin’s death. Few believed he’d truly died in his sleep. Aed had refused to confess to murdering the servant, despite Isabel’s exasperated explanations as to why he should. In lieu of his confession, Cairbe had declared that the servant had taken a lover who killed her in jealousy. The fact that there was no lover brought forward to answer for the crime only made it more obvious the prince was lying. But the court gossip was not their issue, at least not right now.

Aed led Isabel through the castle. It was hard for him to believe that he would not be back here until the solstice.

“I’m sorry, Aed.” Isabel brushed his palm with her fingers.

“Why?”

“In the end you paid the steepest price. If I’d seen a better way to get us out of there—one that did not involve forcing you to come with me—I would have.”

“I never doubted you.” He might not entirely agree with keeping everything that had happened a secret, but he understood why she’d made the suggestions she had. “I love you.”

“You shouldn’t—I’m selfish and devious.”

“Devious, yes. Selfish?” He tugged her into a deserted chamber. The direction of the windows in this room meant there were no stray beams of sunlight to hurt her.

“You have to leave this magical place to live in the human world. Humans have a saying—you get your cake and eat it too.”

“What is the point of cake you don’t eat?” Aed tugged her against him.

Isabel laughed. “It means you have what you want and you get to enjoy it. That’s what I’m doing.”

“And I am what you want?”

“Very much.” She traced his eyebrows with the soft pads of her fingers.

Aed lowered his mouth to hers, but didn’t kiss her, not yet. “I have what I want too. I am happy, Isabel. I would go anywhere to be with you.”

Her eyes shone with joy, and Aed closed the distance between them, tasting her lips. No matter what happened between the Tuatha de Danaan and the Vampire, they had this—this perfect moment. This perfect love.

From the Author

While I knew a bit about Irish Mythology—mostly from romance novels—since marrying and spending time in Ireland, I’ve developed a deep passion for Irish history and mythology. Those familiar with the legends of Ireland may recognize some of the places, people and things mentioned in
Carnal Magic
.

Because the mythology varies widely, I chose to use three books as my reference materials:
Gods and Fighting Men: The Story of the
Tuatha de Danaan
and the Fianna of Ireland
, arranged and put into English by Lady Gregory;
Over Nine Waves: A Book of Irish Legends
by Marie Heaney; and
Ancient Irish Legends
by Padraic O’Farrell. These books, an early gift from this cute Irish guy I was dating long distance (and I mean looong distance), are critically acclaimed and written by famous Irish historians. I wasn’t going to name them, because if you got your hands on them you might be able to pick up some clues about what’s happening in the world of the Wraith Accords that I’m not ready to reveal yet, but then I realize that these books are just too wonderful to keep to myself. Plus, the world of the Wraith Accords is complex enough that I’m confident I’ll be able to keep you guessing.

For those who are confused by differences in terminology or spelling between what you’ve seen before and what you read in this book, please know that it isn’t due to lazy research. It’s actually due to an abundance of research. In fact, when I hit a point where I wasn’t sure what to do, for example, with the spelling of
Tuatha de Danaan
, I even asked my mother-in-law, who has degrees in Irish history and archaeology.

Any mistakes or mistranslations are entirely my fault, though I will freely blame both my husband and my editor, and if someone points them out I will simply pretend they were all part of my devious master plan.

I hope that you enjoyed Aed and Isabel’s story. If you have any questions or comments I’d love to hear from you.

—Lila

Translation and Pronunciation Guide

Tuatha de Danaan
– Tribe of the Goddess Danu or Dana

Tuatha de
– People of the Goddess

Tuath
– one of the people/person (of the goddess)

Pronunciation of
Tuatha de Danaan
Names

Aed –
Aid

Albha –
Ahl-buh

Cairbe –
Ka-bra

Cormac –
Core-mac
(Exactly like you think)

Deavon –
Day-uf-un

Deocha –
Juh-ka

Evon –
Ai-vun

Fionn –
Fe-yuhn

Fionnin –
Fe-yuhn-een

Niamh –
Knee-of

Oisin –
Ush-een

About the Author

Lila Dubois is a tech writer by day and a romance writer by night. She’s living her own version of a romance novel with her Irish Farm Boy, whom she imported to Los Angeles. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England, Lila speaks five languages, none of them—including English—fluently.

To learn more about Lila, please visit
www.liladubois.net
or email her at
[email protected]
.

