As we approach the castle, I notice a banner above the round tower—the wind whips it about like a sheet on a line. A red dragonfly sewn on a field of black.
We cross under the edge of one of the large sail-like coverings, and immediately the wind drops. We’re almost to the entrance, and with the castle now between the Tuatha and us, I feel safe to run without drawing attention. Inside I collapse against a wall, breathless, and wait for my vision to adjust so I can take in the changes that have been made since I was last here.
It’s odd, what they’ve done. I understand my father’s confusion. Somehow, without covering any of the weathered, ivy-choked stones or patching a single wall, they’ve created a sense of comfort and elegance. Richly colored rugs and doorway hangings brighten the interior, which has been mostly cleared of clutter and debris, yet left half wild. Forget-me-nots and sea aster still sprout from the mounds of earth that remain in unused corners of rooms. The Tuatha have contrived their covering to allow rays of light to penetrate like streamers of sunshine, highlighting a patch of milky lichen here, or bunch of clover there. I glance over the top of a half-fallen wall and my breath catches as I notice that the cairn Jamie and I once constructed from castle debris still rests where it has for the last ten years. The sound of trickling water I noticed when we first arrived is coming from there—the Tuatha have managed to convert it to a fountain without disturbing a stone. The bell-like blossoms of a single stalk of red helleborine clinging to one side of the cairn quivers with the slight vibration.
Throughout the structure there are perfectly placed pieces of furniture—stools, benches, small tables, and bookshelves, each a work of art, featuring panels of multicolored tiles, inlays of amber-hued resins, and burnished wood. And despite the fact the decaying structure mostly remains open to the elements, it manages not to be damp or chilly.
They’ve preserved the dilapidated beauty of the place while making it comfortable for habitation, and I can’t help but be charmed by it. It’s the ruin I loved as child, restored like a child might restore it.
But I know the Tuatha are not children.
“You have to give this up, Rowan.” Jamie has flattened himself against the wall beside me, watching the door. He turns to look at me. “You must realize that now. We’re too different.”
With both our heads resting against the wall, our faces are inches apart. He’s worn his best shirt for today’s festivities. The slate-blue fabric is a close match for the color of his eyes, and the simple V-neck exposes the upper ridges of his chest. He’s combed his brown waves, and even trimmed his short beard.
I know he’s made this effort for me and no one else, and it softens my reply. “Let’s wait for Dayne.”
He lets his head fall back against the wall and casts his gaze skyward. “I have an idea: let’s not.”
I frown, and his hand comes to my face, tender but firm. “Ro, run away with me. We can—”
“No.” I raise my hand to his wrist. “I won’t run.”
“I’m not going to let you do this.”
I can’t stand being close enough to see the pain in his eyes, and I peel his hand from my face. “Come on, let’s have a look around.”
Turning before he can argue, I trace the path we’ve walked many times before. As we move through a series of arched doorways, I see that some repairs have been made—mainly the flooring and staircases needed to make the upper floors accessible. But it looks like they’ve only restored the chambers that are in use by the family, while the rest has been left airy and open. They’ve used some kind of translucent material for flooring in some areas, allowing light to pass in from above.
“This is amazing,” I murmur as I start up the stairs. Each tread is decorated with tiny tiles arranged in varying patterns—bright flowers, moons, suns, and spirals. With each step I take, the tiles brighten under my foot. I imagine the effect at night. “So no one falls in the dark.”
Jamie grunts behind me, unimpressed.
At the top of the stairs, I walk into the first chamber I find. It’s large and open, composed of at least two of the original chambers. There’s a huge bed with four posts constructed of a heavy, dark weathered wood that looks as old as the castle. But the bed covering and canopy are made of gauzy, snow-white fabrics that provide a stark contrast. Adjacent to a floor-to-ceiling arched opening in the wall—the only structural alteration I’ve noticed—there’s a sunken tub that looks more like a forest pool, irregularly shaped and lined with stones, bordered with potted ferns and forget-me-nots. The only other furnishings are a tea table and two stools, and a large crimson and gold rug that covers the freshly timbered floor.
The floor of the chamber has been extended past the opening, creating a small terrace, and the pool is in fact half inside and half outside. At the outside end another fountain gurgles, and as I step closer I notice a sculpture of a reclining figure among the greenery at the foot of the fountain. The woman is naked but for a cloth draped over one hip, and her body twists sensuously. Her expression suggests she’s in the throes of passion. Then I notice one of her hands has been positioned between her legs. Staring at such an accurate depiction of the only way I’ve experienced sexual pleasure up to now brings heat into my cheeks.
Suddenly I feel the press of hands on my hips and I gasp. Turning, I find myself in Jamie’s arms, and his lips come down on mine.
Panic surges and I shove at his chest, hardening my lips against his. I manage to free myself from the kiss and cry, “Jamie!”
“Rowan, God,” he breathes, holding me close even as I struggle. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are in this dress?”
“Jamie!” I cry again. “Stop this.” I give a final, desperate shove and he falls back. “You’re my brother!”
His hungry expression twists into a scowl. “I’ve never thought of you that way. You must know that by now.”
