Librarian Rebecca Jones has always found solace in books.
The death of her grandmother leaves her alone in the world. An inherited old Welsh scroll renews her desire to find the father she never knew. She hopes fairytale Wiccan Haus will yield the answers she needs.
Descendant of the inspiration for the Merlin legend…?
Ian Branson lives with the responsibility of protecting humans and paranormal beings. He takes an impromptu vacation with the Rowans of Wiccan Haus, seeking healing for his out of control psychic abilities.
As soon as Ian meets Becca, he feels the pull of his soul mate.
Love has no place in his life, but he cannot deny the peace only she can provide. Becca finds her Welsh knight in shining armor to translate her scroll, but passion tempts her from her quest to find her father.
As their relationship blooms, Ian fears putting another loved one in jeopardy. A tryst isn’t enough but Ian’s charmed solution goes awry. With his emotions into a tailspin, he is forced to sacrifice his pride and ask the formidable eldest Rowan for help.
Will Sarka’s magic reverse the sorcerer’s spell and will Becca accept Ian’s legacy and her own?
“Who does he think he is? Accusing me of stealing.”
Becca paced as she ranted aloud. She awaited Sage in her herb garden, a paradise of sight and aroma. Rosemary vied with lavender to perfume the air, both doing so with perfect subtlety. Nasturtium in vibrant red and orange brightened a ledge next to the bench she’d perched on for a few minutes. She couldn’t settle. She was too angry. No, angry was too mild a word; she was livid.
“He’s a man with much responsibility, Becca.”
She spun at the soft musical voice right behind her. What was up with these people scaring the jeepers out of a person? “Well, the scroll is mine.”
Her patient attitude irritated.
“It came down through my family.”
“How can you? I don’t.”
Sage smiled then. “Life is a journey, not a destination.”
“I’ve heard that before. Seen it on a bumper sticker.”
“Yes, but in your case, you came here looking for specific answers to specific questions.” She tilted her head toward the far end of the garden where Ian now stood.
How long had he been there? Had he witnessed her rantings? Good. Her pulse quickened due to fury, not attraction. The tightening of her belly and the flutter of her heart was from her rising blood pressure, not because she wanted to comb her fingers through his silvering hair.
“What if your questions lead you to something altogether different from what you expected?” Sage asked.
This was one crazy island. Why did they all speak in riddles? Couldn’t anyone give her a straight answer? She found a clue in the Black Book and, without having a decent chance to study the book, they threw her down a rabbit hole to meet the Mad Hatter.
Sage stood, apparently waiting for an answer.... Oh, yes. Finding something different from what I was originally looking for.
“I don’t know.”
The waiflike blonde paused. “Fair enough. Let me suggest that the two people here who have clues are you and Ian.” She began walking, and, with a slight tilt of her head, indicated for Becca to join her. “Ian is very knowledgeable in magick. I believe the two of you must follow the path together.” Sage leaned in to whisper, “He is fluent in old Welsh. He will help you with the scroll.”
To find her father’s identity, Becca would cross deserts and oceans. She’d work with Ian to help figure out their connection, and he could help her translate the scroll. If she found her answers, Ian could have the parchment, though he didn’t need to know it yet.
Sage stopped a few yards from the scowling man. He must have erected some sort of mental barrier; his thoughts no longer entwined with hers.
Ian extended his hand, though it seemed more demand than request. “Truce? We need each other for at least a little while, Becca. The sooner we work together to figure out the problem, the sooner we can fix it. And we’ll translate the scroll.”
What is his game?