Page 1 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

Prologue: “Tulloch Ard!”

“Tulloch Ard!”

Wickham woke to the MacKenzie battle cry and jumped from his bed, fearing that the enemy had indeed come to Hope House. It shouldn’t be possible, since he and his sisters had only renewed the protection wards on the estate hours ago, before the ceremony!

But why else would someone raise the cry in the house?

He hissed at Ivy. “Find the lads. Keep silver in yer hand. Hide as best ye can.” He pulled his longsword free from beneath the bed, grabbed the hilt of his silver dagger from the nightstand, and shook off the scabbard. When he plunged into the near-dark hallway, Urban was there, armed just as Wickham was, in nothing but his boxer briefs.

“Who gave the cry?”

Urban shook his head. “Sounded like one of the brothers.”

Together, they headed for the heart of the house and turned right, down the main corridor. No surprises came as they made their way past the kitchen to the door beyond. A quick peek at the back drive proved the threat wasn’t coming, so it was already inside.

Back-to-back, they hurried for the other end of the house, prepared for an attack from any quarter. Brian caught up to them. “It’s Flann. Something horrible, something dangerous. That’s all I ken.”

Persi and Lennon came from the lass’s wing and waited for him and Urban to pass. No sign of Flann. Had Orion taken the man and fled? No doubt he was desperate for news since the hidden microphones had been discovered. But how had he breached the wards?

The foyer was empty, so they moved on toward the study. Wickham’s stomach dropped when he realized the enemy wouldn’t have come for hostages, but for the boxes! If he already had his hands on them, it would take a mighty distraction to keep Orion from popping out with them. Perhaps he already had.

Wickham paused only a second or two to listen at the door, then kicked it open, weapons at the ready. “Stop!”

Beside him, Brian hit the switch. In the blinding light, he could tell the room was empty. No Orion, no monsters, and no Flann. And one of the Fae king’s boxes was missing!

“Can ye find yer brother?”

Brian shook his head. “Won’t answer.”

Urban scowled. “Or maybe he cannae.”

Brian shook his head more adamantly. “It’s not that he can’t. I don’t understand.”

Wickham shooed them all out the door again. “Spread out. We’ll find him.” He headed to the foyer, intending to search out front, but just as he was about to turn the handle, Brian’s gasp stopped him.

The Irishman hurried into the parlor. Wickham followed suit. Flann sat in a chair, calm as could be—until Wickham looked closer. The man’s face was ghostly white, his gaze fixed on the floor. Thankfully, his chest rose and fell to prove he was alive.

Brian grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Ye gave me quite a scare. Just ye wait. I’ll pay ye back in kind some mornin’ when ye’re sunk deep in yer warm bed.”

Flann didn’t react.

“Brother?”

Wickham’s gaze caught on the metal box resting on the blue couch before the fire. His relief was brief, replaced by surprise to find the lid was ajar. He moved in for a closer look, then glanced back at the man in the chair. “Flann? This isnae the first box. How the devil did ye get it open?”

Flann stiffened, his jaw flexed, but still, he kept staring at the floor.

Brian nudged his brother’s shoulder again. “Don’t tell me ye’ve been the Fae King all this while and not said a word.”

“Found him!”Persi’s voice came from just outside the door, and the team, most of them in nightclothes, began to filter in and find seats.

Wickham was conscious of his own state of undress, but he didn’t dare leave the room. Not just yet.

He laid his weapons on the sofa and carefully eased the lid off to peer at the book inside. A large, black Bible sat alone in the shadows. It was old, but not by more than a couple hundred years. He reached inside and flipped up the wood cover without touching the box itself. There was a list of family members—a Muir family Bible. He rifled through the first batch of pages but found nothing out of the ordinary.

Flann began to blink more regularly. Bodies moving into the room finally drew him out of his stupor, and though he avoided all eye contact, his gaze was no longer fixed.

An alarm tripped in Wickham’s head. “Someone’s crossed the wards. Leavin’.” He grabbed his weapons again, then looked around the room. “Lennon? Where’s Lennon?” He’d seen her in the hall, knew she had answered the cry. She’d been fully dressed…

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