Bound by Song (Cauld Ane Series) Read online

  “Thanks.” Max flopped onto the edge of the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. “Sorry, Nye.”

  “What about this?” Niall asked as he pulled the desk chair over and sat down. “We don’t have to leave until Friday, so after the show tomorrow night, if she doesn’t make it, why don’t we come back to the hotel instead of doing the after-party, and we can make some plans. We’ll still have almost a week to find her.”

  Max shook his head. “She’ll come tomorrow night.”

  “What if she can’t?”

  “She’ll come.”

  “Well, just remember, after the show in Alaska, we have to bury Kinnon.”

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “You’re really convinced she’ll come tomorrow?”

  “Aye, Niall. Just stop yer yabberin’.”

  “Suit yourself.” Niall shrugged. “I’ll quit me yabberin’, but what are you going to do now?”

  “I’m kind of in the mood to write.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “Alone.” Max rose to his feet. “I’m calm enough not to kill anyone, Nye. How about we call it a night?”

  “Fine.” Niall stood. “But I’m taking the scotch with me.”

  Niall left his brother and made his way to the room next door.

  * * *

  Long after her mother went to bed, Grace was still up, surfing the Net, job hunting…well, no, not entirely true. What she was really doing was trying not to think about Maximilian MacMillan, and refusing to admit which of those two subjects was taking up more of her brain space. She heard the hall clock strike one before she finally conceded defeat and shut down the computer. Suddenly a hankering for the cookies she’d baked earlier came over her, so she pulled on a pair of sweats and slippers and snuck downstairs. She walked into the kitchen to find Maggie pouring herself a glass of milk, a stack of cookies next to it.

  “Hi,” Grace said. “How was the show?”

  “The show was Am-AH-zing.” Maggie grinned and nodded toward the milk. “Want some?”

  “Please.” Grace grabbed a glass and the jar of cookies.

  “Oh, I have something for you,” Maggie said, brushing her hands off and reaching into her purse. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” Grace asked, setting her milk down and taking the letter.

  “It’s a love note. From Maximilian MacMillan,” Maggie whispered as though no one else should hear.

  Grace snorted. “Shut up, it is not.”

  “Kidding. I don’t know what it says. But it is from Max.” Maggie rinsed her glass and set it in the dishwasher. “I think he likes you.”

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” Grace giggled nervously. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Hand to God, no joke. Max seemed totally bummed you weren’t there. He wrote this and asked me to give it to you.”

  “I don’t even know this guy.”

  “Open it.” Maggie rubbed her hands together. “What does it say?”

  Grace opened the well-sealed envelope and pulled the note out.

  Miss Wilson, I was disappointed you were unable to make it tonight. Please know that you’re welcome to come tomorrow night. In fact, I’ll send a car. Just let me know your address. Please give me a ring or send me an e-mail with your information and I’ll take care of everything. Yours, Max.

  He’d put his e-mail address and phone number under his name. Grace shook her head in confusion.

  “So?” Maggie pressed.

  “He wants me to come to the show tomorrow night. He said he’ll send a car.”

  “Oh, Grace. That’s fantastic! You have to go now.”

  “I can’t. Jeez, what’s up with everyone? I can’t just blow off the team ’cause some self-indulgent rock star summoned me to his gig.” Grace was starting to get irritated.

  “But he likes you.”

  “So?”

  “So, he’s young, gorgeous, rich, talented, and can you even imagine what you’d sound like if you sang together?” Maggie hummed in delight. “It would be incredible.”

  “I don’t think he’s young, sissy.”

  “He must be,” Maggie argued. “He looks younger than me.”

  Grace sighed. “Do the math, Mags.”

  “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s old. They’ve been around since the eighties.”

  “No way, really?”

  “Really.”

  Maggie bit her lip and then shrugged. “Well, either he sold his soul to the devil or whoever said they formed in the eighties is wrong. He looks like he’s in his twenties, maybe early thirties.”

  “I know he does,” Grace said with a sigh. “But he can’t be. He’s gotta be in his forties, at least. Way too old for me.”

  “So what? Age is just a stupid number. I think you should give him a chance.”

  “No. This is really silly. I’m going to e-mail him right now and tell him I can’t make it.” She heard Maggie sputter behind her, but Grace ignored her as she headed out of the kitchen and up to her room. She chewed on a cookie while her laptop booted up.

