“Oh, my,” Gwen said faintly. “You mean, she’s solid and then she’s not? As in, she’s becomes invisible?”
“You’d not be hearing such a thing from me,” Farley said stiffly. “ ’twould make one sound quite addled, such an assertion.”
“And she’s asking for me?” Drustan said irritably. How could that be? The only people he knew in the twenty-first century were those he’d met through Gwen, or since settling in on the MacKeltar estate. He’d certainly not made the acquaintance of anyone with solidity problems. Verily, he would have avoided such a person like the grimmest plague. He’d had enough of spells and enchantments to last a dozen lifetimes.
“Nay, she’s asking for that one.” Farley nodded at Dageus.
“Me?” Dageus looked startled. Glancing at Chloe, he shrugged. “I have no idea, lass.”
Exhaling gustily, Drustan stood. So much for peace and quiet and simple pleasures. How foolish to think a Keltar Druid’s life might ever be normal. In any blethering century. “ ’twould seem we’d best find out,” he said. “Somehow I doona think we’ll be so fortunate that this lass with ‘solidity problems’ might go non-solid in a permanent fashion and leave us all in peace.”
When he made for the great hall, Dageus, Gwen, and Chloe were close on his heels.
Gabby stood in the entrance of the castle, shaking her head, stunned.
Adam hadn’t bothered to tell her that the MacKeltars lived in a magnificent, sprawling castle with round turrets and square towers, enclosed by a mighty stone wall, and replete with medieval portcullis and barbican, the great hall of which alone could have swallowed her entire eleven-room Victorian.
Nor had he given her any warning that she might have wanted to run a brush through her hair or powder her nose and try to make herself presentable to . . . to aristocrats or . . . peerage or whatever manner of lordly people occupied castles.
Nope, just another abrupt dropping of Gabby O’Callaghan, sleep-deprived and unkempt, into yet another unfathomable situation, wholly unprepared.
She tilted back her head, examining her surroundings. An intricately carved balustrade encircled the hall on the second floor, and an elegant double staircase swept down from opposing sides, met in the middle, and descended in one wide train of marble stairs. It was a staircase out of a fairy tale, the kind a princess might sweep down, dressed in an elegant gown, on her way to a ball.
Brilliant tapestries adorned the walls, plush rugs were scattered about, and colorful stained glass embellished the many tall windows. The furnishings in the hall were massive carved pieces, detailed with complex Celtic knotwork. There were two fireplaces, both large enough for grown men to stand in, faced by high-backed chairs tufted with rich brocades, and arranged beside gleaming accent tables.
Corridors shot off in all directions, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how many rooms were in the place. A hundred? Two hundred? Complete with secret passageways and a dungeon? she wondered fancifully.
It wasn’t until they’d begun climbing the long winding private drive to the estate that Adam had finally divulged the fascinating, though sketchy, bit of information that the MacKeltars were descended from an ancient line of Druids that had served the Tuatha Dé Danaan for aeons—and were the sole upholders of Man’s side of The Compact between human and Fae.
“The Compact?” she’d echoed, stunned.
The O’Callaghan Books held scant information about the legendary treaty. She was beginning to realize that if she survived all of this, she was going to be able to add a wealth of information to the volumes for future generations—more and more accurate information—than anything they held to date.
Perhaps she’d even get to see the sacred . . . er, thing, whatever The Compact was—she didn’t even know what it was supposed to look like. And how much, she wondered, ablaze with curiosity, might the MacKeltars be able to tell her about the Fae? As upholders of the treaty, they should know a great deal. She couldn’t wait to pick their brains.
She snorted softly, not missing the irony of her thoughts. She’d spent her entire life determined to hide from all things Fae, refusing to open the Books, turning studiously away, and suddenly she was eager to know as much as possible about them.
The O’Callaghan Books had been wrong about many things.
And she needed to know just how many things, and just how wrong.
Only then might she be able to make some sense of the dark, seductive Fae prince who had blasted into her life and turned it so completely upside down.