Yuletide Enchantment

by Sophie Renwick

  She shocked her maid speechless when she pulled the wool skirt from the hanger and jumped into it without her drawers and petticoats. “Help me, Elizabeth. I can’t manage the buttons by myself.”

  “Are you all right, miss? You ’aven’t taken ill, ’ave you?”

  Isobel laughed. “Perhaps taken leave of my senses, but I assure you, I’m hale and hearty in every other aspect. Now then, Elizabeth, if you will inform the groomsman to prepare my horse.”

  She had Daegan to save this morning.

  Chapter Nine

  In the end, Daegan had evaded them. Thank the Lord, she thought, glancing up at the sky. Daegan was safe. But for how long? she wondered.

  Well, at least he had not come to any harm. She had been terrified for him. Every time she had seen the trees of the forest sway she had feared he would emerge, prepared to charge.

  But he hadn’t. She wondered what had kept him away. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t fear. Daegan was fearless. Perhaps it was for her own peace of mind.

  Closing her eyes, she thought of him and the night they’d shared. She also thought of his proposal, if it could be called such. A rite, he had called it, a way to bind them together forever. She only had to sacrifice her family to his.

  Why could love never be easy? she wondered. As she patted her mount’s muzzle, Isobel turned away. She was cold and hungry. A good meat pie and a cup of tea is what she needed.

  “Don’t go.”

  She gasped and looked up as she caught the shadow of someone emerging from her horse’s stall. St. Clair.

  “Good day, my lord.”

  “Good day, Isobel. I trust your ride was successful.”

  “The hart was not found.”

  St. Clair looked relieved. “But you’ve seen him, haven’t you?”

  Isobel cocked her head to the side. “Not of late, my lord.”

  “The hart. He is yours.”

  Isobel took a step back as the earl came closer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He was going to impale me, and yet, when he saw you standing there, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. To murder me before you.”

  She laughed, a tight, high-pitched sound. “He’s an animal, my lord.”

  “Aren’t we all?” the earl murmured as he came to stand toe to toe with her. “But to return to the hart. For some reason he’s marked you.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I’m really rather hungry and would like to change clothes before luncheon—”

  His arm shot out, preventing her from moving. “They say the hart is really the ruler of Annwyn. And Annwyn is always ruled by the Sidhe.”

  Isobel swallowed hard, but held his gaze.

  “Have you seen the hart in his man’s form, Isobel?”

  “Of course not!” she cried. “This is just rubbish!”

  “I have watched you, you know. You always seem drawn to the woods. Now more than ever, I see you looking at them.”

  “I like nature.”

  He smiled, but there was little warmth in it. “Last night, at the table, did you believe me?”

  “About faeries?”

  “Aye.”

  She cast about for an answer, anything that would make him leave her alone and protect Daegan.

  “I think you did,” St. Clair murmured. “I saw the recognition in your eyes when I raised the athame. You’ve seen it before.”

  Isobel shook her head, but the earl quieted her protests. “I will tell you now what I couldn’t say last night. The woods, Isobel, are alive, teeming with Sidhe. My mother knew that. She was seduced by their magic. By one of their males—”

  Isobel tried to step to the side, but St. Clair wrapped his hands around her shoulders, caging her. “My mother began to waste away. She would sit for hours and hours, staring out the window, watching. Pining for her lover.”

  “My lord, really—”

  “Her lover came for her; I saw him. I knew that night I would never see her again.”

  “And what do you mean by telling me this?” Isobel asked.

  St. Clair’s eyes turned molten. “I believe you are under the same spell.”

  Her whole body went rigid. “You are insane,” she scoffed.

  “You don’t know, do you? Theirs is a dwindling race. They have resorted to stealing the odd human woman to . . . procreate. But in this case, I believe my mother was taken for another reason, namely her knowledge of the dark arts.”

  “What do you mean by dark arts?” she asked in a whisper.

  “My mother was a skilled herbalist. She practiced only for the good, but she well knew the ways of the other side, the herbs and spells of dark magic, or necromancy as it is known. This is why she was stolen by the Sidhe, to act as a priestess for their dark arts.”

  Isobel felt goose bumps rise on her arms and neck. Daegan had said nothing about dark magic. It could not be true.

  Could it?

  “My lord, I beg of you, you must stop this foolishness—”

  “The dark arts can be a seductive lure, Isobel. But once you’re ensnared, you’ll never be seen again. No mortal can save you.”

  “I thank you for your concern, but you needn’t worry.” Isobel pushed firmly on his arm and moved past him.

  St. Clair raised his voice. “I saw my mother, some years later, lying at the edge of the wood.”

  Isobel stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

  “She was dead, her skin marked with strange symbols. Ask your gamekeeper—he’ll tell you, for it was he who found her.”

  “Symbols?” she asked, swallowing hard.

  “Dark magick.”

  “You seek to frighten me.”

  St. Clair studied her. “Are you frightened, Isobel?”

  Lifting her chin, Isobel met his gaze. “Not one bit, my lord.”

  It was Christmas Eve, and the hall was decked out for the ball. Everywhere one looked there were garlands and mistletoe. The fires in the hearths were blazing; the chestnuts, roasting and popping.

