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Did he not think she was capable of handling such minor situations? It was infuriating. She cou
ld have extricated herself quietly and in the style she preferred without the entire pub looking on.
She stared hard at Chance and would have then stomped off before him to their table had he not immediately taken her hand and put it to his lips to lead her forward. She stiffened but did not wish to make any further scene, so she allowed him to gently guide her to their table and see her seated.
She meant to read him the riot act, but hunger won out when the waitress arrived laden with a huge tray of delicious-smelling food and started distributing it.
The pretty waitress bent very close to Chance’s face, apparently unconcerned that her unbuttoned shirt had allowed a good deal of her breasts to show as she brought her bosom close to his lips.
Royce’s mouth dropped, for Chance looked up at the pretty’s face and winked at her as he took a long dreg of his Guinness. Royce wanted to throw something wet and sticky at them both.
However, she maintained her composure, and when the waitress wiggled off with both Trevor and Chance staring after her, she cleared her throat and said, “You are both disgusting!”
Trevor and Chance exchanged ‘looks’ and laughed, and Royce applied herself to her food. However, when the waitress returned with her ketchup, she gave it to Chance, bent to him, and said softly, “I get off m’shift at nine … and I don’t live far from here …”
Royce wanted to kick her, but settled for saying, “Sorry—he is busy this evening.” She gave the waitress a crooked smile that, woman-to-woman, she would understand.
The waitress took it good naturedly and said with an inclination of her head, “What about this one? He’s hot too …”
“Is he?” said Royce with a laugh.
“Well then, what about ye, handsome … are ye busy this evening?” the pretty pursued.
Trevor grinned and answered gallantly, “Too bad for me that I am, pretty lady …”
The waitress pouted and once again left them to their meal, which Royce dived into, wondering why she should care who Chance winked at. It occurred to her that he had never winked at her …
For a few moments all three were busy eating their meals and sipping their drinks. Royce finally gave up thinking about how many women Chance had probably had. Instead, she busied herself with lathering ketchup onto her chips and then licked the ketchup off before she ate one.
It was then that Chance put his drink down and watched her eat with an odd look in his eyes. Suddenly he got their attention with, “Well then, ’tis time ye knew that the Fallen Druid wasn’t always evil.”
Royce plopped a chip in her mouth and motioned with her hand for him to continue. Trevor knew better and sat back to wait.
Chance didn’t smile as he added, “His woman was taken by a neighboring clan—thugs they were. The leader of that clan wanted her and took her by force—raped her. She was a frail thing and thought she had brought shame to her husband. She killed herself.”
“Oh … how awful,” Royce said in a hushed voice.
“Aye then, all that was done before he could conjure enough white magic to save her—to get into their stronghold, which had been protected by black magic. I doona know if ye ken what it is for a man to know his woman is being … hurt and not be able to save her. And then, by her own hand, she was gone. She was the one woman in all the world that he adored, and his thoughts turned dark.” Chance shook his head. “I knew him then—we were friends of a sort. I … understood him.” He shrugged and took a long gulp of his Guinness. “He lost all semblance of himself. He went on a killing spree using black magic, and it sucked him in deeper each day as he put that clan, one by one, to death.”
Trevor said quietly, “I can feel what he felt …”
“Of course ye can, but that is just it—black magic plays on that, draws ye in, and then owns ye.” He took a moment, and both Trevor and Royce waited until he started again. “As it happens there is a clan—a good clan, the MacCleans—dear friends to your Fae Prince Breslyn, who decided he posed a threat to them. They requested Breslyn’s help to defeat him and end the Fallen Druid’s tormented life.”
“Yes, but Breslyn is a Fae—we don’t kill humans …” Trevor frowned.
“No, but he trained his friends the MacCleans. He showed them how they might be able to defeat the black magic the Fallen Druid lived by, and once that black sorcery was defeated, it was the MacCleans that would do the rest.”
“Sad … all sad …” Royce whispered.
“Aye, considering what the man suffered, but necessary in the end, for he lost sight of the innocents.” Chance leaned back against his hardwood chair.
“And this Peckering—how did he have it?” Royce asked.
“You should know this. It is a part of Fae history. The Peckering is a Hallow with powers of Light and Dark. It had been given to the Fallen Druid’s ancestors to keep safe for the Seelie Queen when it appeared the Dark King might use time in a manner that might cause … problems. However, the Fallen Druid used the Peckering unwisely to gain Dark powers before he died. It was not meant to be used in such a pattern, and in the end, unable to make it do what he wished, he hid it away. It was never found.”
“Why have I never heard this story?” Trevor asked, shaking his head. He looked around and saw the waitress, who winked at him. He frowned and said, “Don’t bother calling on her. I’ll just get us three more pints from the bar.”
“Hmm, and some cheese, Trevor …” Royce called after him and turned back to Chance. “I don’t know how we are supposed to find something that has been missing for centuries.”
