Entwined
Book One of The Rose and The Sword
Meredith Kinsey
LifeGrowth Publishing
Entwined by Meredith Kinsey
Published by LifeGrowth Publishing
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© 2020 LifeGrowth Publishing
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Cover by Melissa King
AISN: B08HT1NH1V
Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The Story Continues...
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Glossary
Chapter One
A scream unsettled the tranquility of Aileen’s meadow.
A fox froze, foot in the air. Eyes wide.
A woodpecker abandoned his rat-a-tapping and took flight, followed by a few dozen crows.
Aileen dropped her basket filled with herbs and whirled. The precious contents spilled in a chaotic mess.
A ginger mare with a long, blonde mane bolted through the trees towards Aileen. Her eyes rolled. She neighed again, walking on her back legs as she reared.
“Hey, beauty,” Aileen called, voice soft and welcoming. She was moving in a slow, reassuring way. She lathered her words in vocal molasses, thick and sweet. “You are safe now.”
The horse slowed. Baring her teeth, she stamped her hooves.
Aileen took a cautious step, craning her neck to see if the horse was hurt. The trees pressed too close. It was too dark to examine anything in the shadows.
Snickering to the horse, she backed away, calling to the animal. The horse followed her the half dozen feet into the meadow proper. The mare shook her head side to side.
Aileen calmed her mind, searching for the horse’s energy. The mare’s spirit was bright and vast, gentle, and giving. Motherly even. Underneath the panic.
She sent soothing waves of peace directed into the horse’s thoughts.
“It’s okay. Nothing and no one can harm you now that I’m here.”
The horse calmed a degree. Aileen touched the mare’s neck. “Pretty girl.”
She shook from side to side, jerking as if caught on a branch. Aileen swore she heard a grunt. A sound no horse would make. The mare’s panic came looping back, more forceful than before.
Moving to the tree near her hindquarters, she snagged a bright apple and held it out to the traumatized creature. It sniffed the delicacy, muscles tensing.
“A treat for a pretty girl like you.” Aileen murmured.
She gently stroked the horse’s front leg. The animal, finally, completely relaxed. Her head bent to take the apple. Once the juice hit her long tongue, she devoured it.
“So hungry, beautiful girl.”
Aileen had always possessed an affinity for animals and plants. As a half-breed, both pixie and sidhe, she was often mocked by her sisters growing up in the palace. She knew what it felt like to be overlooked and discarded. However, being half pixie wasn’t all bad. It gave her physical advantages such as unusual strength and the ability to change her size for short periods when necessary. Her pixie blood gave her many gifts that so-called pureblood sidhe, the elves of her lands, did not have.
A groan startled them both.
Walking around the horse, Aileen froze. Her gossamer green and yellow wings beat a quick rhythm.
A body laid in the brush behind the horse. Pale skin refracted the little rays of sunshine, seemed to diffuse the light. Yet there was a glow that appeared to come from within the creature. Branches and leaves covered half of him, acting like a shroud.
“Are you dead?”
It groaned again.
She nudge it with her foot.
Grunts emerged.
Male. Definitely male.
Mother nature herself hushed around them. The natural sounds fell away until utter silence reigned as if every being in the forest sensed a predator.
She bent to collect the debris entombing his form. With each act, more of the man was revealed.
If not for the slightest rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead. And what a chest it was!
Tattoos climbed over his frosted pale biceps, scrawling over his swollen chest, back and neck. The design was angry, with its sharp points and unsettling pattern. It covered each muscle, highlighting the light and shadow of every hefty cord.
His face struck her immediately. Full lips parted, revealing straight white teeth. His strong jaw led up to pointed ears, like her own.
She fell to her knees. “What happened to you?” With a shaking hand, she touched his forehead.
So cold. Like ice. The pain he must be in sickened her.
He had black hair, cropped close to the scalp, except for two long braids at his right temple. Pale. His shirt was shredded, revealing gashes along his slim torso. The slashes of red were stark against the alabaster of the surrounding skin.
She studied him even closer. Wicked scars ran from his left hip to right shoulder, one after the other. As if a hellhound had tried to gouge his heart out.
He smelled of the earth, a tantalizing fact, indeed. The scent brought her peace she couldn’t explain.
She gently skimmed his mind, trying to discern friend from foe. What she saw didn’t make any sense. Wolves, and glowing green stones veined in blood. Battles as if from his viewpoint. A young woman flashed. Then, a boy, barely knee-high. Pale as he was. The boy had dark hair.
She pushed past idle curiosity. It wasn’t fair to taste someone so deeply. It was rare she even could. For some reason, there was a connection between them. Like their souls recognized each other.
Aileen shook her head to clear it.
Where was he come from? Never had she been around anyone who felt like him. Blood slowed in her veins as if her hot-blooded body had ice water thrown over it. Gasping, she knew exactly where he was from!