  She read and reread the note. Max’s handwriting was like something from a medieval scroll. It was beautiful. She set the computer on her bed and then sat cross-legged on her mattress and pulled up her e-mail. She typed in his address, staring at the blinking cursor and trying to figure out exactly what to say. She decided to match his tone. Formal and polite was definitely the way to go.

  After typing out her reply, she shut her laptop with a little more force than she meant to and sat back against her headboard. She couldn’t understand why his request had affected her so intensely. He was just some guy trying to get into the pants of a girl he couldn’t have. Right?

  She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. She was going to ignore him and hope he’d go away.

  * * *

  Max closed the door of his suite, grimacing at the sight of the hole in the wall. Niall was right. He really had to get control over his anger. As he walked to where he’d stashed his drawing pad, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see he’d received an e-mail. He didn’t recognize the address, which he hoped meant it was from Grace.

  He grabbed his laptop, sat at his desk, and pulled up the note.

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Your Show

  Dear Mr. MacMillan,

  Thank you for the offer to attend one of your concerts. I’m sorry, but I have a prior commitment and will be unable to make it.

  Sincerely,

  Grace Wilson

  Max swore, toppling the chair as he stood. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He dragged his hands down his face and paced the room. He had to figure out a way to see her.

  A knock at his door sounded and he tore it open to find his brother.

  “What’s wrong now?” Niall asked.

  “I thought you were leaving me to write.”

  “And I thought you were going to learn to control your emotions,” Niall retorted. “I can feel your anger through the bloody walls. I wanted to make sure you didn’t break anything else.”

  “You’re hilarious, Nye.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Niall righted the chair and crossed his arms. “Now, what’s the matter?”

  “She’s not coming.”

  “Grace?”

  “No, Mother Theresa,” he snapped. “Yes, Grace. She’s got another commitment.”

  “She’s singing at church. Her sister already told you that.”

  “I know, Niall.” Max scowled. “What the hell does the woman expect from me?”

  “The ‘woman’ doesn’t expect anything from you,” Niall said. “She doesn’t even know you.”

  “She’s my mate,” he argued.

  “She’s a human,” Niall pointed out. “And knows n
othing about us.”

  Max swore again.

  “You really need to get a more creative vocabulary.”

  Another uncreative word followed by “you,” made Niall laugh. “You know who you should talk to about this?” he suggested.

  “Who?”

  “Connall,” Niall said. “Or better yet, Pepper.”

  “No way in hell I’m running to my friend with girl troubles,” Max grumbled.

  “Fair enough, but I am going to make a wee adjustment in our schedule.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” Max retorted.

  “Aye. We’ll go straight to the hotel tomorrow night after the show, and on Sunday, you and I are going to church.”

  “No.”

  “Aye.”

  “Get out,” Max ordered.

  “Do I need to take the furniture with me?”

  Max glared at his brother. Niall raised his hands with a laugh and headed toward the door. “Good night, Maxim.”

  “Night, NimNim,” Max said, and closed the door with a satisfying thump. He returned to the desk and stared at his computer before sitting down again. A few minutes later, he pressed send, sat back, and waited for his magic to work.

  * * *

  Grace opened her laptop again, remembering she’d never finished filling out the job application she’d started earlier. As she hit submit on the business page, she heard the ding indicating she had a new e-mail and switched screens. Her heart raced as she stared at the bolded address.

  Max replied. Why?

  She opened the e-mail and stared at his note. A niggling suspicion entered her mind and she scowled as she let out a rather creative curse. “Spencer Wilson. I am so going to get you for this.”

  Spencer had taken a calligraphy class freshman year of college to get close to a cute girl he’d spent weeks trying to woo. He was also the worst of the worst when it came to practical jokes. He’d have had no problem writing that note. He did, after all, get an A in the class.

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: re: Your Show

  Dearest Grace,

  I’m saddened to hear you aren’t able to make it tomorrow night. You will be missed. Perhaps we could meet this week. Would you allow me to take you to dinner?

  Yours,

  Max.

  P.S. Tell me about your e-mail address.

  She grinned. “Let’s see how far you’ll go with this charade, little brother.”

