Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  “If we can find a way to do it, successfully, we’ll do it,” Oryan said, laying a hand on young Jordan’s shoulder, his eyes on the boy. “Know that, Jordan. But know also that your father wouldn’t want lives wasted on his account.”

  Oryan turned to Morgan. Could they make that promise true?

  “I’ll see what more we can find out, take a look at the lay of the land,” Morgan said, knowing what Oryan needed.

  “If you need eyes above, Morgan,” Kyri said, “Ask. If I can’t come, Galan, Dorien or someone will.”

  Morgan nodded, seeing shadows move in her eyes. Worry.

  “Haerold’s building something more than a scaffold,” he said. “Jacob sent word of that much. And calling in a lot of people. It’s a fair guess it’s a trap of some kind.”

  “For you,” Kyri said, “Oryan and anyone else he can get.”

  So the worry in her eyes was for him as well as Oryan and the Kingdom. Something in Morgan warmed at the thought.

  “We’ll have to figure out what it is he’s plotting,” Oryan said. “And plan accordingly ourselves. Plots within plans.”

  Shaking her head with a small laugh, pressing a hand to her head, Kyri said, “I’m getting confused.”

  No such thing, but it made even Oryan chuckle a little. They all needed the laugh.

  “All right, Morgan, see if your people can find out what Haerold has in mind.”

  He needed to know, too, how the other vassals were reacting to Dorset’s circumstances, but he had other sources for that.

  “Goodnight, people,” Oryan said. “And thanks to all of you.”

  The tent emptied.

  Kyri caught Morgan before he’d gone too far.

  In truth, Morgan had been hoping she might.

  The light of the flickering torchlight danced on her hair and was soft on her face. He couldn’t see her clearly, but it was enough. Her fingers were light on his arm.

  There was only that ephemeral touch and her soft scent in the night.

  “Morgan,” she said. “Have a care. Haerold’s people will be watching for you.”

  It wasn’t anything he didn’t know and she knew that as well.

  The light was bright enough for Morgan to reach out to tuck a strand of her golden curls behind one delicately pointed ear. It was a strange and pleasant sensation, the tightly wound curls, the softness of them, the unusual shape of her ear.

  He thought he heard her breath catch.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said, looking at her. “You be cautious as well.”

  Closing her eyes, Kyri nodded. “Always.”

  It was all she dared ask.

  She let him go, an unfamiliar ache tightening in her chest.

  This time, where he went, she could not go.

  Remagne.

  In truth, Morgan was learning to hate that high-walled city.

  If they ever won this thing and Oryan granted him a boon, he’d ask that the damn walls around it be torn down. He felt trapped there even before he truly was. It was too much to ask that the whole city be razed but he wasn’t beyond wanting it. Dark and grim, it had little to recommend it.

  As he and Caleb rode up it was clear as he’d guessed and Kyri feared that they were expecting him or someone very like him. At every gate they searched each and every fair-haired man who tried to pass, examining all of them closely. Even the gate guards, though, would hesitate to search one of Haerold’s own Guards.

  Caleb had waylaid one of Haerold’s Guardsmen who looked to be about Morgan’s size while the man was in his cups. Dosing the man’s mug with a common street drug helped insure his incapacitation. It had been a far simpler matter for Caleb to smuggle the uniform out than to try to smuggle Morgan in. With the helmet on to cover Morgan’s fair hair and the setting sun casting its long dark shadows at his back to shadow his eyes, it served to get him through the gates with little attention.

  Beyond the gate was far more treacherous territory.

  Morgan had to get out of the uniform quickly before someone gave notice to him, especially another of Haerold’s personal guard.

  He ducked into the first dark alley they passed, removing the distinctive blood-red tunic, tucking it into a saddlebag for later. The helmet he wrapped in his bedroll and hoped for the best, trading it for his familiar brimmed hat.

  First there would be a meeting with Jacob, once Morgan found a safe place to stable his horse. Caleb would meet them there.

