Magic's Muse Read online

  “So am I.” Cathal managed a half smile for his friend, but it was strained. “Thank you for seeking me out to pass on the information. I know it must be painful for you, having lost Amelia.”

  “That part of ourselves we give to the ones we love?” It was impossible to miss the pain and sadness in Will’s voice. “We don’t get it back, Tomas, so it is not something that Cathal has given lightly. If something were to happen to you, he has lost that part of himself forever. Remember that, and do not be harsh with him. There is still a lot about our world and our ways which are different to yours, and the two of you have not had much time together to discuss everything. I’m sure there is still much about your world that he does not know either.”

  “I am not angry with Cat, or with you.” No, his anger was directed elsewhere. It was lucky for Deryn that she was on the other side of the portal. She might be powerful and all that, but everyone had a weakness, and he’d make sure he bloody found it. “He may have made mistakes, but so have I. I love him, and I know he loves me, and that is what counts at the end of the day, isn’t it?”

  Will didn’t answer with a word but with a nod and then quietly let himself out, leaving them to each other.

  “Cat, my love,” Tomas said softly. “I think we need to talk about this, don’t you?” He didn’t want an argument. What was the point? It was already done.

  “I didn’t deliberately withhold this from you, Tomas.” Cathal sounded exhausted, his voice flat.

  “Will’s right, isn’t he?” What was left of the sunlight was fading quickly now, but the shadow of the oak could still be seen clearly through the window, although it was far away to be out of reach. Would they ever truly escape its influence? All he wanted was for Cathal to be free of it, for them to have a future, a proper life together. Surely that wasn’t too much to hope for, was it?

  Bloody hell. He’d had enough of its influence, of what it represented, always butting into their relationship.

  Cathal muttered something under his breath, pulled free of Tomas, got out of bed, and drew the curtains. “Yes, he’s right,” he finally said, leaning heavily against the windowsill. “It’s not fair, Tomas. They’ve taken something that’s meant to be beautiful and turned it into more rules and regulations. Not just with this, but everything.” His shoulders sagged. “I’m tired of it. All my life I’ve tried to be mindful of how magic works, and what has it achieved?” His breathing rasped, more than a little. He was far from recovered from what had happened earlier. “I’m not trying to hide things from you. Not anymore.”

  “I know, love, I know.” Tomas hobbled over to him, wrapping his arms around him from behind. There was still so much he needed to learn about Cathal’s world. Cathal turned and tilted his head up, kissing Tomas lightly on the lips. Tomas couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

  “You’re beautiful, Tomas,” Cathal said softly. “I need to tell you that more often.”

  “No, I’m not.” Tomas felt an embarrassed warmth creep through him. He threaded his fingers through Cathal’s hair, knowing Cathal enjoyed the feel of him doing so. Tomas was fascinated by it, by the color and the soft texture of it, and took any opportunity to touch it, to touch Cathal. He loved the way Cathal responded to that touch, the slight parting of his lips, the way he leaned into Tomas, his breath minutely speeding up.

  “To me you are.” Cathal rested his head on Tomas’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. He chuckled when Tomas made a noncommittal noise, and looked up again to gaze directly into Tomas’s eyes. “I can make a list of why,” he suggested helpfully. He ran one finger over Tomas’s lips. “Soft and sensual. When you smile, it’s not just with your mouth but your eyes. They crinkle around the edges, the color deepens, and the hint of gold in amongst the brown becomes more pronounced. I love the way they’re not quite brown or green but something in between.”

  Tomas blushed. “I often wonder why I’m supposed to be the writer in this relationship. You’re very poetic when you’re like this.”

  “I’m no poet.” Cathal smiled and ducked his head, nodding toward the book on the bedside table next to his side of the bed. It was his precious volume of Keats, which had been a birthday present from Alice and Christian. Tomas had retrieved it from Donovan’s library shortly after their return, knowing how much Cathal cherished it. “But I must admit that I enjoy using the language I’ve learned from reading poetry to muse about the person I love.”