  The local merchants and their wives along with the surrounding gentry had descended upon them only minutes before.

  Isobel greeted each guest at the door with her father, brothers, and Fiona, while St. Clair mingled in the ballroom. Isobel tried to smile and be gracious; after all, it was Christmas Eve. But the truth was, her heart was not in it.

  Two nights had passed since she’d seen Daegan. And true to his word he had not tried to lure her into the forest. The pin had not called to her as it had in the past, and she was saddened by the thought that he had removed the enchantment spell.

  St. Clair’s words had ceased to bother her. She did not believe the man. She knew with complete certainty that Daegan would never hurt her. There was nothing sinister about him, nor the passion and love they shared.

  It was not the earl’s talk of black magick that made her stay away from Daegan, but the thought of leaving this world behind. Of never seeing her family, or holding her niece or nephew.

  Would she even have a child of her own? Daegan hadn’t mentioned that. Could a human and Sidhe create life? Could she have the things she longed for in life if she left her world behind to go to Daegan?

  “Shall we, Miss MacDonald?” Isobel looked up to see St. Clair standing beside her, offering his arm. With a weak smile she accepted and allowed him to maneuver her onto the dance floor.

  “You dance very well,” he murmured as they waltzed together.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Permit me to say that you look tired, Isobel. I have noticed these past few days that you are not yourself. Are you unwell?”

  “No, I’m very well, thank you.” Except it was a lie. She was not well. She was sad, and that sadness seemed to be consuming her. Laughter erupted from the corner of the room, and she saw it was Ewan and his friends jesting. In another corner sat Stuart and Fiona. He was holding her hand and kissing it when no one was looking. Her father was with his cronies talking politics and finance, and she saw how he s
miled and laughed. It seemed her family members were all content. Everyone was alive . . . except . . . well, it was a melodramatic thought, but she could not help it. It was as if everyone was living and she was merely existing.

  “I hope I have not given you reason to be angry with me. I sought only your protection, Isobel.”

  She smiled at him, for the first time truly seeing him. “You are a good man, my lord. I do believe you feared for me, and for that, I thank you. But there is no need. There is nothing that will harm me in the woods.”

  St. Clair studied her. “You seem to be . . . resolved to something. I see it in your eyes.”

  She laughed for the first time in days. “I do believe I am.”

  When the music ended, she excused herself and left the ballroom, running through the halls and up the stairs to her room. Once there, she flung open the door and raced to the wardrobe where she had hidden the pin.

  This is what she wanted. A life. A future with Daegan.

  Rushing to her writing table, she took out a sheet of paper and wrote a letter to her family. She propped it up against a glass perfume bottle, knowing her maid would find it there tomorrow. And then she held the pin in her palm and closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart for one more chance with Daegan.

  Daegan had almost given up hope when he heard the soft foot treads behind him. Whirling around, he saw Isobel standing there in a lovely emerald green ball gown.

  “Will this do?” she asked, holding out her skirts. “I am not certain what one wears to a lanamnas.”

  He ran to her and swept her up in his arms and twirled her around. He kissed her soundly and hugged her tight. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “I want a life with you.”

  “And your family?”

  “They’re all so happy and living the life they want. They’ll understand. I wrote them so they wouldn’t worry.”

  “Do you trust me, then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then close your eyes, muirnín.”

  She did, and when he told her to open them, they were in a candlelit chamber before an altar that was covered with the same blue velvet cloth. The dirk was there and the chalice, as well as a lit candle and long piece of white cloth.

  Isobel couldn’t hide her huge smile as Daegan bent down and brushed his lips against her mouth. “You take my breath away. You truly are a goddess of the moon.”

  For so many years she thought love would never be hers. Yet here she was, surrounded by Daegan’s love and a new world waiting to be explored.

  Daegan reached for her hand and placed their hands palm to palm. “Do we not need any witnesses?” she asked.

  “No, this is our eternal vow. No other need bear witness to what will bind us forever. Anam a Anam, soul to soul. Tonight, two shall become one,” he said. Picking up the dirk, he placed it tip down, inside the chalice. “The athame represents the male and the element of air, the chalice is the female and signifies the element of water. Together they symbolize the sacred union that we will enter into tonight.”

  He was watching her, waiting for her acceptance. “ ’Tis strange for you, I know, but for my kind this is a sacred moment of the ceremony. It is known as the Great Rite, the coming together of man and woman, air and water. The athame is the phallus, and the cup, the womb. ’Tis symbolic of the union we will share.”

  “I think it’s beautiful, Daegan.”

  With a smile he lifted the length of white cloth. “With this bond, I shall entwine you so that you are fated to me and I to you, for eternity. Let this bond be a symbol of our merging.”

  As the fabric wrapped around their hands, Isobel felt the unstoppable pull of her body to Daegan’s. Their energies mingled, then slowly began to merge, becoming one.

  Daegan kept his gaze focused on her face as he continued to wind the cloth around their hands. “I offer to you, Isobel, my life. My soul. I offer to shield you from anything or anyone that would harm you. I offer you my fidelity, my honor. My unending love.”