“A wild Ciaran in my meadow.” Aileen hissed, then bit her lip. She wanted to send him back to where he was from. Something stayed her hand. And her heart. Although, her brain didn’t want to agree. “Oh, this won’t do. Whatever are we going to do with you?”
She dusted her hands off, stepping back. Just a second to think. “Well, Pretty,” she referred to the horse, “as you are now called. Let’s get your baggage unhinged. Then, we will get you fed and watered.”
Pretty neighed, bending to munch on wild grass.
She released the clasp on her water skin she brought from the palace she grew up in—and hadn’t been back to in years. Or anywhere. Other than her meadow, and the occasional trip deeper into the Tranglam, the most perilous region in the Dul Fialin forest.
She poured some water into her palms allowing Pretty to drink. When she was done, she nibbled on Aileen’s fingers. Aileen fed her three more apples, refusing to look down.
A weak groaned came from below, as if he demanded her attention. Did he look less lively than he had moments ago?
“Well, I suppose if I must, I should try to fix you.”
Aileen examined the puzzle before her. The man’s foot was wrapped where the stirrup and pack tangled in a bothersome knot.
Touching his forehead again her palm burned, the frost burned in fever. She inspected the caught ligam
ent with more urgency. If his condition turned that quickly, he was much worse than she’d first thought.
The angle of his leg was all wrong.
Gasping. “This must be broken in multiple places.”
Aileen imagined what it must’ve been like for him. Being a highly visual person, she shuddered.
She tugged at the stirrup, as gently as she could. He thrashed, moaning his displeasure.
Moving quickly, she retrieved her basket. Turning back towards her immense garden, She selected an array of additional herbs: jackroot for pain, luningdom berries to disinfect, and caliphary bark to sedate. Grabbing her knife from its holster to gently cut the plants, always thanking the Goddess for a good harvest.
She had a wide array of plants in her garden sourced from around the forest and beyond. This was her passion. The application of plants to magic. Dabbling in the strange and mysterious.
She finished gathered her supplies.
Now to work on the knot. Shifting his leg caused him anguish. He cried out more than once. Every whimper pierced her soul. It caused her physical discomfort. She made it quick as she could. Gently, she lowered his leg to the ground.
She located two sticks that were the circumference she needed. Along with strips of fabric ripped from her billowy cream skirt, she fashioned an enormous leg-sized splint.
“You can’t have them,” he muttered. His head moved from side to side. Unfocused eyes opened to small slits. His arms worked in an imagined battle. “They are all I have!”
The utter despair of those words wounded Aileen, even if she didn’t know what they meant. She recognized agony on a fundamental level. Like called to like.
She touched his forehead again. Hotter still.
The horse wandered to the apple tree. The sound of the crisp bites filling the forest. Her energy was calmer, but Aileen sensed Pretty’s worry over him. He had been kind to the mare.
Aileen snickered to the horse. “Quick work, Pretty. If we don’t hurry, we might lose our patient.” She slipped her dainty hands beneath the man’s shoulders. Her following words were for him. “You aren’t going to enjoy this part. But I’ll be quick as a mouse. In our fortune, pixies are one of the strongest races of them all.”
She dragged him over the lush grass she adored. This meadow was the only place in the Tranglam that all her plants had enough light and water. Here, she ruled.
The man struggled against her, forcing her to pause. He weakened quickly, falling back to his nightmares.
She almost made it across the open space when she heard the voices.
“He’s here somewhere!” The speaker sounded like a high-pitched whine. Young. Eager.
“Find him. Our King demands it. You know what happened with Loran.”
“And now we hunt him!” The young one exclaimed. “If you don’t know what’s good for you, the king will hunt you next.”
Aileen hissed through her teeth. “Yet more Ciaran in my forest.” She cast a begrudging look at the sidhe. “You better be worth the effort.”
She plunged into the wild blackberry bushes. They stood high enough that even Pretty was hidden. For now.
Aileen tucked her wings in close, dragging the man as far in as she could. The thorns tore them both. Better to be alive and scratched, than dead and unmarred. For now, they were safe. Provided the men didn’t stray too far to the left, they wouldn’t see the horse.
She stroked the animal’s legs, talking silently to her. Promising safety if she didn’t move. Didn’t make a peep.
The strangers were lurking so close.
“They say there is a witch in these woods,” a man with a deep voice said.
Aileen refrained from smiling. The select few that dwelt near the Tranglam all spoke of her. The witch. The succubus. The nymph. All because she knew how to use plants, crystals, and candles to heal and prosper.
Tranglam was a much-feared, secluded section of the Dul Fialin forest. The richest soil resided here. It is why Aileen had chosen it. Despite the beasties she had caught in her meadow, she would never leave. It had become home.
The men searched every corner, avoiding the bushes. She was confident they wouldn’t. As they moved on, she released her breath. Who would’ve braved thorns, just to hide?
