by E. D. Walker
A pleased hiss sounded from the trees, and the hair rose on the back of Beatrice’s neck. Mary’s fingers fastened on her arm, bony digits digging into Beatrice’s plump flesh. “Don’t run,” Mary gritted out between her teeth. Beatrice nodded but shuffled her feet in the dirt, trying to back away. Mary tightened her grip. “Don’t move. You’ll break the circle, and I’ve no mind to die tonight.”
Beatrice stopped moving, but her heart still fluttered inside her like a bird trapped in a too-small cage.
The shadow of one of the trees coalesced and lengthened ahead of them. A man-shaped figure rose out of the blackness, leaping from the ground. The surface of the thing rippled, like the rings in a bowl of water. Then the black cloak rolled away and the most beautiful man Beatrice had ever seen stood there before her.
Mary’s nostrils flared in a quick-drawn gasp of fear, and her fingers spasmed against Beatrice’s arm. “A kelpie, my la—lass. Do not break the circle.”
The kelpie smiled at them. “Ah, Mary, you mentioned the milk, but you forgot to mention the fancy. What’s the price for her?”
Beatrice tilted her chin, shooting him a withering look. The fairy just laughed. He had cheekbones like knives and suave, full lips. His eyes were large, lushly lashed, and of a pale apple green that she’d never seen before in human eyes. His body was fine-boned and strong, his face handsome with smooth, olive-toned skin—everything about him should have been pleasing to the eye, and yet Beatrice’s nerves still prickled with alarm.
“The milk is the only thing we offer you tonight.” Mad Mary slapped the stopper back in her little jar.
“I don’t know about that.” He took a step nearer and raked his gaze down Beatrice’s body, then up again. “Who might you be, Ginger Girl?”
Beatrice barely stopped herself from pulling the hood of her cloak further over her hair. She’d thought that would be enough, but apparently not. Why didn’t I hide my hair better? Darken it. Wear a wimple. She’d been foolish to trust to a simple hood.
Mary put herself ever so slightly between Beatrice and the fairy. “She’s my apprentice.”
“Is she?” He licked his teeth. “Rather plump for a peasant girl.”
Beatrice tilted her head to the side, baring her teeth at him. “Am I?”
He stepped closer, moving so fast that Beatrice flinched away. “All right, let’s make a deal. I agree to your terms.” He bent and lifted the dish, cupping it in his hands like the last sip of water on earth. As he lifted the saucer to his lips, he stared at Beatrice over the rim of the bowl, his eyes gleaming red in the lantern light.
Three swallows and the milk was gone. He smacked his lips, then dropped the dish to shatter on the rocks. “A fine offering. Fresh and fine.” He was still staring at Beatrice, but now his gaze had fastened to her breasts. “Was it yours, sweetling?”
Beatrice gritted her teeth and glared. “Enough stalling. You took our offering. Now honor the deal and answer our questions.”
Mary winced. The fairy threw back his head and laughed, the muscles in his throat convulsing, the sound strangely like a donkey’s braying—at odds with his elegant appearance. “Oh, Kindly Fate, listen to that accent, those cultured tones. The lady of the castle herself has come to call, hasn’t she?” He swept her a deep bow, full of mockery.
Beatrice cast her frightened gaze back to Mary. They weren’t supposed to know who she was. Bad things happened to humans who’d caught the attention of the Fair Folk. She didn’t have to be a country girl to know that. Mary let out a soft sigh and squeezed Beatrice’s arm.
The fairy let out another high-pitched shout of a laugh, then arranged himself on the ground, one long leg crossed over the other. He wore hose like any other man and a loose homespun tunic, but his ankles were black-furred and ended in hooves instead of feet. Beatrice shivered, feeling very young and very foolish for having believed she could handle this.
Mary murmured to her, “He cannot lie, but that doesn’t mean he has to tell us all he knows. Let me ask the questions, my lady.”
Beatrice nodded, her noble pride for once stifled by her extreme distaste for the kelpie-man.
Mary folded her arms, squaring up to the fairy. He put his elbow to his knee, then rested his chin in his hand, staring at her with an indulgent smile playing about his pretty lips.