  As always, the meeting with Jacob took place in a tavern.

  This one was a step above the last and the games seemed a trace more controlled. The women, too, were of slightly higher quality – or at least the paint on their faces made it seem so. Most were a good bit more slender than the ample barmaid at the last and the dancers actually appeared to have some skill.

  It was however, only slightly better lit and only in some areas, rendering others dim and some nearly dark.

  Therefore it was safer and less noticeable, especially for those who wanted to conduct their business unnoticed, or for him.

  Among those shadows was where he found Jacob, in one of those dark corners, with a lapful of dancing girl.

  Seeing Morgan cross the room toward him though, Jacob sent her off with a light swat on her bottom before leaning back in the booth.

  As Morgan sat, Jacob said, “You’re a popular man in town these days, my friend.”

  “Am I?” Morgan asked, amused, lifting an eyebrow.

  “You are,” Jacob asserted, lifting a glass to him. “To the man of the hour.”

  “It’s just as well then they don’t know I’m here,” Morgan said.

  With a nod, Jacob said, “Just as well. How are you, Morgan?”

  “Good, a little tired, but good,” Morgan said. “You?”

  Shrugging, Jacob gestured around him and smiled. “I’ve moved up in the world, so quite well. In fact, so much so that I might be persuaded to take a morning constitutional to the castle. Sometime in the early morning, I would suggest, so that some paler folk don’t get too much sun.”

  Meaning him, Morgan.

  Curious, Morgan asked, “Why would you do that?”

  “To see the construction taking place there, like everyone else,” Jacob said. “It’s quite impressive. Everyone is going, everyone is talking about it, the rumors run wild. Oh… and a little entertainment.”

  “Ah,” Morgan said. “And what are the rumors saying?”

  “That it might not be just that poor bastard of a Duke they hang, but the famous – or infamous – Morgan himself.”

  “Interesting,” Morgan said. “First they’ll have to catch him.”

  With a grin, Jacob said, “There’s that.”

  Sliding onto the chair beside Morgan, Caleb said, “No problems, then, I take it?”

  Morgan shook his head. “Tomorrow, early, we’ll be taking a walk around the square.”

  Alarmed, Caleb said, “They’ll be hottest for you there…”

  “To,” Jacob corrected, “not around. To visit the apartment of a charming lady I met the other day, whose apartments overlook said Square that isn’t a square. Her husband is away at that hour. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  He grinned in anticipation.

  Morgan glanced at Caleb, who gave him a resigned look in return, raising his eyebrows in resignation.

  Some things never changed.

  Arrangements made, Morgan and Caleb rented a room for the night.

  Morgan stretched out on the bed with a sigh. It had been a while since he’d slept on anything beside a cot or the hard ground and it would likely be a while before he did so again. Even so the room now seemed almost too small, too closed in, after months of open sky and tents.

  He settled into the mattress, but still found it a little hard to sleep. His fingers remembered a soft lock of curling hair and the press of lips to against his, a slender body against his back, as he drifted off into pleasant dreams.

  It was barely daylight when Jacob ta
pped at the door, but both Morgan and Caleb were already awake and dressed.

  Keeping his hat low over his distinctive blue eyes, Morgan, with Caleb and Jacob, made their way through the grim gray streets, avoiding the heavily traveled ones.

  Few spots of color stood out here and most of those had faded, unequal to the effort of fighting the general malaise. Even the hazy light of morning couldn’t favor this city.

  It promised to be hot and humid before the day was too far advanced.

  The building Jacob led them to had once been a good one, but proximity to Haerold’s castle and the passing of fashion had left it behind. It had been converted into groups of rooms that barely qualified to be called apartments.

  “Wait here,” Jacob said, leaving Morgan and Caleb on the stairs to the upper floors. “Give me a little time to get the lady distracted.”

  Leaning their backs against the wall, Morgan waited, Caleb a step below him, before slowly making their way down the dark hall.