  “You’re no muse, either,” Tomas reminded him. When they’d first met, Tomas had wondered that about Cathal. “Though…,” he pondered, “I still think you could be my muse.” He slipped his hand into Cathal’s and led him back to their bed.

  “What makes you think that?” Cathal lay back down on the bed, shuffling over to give Tomas room, and opened his arms to him.

  “You inspire me to think about what is important in my life, and you give me hope for the future.” Tomas pulled the blankets over them. The room was growing colder, and it wouldn’t be long before someone disturbed them with an announcement that dinner was ready.

  “I still want to believe we have a future, love.” Cathal chewed on his lower lip. “Whatever it takes, I’ll fight for that chance, but I’d prefer to do it with you by my side.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Cat.” Tomas kissed him again, lingering this time. He’d done a lot of thinking since they’d gotten back. He knew he still had a long way to go in working out this relationship stuff, but Cathal accepted that about him, so most of the time he didn’t worry about it. “That’s a promise. I know you’re more worried about Deryn and whether we’re safe or not than you’ve let on, but she’s done enough to us for now. I want to just live each day we have and worry about her when we have to. Not before.”

  “That’s what I want too. I won’t leave you, Tomas. That’s my promise to you.” Cathal threaded his fingers through Tomas’s hair. He loved it for some weird reason, not caring that it stuck up in all directions and was longer than it should be. “I don’t know how long this is going to take. You can’t stay here indefinitely because I can’t go further than this damn leash. I won’t do that to you.”

  “Irene will close the portal soon, and it won’t be a problem.” Tomas gave Cathal what he hoped was a determined look, although such things didn’t seem to deter him from these kinds of conversations in the slightest. It wasn’t as though either of them needed to leave the inn anytime soon, so what did it matter? “I do need to start work on this manuscript soon, though, or I’ll have Fraser on my case.” He wrapped his legs around Cathal’s and slipped one hand under his T-shirt. Cathal made an appreciative noise, so Tomas moved his hand lower. He loved those noises, especially as they usually led to other ones. Cathal was rather loud when they made love. When he liked something, he didn’t hide it. Tomas liked that about him.

  “Fraser’s your… agent?” It was supposed to be a business arrangement, but they’d grown a friendship of sorts along the way.

  “Yeah.” Tomas’s breath hitched when Cathal began to do some exploring of his own. “But tomorrow is soon enough for that. Later tonight I intend to lock this door and have you all to myself so that I can have my evil way with you.”

  “What if I decide I want to have my way with you first?” Cathal’s hand slipped lower, tracing the waistband of Tomas’s jeans.

  “Then I’d consider being a gentleman and letting you.” Tomas made a noise somewhere between a whimper and moan. He pushed into Cathal’s hand. Fuck, that felt good. Cathal had worked out very quickly exactly where Tomas enjoyed being touched, and was not above using that knowledge to both their advantage.

  Cathal grinned smugly. It turned into a hiss when he suddenly found himself on his back with Tomas straddling him and kissing him hard. Tomas knew exactly what Cathal liked too. “What happened to you being a gentleman?”

  “I could stop if you’d prefer.” Tomas laughed and nuzzled the side of Cathal’s neck.

  “Don’t you dare.” Cathal looked over at t
he door. Tomas followed his gaze, hoping Will had closed it properly behind him. He hadn’t.

  “Seriously, though, I should probably pause, just for a bit.” Tomas said. “Do you want to leave this till later so we don’t get interrupted?”

  The door was open just a fraction, the delicious smell of Heidi’s sausage casserole wafting through it. Cathal’s stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. “I’m thinking so, yes. Once we start, I don’t want to stop.” He caressed Tomas’s face, his own suddenly lighting up. “However, we could always share a shower before supper.”