  The first warm tear trickled down her cheek, and Daegan caught it with his thumb. “With all that I am, I will protect you, provide for you. I will love you in the brightness of light and the cover of darkness. I will love you for eternity.”

  The lace was tied, their wrists held together tightly. As Daegan’s words rang in her ears, Isobel felt his energy tugging at her, pulling her in so that she could truly feel his love for her. She was surrounded by his love and desire.

  Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth against her fingers, kissing them. “You’re truly mine now, and nothing shall tear you away from me. Nothing.”

  Isobel was rendered mute for several seconds by his beautiful declaration. “I don’t know what to say. This is,” Isobel swallowed hard. “This is new to me, Daegan. But know that . . . that I will promise to learn the ways of your world. That I will be a good wife to you and make you a comfortable home. However, I don’t imagine the skills that I’ve been taught will work in your world. Do you hold balls for hundreds of people and dinners for three dozen here in Annwyn?”

  “You worry, muirnín. You needn’t.”

  “It’s just that . . . I do not know what to say other than I am not happy unless I am with you, and a future without you seems bleak and lifeless. I’ve felt you as a presence in my life since I was six, and to no longer have that would be like starving for air. I love you!”

  He hugged her close, savoring her. “You undo me with your vows,” he whispered, “but while I adore what you have given me, I seek one thing more from you.”

  Pulling away, she stared into his eyes. “What?”

  “Would you give me the vows of a human?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “If we were in your church, in your world, what vows would you say to me?”

  She smiled and curled her fingers around his. “That I would love and honor you until the day I die. That I would be a helpmate to you, and care and comfort you in sickness and health.”

  “And?” he prodded.

  “I suppose I would have to obey you,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  He laughed and kissed her fingertips. “No, the other one, something about your body.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, pressing closer. “With my body, I thee worship.”

  His eyes turned the deepest shade of purple. “I have longed to hear you say those words. Will you, Isobel?”

  “Yes.”

  Daegan’s mouth skated softly down her neck, then over her cheek to her mouth. Their lips met and they kissed, bathed in a shaft of moonlight. Slowly at first, then more eagerly, their tongues touching, stroking.

  “I want to make this so beautiful for you, muirnín.”

  “It already is, because it’s with you.”

  He smiled, cupped her face in his palm, and dragged his mouth across her cheek. “Close your eyes.”

  She did and felt herself being lifted in his arms. “Open them.”

  Her lashes fluttered. Before her was an enormous bed, fit for a prince. It was draped in dark blue and scattered with plush pillows.

  He put her down and she reached for him, sliding her free hand up and along his hard abdomen. Her gaze skimmed along his body, all muscled and beautiful. He was hers now. Nothing could tear them apart.

  He brought their tied hands up and placed her fingers against his cheek. “Touch me, muirnín.” he said in a voice that was little more than a broken whisper. “Touch me.”

  Need had replaced the masterful tone of his voice, and with shaking fingers, Isobel caressed the arch of his strong brow, down to his cheeks which were already starting to stubble with a night beard. The roughness of it grazed her fingertips, heightening her senses. She liked Daegan with an evening beard, she decided. She liked him looking hard and strong. It made her feel secure and safe in a new world where she felt so out of place.

  His breathing was hard when she reached the corner of his mouth. With a gentle glide of her fingers, she brushed them
over his lips, startled by the softness of them. Isobel closed her eyes when she felt him reverently kiss her fingers. The strange energy she sensed in him, formerly an even hum, spiked as she touched him.

  “I need your touch—so much.”

  His head dropped down and he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck. She felt the tips of his fingers glide down her throat. “Don’t stop,” he begged. “Don’t ever stop.”

  With her palms, she traced the sculpted contours of his shoulders. He shuddered, let out a low moan of utter pleasure. The energy increased, humming along his body, flickering along his muscles. It made her feel bold, and she pressed her body against his.

  “You feel so good,” she whispered, running her finger down his spine to the waistband of his pants. “So strong beneath my hands.”

  “You make me feel strong.”

  The longer she touched him, the more the energy seemed to flow between them. It was pouring off him in waves, and Isobel knew that this loving would be like nothing they had ever shared before.

  She kissed his shoulder, licked his skin, tasting the salt of him. Her mouth lowered, brushing over his nipple. She flicked the tip of her tongue over it, felt it grow hard. She heard his breath catch, felt his hands comb into her hair and clutch at her curls. And still the energy ebbed and flowed. Like waves on the shore, it came in, then out, drawing them closer and closer, pulling them together so that they were bound to one another.

  He moaned and pushed against her, pressing his manhood into her belly. His mouth found hers and he kissed her. Slowly, reverently. Like a tender lover he took her mouth, showing her that this night was not about lust, but love.

  Over and over she brushed her fingers along his back, delighting in the shudders that wracked his body, loving the way he seemed to cling to her. Emboldened, she kissed his neck and flicked her tongue along his skin, tasting his flesh.

  Daegan could barely think. Isobel’s hands, so small and delicate, skated over his shoulders, building his passion, inflaming his body until he thought he might come. She drew him to her and he let himself go. Let himself be taken in by her.