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: re: Your Show

  Max, that’s very kind of you to offer dinner, however, I’m quite busy this week. I have a hair appointment (I will be shaving my head to eliminate my most recent lice outbreak), I have to bathe my seven cats…Mr. Mittens, in particular, really needs his mommy time…and most importantly, I absolutely must get my toe fungus dealt with. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate as well, so perhaps some other time. In response to your P.S., I didn’t completely fail ballet lessons, but I got close. Tell me about yours.

  Sincerely,

  Grace.

  Grace hit send and bit her lip. Would he respond? Take the hint? She didn’t have to wait long before the satisfying sound of the ding broke through the silence.

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: re: Your Show

  Grace, I only have tomorrow’s show on my agenda at the present time. We don’t leave for Alaska until Wednesday, so I’m at your disposal when you find time in your schedule. I’m sorry to hear about your fungus issues, but I’m sure a doctor will take care of that. I do hope there’s an alternative to taking care of the lice…I’m rather fond of your glorious locks. I must say, I thought cats bathed themselves…is this an American thing? Where’s your favorite restaurant? I’ll take you anywhere you like. You tell me when and where and I’ll make it happen. The e-mail address was an impractical joke my tour manager played on me, with the approval of my annoying younger brother. I have yet to have the time or inclination to change it, since almost no one uses this address…except you now, of course.

  Yours,

  Max.

  Grace couldn’t help a quiet giggle. “Okay, Spence. You want some fun? Let’s have some fun.”

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Dinner…

  Max, I don’t think dinner will happen. You’re very sweet to offer, but I have to find a job this week, and I have commitments tomorrow and Sunday. I also have a big surprise planned for my brother, and he’s going to absolutely flip his lid. Despite my destitute financial situation, I have been squirreling money away for months, because I really need to spoil Spencer. I mean, he really is the greatest man on earth. God broke the mold when he made him.

  Sincerely,

  Grace

  P.S. I told my brother and sister I find you repulsive, but secretly I’m in love with you. I just wish I knew you were real, you know?

  ______________________

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Intrigued

  Grace, I must say I’m very pleased to hear you’re in love with me. Perhaps a Skipper call would allay your fears? My Skipper address user name is MAXIM. I shall await your call.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRACE LET OUT an evil laugh. What to do? What to do? She scurried to the bathroom, slathered on the green facial mask she and her sister favored, and pulled her hair into a severe bun atop her head. After rubbing a little red lipstick on her teeth, she grinned and made her way back to her laptop. Powering up Skipper, she entered in the address and waited for him to approve her contact request. Within seconds the ring of Skipper sounded and she answered with video, making sure she had her red teeth showing.

  “Well, hello, Grace.”

  Grace let out a squeal or horror and jumped off the bed, out of camera range.

  “Grace?” Max called.

  “Um, hold on. Sorry. Sorry. I have to go.” She covered the camera with her finger and disconnected the call.

  Her bedroom door popped open and Maggie stuck her head in the door. “Are you okay?”

  “No!” Grace cried. “Oh my gah! I’m totally humiliated.”

  The ring of Skipper sounded again as Maggie stepped inside and closed the door. “Who’s that?”

  “Probably Max.”

  “Shut up! Maximilian MacMillan is Skippering you?” Maggie snapped. “You have to answer it.”

  Grace waved her hands over her face. “Um, helloooo, I can’t!”

  “Why are you all creepy looking?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  The sound of the ringing echoed again and Grace let out a frustrated squeal.

  “I’m getting it,” Maggie said.

  “No!”

  But it was too late.

  “Max?” Maggie said, her hand to her chest in adoration. “Hi. Oh my…ah…wow, it’s really you.”

  “Hello, lass. Did you enjoy the show?”

  Grace rushed out of the room and to the bathroom, scrubbing her face and brushing her teeth as fast as she could. She couldn’t feel her lips for some strange reason. She must be going into shock. Maybe if she just hid here, Maggie would bore Max to death and Grace wouldn’t have to talk to him.

  “Grace,” Maggie hissed from the doorway. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Grace rubbed her lips, trying to force circulation back into them. “Tell him I died.”

  “Gracie. Come on.”

  “No, tell him my toe fungus killed me.”

  “What?” Maggie asked in horror. “You have toe fungus? Ew, gross.”

&nb
sp; “No,” Grace said in irritation. “I thought Spencer wrote the note, as a practical joke.”

  “Why would you think that?” Maggie asked, her face scrunched in confusion. “I gave you the note, not Spencer.”