Some Enchanted Waltz, A Time Trave Romance

by Lily Silver

  Tara had asked only one question. What was the year? When he answered, she seemed distressed and would not tell him why. She merely mumbled that something was not right in this, and then refused to answer him when he asked what she meant.

  As he stood at the foot of the bed, Adrian drank in the delicate beauty of the girl reclining there. She was as yet weak from her injuries but she’d insisted on dressing before allowing him to have an audience with her. It was proof she was feeling better, worrying over her appearance as any mortal woman would do.

  Her hair had been coifed in a simple French twist. Burnished copper wisps framed her heart-shaped face. And a perfect face it was with bright emerald eyes, arched brows, a delicate upturned nose and soft, sensual lips above a narrow chin—t’was the face of a mischievous fairy one might encounter in the forest. Dressed in his sister’s gown of moss velvet, Tara was the living embodiment of the fiancée he had conjured from his imagination. She was young, vivacious, worldly, yet vulnerable in her present tragedy.

  The only difficulty Adrian could foresee in his scheme was the fact that he might very well lose his heart to this beguiling little sprite.

  The bandaged hands pulled at the shawl corners on her lap as she looked down at them and then quickly at him. “I’m afraid this is all that Maggie could find for me. I’d much prefer a pair of blue jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt to such finery.”

  Adrian crossed the room to stand beside her as she reclined on the bed atop the coverlet. “A sweaty shirt? Why should a lady wish to wear such a disgusting garment?”

  She laughed. The delicate, musical sound only added to her seductive charms. “I’m assuming wearing pants here is entirely out of the question?”

  “A young lady shouldn’t speak of men’s breeches in polite company, much less wear them.” He chastened and immediately regretted his harshness. He had no right to chide her. She was an enchanted being. Irritating her or those who had sent her to him was tantamount to blasphemy. He’d bring a curse on his head and those of his people. “Women in this realm are not as free in their behavior as your race, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, yes, a woman’s place is in the home, and all that.” She laughed again, amused rather than annoyed by his impertinent outburst. Her mirth evoked the image of a naughty fairy come to taunt the inconsistency of mortal ways. “Well, Lord Dillon, as I am not a woman of your … realm … as you put it, I will not bow to male chauvinism or adhere to queer customs of a selfish caveman.”

  “You speak passing strange.” Adrian remarked. “I implore you to abide by our customs, my dear. To do otherwise would bring scandal and suspicion upon us both. We want you to blend in, not stand out and draw attention to your fey bloodlines.”

  Tara frowned, carefully considering his words. “So, you’re saying that if I stand out too much here, it could be dangerous?”

  “Yes. Not all men take kindly to those of your race. Some would entrap you, keep you a prisoner and attempt to extract your magic from you by foul means. They would make you their slave, Tara, like a Genie trapped in a bottle. You would be at the mercy of vile men like the ones I rescued you from last week in the barn.”

  His words upset her. She sucked in her lower lip and hugged herself in a gesture of self comfort. He wasn’t a cad. He didn’t take any pleasure in frightening women, yet it was better this way, better to have her curb her fey inclinations and appear to belong in his world. Better for both of their sakes. He’d sworn to protect her; he’d sworn long ago to shelter and protect a member of the Sidhe race who had lost her way.

  In exchange for his protection, she would also protect him from Burke’s scheme.

  “You are safe here, Tara.” Adrian couldn’t help adding, “I promise you, by becoming my wife you will have the protection of my name, my title, and my sword. This fortress will be your home. You’ll be safe from the world beyond our gates. And you will live in luxury, Sweet Tara. As Lady Dillon, you will want for nothing.”

  Tara stared at the tapestry on the wall beyond him, appearing deep in thought.

  “Except for a cell phone connection and the internet.” She muttered, more to herself, he suspected, than to him. “Starbucks, and indoor plumbing.” She released a weary sigh, and drew her gaze back to him. “And as Lady Dillon you wish me to wear elegant dresses morning, noon and night?” She studied her bandaged palms with apparent discomfort. “I suppose it could be fun.”