Look for these titles by Lila Dubois

Now Available:

Sealed with a Kiss

Calling the Wild

Monsters in Hollywood

Lights, Camera…Monster

My Fair Monster

Gone with the Monster

Have Monster, Will Travel

A Monster and a Gentleman

The Last of the Monsters

Glenncailty Castle

The Harp and the Fiddle

The Fire and the Earth

The Shadow and the Night

Sins and secrets aren’t the only skeletons in the closet…

The Shadow and the Night

© 2014 Lila Dubois

Glenncailty Castle
, Book 3

London forensic anthropologist Melissa Heavey isn’t anything like the characters in her grandmother’s beloved television crime dramas. Especially since an accident left her crippled and weary. While in Dublin to rest and recuperate, she’s asked to help the local Garda Síochána identify bones found in a rural luxury hotel.

Curiosity-seeking bone gawkers were not the clients Tristan Fontaine anticipated when he took over the Glenncailty Castle restaurant. And a scientist taking over part of
his kitchen
for her lab? He’s having none of it. Yet she’s not backing down…and his pulse won’t stop speeding up when she’s near.

As their attraction flares, Melissa soon discovers why Tristan is so dismissive of the bones—he’s been talking to the ghosts themselves. But the bones aren’t Glenncailty’s only secret, and Tristan is hiding a tragedy in his past more frightening than what’s lurking inside the castle walls.

Warning: Contains a sexy French chef whose gifts aren’t limited to his hands, and a dry-witted scientist with intellect as sharp as scalpels. Delicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Shadow and the Night:

Out of the corner of his eye Tristan saw Kris slide down one of the busy kitchen aisles. The maître d’s mouth was pursed, which was as close as the elegant man came to having a tantrum.

He turned away from the salmon fillets
en papillote
they were preparing for that night’s special.

“Kris,” he called out, and the other man turned. “What’s wrong?” he asked in French.

Kris shrugged. That wasn’t a good sign. With a curse, Tristan put a piece of plastic wrap and a damp towel over the dough he was working with, heading to a quieter corner of the kitchen where Kris met him.

“There’s a woman in the restaurant,” Kris said.

“We’re not open. Throw her out.”

“I cannot. Sorcha brought her here, and the woman, she says she needed a quiet place to work.”

“Then she can go to the library.” Tristan liked and respected the guest relations manager, but the restaurant and the kitchen were his domain.

“I think she came about the bones.”

The bones. Tristan cursed. He was sick unto death of hearing about these bones. The Irish were so dramatic, getting upset over a few ghosts and bones. They should go to Paris—the whole city sat atop bones and the French weren’t thrown into a tizzy by it. But the police, the
Gardaí
, had closed the west wing until they were dealt with, and that risked the whole hotel and what he was trying to build here.

“Then let her stay, put her out of the way.”

“I did, but she’s hungry.” Kris drew in a long breath through his nose. “She wants to see a menu from the pub.”

“
Non
. If she wants to eat pub food, then she will go there.” Tristan suddenly understood Kris’s ire. No one seemed to understand that the ambiance of dining was as important as the food, and that meant a beautiful room with well-appointed tables, candlelight and the aroma of fine wine, truffles and fresh herbs—not the stench of chips and meaty stew.

“Give that to me.” At his order, Kris handed over the pub menu, a laminated sheet of uninspired—though delicious, because if Tristan had to serve fish and chips, it was the best fish and chips ever cooked—pub fare.

Tristan stormed out of the kitchen into the restaurant. He took only a moment to appreciate the crystal chandeliers, cozy private areas created by half-walls and high-backed chairs, and headed for the darkest corner, a lost space where Kris seated those who wanted the utmost privacy or who weren’t dressed nicely.

Tristan’s brows rose in surprise when he saw who was seated there. A pretty blonde woman no older than thirty sat with her head bent over a castle map. She wore a tunic embroidered with geometric shapes in bold earth tones over a simple white turtleneck. A heavy brass medallion hung from a cord around her neck, and she toyed with it as she read. Her hair was straight, falling to just above her shoulder. She was lightly tanned, and when she looked up her eyes were a beautiful hazel rather than the blue he was so used to seeing.

She studied him, her gaze lingering on his face, but he could tell it wasn’t sexual—it was almost clinical.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Dr. Melissa Heavey. You’re…” She did a second once-over. “…either the head chef or the
poissonnier
.” She was English and well-educated, from the sound of her accent.

Tristan stopped, taken by surprise. “I am the
chef de cuisine
.” He used the proper name for head chef.