  A cracked door gave them access to the rooms.

  It was even less promising on the inside than the outside.

  The walls had once been white, but were now an indeterminate gray. What furniture there was had once been good, but was now faded and threadbare.

  As it wasn’t the room for which they’d come, Morgan ignored it as he quietly made his way to the window.

  The noises from the next room gave clear indication as to how Jacob was keeping the lady occupied. It was mildly distracting – at least until they reached the windows.

  Then all else faded before reality.

  It was plainly a scaffold that was being built just beneath the walls of the castle, in clear sight of the guards and bowmen on those walls. There was nothing else that overreaching arm could be. The decking had yet to go on, but that arm was unmistakable.

  Opposite it was a platform of some kind – a viewing stand?

  Saws and hammers were being put to use industriously.

  Below, people wandered past, watching in wonder, shaking their heads.

  On the curtain wall surrounding the castle, the guards did much the same, craning their heads between the crenellations when they thought no one was looking, to see what was going on below. The bowmen on those walls would have a clear shot at anyone beneath them.

  “Let’s wait for Jacob in the alley,” Morgan suggested. “I need a closer look.”

  Worriedly, Caleb nodded and followed. He didn’t like Morgan wandering about where folk could see him. He was just too distinctive.

  To Caleb’s relief, the alley was dark and cluttered, but some careful maneuvering got them past most of it in silence.

  Sunlight poured over the ‘square’, such as it was – little more really than the broad avenue leading to the castle and the street by the moat that ran around it. Still a large number of people could be easily accommodated, especially if the local dignitaries were seated on the viewing platform, rather than gathering in carriages as some did in other places.

  Already the stench from the moat around the castle had grown noisome and was spreading.

  Both platforms were raised above the street to give the spectators a good view.

  Morgan eyed the industrious efforts and the falling sawdust piling up beneath the structures.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was cool beneath the trees, cooler by far than the baking heat beyond them. Fairy oaks and pine trees towered high above him. Sunlight sliced brilliantly down between the leaves and tall trunks to dapple the earth below with light. Green patches of moss with the dainty little white flowers folks called fairy rings seemed to glow against the shadows, drinking up the brief moments of light that washed over them.

  Stone, covered with lichen, broke through the thin earth here and there.

  This was one of the places the Fairy loved, Morgan knew, smelling richly of good earth, dampness, pine and those sweet-scented little flowers.

  It was as quiet, perhaps quieter and more serene than any cathedral built by men, a sacred space filled with peace.

  Even his horse’s hooves were muffled by the forest duff, by the pine needles and powdered leaves, the sound a soft drumbeat not unlike a heartbeat, pacing steadily.

  For the first time in an age Morgan relaxed, if only a fraction, but he did relax, allowing the tranquility of the place to fill him, to soothe his tense nerves.

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Hail, Morgan,” a familiar voice called.

  Startled, he reached for his sword before catching himself.

  She’d done it again.

  Swearing at both himself and her, almost laughing, Morgan looked up.

  Kyri looked down at him, clearly delighted at catching him off guard again, her eyes sparkling, wings beating, hovering above his head.

  Were her eyes more green or more blue? He could never decide.

  “Damn it, Kyri,” he growled, shoving his sword back in its sheath, angry, relieved and amused. “One of these days you’re going to do that and I’m going to put a sword through you.”

  Laughing, wings beating so she floated gently up and down above his head, Kyri looked down at him, her eyes brilliant.

  A beam of sunlight pierced the swaying branches above, to sparkle from her crystalline feathers, haloing her in dancing light and turning her hair to spun gold.

  “I think not,” she said, clearly giving it due consideration. “Morgan, you need to relax.”

  “You think…” he sputtered, laughing. “I was relaxed, you minx…”

  This was the Kyri of old and he was as much relieved as exasperated. It was good to see her more herself. She’d been quiet of late. And she was apparently in a playful mood.