  “Are you in pain?” Adrian noticed she held her hands as if they were still very tender. “I can have Cora give you more Laudanum.”

  Tara continued to look at her bandaged hands. At last, soft green eyes met his revealing an unmistakable pain. “No. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Dr. Magnus left a bottle for your comfort.”

  “No thank you. I’d rather keep my wits about me while visiting Oz than be walking about in a drugged stupor.”

  “You are wise. I, too, have witnessed the soldiers returned from the war lingering in the alleys of London and begging coin to feed their craving for opiates.”

  “We call them crack heads where I come from.” She hugged herself again, and gazed wistfully at the tapestry. “And just where do I come from? It’s hell not knowing.”

  Poor waif, he hated the terror that rose up in her eyes whenever she tried to remember her life beyond this realm. He moved to stand next to her as she reclined on the bed. He took her delicate wrist in his hand. “I’ve waited my entire life to meet you, Tara. And I’m grateful you agreed to come here and to become my wife.”

  “Yes, about that,” She began and his heart plummeted. “Couldn’t we just live together for a while? You’ve told everyone we’re engaged. That should be enough.”

  “No.” Adrian said quickly, panic making him rush to persuade her to stick with the plan he designed without her consent. “You cannot abide under my roof as an unmarried woman, even as my betrothed. ‘Tis most improper and unseemly to do so. People would cast aspersions on us and damn you as a whore. They would say you were my mistress.”

  Tara’s adorable nose wrinkled and her features mirrored her distaste for his words. “Mistress?” She repeated the word as if it were foreign as her eyes studied him for a long moment. “I should be so lucky.” She quipped, grinning at him with sudden pleasure.

  “Without a member of your family residing here with you as a chaperon, the longer you remain in my home, the more damning it is to your reputation. Unless we are wed soon, I’ll be forced by the laws of propriety to set you up at the inn in Glengarriff.”

  He studied her as he spoke, watching for any sign that she might be preparing to abandon him. What had he done to upset her? Had she taken him in distaste so quickly? He’d been most careful in his manner toward her, mindful not to behave with too much familiarity despite their ‘engagement’. All week, he’d been deferential towards her, deeply aware she was a member of the Sidhe race and not to be trifled with.

  “Having you so far away would trouble me greatly.” Adrian admitted truthfully. “I would worry over your safety as Glengarriff is nearly ten miles away.”

  “I wouldn’t like that, not at all.” She whispered, shrugging the shawl up about her neck and looking quite crestfallen. “Your customs are primitive. In my world, a woman can take lovers and live as she pleases without social censure.”

  “Do I displease you so?” He was not unattractive, this he well knew. Yet, perhaps he was not the type of mortal she fancied.

  “No!” Tara’s quick response surprised him. “It’s just so sudden. You make a girl dizzy, sweeping her off her feet so quickly, my lord.” She smiled at him.

  “Our vows will be in name only, if that is your wish.” He assured her. Adrian didn’t wish it so, yet, he wasn’t a fool. He realized that taking a fairy bride meant he would be forever at her mercy and her whims. When men took—or rather were taken by fairy women as lovers, they were forever changed, magically bound to their enchanted lover. He was willing to be bound to her forever, and yet, he realized
the ultimate decision to pursue such a union would be up to her. “I will not expect us to become lovers.”

  Rather than the relief he sought to give her, his words seemed to upset her.

  “Seriously, dude? You want me to pose as your wife, yet you don’t want to have sex with me? Are you gay, Lord Dillon? Hey, if you are its fine—it is common in my world—but why the big pretense of taking a wife if you prefer men over women?”

  Adrian sucked in his breath. His face grew hot with anger as he swore aloud. “Now see here—“ He began, outraged by her implication that he would prefer to lie with a man instead of a vivacious, sensual woman such as herself. “I only meant to say that if you are not comfortable being physically intimate I will understand and respect your wishes. I could do none other to a member of your race, it would be folly to expect you to—“

  “Just hold on here!” Tara jerked her slim, bandaged hand from his grip. “What the hell is your problem? You keep referring to my ‘race’ as if I’m some sort of vile alien species. Are you a racist, Lord Dillon?”