“How many children are the Fair Folk trying to steal?”
“Just one. The perfect bairn. The most beautiful child in the land to dance our ring and sing and—”
Mary held a hand up to stop the lilting waterfall of words. “Which of the Fair Folk is it who’s trying to steal the baby?”
His mouth pinched, and Beatrice realized he didn’t like this question. At last he spat out, as if the answer were torn from his lips, carried out by the milk he’d drunk, “The queen.”
Mary puffed a breath out and sagged as if he’d struck her. She shifted on her feet, hugging herself and shaking her head. Beatrice gasped to see tears glistening in the old woman’s eyes.
The fairy smiled again, a bright predator grin in the dark. “No more questions? I’ll be off then—”
“No.” Beatrice flung her hand out. She cast a glance at Mary, but the old woman was weeping silently, a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Beatrice wanted to shake her or slap her, but the fairy would run off soon. Too soon, and they didn’t know what they needed to. “How—how do we stop the queen?”
He snorted, and his voice was dry as he replied, “Oh, the usual way. An iron collar round her neck. Nails dropped into her drink. An iron blade through the heart. But you’d have to find her first, in the heart of Fairy. Then you would have to fight your way free. Pretty as you are, I do not think we would let you.”
Beatrice fisted her hands at her sides, frustrated, frightened.
The fairy tsked and took a step nearer while still stopping short of the salt ring. He reached out and traced the air as if cupping her cheek. “Such a pretty one. Pity we didn’t find you sooner, love. We could have had you to dance in our ring.”
Beatrice caught herself shaking and stopped at once. She drew herself up. “I would speak to your queen.”
“Would you, now?”
“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
Fingers crept over Beatrice’s arm, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, but it was only Mary. Beatrice faced the midwife to find her violently shaking her head. Beatrice shrugged the other woman off and turned back to the fairy. “Will you pass my message on?”
“Oh, certain sure, love. But there’s a price.”
“And what is that?”
He tilted his head, his gaze roving over her body. She shivered, unsure what it was about him that made it feel as if he were peeling her skin off one excruciating piece at a time. “A kiss,” he said at last.
She shuddered. To kiss this creature? And how dare he ask it of her, a proper married lady? Perhaps he can see beneath your skin to the immodest seeds in your soul. To the dark heart of her that longed for adventure and danger, the part of her that wondered what it would be like to dance a fairy reel naked under the midnight moon.
“One kiss.” She leaned forward, intending it to be a quick peck, a brush of faces. But the fairy reached for her, tangling spindly fingers in her hair and tilting her head back. His mouth fastened on hers, and his tongue darted into her mouth. The swiftness of it, the danger, set Beatrice’s heart to beating, and she was ashamed at the way her blood fired in response to this kiss.
She’d been proper and staid for so long, respectful, silent even when she knew her husband would fall to folly. Meek and sober even though she longed sometimes for the old days at court—stolen kisses and dancing barefoot in the gardens, wild embraces and wilder tantrums. A life of indulgence and impulse, hedonistic and heady. The fairy’s kiss was like the richest wine of those days, as if her memories were distilled into the sweetness and warmth of his mouth, as if she could taste her old self on his tongue and find some way back to the uninhibited, c
arefree girl she used to be.
The fairy pushed her away and smacked his lips. “There’s a taste of wildness in your blood, my ginger beauty. Come to me on the next full moon, and I’ll show you how to use that proper.”
She wiped her lips, her nostrils flaring in anger and alarm. “Just deliver my message.”
He swept another bow. Then the night swallowed him up like the jaws of some great fish snapping a bug out of the air. But his braying laugh lingered in her ears.
Beatrice scrubbed shaking hands over her face.
Mary tugged hard on her arm and swept the salt circle open. She urged Beatrice forward, and caught her by the chin when Beatrice would have looked back. “No, my girl, no. Just put one foot in front of the other. And never look back.”
Beatrice shivered and drew closer to Mary’s comforting warmth.