I shake my head slowly, incredulous. “I-I’ve never thought of you any other way.”
I realize the harshness of this statement too late. His face darkens. “I’d like you to think of it now,” he says in a low, even tone.
I turn from him, and the world rocks under my feet. Raising my fingers to my lips, my gaze falls again on the statue. “Jamie,” I murmur, and the word comes out like a lament.
“Come on, Rowan. We’re not children anymore.”
I laugh, and I don’t know why. “No.”
“Do you think you could love me? Because if the answer is even ‘maybe’—”
I spin to face him. “I do love you. As much as or maybe more than I love anybody. But it’s not…I can’t…”
He rushes forward, taking my hands. “Do you hear yourself? What more do you need to convince you? Ro, I love you. And God knows…” His gaze drifts down to the deep neckline of my dress, and I shiver.
“Why now?” I squeeze his fingers, imploring him to say something that makes sense. “Why have you waited until now to say this to me?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have. I just never thought…”
“You were afraid I didn’t feel the same.”
“Yes,” he agrees, drawing closer. “But now I…well, if you don’t, I’ve lost you anyway, haven’t I?”
He raises a hand to my cheek, bending his face to mine. Our lips meet and I yield, because I have to know. His mouth is warm and soft, and his arms coil around me, pulling me closer. He teases my mouth open with his tongue, and my heart pounds against my rib cage. His tongue dips deeper, and his hand squeezes my hip, sliding up along my side until it’s even with my breasts.
The rush of blood is roaring in my head, and I don’t hear when someone else enters the chamber.
“Stay away from the window,” says a voice I now recognize, and in a moment of dizzy confusion, I imagine it’s his hand that’s pressing the front of my dress.
Then I come to my senses and jerk backward.
Dayne is staring at Jamie with murder in his eyes.
Sign
als
“My kinsmen have an excuse for their behavior,” says Dayne, his cool tone belying the heat in his expression. “You don’t.”
Jamie’s gaze darts to the floor, where he let his ax fall to take me in his arms. But I reach for his arm. “No.”
“Rowan—”
I steel myself against his pleading so I’ll be able to say what I must. “I don’t feel the way you do. You’re my brother, and I love you.” I back away from him, toward Dayne. “But I want you to leave.”
“I don’t believe you,” says Jamie, ice in his voice.
I straighten and fold my hands together between us. “Whether you do or don’t, I’ve made my decision.”
“Get out,” snaps Dayne.
Jamie shoots him a look of pure hatred. I’m afraid of the hurt and desperation in his eyes, but after bending slowly to retrieve his ax, he turns toward the door and stalks out.
I stare after him for a long moment, working to control the shock and surge of emotion, until finally I feel the flesh of my face and neck burning.
Dayne’s countenance is so smoky and dark that it is hard to imagine what he’s thinking. His arms are folded, and the bunching of shoulder and chest muscles reminds me how powerful he is. My heart races, and I struggle to find my voice. But he doesn’t speak, so I must.
“I apologize. Jamie’s behavior was wrong and…unexpected.”
Dayne lifts a dark eyebrow. “You were disgusted by it? It didn’t appear so to me.”
My already hot skin saves me from displaying the shame I feel. “I was surprised. And I…” On an impulse, I raise my chin to better meet the challenge in his gaze. Instinct is warning me I can’t win a game of cat and mouse with this man. “I was confused. We grew up together, and I’ve always thought of him as my brother. I didn’t know that he felt differently.”
“And now that you do?”
I drop my hands to my sides and take a slow breath, knowing how important my answer is. “Now that I do, I understand why he was so violently opposed to this marriage. And I regret that I’ve hurt him so deeply.”
I know I haven’t answered the question he’s really asking, but he seems to accept it anyway. He strides to the window beside the bed, and I find my eyes following the crimson wings as he moves. Their texture makes them appear to glisten, and I wonder whether they’re as fragile as they look. I wonder whether they’re capable of flight. My da says that the biological mechanics are all wrong. That the winged transgenics were a failed experiment. But they proved more resilient than most of humanity. And though his wings may serve no practical purpose, it’s impossible not to appreciate their delicate-veined beauty.
“Has the conflict been resolved?” I ask, a tremor in my voice.
“No,” he replies. “But my father will try to distract them until the danger passes. There would have been games after the wedding. Contests of strength. He’s trying to interest them in those.”
“I don’t understand what happened. Have I done something wrong?”
He turns from the window. “Yes. But it wasn’t your fault. It was an oversight of my father’s, when he arranged the ceremony with your father.”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting for the rest of it.
“You should never have appeared in public at this time of your cycle. A Tuatha woman wouldn’t do such a thing unless she wanted attention from potential mates.”
I stare at him, keenly aware my color is rising again. My betrothed, whom I’ve just met, is talking about my fertility—and he seems to know more about it than I do.
“But how could they know such a thing?”
“We can smell it.”
We. I swallow and drop my gaze. “Smell?”
“Transgenics are more sensitive to the hormones. It’s a little more complicated than smell. But it will pass by tomorrow, and they’ll come around. Until then, we can’t afford to provoke them further.”
“No wedding, you mean.”