  Tomas grinned and mouthed Cathal’s cock through his clothes. It was hard. “Hmm, shower. I like that idea.” As much as he loved being with Cathal in bed, the thought of him naked and dripping wet was totally irresistible. The feel of wet skin and muscle under his fingertips while Cathal―

  “We also need to talk tonight, Tomas. Of anything that either of us can think of that should have been said rather than presumed.” It seemed as though Cathal had not yet lost his ability to think, despite what Tomas was doing to him. Something would have to be done about that.

  “I hadn’t forgotten, my love.” Tomas undid Cathal’s belt, stroking him lightly through his boxers, a promise for the shower they were about to share, and for later. “I believe the correct term for it is pillow talk.”

  Chapter 5

  CATHAL closed his book with a contented sigh and picked up his cup to finish his coffee. He pulled a face when he realized what was left of the drink was cold. The story he’d just finished was a good one and had caught his attention from the beginning with its tales of faraway lands set over two hundred years ago.

  He glanced out the window, hoping there would be a respite in the weather, but the rain continued to fall steadily. It was a miserable day. Donovan and Will, who had finally been persuaded to explore a little more of this strange place in which he’d found himself, had gone into the village. Heidi had invited Mikey for dinner, so he would return home with them.

  With the inn being relatively quiet, Cathal had suggested it might be a good opportunity for Tomas to revisit his characters and work on his book. He could tell that Tomas was keen to find some writing time. He’d spoken enthusiastically of his story the night before, his eyes lighting up as he waved his hand this way and that, pointing to something that was in the process of coming to life through his imagination. Cathal looked forward to reading the new scene Tomas was working on, and had offered his help with anything that might need some role playing to get the descriptions just right. After all, the first kiss they’d shared had been on behalf of Mark and Deimos, and it had enriched the written relationship between that particular writer and his muse very well.

  He’d spent the morning talking to Heidi and then helped her with the dishes after the midday meal before retreating to Donovan’s library. His book collection was impressive. Cathal had never seen so many books together in one place before. It reminded him of the village library before it had been destroyed.

  His mouth narrowed, sudden annoyance washing over him at the reminder of his magical leash. He would have enjoyed going into the village with Donovan and Will that morning, and he wanted badly to explore the new library after Donovan’s description of it. When it came to reading, Donovan was a man after Cathal’s own heart. Tomas was the only other person who had truly understood his passion for it, although Mikey’s mother, Libby, had shared his love of poetry. While Christian enjoyed hunting and outdoor pursuits, Cathal had always been happiest curled up in front of a roaring fire with a good book. Books that were considered entertainment and written merely to convey a good story were rare in his world and to be cherished. It was why he’d reacted angrily to the idea that libraries here would consider getting rid of old books, as the concept of not having enough space for them was an unfamiliar one. He still had a lot to learn about how things were done here. Hopefully, some of what he’d learned during his last extended stay still held true.

  By the time he opened the kitchen door, intent on refilling his cup, the scene in front of him reminded him with a jolt why everyone else had made themselves scarce for most of the day. Today was Wednesday.

  The older woman sitting across the table from Heidi looked up at him and smiled, although it was very apparent she was already forming an initial opinion of him. Christian sat on her lap, purring. He seemed rather pleased with himself, and barely paused from eating a handful of what appeared to be hard biscuits to acknowledge Cathal’s arrival. “Good afternoon, young man,” the woman said, indicating the seat next to her. “How remiss of you, Heidi, that you haven’t yet introduced me to your guest.” She peered at him over her spectacles. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m not,” Cathal said politely, sitting down next to her, as it would be rude not to. The table was nicely laid, as though this woman was someone important. Tea brewed in Heidi’s best teapot―the one she kept in the glass cabinet along with what she called her fancy crystal―and there was a selection of scones and pastries to choose from.

  Heidi glanced between the two of them, a resigned expression crossing her features. “Cat, this is Mrs. O’Neil. Brenda, this is Cathal Emerys.” Mrs. O’Neil’s eyes widened slightly at the name, and more so as Heidi noted the reaction, continued with her introduction, and grinned. “He’s Tomas’s partner.”