  Adrian was stunned by the question. He did not understand it. It seemed no matter what he said or tried to say to her, he ended up offending her. And well he knew that offending Tara might make her return to her own realm and leave him to an unbearable fate. “You are a member of the Fey, the Sidhe; an exalted race a little above mortals and a little below angels. I did not mean to anger you. Please consent to be my wife. I will cherish you, Sweet Lady of the Mists, I will be forever in your debt, and I will do anything and everything to please you.”

  “In name only.” She reminded him. “I will agree to live here as your wife. If I don’t like it here, I will leave.”

  “Yes, of course. Dear Tara, you’ve made me the happiest of men.” He bowed to her, and offered her a heartfelt grin.

  She grinned at him, her eyes filling with mischief. “Scratch that—the name only part. I’m not a prude. We should have a little fun while playing house, don’t you think?”

  Adrian did, in fact, think just that. Still, he would not be too presumptuous. He’d take his time seducing her. Adrian sat down on the bed beside her, testing the waters as he moved in. Tara welcomed his embrace, her slight frame conforming to him as he wrapped his arms about her and drew against him as if she already belonged to him.

  Tara’s arms wound about his neck, her lips parted in clear invitation for him to kiss her. Without hesitation, he claimed the enticing buds offered so freely to him and him alone. Her mouth was warm, pliant beneath his searching kiss, matching his need with a surprising hunger of her own. She tasted like sweet wine, intoxicating …

  “For Heaven’s sake, restrain yourself.” That painfully familiar voice assaulted him with the force of a cruel blast of icy water.

  Adrian bolted from the bed, his chest pounding as he struggled to recapture his dignity. He was man, two and thirty, for pity’s sake, there was no reason for his mother’s shrill, remonstrative voice to unsettle him so.

  The tall, graceful form of Lady Fiona Dillon stood in the doorway. “I return home and am informed your mysterious bride has suddenly arrived, and then I come to greet her and find the pair of you making love? Tis most distressing to my poor nerves. Pray tell, why did you neglect to send word to me at Seafield House?”

  “In that case, perhaps you should make it a point to knock before entering a room, more specifically a bedchamber that does not belong to you.” He shot back as he straightened his cravat, feeling like a schoolboy caught in mischief. Clearing his throat, he made formal introductions. “Miss Tara MacNeill, may I present my mother, Lady Fiona Dillon. Lady Dillon, my fiancée, The Honorable Miss MacNeill.”

  Unlike him, Tara seemed unaffected by his mother’s untimely intrusion. Her cheeks remained pale and her eyes merely curious regarding the stranger before her. The ghost of a smile twisted her lips. As she glanced from his mother to him, her eyes sparkled with barely restrained mischief. The waif was definitely amused by the situation. Adrian felt himself relax considerably under Tara’s beguiling regard. He smiled at her.

  “Why is she wearing Althea’s gown?” Mother’s sharp voice sliced through his mind like a knife blade paring sinew from bone.

  “Circumstances being as they are,” He stepped forward to put himself between Tara and his shrewish Mother. “I doubt Althea would mind sharing her wardrobe.”

  An ebony brow rose ominously at him. “What circumstances?”

  Adrian realized his mother would not have the slightest interest in local gossip regarding the wreck on the Bay unless someone of wealth and consequence happened to be among the survivors. “Surely news of the shipwreck reached Seafield House. Tara’s belongings are on the bottom of Bantry Bay.”

  The grey eyes softened, taking years off Lady Dillon’s dour features. “I heard.” She choked momentarily, apparently realizing too late her ill-mannered remark. “I had no idea your bride was among the survivors. Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

  “I did, Mother.” Adrian replied. “Many times. You were distracted.” In her inebriated condition in the past months, he could have told her Prince George of England was coming to Glengarra Castle and she wouldn’t recall it.

