“You’ve made the forest look alive,” Aine told the man, giving him another smile.
“Thanks,” Joe said, “but you haven’t seen me add the werewolves yet.”
“Werewolves?” She looked at the forest scene again. “But it’s so pastoral, really, despite all the wild growth beneath the trees there. Adding monsters to it seems a shame.”
“Monsters are what people like about games,” Brady said, interrupting before Joe could speak again. At the sound of his boss’s voice, the other man seemed to remember Brady’s presence and shifted his focus from Aine to the sketch pad in front of him.
“We keep the soul of the art,” Joe was saying as he deftly added a few dark strokes with a thick black marker, creating the shadowy outline of a werewolf, complete with dripping fangs. “‘The Wolf of Clontarf Forest.’ It’ll be out sometime next year.”
“Well, that’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Aine said to no one in particular. “And the forest looked so peaceful and dreamlike before...”
“That’s one of the things our games are known for,” Brady told her.
“Werewolves?”
Joe, the artist, laughed and said, “Not specifically. But the boss is right. We take something beautiful and make it dangerous. That’s what makes it creepy. The danger lurking just beneath a placid surface.”
Aine nodded and turned her gaze up to Brady’s. In her eyes he saw the same danger lying beneath the serene surface she showed him. A different kind of jeopardy than some animated monster, Aine was like nothing he’d ever known before. There were fires within her, waiting to be stoked. Skin waiting to be caressed. And if he gave in to what he wanted, he’d be in even deeper trouble than if he stumbled across a werewolf.
“Clontarf?” she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowed suspiciously on him. “Are you making a game of the Battle of Clontarf?”
“We’re using it as a backdrop, yeah. You’ve heard of it?”
Aine’s eyes widened. “Every Irish child learns their history. The last high king of Ireland, Brian Boru, fought and died at Clontarf.”
“He did,” Brady said, impressed that she knew of it. He and the Ryan brothers did a lot of research into Irish history, not to mention the fact that the Ryans’ parents were from Ireland and had raised their sons on the traditions and superstitions they remembered. At Celtic Knot, they preferred using actual historical figures and actions as stepping-off points to give their games another layer of reality. “I think you’ll be impressed with the artwork of the actual battle scenes. Kids are going to love the gore factor of fighting with broadswords...”
“And you’ve turned it into a game?” She was horrified.
Joe Dana whistled low and long and hunched over his sketch pad. A couple of heads turned toward them, but Brady hardly noticed, so caught was he by the fury in Aine’s gaze.
“King Brian defeated the Vikings, setting Ireland free, and died in the doing,” she said, clearly outraged at having her country’s history borrowed for entertainment.
“He did, and in our game, he’ll do the same,” Brady said coolly, taking her arm, ignoring the stiffness of her movements as he guided her through the room. “Only when Brian wins, it’ll be because a legion of werewolves helped him. And if a player does well enough, he can be crowned the next high king of Ireland. Look at it this way,” he said, “when people play this game, they’ll be learning about your history. They’ll play a game, fight for the Irish and learn all about King Brian Boru.”
“Irish history doesn’t include slavering werewolves.” Aine shook her head and blew out a breath, obviously trying to relieve the rush of anger at seeing her country’s heroes portrayed as part of a supernatural scenario. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or appalled. Werewolves in Ireland?”
He shrugged and noticed the tension in her body was easing whether she realized it or not. “Why not? You guys believe in banshees, faeries, pookas... The list is long. Why not a werewolf?”
“True,” she allowed, then cocked her head and looked up at him. “You guys? You still think you’re not Irish.”
Ignoring that, he frowned and guided her toward another artist’s desk. “The storyboards for the games are laid out, checked for mistakes, and the scriptwriters work with the artists to lay in just enough dialogue to explain what’s happening.”
“So it’s as you said, not just running and shooting?” Aine asked.
Her eyes were wide and interested, but he saw playfulness in those depths, too. “Much more than that. There are riddles, puzzles to solve. Mysteries to work out along the way.”
“Ah, sure, the thinking man’s video game, then,” she said, humor evident in her tone.
Brady nodded. “Actually, that’s exactly right.”
He could see he’d surprised her with his response. But Brady thought her quip was right on the money. He and the Ryans prided themselves on the depth of the games they designed. While most people dismissed video entertainment as mindless, Celtic Knot Games had built a reputation for sophistication of story style and a narrative that, while rooted in fantasy, also boasted realism that drew a player into a role-playing world.
He took her arm and steered her out of the graphic design area and across the wide hall to a room on the other side of the house, where computers ruled.
“This is where our programmers take over,” he said, then stepped back and allowed her to enter the room. He watched her as she wandered through the space, stopping at each desk where computer experts worked their keyboards. There were framed images taken from their games dotting the walls, and a sense of humming energy and creativity buzzed in the air. Music churned out, a wild rock beat giving the programmers a rhythm they matched with the rapid typing at the keyboards.
He could see where Aine might be fascinated by the programmers, who were, he noticed with a frown, pausing in their work to explain things to her. Normally, when you walked into this room, you were completely ignored. Like every other computer expert Brady had ever met, the guys in here didn’t see anything beyond what was on their screens. Hell, Brady himself had been in here when he’d had to shout to get their attention—but every man in the room had suddenly become focused on Aine Donovan. He couldn’t blame them, but damned if he enjoyed watching the scene play out in front of him.
She laughed at something one of them said and Brady’s insides fisted at the sound. She let her head fall back, and all that amazing hair of hers seemed to flow down her back like a molten river. She reached out and laid one hand on a programmer’s shoulder as she leaned in to see what he wanted to show her on the screen, and Brady’s frown deepened. Jealous of a friendly touch? No, he assured himself. The idea was ridiculous. But for completely unrelated reasons, he ended the visit to the programming room and steered Aine back into the hall.
“It’s all very impressive,” she said, “though I’ll admit I don’t understand half of what it is you do here.”
“That’s all right,” he said, guiding her down the stairs to the main hall. “I wouldn’t know how to manage a castle, would I?”
She sent him a long look. “I’ve a feeling that you’d find a way to excel at it.”
“I would,” he agreed, leading her along the hall and toward the French doors that led to the patio and backyard. “But since you’re already an expert, I don’t need to be.”
She stepped outside and walked into a patch of sunlight that dappled through the surrounding elms. A soft ocean breeze rustled the leaves and lifted her hair from her shoulders. Turning to face him, she said, “And as your manager, I’ll be in charge of seeing the changes made to the castle.”
“That’s