Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
He paced slowly across the chamber. A log popped in the hearth behind him while shadows danced along the walls.
What was he supposed to do? Flee? Lock himself away? Let the women form a line and drop at his feet one by one until his patience snapped?
He paused at the window, looking out into the dark. And then… the idea struck.
Marriage.
His shoulders stiffened.
A union to shield him. A way to stop this madness long enough to find a solution. His brow furrowed. It wouldn’t be a real marriage, nor a courtship of love and promises. It would be a marriage of convenience. And there was only one woman who had not fallen at his feet.
Aura.
She was plain-featured, sharp-eyed, and practical. The very opposite of all the women swooning at his feet. She showed no interest in his fine features, charm, or title. She only agreed to help him. A partnership of sorts. It made perfect sense.
If they wed, it would end all offers of marriage. No woman would dare approach him romantically. And the two of them, bound by a shared goal, could focus on breaking the wish’s hold once and for all.
Of course, he’d have to convince her, and he doubted very much that it would be easy to do.
Still… the thought took root. And for the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe again.
Declan turned from the window, his eyes narrowing with determination.
He would ask her tomorrow.
Aura stirred the contents of the small clay pot with a steady hand, her focus only half on the brew bubbling gently over the flame. The sharp scent of thyme and elder bark filled the air, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Declan MacCrone.
It was difficult not to find the man appealing, he had such fine features. Shoulder-length, dark wavy hair that any woman would envy. Taller than most men and a body defined with muscles, but then he was a warrior who had fought many battles. Then there were his eyes, blue or green, they couldn’t seem to make up their mind. One moment they were a striking blue, the next a subtle green.
She huffed softly and set the wooden spoon aside. She’d met plenty of men—arrogant, boastful, charming to the point of nausea—but none had stood before her claiming to be cursed by a wish that forced women to collapse in his presence.
And yet… she’d seen it with her own eyes when they returned to the village and a bevy of women were waiting there with their fathers to lay claim to Declan.
Two chieftains’ daughters had dropped like stones, eyes glazed and sighing his name like he was some legendary bard’s ballads come to life. And Aura… hadn’t.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of her small cottage, staring at the hearth as the fire snapped and popped.
What did it mean?
Was she immune? Was the wish weakening? Or was there something about her—plain, unremarkable, overlooked—that simply didn’t fit whatever magic was at work?
She didn’t mind not falling. She wasn’t prone to that sort of nonsense in the first place. But her mind itched with questions. How had the wish taken root? Why did it choose to manifest so literally? What force had granted it?
And more curiously… why had Declan made such a foolish wish to begin with?
Aura chewed the inside of her cheek.
There had been no malice in him when he told her. No sign of pride, either. Only frustration and exhaustion. And, beneath it all, something that looked very much like regret.
She wasn’t sure what to make of him. But she did know one thing. Whatever magic had touched his life, it had twisted his path—and now, somehow, she was tangled in it.
She turned back to her worktable and wondered why she was immune to his wish when not a single woman, young or old, could avoid it. Further observation was needed to see if she could make sense of it and help him. In the meantime, he had to make sure to avoid swooning women.
She let out a brief laugh, though it truly wasn’t funny. He was a man cursed by his own words, and possibly, by something much older, and that could prove dangerous.
The morning mist still clung to the trees when Declan reached her small stone cottage tucked among the woods. It was better maintained than the village dwellings with fresh thatching in various areas of the roof. A generous stack of firewood was piled near the home, and a sizeable garden extended out from the side of the cottage.
He took a breath and rapped his knuckles against the door.
The door swung open as he dropped his hand away.
Aura stood in the doorway, hair tied back with a strip of linen, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She gave him a quick once-over. “You look troubled.”