“No wedding,” he agrees. Voices are rising outside, and he turns again to the window. There’s a burst of male laughter, and he returns his attention to me.
“But the wedding was more for your sake, and your family’s,” he continues. “Also an excuse for my father to reinforce his ties with his supporters. The agreement itself is what matters. And the physical bond. That will make it easier for me to protect you. Right now, the others only view me as a potential.”
The close way he watches me, like he can see everything I’m thinking, is beginning to fray my nerves. I turn and take a couple steps away from him, but then freeze when I realize I’m moving toward the bed.
“In two days’ time we should be well beyond the danger,” he continues, “and we can try again.” I see him shift in my view’s periphery. Hear the slight rustle of wings. “If it’s important to you.”
I nod, but questions are winging through my mind like a startled flock of sparrows. “What will happen until then?”
“Your family can’t protect you. It’s safest for you to stay in the castle.”
“With you?” I glance up.
For the first time, his gaze moves over my body. It happens quickly, like it’s gotten away from him.
“If we don’t share a bed, it will get out. Even loyal servants chatter. I’m not going to give in to antiquated expectations about propriety at the risk of starting a conflict with my father’s allies.”
It matters little to me that the wedding night will come without the wedding. I never liked the idea of being paraded before his whole clan, with all their sophistication and finery. They have access to education and modern goods that have not been part of life here since before I was born. And if what he says is true, I’m likely to be carrying his child much sooner than I imagined. It’s a deeper bond than can come from any ceremony.
All I hope to accomplish through this marriage is already within reach. My greatest fears have been not of Dayne, not even that he might hurt me with his powerful body, but that I might sacrifice—leave my family and home, and the hope of a marriage that might bring me true happiness—in vain.
I’m trembling as I look around the chamber, seeing it with new eyes, wondering for the first time whether it’s his. I imagine how his dark skin would contrast with the fleecy bedding. My knees begin to feel loose and unsteady, and I force the images from my mind.
There’s a shy knock at the door, and Dayne calls, “Come in.”
A child with burgundy-colored beetle wings that seem too heavy for her lithe, nearly naked frame enters and places a tray on a table. She casts me one curious glance as she retreats.
“Thank you, Siobhan,” he says softly.
She closes the door behind her, and he walks over and lifts a bottle from the tray, pouring about an inch of an amber-colored liquid into a glass. He holds it out to me, and I join him, taking the glass. Our fingers brush lightly, and the heat of his skin travels right to my belly. He pours himself a glass, and he lifts it to touch mine.
“Alliances,” he says, then downs the liquid in one swallow.
I try to do the same, but it burns like fire, so I only manage about half of it. I’d suspect him of poisoning me if I hadn’t seen him drink it too.
“What you said earlier,” I say, my eyes watering from the effort not to cough, “it seemed to suggest that married Tuatha are not affected by…hormonal signals.”
He nods. “The ones without mates have the least control.”
“But you have no mate. Why aren’t you affected?” It occurs to me how naïve this is. He probably does have a lover. Why wouldn’t he? I’m nothing to him but a political agreement.
“I have no need to fight for what I’ve already claimed,” he replies. He sets his glass on the table. “And I never said I wasn’t affected.”
This time when his eyes move over me, it’s much slower. I feel every inch of flesh that’s exposed by the translucent panels of lace. I feel the rise and curve of my breasts above the scalloped neckline, and how my nipples have become
sensitive to even the light constriction of the lace as I breathe.
I swallow the rest of the amber-colored liquid and set the glass on the table.
“Did you want this marriage?” I ask him.
I can see the blunt question has surprised him, but he answers, “I know what’s expected of me. My father and I have ambitions. I imagine the same is true for you.”
“I have no ambitions beyond protecting my people in an uncertain time.” I panic when I realize I’ve said this out loud. My brain feels a little sluggish. But then there’s no point in being romantic about a business arrangement.
Despite my sluggish brain, I note the change in his expression. The deepening of interest. “I insisted that you not be forced,” he says, watching me in that close way I don’t know if I will ever get used to. “I couldn’t live with a cringing, passionless…” My heart gives a heavy thump as his eyes travel once more down my body. “I’m pleased to hear that my stipulation was followed. But I expected a woman who agreed to wed into my family would do so out of ambition. Or sexual curiosity.”
My mouth goes dry and I glance at my empty glass. Dayne lifts the bottle again, seeming to read my mind. My heart pounds with such force I can’t even open my mouth to refuse as he hands me the refilled glass.
Sipping first, just enough to wet my lips, I reply, “I was the one who did the forcing. It broke my father’s and stepmother’s hearts.”
“Apparently your brother’s too.”
I meet his gaze over the rim of my glass. “He’s not truly my brother,” I remind him.
Dayne pauses a moment, studying me, before he replies, “So I observed.”
I’ve only drunk half the liquid in my glass, but I set it on the table. Then I walk to the window, feeling heavy and unsteady. The final scene that passed with Jamie plays again in my mind. The unexpected heat of it, and the delicious textures and sensations. I remember feeling everything, yet without being truly carried away by it—until the moment I heard Dayne’s voice.
Before She Wakes: Forbidden Fairy Tales Page 21