Haunting Embrace by Erin Quinn Page A

dispute the claim of evil within the Book of Fennore,” he said when it appeared she waited for his response.
    “Saraid told Colleen that the Book’s master is a Druid. An evil Druid.”
    He might have laughed but for the seriousness of her tone. He’d never been the master of the Book of Fennore. Yes, he’d wielded its power. Yes, he’d been its voice. But the Book of Fennore was a sentient being with a will of its own. It had no master, only slaves that it branded as its own. And each time a wretched soul solicited its help, the Book grew stronger. It drank in their wishes, their entreaties, their prayers and it became more twisted and more powerful each time.
    Meaghan went on, watching him closely, making him fear she could somehow hear the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind.
    “Colleen said this evil Druid is now free.”
    “Free? In what way is the Druid free?”
    The question obviously baffled her. Meaghan looked at him with those big blue eyes, once again the color of a summer sky, and shook her head. “Out, I guess.”
    “Out and free are not necessarily the same thing.”
    She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it, pondering this.
    “What else did Colleen have to say?” he asked before she worked out an answer.
    “Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, when we were trapped in the world of Fennore, I felt Cathán’s presence. His power . If there’s a master, I don’t think it’s this Druid. I think it’s Cathán who’s in control.”
    Her perception surprised him. She’d stated nothing more or less than he’d already surmised himself, but he hadn’t expected her to be so astute and hearing the truth spoken aloud on this crisp Irish day made Áedán’s blood run cold. Had Cathán truly managed what Áedán had considered impossible? Had he somehow leashed the beast? Had he become more powerful than the Book itself? If so, how? After millennia, Áedán had been no closer to usurping the Book’s supremacy than he’d been in the beginning.
    “What is your point, Meaghan?” he asked, as if her calm revelations hadn’t shaken him to the core.
    “That Cathán is more evil than the Druid ever was,” she said softly, still studying him from the corners of her eyes.
    She stopped walking and faced him, head tilted to one side, gaze intent on his. That strange and disturbing hum that seemed to ruffle the air intensified—a flare of interest that made him want to step back. Her expression was somber and anxious. She brushed an errant wisp of hair away from her eyes with one hand, and he saw that it shook. She was afraid, he realized with surprise. But she hid it behind a mask of courage.
    “Are you . . .” she began, her voice low and uncertain. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Are you the Druid, Áedán?”
    “Áedán!”
    The man calling his name startled them both and saved him from answering. They turned to see someone huffing and puffing as he lumbered up the road behind them. Áedán recognized the man. He docked his ship near The Angel and could usually be found at the pub as drunk as Mickey .
    “Who is that?” Meaghan asked.
    “Hoyt O’Shea,” Áedán answered, wondering what the man wanted with him.
    Two other men who’d been accompanying Hoyt waited at the bottom of the hill as Hoyt came to stop beside them.
    “Áedán,” he said breathlessly. “It’s lucky for me I saw you walking. I’ve been wanting to have a chat with you, now, haven’t I?”
    He beamed at Áedán and gave Meaghan a curious but dismissive glance. She was a stranger in his town, but she was not his goal, that look said. He had bloodshot eyes and fumes of alcohol wafted off him.
    “I know Mickey’s got you working like a slave, he does,” Hoyt said eagerly. “And I come to tell you that I can offer you better. You can board on the High Tide , take your meals with me and me wife—she’s as fine a cook as there is in all of Ballyfionúir. And I’ll pay you a