They walked in silence a long while, the crunch of their feet in the brush a homey, companionable sort of sound for such a dark and doomy night.
What is wrong with me? What sort of woman am I? Thoughts circled in Beatrice’s head, round and round, like a dog chasing its tail, and about as fruitful. She did not miss her wild days at court. She did miss the warmth of a lover’s touch. And, perhaps, she missed being free from this clawing worry, this consuming fear of what the future might bring. But she didn’t miss court, didn’t miss the scheming, the intrigue. So why had that kiss shaken her so badly?
Mary startled her by draping a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Now, lass, don’t take it so much to heart. The Fair Folk are predators, designed to appeal to the dark pieces of a person’s soul. Temptation made flesh. They look inside to see what they can twist and tie to make a snare for you. So what if you enjoyed a wildwood kiss? You came out here to save your son, and all the other little ones of the village. There aren’t many other women as would venture to this place. And that is what I judge you by.”
Beatrice’s throat felt thick, and she blinked, turning her face upward to keep the tears back. “You came out here.”
“Yes, but I’m a madwoman. Entirely different. Come now, let’s get back to the castle.”
***
Getting back in to the castle proved more difficult than sneaking out had been. Mary tried to tell the guards that she’d been sent for to see to the baron’s son, but the guards had no orders to open the gate and let her in. Unless Mary wanted to send word to Lady Beatrice to see if a midwife was needed? Beatrice shook her head and pulled Mary away from the gate before the sleepy guards became too suspicious.
Beatrice and Mary would have to wait until the castle gates opened at the usual time just after dawn for the traffic back and forth between castle and village. Mary led the way to a nearby field, and the two of them huddled together against a haystack, waiting. Beatrice closed her eyes, hoping for sleep, but her body was still firing and popping after their encounter with the kelpie. She thought Mary might go to sleep, but when she looked over the old woman was watching her with interest.
“What?”
Mary crooked one shoulder in a half shrug. “You puzzle me, my lady.”
“I do?”
“Aye. With a king’s magician on the way, why would you risk going out at night with the likes of me to solve this on your own?”
Beatrice tucked her hands into her sleeves and folded her cloak around herself. “I do not trust the king’s magician.” She darted an uncertain glance at the midwife.
Then Beatrice laughed at herself. After all this night’s misadventures, the midwife had enough scandalous stories to ruin Beatrice with if she wished it. What was one more secret to trust to the midwife’s care? “This Llewellyn…he helped King Thomas to kill my brother.”
“I thought your brother was killed in a duel with the king’s heir. That boy who married our baron’s daughter last year. Lord Gabriel.”
Beatrice felt her mouth twist. “A duel. Yes. But how fair a fight could it possibly have been? Can you believe King Thomas would let his nephew, at that time his only heir, fight a man twice his size without rigging the contest in some way?” It had to be so. It had to be. “And if King Thomas was part of the conspiracy, then his pet magician would be up to his elbows in it as well. Mark my words.”
“You know King Thomas well, then?” Mary raised an eyebrow.
Beatrice drew back and snapped her mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.
Mary tsked. “Come now, it’s hours yet until dawn. A midwife knows to hold her tongue, lass, better than any.”
Beatrice worried at her lower lip, then eased back against the hay, the sweet smell of it tickling in her nostrils. “I knew the king no better than most. You understand?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“But…I had a friend. She was close to King Thomas.”
Mary’s mouth quirked at Beatrice’s vellum-thin concealment. “I see.”
“My friend, she was the daughter of an earl. Beloved. Spoiled most dreadfully. Her father doted on her.” Beatrice’s father had been her best protector, and she his dearest treasure. “He groomed her to be a great lady, and the wife of a great man. But then her father was killed, and her brother was left in charge of her future.” She clenched her fists against her knees, fury nearly choking her. “Do you remember when the king’s heir Lord Gabriel went missing a few years ago?”
Mary waved her hand. “Vaguely. Didn’t matter much to us folks out here.”
No, of course not. Not all the way out here. Réméré folk had troubles enough of their own trying to stock up for winter, trying to avoid skirmishes with the neighboring country of Jerdun—what did they care for the affairs of kings? Even their own king.