  Also tantalizing, infuriating, delightful, maddening...

  And alluring… as always.

  She was wearing one of her little shifts, a thin covering of silk that clung to every lush and lovely curve, leaving her slender, finely-muscled limbs mostly bare, save where it fluttered around her thighs. After the heavy dress of the folk of the villages and towns it always caught him by surprise. That and the curves it revealed.

  Clearly entertained, Kyri grinned down at him, her gossamer wings stroking lightly, so she bobbed up and down lightly, glimmers of light dancing off her wings, shaking a finger at him.

  “To skewer me first you would have to catch me, Morgan. That’s not so easy.”

  In a flash, his hand snapped out to wrap around a slender, coltish ankle that had bobbed a fraction of an inch too close.

  So slender was it that his hand wrapped completely around it, his thumb overlapping his fingers a fraction.

  “No?” he said, looking at her impudent face, trying not to see up beneath that poor excuse for a dress that fluttered so fetchingly around her thighs.

  Her eyes narrowed a little but a smile tugged at her mouth.

  Good, Kyri thought, Morgan’s expression had eased, softened again.

  Something about his strong hand wrapped around her ankle sent warmth through her, though.

  Besides, she liked the challenge.

  Morgan saw the light spark in her eyes.

  With a grin, her wings opened farther, spreading wide to catch the slanting sunlight and gleam like fine crystal. They broadened with each stroke, fracturing and refracting the light into a thousand rainbows. Reflections danced over the clearing. Those wings beat strongly, her body arched with the effort and force of it, her eyes alight. As full and as ripe as fresh-picked peaches, her breasts pressed against the thin shift, her slender belly was taut.

  The dress swirled in the breeze from her wings.

  Her laughter rang off the trees, echoed as she rose up.

  Morgan’s blood heated and this time he didn’t resist it.

  To his astonishment, though, he found himself being lifted from the saddle.

  “You forget who carried you off the tower, my Lord Marshal,” Kyri said, grinning, her wings beating strongly. “Who has who now?”

  Clampi
ng his knees against the horse, Morgan locked his free hand around the pommel of his saddle. He was fairly certain she couldn’t lift both him and the horse… but then again…

  Those pretty wings stroked, pulled.

  And went nowhere.

  She was caught.

  Kyri laughed, visibly delighted, gazing down at him as he looked up, her wings still beating strongly, her eyes sparkling merrily.

  It was stalemate.

  Morgan’s hand, warm on her skin, was distracting. As was the strength in it. More so the look in his eyes, making her body warm, the look of his mouth – firm, so cleanly shaped, perfect, neither too thin nor too full, tempting…

  Still….

  “Now what, Morgan?” she demanded, crying challenge.

  Morgan looked up.

  She tossed her head so her hair shimmered golden in the sunlight. That hair tumbled around her lovely white shoulders, shifted tantalizingly over her body, revealing and concealing, those brilliant sea-colored eyes meeting his, daring him.

  Shifting his weight, Morgan turned a little and yanked sideways and down on that slender ankle, jerking her off balance so the air spilled from those magnificent iridescent wings and she fell…

  Straight into his lap.

  He quickly slipped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling further.

  It caught her completely by surprise…

  Morgan had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen, startled, even as he felt her warm weight hit his thighs. Her wings fluttered, brushing against his arm softly.

  Those lovely sparkling eyes met his, that pretty mouth curved, laughing.

  Golden hair shifted and blew across his arm where it wrapped around her slender waist. Feathers brushed lightly there, too. Morgan was instantly aware of the closeness of her, of the weight of her. Her warm, slender body was close to his and those laughing eyes looked into his as her face tipped up to look at him.

  Those pretty lips parted on a soft sigh.

  Kyri’s breath caught as she met Morgan’s brilliant blue eyes, saw the sudden sense of awareness in them and heat rushed through her.

  Morgan brushed his fingers across her petal-soft cheek.