She crawled through the dirt, pulling the man with her. She hauled him out and stood, calling for the horse.
Aileen didn’t know how long they had. She couldn’t waste another second.
Chapter Two
Aileen laid the man on her bed. His hand stretched out and touched the iron frame. He growled as the smell of burning flesh filled her two-room cottage.
“Oh, for Goddess sake.” She swore at her idiocy.
She forgot most fairies possessed a fatal hypersensitivity to this metal. Pixies didn’t possess that flaw. She had been gone from the palace court so long now; she’d forgotten much.
Aileen wrapped the metal bars in cloth so that the man wouldn’t repeat his unconscious folly.
As she darted to the table, she picked up her basket. She opened the door to her storeroom, which was the same size as the entire living space. Her sorcery involved spreading out. She set her discoveries on the worktable.
Three of the walls were floor to ceiling shelves that housed her dried plants and herbs, books, and tools. Each small square held an important item she cherished. The worktable stretched across the remaining wall. The stool was worn, loved, and carved by her own hand.
She grabbed this concoction and that, tossing them on the table. So many ingredients filled her bowl; eventually, none were distinguishable from the next. She cut up the jackroot and placed them in a small clay pot with water placed over a candle. She wiggled her fingers. The fire from the candle tripled, setting the water to boil.
A small trick.
Making quick work of the other herbs and plants, she added a dash of this, a dollop of that. The room filled with the cleansing and healing scent of caliphary bark.
She sat ramrod straight. When was the last time she had warded her home? Not recent enough. A few years, perhaps?
Who could blame her? Few survived the trek through the Tranglam. Those that remained never lasted long. Yet, at least three sidhe had only today.
That either spoke of their bravery or stupid, blind luck.
Aileen was at her shelves again, collecting a new slew of supplies. She started a second spell. The mixing and processing came as second nature to her. This protection spell was one she would never forget. When ready, she rushed out the door, grabbing a handful of the damp powder. She blew the granules into the flower and vegetable gardens.
“I banish those who would harm me and mine,” Aileen whispered. Energy coursed through her veins, influencing and amplifying her will. “Conceal me now, protect me and mine from harm.”
The dust floated to all four of the property lines, creating a dome over her house. The intense humidity of magic settled into every nook and cranny. Pressing at her skin it sunk into her bones.
She knew the men would come eventually. She felt it in her bones, as she often did in advance of incidents.
Aileen welcomed it. Let them test her magic. Where she stood, the men would find yet more forest. They could set-up camp until the Summerlands came for them and still never find her home.
The spell was so complex, and it tricked even those with distinctive senses.
Aileen skirted the building and checked on the horse, grazing within the border. She had woven a particular thread for the beast with a wave of her hand. A silent, invisible fence she couldn’t cross.
Turning into the house. “Now, to you.”
As she returned to her living space, her gait relaxed. She trusted certain spells like she trusted her body to breathe. Others she had yet to master were another matter—all in good time.
Now, she could work in peace.
Rinsing her bowl in rainwater, she wiped the well-worn clay dry.
Returning to the storeroom, she set about her task. The se
lection of books on healing took more than half of her collection. The leather-bound dusty old tome with the eucalyptus leaf had the spell she needed. She knew the magic by heart, but she could not bear making a mistake with a gravely wounded man in her care. Opening to the first tincture she ever learned, she crafted a paste that would speed healing in the deep cuts. She brewed a tonic that would help with the fever and ease broken bones.
Aileen collected her tinctures and moved to the man’s side. Sweat beaded his brow, and gooseflesh pebbled over his skin. His head thrashed back and forth.
“Now, now, big sidhe in my bed, we will take care of you.” She patted his clammy hand.
Touching his head, she infused her touch with the energy of her very being. He stilled long enough for her to part his lips. She poured tiny amounts into his mouth, massaging his neck to encourage swallowing.
He coughed once, but with every sip, he wanted more, until he finished the last drop. Already, color returned to his ashen cheeks.
Aideen took the knife from her work belt she had fashioned herself, slicing the remnants of his shirt from his body. She removed a large portion of his left pant leg so that her view of the break was unencumbered.
She dipped her fingers into the paste. It felt warm, comforting. She smoothed the tincture over each deep cut then bandaged him with long pieces of cloth.
She brought the blanket up to his chin. He seemed so young. At peace now. Perhaps whatever nightmares haunted him, magic was enough to give his body the chance it needed to survive.
◆◆◆
Loran became aware of a comfortable bed. He discerned it was not his, for he had been sleeping wherever he passed out at night, from sheer exhaustion. He couldn’t force his eyes to open.
A woman was near. Never far. She fed him, bathed his battered body. At times, she cooed to him.
Every time he winced, she busied herself taking care of him.
Why? In his experience, no one ever did anything without a way to benefit themselves.
What did she want from him?
Entwined (The Rose and The Sword Book 1) Page 1