  “He didn’t mention you the last time we met.” Something akin to disapproval crossed Mrs. O’Neil’s face. Cathal ignored the way in which she looked him up and down, lingering on the fading bruises he knew he still carried.

  He poured himself a cup of tea, as there was no coffee. “It must not have come up in the conversation,” he said lightly. “However, just because you don’t mention someone doesn’t mean that they do not exist.”

  “That is a good point, Mr. Emerys.” She placed her cup back on its saucer. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to inform her of his correct title. “I do hope that you’ve had those bruises seen to.” Apparently tact wasn’t one of her strengths.

  “I fell from a horse.” That hadn’t caused the bruises, but it wasn’t a lie either. “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.”

  Heidi’s cough sounded as though she’d taken a breath too quickly and was struggling to catch it again. She got up from the table with a mumbled “excuse me” and topped up the milk jug, which was still half-full.

  “I noticed a horse out there.” Mrs. O’Neil seemed thoughtful. “There hasn’t been one here for many years. Is it yours?”

  “Yes, she is.” Cathal met Christian’s gaze. The cat looked at him for a long moment and then began meticulously washing one paw.

  “My dear husband kept a horse in his youth. He was very attached to it, he was. God rest his soul.” She added more tea to her cup and arranged a pastry on the side of her saucer. Cathal nodded politely, unsure whether the soul of which she spoke belonged to her husband or the horse.

  “Have you lived here long?” The polite thing to do in these situations was to make conversation, but Cathal had no wish to be asked awkward questions he could not answer. Although he did not intend to keep secrets, he did not know Mrs. O’Neil, and remembering now the tone in which Donovan and Tomas had spoken of her, was unsure as to whether she could be trusted. It was also very likely she would not believe him anyway, and he had no intention of being treated like a fool.

  “Born and bred here, young man.” Mrs. O’Neil seemed rather proud of that fact. “My family has lived here a very long time, and there isn’t much that goes on here without us being aware of it.”

  “I see.” Cathal wondered if he’d met any of her family the last time he was here. There was something about her eyes that seemed a little familiar, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was the case.

  “Now, take your name for example.” She nodded as though about to bestow some information of which he was not aware. “Although you say you aren’t from around here, it’s interesting that tw
o of the locals share it with you.”

  “Yes, they do.” There was something about her that was not as it seemed. Although she was rather brusque and wanted to appear as though she knew everything about everyone, he felt a mix of regret, sadness, and loneliness from her. Perhaps it was her husband she’d lost, after all.

  His response got her interest quickly. “Why would they, I wonder, if you are not related?” She helped herself to another pastry, offering some of it to Christian. Cathal couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Christian had never had a problem in finding someone happy to keep him well fed, even when in human form. It was one of the reasons it was so amusing he’d fallen for a woman who couldn’t cook. “Or perhaps you are, considering you apparently already know.”

  “I didn’t say we weren’t related, just that I am not from around here,” Cathal corrected her. This conversation was not going the way he planned. He looked to Heidi for some assistance, but she just shrugged. It appeared he would have to go with the flow, or however that particular saying went.

  Mrs. O’Neil put down her cup and saucer on the table, her attention totally focused on Cathal. “The last time Mr. Kemp and I spoke, he was asking questions about Alice Finlay,” she noted slowly, “and now here you are claiming to be related to her.”

  “I am not claiming anything,” Cathal replied, more than a little stiffly, not liking the tone she used. “The word implies that there is untruth in what I’ve said, and there is not.”

  A low growl signified Christian’s growing anger. He jumped off Mrs. O’Neil’s lap and sauntered over to Cathal, rubbing against his leg. Cathal absently petted him. It was never a good idea to say anything negative about family in Christian’s presence.

  “I’ve always felt sorry for that poor girl, you know.” Mrs. O’Neil carried on blithely, seemingly unaware of the dangerous conversational ground into which she was heading. She lowered her voice. “Some say that she’d lost her mind, but I know what grief can do. Her son still had to have a father, even if he wasn’t who she claimed him to be.”