Inside the stable, Dallyn stopped and lit a lantern hanging by the door. With a flourish, he removed his cloak to spread it over a bale of hay before offering Syrie a seat.
“Let us be clear on this from the beginning,” he said, looking from one of them to the other. “My mother is not to be involved in any of this in any way. I know from her message who you both are, and, under the circumstances, I have a very good idea of what you have come to ask of me. But, should anything go wrong, I will not have her endangered. Is this clear?”
“Completely,” Patrick said. “We would have it no other way.”
“Good,” Dallyn said. “My assumption is that you have come to rescue the Goddess. Have you a plan of any sort?”
Patrick took a step back, positioning himself behind the bale on which Syrie sat, making it clear which of them would be answering. With no more than a raised eyebrow, Dallyn shifted his penetrating gaze to her.
“A plan,” she said. “Of a sort, yes.”
“Perhaps you would care to enlighten me with a few details of what specific sort you have in mind, milady. Before I offer up lives for your disposal.”
Likely the young captain wouldn’t be impressed with her should she actually tell him she had only the vaguest idea of what they needed to do. Once again a regret pierced through her heart that she hadn’t gone to her friend Nalindria first. Nally would have understood Syrie’s need to act and would have helped her talk through her ideas until they came up with a plan of action together, as they had so many times in the past.
But she hadn’t. She’d done exactly as Orabilis had recommended and now here she sat, facing this stranger. This close she could see he wasn’t quite as young as she might have originally determined. His bearing, however, was the epitome of the typical overbearing male Fae. Tall, muscular, with long blond hair pulled back into a strap, he was what any female would consider more than a little handsome. Nothing compared to her Patrick, of course.
Dallyn’s eyes were fixed upon her, his face blanked of any emotion so that she had no idea whether he planned to help or to turn her over to the High Council. Studying the Fae before her, she determined that playing her cards close to the chest would be her best move until she trusted him more.
“Perhaps a few details,” she agreed, adopting a superior air to match his. “We need men and information before we can proceed.”
Dallyn nodded. “What information is it that you seek?”
Syrie faced a moment of truth. To move forward, she would have to trust Dallyn. At least a little. Without that step she would not be able to access what she needed to continue. Trust meant risking her life and Patrick’s, but she could see no other way.
As if he’d read her mind, Patrick placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, a gentle, reassuring move that helped her decide.
“We must gather a force to oppose the High Council. The three of us could hardly hope to accomplish much on our own. And before I finalize any plan, I need information. I need to know where and how the Goddess is being kept. I need details on the movements of the High Council. Details on their loyal forces and what sorts of opposition we might face. Most important of all, I need details on what sorts of support we might find.”
Dallyn continued to nod. “Support is strong for the Goddess. She has been good to the people of Wyddecol and they see little enough need for change. Especially not in this fashion. It is all too reminiscent of the troubles with the Nuadians.”
“Are they behind this takeover?”
“I have no proof of that. Yet,” Dallyn answered. “But the possibility exists. Reynalia’s own brother was exiled in the last round of troubles and rumor has it that he has made himself a prominent figure within the group of Nuadians.”
“Perhaps it’s no more than ambition run rampant in the family,” Patrick said.
“Perhaps,” Dallyn agreed. “Or not. Still, it is for that reason that I am unwilling to put my mother’s safety at risk. You’ll forgive me if I tell you that you are unwelcome here. You are free to stay the night. But on the morrow I will send a friend of mine, a fellow officer, who will take you to a small cabin where you can stay comfortably while we prepare for what is to come.”
“I understand completely,” Syrie said, rising to stand. “And we will say nothing of this to your mother. Only that we have enjoyed her hospitality and must return home.”
“Excellent,” Dallyn said, reclaiming his cloak. “Darnee Al’ Oryn will wait for you just inside the trees to the north at noon. She will accompany you to the new location.”
“Thank you for your help,” Patrick said, extending a hand to Dallyn.
The Fae accepted the gesture with a slight bow. “I will come to you there tomorrow after dark with news of anything I can find.”
With another bow and a kiss to Syrie’s hand, the captain disappeared out the door and into the night.
“So that’s it, then,” Patrick said, holding the door open for Syrie. “It has begun.”
Syrie slipped her hand into Patrick’s grasp, stopping just before they entered the house. There was so much left unsaid between them but, for some reason, now didn’t feel like the right time to delve into any of it. Any of it save Patrick’s safety.
“There’s still time for you to go back to the glen. You can wait there with Orabilis. Make sure she’s safe until I return for you.”
If she was able to return.
Patrick snorted, tightening his grip on her hand and pulling her into his embrace. “Like that old witch needs my protection. More likely those men ringing the perimeter of the glen need protection from her.”
He had a point. A Fae of her age and power had very little to fear anywhere.
“You’ll stay with me, then,” she said, knowing it was not a question. “Even though this may well be your last chance to leave safely.”
Again he snorted, though more quietly this time. “My place is with you, Syrie. If it’s safe enough for you, it’s safe enough for me.”