“And you’re French. That explains the western European Caucasian bone structure but Mediterranean coloring.”

Tristan tilted his head to the side. “You’re a doctor?’

“A Doctor of Philosophy, yes. I’m a forensic anthropologist.”

“And you are here for the bones.”

“So you do know about them. I wasn’t sure if the staff had been told.”

“I am not staff. I am the chef.”

“Of course, my apologies. I did a research project on the social stratification within kitchens while I was at university. It’s very structured, almost caste-like, but with huge potential for upward mobility.”

“And that is how you know
poissonnier
.” Despite his irritation, Tristan smiled. The pretty English woman was intriguing.

“The fish chef, yes. You have the air of command necessary for a head chef, but you smell a little like raw fish and there is something shiny on your apron, which I assume is scales.”

Tristan’s gaze narrowed. “You are a detective.”

“No, of course not. I’m a scientist.”

Tristan shrugged. She sounded like a detective. “As you say.” Down to business. He held up the pub menu. “If you want to eat this food, you must go to the pub.”

“I need quiet. I won’t be here long.”

“Then you may stay, but you will not eat.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Then go to the pub.” She was arguing with him. No one argued with him—no matter how beautiful they were. He wanted to shake her. Then kiss her.

“I want to eat here.”

“And I will not serve bangers and mash—” The inelegant words made his lips curl. “—in my beautiful restaurant.”

She tilted her head, hair swinging. “You’re quite serious.”

“
Oui
.”

She sighed, folded the brochure she’d spread out on the table. She then carefully replaced the silverware, napkin and glasses back in their proper spots and grabbed an ugly black case off the floor. She brushed past him.

Tristan nodded in satisfaction that he’d maintained the rules he’d set for his restaurant but was a little sad to see the interesting woman go. She wore loose pants that tied at the hips, and they were just tight enough across the
derrière
that he got the feeling that under the loose tunic top was a nice body. It had been a long time since he’d been drawn to a woman the way he was drawn to her. And it wasn’t just physical attraction—she was intelligent and strong.

He was so distracted by her
derrière
and his unexpected reaction to her that it took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t headed for the front door, but deeper into the restaurant.

“
Mademoiselle
,” he said, jogging a few steps to keep up with her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry.” She stopped for a moment, looked around and then headed for the kitchen.

Tristan darted ahead of her, positioning himself in front of the swinging doors. He folded his arms. Pretty or not, intriguing or not, she wasn’t going to interfere with his dinner prep.

“This is my kitchen.”

“I can tell. I’m excited to see it.”

She tried to push past him, and he grabbed her upper arms. She made a little noise, and her eyes widened with pain. The case she carried fell from her hand.

Tristan released her. He’d barely touched her, yet it seemed he’d caused her pain.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“I…have a bruise there.”

Tristan raised a brow. “From another chef whose kitchen you tried to disrupt?”

“The result of killing the last man who tried to come between me and my dinner.”

Her expression was so deadly serious that Tristan had a moment of real worry. Then she smiled and laughed. It changed her whole face, making her seem less serious and disconnected—more warm and approachable.

“You looked quite alarmed,” she said as her laugh faded.

“I do not understand English humor.”

“Too bad, I’m quite funny.” With a smile, she grabbed her case and slid past him into the kitchen.

Cursing, Tristan followed her.

“Hello everyone.”

The busy sounds of the kitchen stopped as everyone looked up at the strange blonde woman standing in the doorway. “My name is Melissa Heavey and I’m hungry. Is there someone here who might be able to—”

Tristan grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back out through the doors.

“You are…crazy,” he said as he set her down. He was too surprised to be really angry.

“You’re not the first to mention that.”

Resigned, Tristan threw his hands in the air, then planted them on his hips. “Fine, I will bring you food. You will have stew, fresh bread, a salad.” That was as far as he was willing to relent.

“That sounds lovely.” She stooped and picked up her case. “Thank you very much…?”

“Tristan, Tristan Fontaine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tristan.” She held out her hand. “As I said, I’m Melissa.”

Rather than shaking, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “
Enchanté, mademoiselle
.”

He was both surprised and pleased when she blushed. He’d expected her to laugh.

“
Enchanté, monsieur
,” she replied.

He held her hand for a moment longer than was casual. When she pulled back, he let her go, watching her walk to her table with a smile. Tristan was looking forward to learning more about Dr. Melissa Heavey.