ChapterOne
“Mother said—”
“I dinna care what your mother said, Keagan. I’m no’ in need of a wife!” A familiar tingling tickled beneath Maxwell’s scalp as he stomped deeper into the tower library. “And ye’d best leave off trying to plant your wishes into my mind. Both your parents will tell ye it canna be done.” Damn the headstrong boy. Relentless as his father and wily as his mother.
Keagan perched in front of the center worktable, a polished bronze plate mounted between an upright pair of blackened iron posts balanced between his hands. The young boy pulled the mirror closer to his chest as Maxwell approached.
His ever-widening eyes sparked with determination as he let go of the mirror long enough to rub the back of one hand across the end of his nose.
“I said leave it, Keagan!” Maxwell smacked an open palm atop the worktable.
The resoundingthwackechoed through the high-ceilinged room. The force set the flames to dancing atop the table candelabra. Keagan’s nose was itching. Maxwell recognized the ominous telltale sign. The boy’s magic had shifted into the hell-bent surge of a warhorse spurred toward battle.
“All ye have to do is look. What harm could befall ye just by looking?” Keagan sat a bit straighter on the stool while tapping a finger against the scrying disk. A conniving smile lit up his cherubic face as he scooted the mirror closer to Maxwell.
Maxwell closed his eyes and scrubbed the roughened knuckles of one hand across his forehead. They needed to be done with this madness and get to the stables. The last thing he needed today was Faolan’s surly remarks about always having to wait whenever he sent Maxwell to fetch his son. The pulsating tingle evaporated away from the base of his skull. Good. Maybe the boy realized he was in no mood for this foolishness.
With a relieved huff, Maxwell dropped his hand to his side and opened his eyes.God’s beard.A startling image, a moving image, stared back at him from the highly polished scrying plate.
Maxwell sagged against the table, gripping its edge. As the woman in the mirror winked, then laughed, an uneasy weight of premonition settled heavily in his gut. With his gaze locked on the scrying plate, Maxwell sank onto a nearby stool.
Pushing an opened spell book and quill aside, Keagan chuckled as he propped his ink-smudged chin atop his folded hands. “She looks to be a fine woman. Do ye not think so?”
Maxwell glared at Keagan over the top of the mirror. “What have ye done, Keagan?” The words almost stuck in his throat.
“I found ye the perfect match. What do ye think?”
What did he think? How the hell could he think when faced with a moving reflection trapped inside a damn mirror? No. Not just a moving reflection. A woman. A woman whose image set his heart to pounding and knotted his gut with anticipation. And why? It was just a woman. It wasn’t as though he was a mere lad who’d never known the pleasure of a woman’s softness.
Maxwell waved a hand toward the image as though trying to shoo it away. “I think ye’d best send her back to wherever ye found her and leave well enough alone. I can tell by the look of her that she’s no’ from this time. Nothing good can come of this. Send her away and be done with it.”
A disappointed frown puckered Keagan’s mouth as he shook his head. “It took me a fortnight to find her for ye. Ye need to look at her again.”
Look at her again? Her vibrant image was forever burned into his mind. Maxwell stole another glance at the mirror searching for a flaw to puncture Keagan’s plans. “Aye. I’ll admit she’s quite lovely—if ye like that sort of woman.” Triumph surged through Maxwell as Keagan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. That would do it. He’d pick apart the boy’s plan until the lad was convinced all this matchmaking business was more trouble than it was worth.
“What do ye mean?Thatsort of woman?”
Settling his weight more comfortably on the stool, Maxwell motioned toward the woman. “I canna tell for certain but look at her hair. Her curls are shorn close to her head.” Maxwell waggled an eyebrow. “Do ye think she’s been ill?” He paused, relishing the uncertainty settling in Keagan’s eyes. “Or infested?” Maxwell leaned forward, a firm sense of victory tingling across his flesh. He’d have the boy convinced in no time. “And she’s no’ wearing any adornments. Does she care so little for herself?”
“Care so little for herself?” A puzzled look darkened Keagan’s face as he slid off the stool and walked to Maxwell’s side. Resting his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder, he pointed at the image. “Look there. She’s got a gemstone hanging about her neck. She’s just modest in her finery.” He frowned as he leaned a bit closer, squinting as he studied the image. “And I think her hair is just pulled back like Mother does when she’s not in the mood to fuss with it.”
Sliding out from under Keagan’s hand, Maxwell rose and headed toward the door. “No, Keagan. I think yer magic happened upon an unlikely match. Best leave it to the Fates.”
Keagan stared at the mirror one last time then cut his gaze back at Maxwell. With a stiff nod and a humorless smile, he dismissed the image with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps ye are right.”
Maxwell paused at the doorway, resting his hand atop the coolness of the weighty iron latch. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but something just wasn’t right. Keagan hadn’t put up much of an argument. Had the lad given up so easily? “So ye will leave it?”
Keagan crossed his arms over his narrow chest and bobbed his head in a curt nod.
Maxwell tried to shake off a distinct weight of foreboding as he yanked open the chamber door. “Good.”
“Aye, Uncle Maxwell. I’ll be leavin’ it to the Fates.”
Maxwell spun and studied the boy’s smug look. What the hell did he mean by that?
ChapterTwo
“Hello, my minions!” Trish paused, peering over the strategically stacked packages in her arms. “Where are you, my little heathens?” Trish bounced her backside against the heavy door, forcing it shut against the persistent push of the frigid Highland wind.