The kisses he showered on her cheek and down her neck could easily have led to something more if not for the scraping sound that warned someone was opening the door. By the time Leala’s face appeared in the opening, Patrick had resumed his spot next to the door to hold it open for Syrie to enter as if nothing at all had happened.
Regrettably, this was yet one more thing between them that would have to wait.
Chapter 23
Syrie awoke long before sunrise, an odd, buzzy feeling of constriction gripping her chest and spreading up into her throat. Nightmare, no doubt. Anxiety over the task she’d set for herself. Anxiety over the allies she’d chosen.
What she needed was to see for herself what was going on. What she needed was to speak to someone who had experienced it all firsthand. Someone she trusted.
She rose from the bed and lit the small lamp next to the fireplace before she dressed, wishing she could speak to Patrick before she did what she’d already decided she was going to do. But Leala had made sure to place them in bedchambers on the opposite sides of her own. For propriety’s sake, she had claimed, delivering the clear message that there would be no…togetherness…in her home.
Syrie smiled at the memory of the little woman’s pink cheeks as she’d addressed their sleeping arrangements.
Just as well. If they had shared a room, Patrick would have insisted upon coming with her, and his presence would have stifled any attempt at her connecting with her old friend.
She carried the lamp with her from her bedchamber to the front door. There, she blew out the flame and slipped out into the still morning air leaving the lamp on the bench beside the door. A less impetuous woman would have remembered to bring a cloak along, but that would have required her asking her hostess for the loan of one.
And that would have defeated the whole purpose of her slipping out into the dark.
With a shiver, she hurried across the open space of the Al’ Lyre homestead and slipped into the woods. A look back showed her the
house was still darkened and quiet. Good. She’d made it this far successfully.
The woods of Wyddecol were like no other place Syrie had ever been. The foliage here was perpetually green, and the smell was one that lived in her memory no matter how long she’d been away. She knew these woods as well as she knew the lines on her own hand, so traveling to her destination, even in darkness, was no hardship.
When she arrived, she hunkered down, making herself as small as possible as she watched for any movement. It didn’t take long to spot the guards she had suspected she’d find. After all, having taken the Goddess prisoner, it was unlikely the High Council would leave her Temple untouched.
Precisely as the sun began to rise, Nalindria appeared on the steps of the Temple, buckets in hand. Syrie had counted on this. After so many years of repetition, she had hoped that, in spite of the guards, her friend would still be following her usual routine.
The dark-haired woman crossed the open area, headed for the nearby stream. As she passed each guard, the man would nod a silent greeting, allowing her to pass unmolested.
Thank the Goddess that the respect shown to the attendants of the Earth Mother’s Temple hadn’t waned.
After making sure that none followed Nalindria, Syrie quietly made her way through the forest to the stream where her friend headed so that she could be there waiting when Nally arrived.
Her friend had moved more quickly than Syrie expected, and was already bent over the water, scooping it into her buckets, when Syrie stepped from the cover of the trees.
“Nally?”
Nalindria Re’ Alyn dropped her bucket as she turned, a gasp on her lips.
“I’m so sorry,” Syrie exclaimed, rushing to her friend’s side to catch her up in an embrace. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Not frightened,” Nally said, her voice hushed as always. “It’s only that I thought never to see you again. Not after what we heard had happened.”
Syrie pulled back from the embrace, her hands still on her friend’s shoulders. This was exactly the sort of information she’d hoped to learn when she’d sought out her friend.
“What did they tell you? I want to hear everything about what’s going on at the Temple.”
Nally’s teeth worked at the corner of her bottom lip before she bent to retrieve her bucket. “I haven’t the time to recount all that has passed since I saw you last. The guards watch over every move of the Temple Maidens. If I don’t return very soon, they’ll come looking for me. Can we meet later on? Tonight, perhaps? I’m sure I can slip away unseen and come to wherever you’re staying.”
Except that Syrie had no idea where she’d be tonight.
“That won’t work,” she said, stepping back as her friend refilled the buckets she carried. “If you can get out of the Temple unseen, perhaps I can get in?”
“Perhaps,” Nally agreed, turning her head to cast a glance back in the direction of the Temple. “Yes, that should work. I’ll meet you inside the entrance leading to the old baths. When the moon rises to its peak?”
“Agreed,” Syrie said, watching as her friend disappeared into the trees.
She should have guessed where Nally would choose to meet. They had used that ancient doorway more times than she could count on full-moon nights when they’d wanted to slip out of the Temple unseen.
Retracing her path, Syrie stopped for several minutes to observe the location of as many guards as she could find. Knowing which areas to avoid would be helpful tonight. After she was satisfied that Nally had re-entered the building safely, Syrie quickly made her way back to the Al’ Lyre homestead.
Sunlight sparkled off crystal decorations that dangled from every window, sending jeweled rays dancing into the air to welcome her back. An unfamiliar wave of happiness flowed around her like a beautiful new cape as she neared the front door. She’d made it safely to see Nally and back again, all undetected. All she needed to do was slip back into her room before anyone noticed her gone and she could chalk up a perfect adventure. Everything was as it should be in the world, if only for a moment or two.