Strange to think of, when matters at court had turned Beatrice’s whole world upside down. Many times. She shook her head. “My fa—my friend’s father had recently died right around the time Lord Gabriel went missing. Her older brother had the care of her, and he took her to court. King Thomas was lonely, you see, miserable over his lost nephew. My friend’s brother thought he could exploit that.”
Beatrice’s brother had brought her to court, nearly bankrupted his estate to rig her out in the finest gowns, the richest jewels, and then he’d thrown her at the king. King Thomas, in his loneliness and despair over losing his precious nephew, had taken Beatrice as his mistress.
Beatrice had been young enough then, foolish enough, to believe her brother’s lies that if she let the king into her bed then eventually King Thomas would marry her, eventually he would make her queen. She hadn’t been a virgin even then, but her brother hadn’t known that, and King Thomas had never asked. “The king bedded my friend for several months, ruined her in the eyes of the court. Then his pet magician stepped in and parted them.” Yet another thing to blame Llewellyn for. Not that King Thomas had ever seemed to feel more than a lukewarm enthusiasm for Beatrice. They’d only ever slept together a handful of times.
She had liked the status attached to being his mistress, though. It had given her carte blanche to do exactly as she liked. Revels and dances, midnight rides. Other lovers. As long as she’d been available when the king wanted her, Beatrice had been free to indulge herself with anything and anyone she liked. There had been a few brief trysts with other men, and a longer affair with a pretty young noblewoman that Beatrice had enjoyed more than all the rest.
Beatrice’s brother had exploited her position too, and amassed quite a fortune after using her to curry favor with the king. But all of that disappeared when her brother was killed. She missed King Thomas not at all, but the freedom that his “protection” had given her…that she missed with an ache she could still feel in her gut.
“Shortly after their affair ended, King Thomas left for the south to reclaim our colonies there. He met the Lady Aliénor of Jerdun while on his journey and married her—making Aliénor his queen and leaving my friend an outcast among the nobility now that she was not his woman anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“King Thomas did offer to settle
some money on me—my friend—once he broke off their affair, but not enough to buy her a suitable husband who’d overlook her past.”
“Then how did…” Mary’s gaze flicked her way with dark amusement. “How did your friend end up married to a respectable baron, then?”
“I’m not sure I know.” Beatrice snagged a piece of hay and bent it repeatedly until it was small enough to fold into her hand. She squeezed her fingers into a fist, then opened her hand, watching the hay unfold again where it hadn’t completely broken. She’s always wondered how much Stephen had known of her past when he’d proposed. There was just the smallest chance he was ignorant of her scandalous secret even now, so she’d never asked, too frightened of the consequences if he should find out. She cast Mary a wry look. “Lord Stephen is a kind man, I think. And perhaps a little foolish.”
“Hmph. Foolish enough to have gotten himself a loyal wife and healthy young son? I’m not sure he made a bad bargain. My lady.”
Beatrice leaned against the midwife’s shoulder, tears stinging her eyes. A single red curl fell out of Beatrice’s hood, and she twisted it around her finger, her gut sinking as she remembered their meeting with the kelpie. “They’ll come after my son now, won’t they? The Fair Folk. Now that I’ve drawn attention to myself.”
Mary only sighed, the sound loud in the quiet night. “Might be, might be. He is a beautiful child.”
Beatrice pinched her eyes closed. “Then I must pray that the king’s magician can help us.” And I must pray that he will help me after everything my family has done. After everything I have done.
Chapter Three
When the gates opened at dawn, Beatrice and Mary managed to make their way into the castle, and Beatrice was snug in her bed before any of her ladies noticed her missing. Another scandal averted, but don’t get a taste for these wild outings, girl.
Master Llewellyn was sighted approaching the village that very evening. Beatrice knew her husband expected her to play at gracious hostess, the benevolent Lady of the Castle. She had never felt more like a fraud in her life, though, standing in the entrance to the keep. The smile tacked onto her face felt as false as if the expression had been sewn there.