  Adrian sat down on the bed again, deciding not to allow his mother to dominate the situation. This was his home and Tara would soon be his wife. He took Tara’s tiny wrist in his hand, tracing his finger on the inside of her forearm as he explained their story to his agitated parent. “Captain Gilamuir brought Tara to me near dawn several days ago. Mick found her unconscious on the shore. I have been consumed in the past days with Tara’s recovery and overseeing the retrieval of the poor wretches who did not survive, her father included. We have yet to recover his remains, and my dearest Tara is unable to remember anything before waking here.”

  His mother’s features melted from granite indifference to horrified empathy.

  If there was one thing his mother understood, it was grief. He noticed the slight weaving of her step as she crossed the room. She bent and proceeded to give his bride a soft peck on the cheek. The distinct odor of brandy wreathed in strong perfume confirmed his suspicions. If she could appear at the wedding ceremony without brandy on her breath and a foul demeanor, he would consider himself fortunate.

  “There, there, my poor child. I am sorry for your loss. Adrian, pray excuse me, my nerves.” His mother clutched her chest in an irritating effort at high drama. “I need to lie down. Send for Dr. Magnus. I need a dose of Laudanum, I feel a spell coming on.”

  Adrian rolled his eyes to the ceiling before glancing at the fair Tara to see how she was taking this wrung out drama straight from the gutters of Drury Lane. Tara was the one suffering injury and supposed loss, yet his mother claimed the mere telling of his fiancée’s sorrows was sufficient to send her to her bed with the need for sedatives.

  “Dr. Magnus left a bottle for Tara’s comfort.” He replied, instantly regretting his hasty words. Her brandy excesses he could overlook. Her more recently acquired thirst for opiates was another matter.

  “Excellent. Have Cora bring me a dose, I shall be in my room.” The granite eyes moved from his face to that of his fiancée. “Poor child. Adrian, give her a dose as well.”

  “I don’t need it.” Tara was quick to respond. The slightest flicker of disdain flashed in her green eyes, vanishing as quickly as it surfaced.

  “My poor nerves benefit from its calming effects. Excuse me.” Fiona Dillon sauntered out of their presence with the regal bearing of a Queen, belying her words regarding her fragile emotional state.

  “Mother needs time to overcome her grief.” Adrian explained, more as a reminder to himself than for Tara’s enlightenment. “She was devoted to Althea.”

  “Althea?” Tenderness was reflected in those emerald pools, recognizing his pain.

  “My younger sister. She died three months ago. She was seventeen.” A stinging began behind his eyes as he remembered his sister, once so full of life and now a distant memory of
all that was good and true in his life. “Althea had weak lungs. The winter months always affected her. She died of pneumonia last October.”

  “I’m sorry. Did she and I ever meet?”

  “No.”

  “Where did we meet? You and I? If we are engaged we must have a history.”

  “Italy.” Adrian lied quickly, experiencing panic as he realized for the first time that Tara was not playing a game: she did not remember her past. Did she even realize she was fey? “It was last year. You should rest.” He rose, feeling unequal to the task of answering the questions he saw clouding her eyes.

  “Wait.” She pleaded, before he could make a clean break. “There are so many things I can’t recall.”

  “Perhaps it is for the best.”

  “I can’t remember anything. It’s frightening. Please, help me.” The emerald jewels became liquid as she regarded him with a wounded expression that tore at his soul.

  “Concentrate on the present. Tomorrow we will be married, just as your father would have wished, God rest his soul.”

  “I don’t remember my father—or even my mother. I have nothing. I belong to no one.” The terror beneath her statement was unmistakable.

  Adrian groaned inwardly and sat down on the bed once more. He leaned forward and drew her in his arms, offering her the silent comfort of his embrace when words failed him. He felt like a cad for leading her on in this bold charade that was becoming more complex by the hour. If she truly didn’t recall her past life and was ever questioned by Burke and his ilk, it was better for both their sakes if she believed the tale he was circulating about her.

  “No, dear one. That is not true. You have me. I’m your family now.”

  *

  Tara lay quietly on the mound of pillows. She was watching the raindrops spattering the windows, watching and trying to find a shred of identity behind them.