And then she opened the door to find Patrick staring down at her, accusation burning in his gaze.
Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty with the as-it-should-be declaration.
* * *
Patrick had searched everywhere. Every possible chamber, every outbuilding and stand of trees. Syrie was nowhere to be found. An unwelcome emotion began to bubble in his gut, the dreaded fear he had rarely known before discovering himself in love.
“If she’s allowed herself to be harmed,” he muttered, not finishing the dire threat as he entered the main chamber of the little house to find their hostess humming to herself as she stirred a large stick in the pot bubbling in the fireplace.
“Good morning, Patrick,” she chirped, her face crinkling in a smile as she spotted him. “First up and in here this lovely day?”
“First in here,” he confirmed, not wanting to alarm Leala. Not yet.
“I’ll have our wonderful porridge prepared for you in short order,” she said, stirring furiously. “And then, once I’ve carried the feed out to the chickens and the goats, we can wake your little friend and have ourselves our morning meal.”
“Allow me,” Patrick offered, none too keen on the smells wafting from the pot. “I’ll see to yer animals this morning. It’s the least I can do to repay yer kindness in allowing us to stay the night.”
“Oh, my,” Leala said, her free hand fluttering around her in the general direction of the door. “So good of you, lad. You’ll find the feed sacks just inside the stable.”
Outside, Patrick sucked in a deep breath, shoving the fear into a little box and putting it to the side. He’d concentrate on the task at hand. If by the time he returned to the house Syrie was still missing, he’d have no choice but to alert his hostess and plead for her son’s help.
Chores finished, he’d been inside only long enough to check Syrie’s chamber one last time before he returned to the main room, his mind made up. It was time to ask for help.
“Leala,” he began, just as the front door opened.
Syrie had returned and the growing ball of fear rumbling around in his guts began to change to anger.
“Where have you been?” he demanded as she entered, surprise coloring her expression.
“I was…just out in the stable. Visiting the horses.”
Lying! To him, of all people!
“I didn’t see you get past me, my dear,” Leala said, still bent over her pot. “But I do tend to put all my attentions into cooking.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you when I went out,” Syrie said. “It smells very…fresh.”
Patrick tried to unclench the muscles that held his jaw tight, but it felt beyond his control. Not only had he feared the worst but then, when she returned, Syrie lied to him. This wasn’t something he could simply let go.
He scooped up a couple of buckets from the stack by the doorway and tossed one to her.
“Come with me. We’ll replenish Leala’s water for her so she doesn’t have to do it later.”
“So helpful,” their hostess said, to no one in particular. “Such lovely young people.”
Syrie hesitated, but only for a moment, resignation coloring her expression as she stepped out the door he held open for her.
“Where were you?” he asked as soon as he pulled the door closed. “And why did you lie to me?”
“Lie to you?” she said with mock innocence. “Whatever—”
“I was just in the stables. Feeding the goats and the chickens and the horse you claimed to be visiting.” He worked the handle on the pump, filling her bucket as he attempted to compose himself. “In the stables for the second time this morning. The first time was when I was frantically searching for what had happened to you.”
“I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d just get upset with me,” she said. “And sure enough. Look at you. You’ve gone all indignant warrior mode, just l
ike I knew you would.”
No matter the anger, no matter the fear, he wouldn’t allow her to distract him so easily, though he knew well enough it was her intent to do exactly that.
“Where were you?” he demanded again, blanking the emotion from his voice.
“Oh, very well.” She huffed and leaned over to set the bucket at her feet, no doubt stalling for time. “I’ve nothing to gain by hiding it from you now. I went to the Temple. I waited in the woods until my friend Nally made her daily visit to the stream to collect water. We talked and then I came back here.”
A bright red haze filled his mind, forcing him to fight his way through it to even think upon the foolish actions she’d taken.
“Have you no idea what a risk you took?”
It was all he could voice at the moment.
“Not so much of a risk,” she said. “It was something I needed to do and I was very careful. It wasn’t as if I were going to walk into a trap, Patrick. No one knew I was coming. And even if they had, I’m quite sure I could have dealt with whatever came up.”
This was the old Syrie. The one he’d verbally sparred with so many times. The impetuous, overly confident Faerie he’d fallen in love with. He just didn’t love that she thought nothing of the danger to herself in what she’d done. Or to… That was it! That was the one thing she wouldn’t have considered.
“Were you followed when you returned here?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she answered, but she sneaked a quick look over her shoulder nonetheless.
Just as he’d thought.
“Even if you care naught for the danger to yerself, we gave our word that we would do nothing to jeopardize our innocent hostess. Do you think Dallyn would look upon your morning escapade as harmless? Especially if yer carelessness brought the Council’s guards to his mother’s door?”
He could see almost immediately he’d hit his mark as her expression changed.
“I never considered…” She paused, looking first to the woods and then back to him before taking a step closer. “I’m sure I wasn’t followed. Had I been, I’d think they would have stormed the house by now.”
Anywhere in Time (Magic of Time Book 2) Page 17