by Anne Bishop
Ari put her hands on her hips. “Now see here, my handsome lad,” she said sternly. “Showing off your fifth leg might make your four-legged ladies roll their eyes and swish their tails, but it doesn’t impress me.”
A flash of panic swept through her. Why had she said that? Was this part of the fancy’s magic, to make a woman speak so brazenly?
The stallion’s forelegs hit the sand. He snorted indignantly.
Ari laughed. “There’s no need for you to nurse a bruised ego. I’m sure your ladies are most appreciative of your . . .” She waved a hand vaguely at his body.
He snorted again.
Ari’s chest tightened. Since it already bound her, she couldn’t fight the fancy’s magic. It would turn back on her if she did. So she had to find some harmless way to channel it. But, Lord and Lady, her body was becoming a stranger she couldn’t trust, and her thoughts were following unfamiliar paths. Even when she’d so foolishly believed herself in love with Royce she hadn’t felt like this.
The stallion pawed the sand.
Ari held out her hand and took a few steps toward the horse. “You are a handsome lad, aren’t you?” she said softly.
The stallion regarded her for a moment before coming forward to sniff her hand.
Ari remained still while he sniffed and lipped her palm, but when he began to lip her long, dark hair, she leaned back. “That isn’t hay.”
He snorted softly, almost sounding amused.
She’d never seen a gray-eyed horse before, Ari thought while the stallion pushed his muzzle under her cloak and snuffled her hip. In the moonlight, those eyes reminded her of her grandmother’s pewter vase that sat on the mantel.
The stallion nudged her left pocket. He stiffened, made an angry sound, then leaped away from her. He laid his ears back and pawed the sand while he stared at her.
Confused, Ari slowly reached into her left pocket. She withdrew the fancy wrapped in the brown waxed paper. Swallowing her distaste, she unwrapped it and dumped the two pieces into her hand.
“It’s just a fancy, a brown-sugar candy with some love magic added to it,” she said quietly while she studied the horse. “I’ve checked it with every bit of magic I know, and there’s nothing in it that would do harm. Except the love magic if it’s denied, but the magic’s binding on the female, not the male. It won’t hurt you.”
The stallion pricked his ears. He didn’t approach her, but at least he didn’t bolt.
It won’t hurt you.
The thought took root, making her a little dizzy. “I didn’t know what it was when Granny Gwynn dropped it into my hand. By then it was too late because, as soon as I touched it, I was bound to the magic. But Granny Gwynn did say the first male I met on the night of the full moon, not the first man. Oh, she meant the first man, but that wasn’t what she said.” That was the problem with all of Granny Gwynn’s spells. They were always phrased in a way that something could go wrong. But that might work to her advantage tonight. If she used the fancy based on what Granny Gwynn said rather than what was meant. . . . “I don’t suppose sugar is all that good for a horse, but old Ahern gives his horses a lump of sugar as a treat now and then, and this isn’t much bigger.”
Not giving herself time to think about what might happen if she was wrong about the importance of the spell’s wording, Ari stuffed the paper back into her pocket, kept the brown-sugar phallus in her left hand and held out the full-bodied woman in her right. She licked her lips, then took a deep breath. “With this fancy, I promise my affection from the full moon to the dark. This I swear by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon. May they never again shine upon me if I do not fulfill my promise.”
The stallion froze.
Ari waited. The air seemed to get thicker, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think clearly. There was something about the horse. Something that wasn’t quite right, but . . . He had beautiful gray eyes. And he was so big, so strong. Would he let her pet him, let her feel the ripple of muscles under that warm skin?
She felt strange. Why did she feel so strange? Was the magic in the fancy doing this to her?
Coming forward warily, the horse sniffed the fancy for several long seconds before he took it.
Ari popped the other piece into her mouth and tried not to gag.
It was just a piece of candy, no matter how it was shaped. But it reminded her of Royce’s anger when she’d refused to take him into her mouth as a prelude to the coupling. It reminded her of the way he’d laughed at her when he was done and the cruel things he’d called her before he walked away.
The candy melting on her tongue made her queasy so she chewed a couple of times and swallowed.
Pressing her hand to her stomach, she gulped air and waited for the queasiness to pass.
“Well, that’s done,” Ari sighed a minute later, “and it’s a better bargain than I would have made with any of the men in Ridgeley. So, my handsome lad, if your wanderings bring you to my cottage, you’ll be welcomed. And you won’t even have to wander far since it’s the cottage closest to Ahern’s farm.” She giggled with relief. “The rooms might be bit crowded with you filling them up, and I’ve not the slightest idea how those great legs of yours would fit into my bed, which is where I’m supposed to give you my affection, but a promise is a promise. Not that that would be of much interest to you.”
The stallion snorted delicately.
Ari stroked his cheek. “But that’s only one kind of affection, isn’t it?” she said softly as her hand traveled down the strong neck. She fingercombed the long mane. “There are other kinds, aren’t there? Like friendship. That’s something I could give with a willing heart.”
Oh, she liked petting him. Liked feeling his warmth under her hand. Liked the way that black mane brushed against her skin.
“I feel strange,” she whispered.
He made a sound that might have been agreement or understanding.
She pressed her hands against his cheeks.
He lipped her chin.
For a moment, she couldn’t look away from those strange gray eyes. Then she pressed her lips against his muzzle. “There. A kiss to seal the bargain.” Suddenly feeling shy, she went to the cave and pulled out her pack. “Since we’re friends now, I’ll share my meal with you. I don’t think cheese is of any interest to you, but horses like apples, don’t they?”
The stallion nodded vigorously.
Ari eyed him a moment. “You are a horse, aren’t you?”
He turned his head as if he needed to check the body behind him. He swished his tail, then gave her such a quizzical look she couldn’t help but laugh.
“All right. So it was a foolish question. But I wouldn’t want to insult one of the Fae by offering such humble fare.”
He shook his head.
It was nothing, Ari assured herself while she cut up the apples with her folding knife. Just moondreams and too many of her grandmother’s tales about the Fae and how they could change into another shape. The horse was used to people. And Ahern’s “special” horses tended to act as if they understood what was being said, so maybe there was some inflection in her voice that the horse was responding to, some cue she wasn’t aware of that made it seem like he was really answering her. He was just a horse that, for some reason, was curious enough about her to stay.
As expected, he wasn’t interested in the cheese, but happily munched his share of the apples. Since he seemed determined to have his share of the fairy cakes as well, she gave him one, hoping it wouldn’t make him ill. There was no fresh water nearby, so she kept pouring water from a canteen into her palm until he’d had his fill.
After slaking her own thirst, she tucked her pack back into the cave, then she joined him on the beach.
He arched his neck and pranced in a circle around her.
“Don’t you think it’s time you headed home?” Ari asked.
He stopped, shook his head. One foreleg stamped the sand.
“You’re going to have to make
your wishes clearer than that, lad,” Ari said primly.
He did. As soon as she turned her back on him, he came up behind her and gave her a firm nudge.
“Do you bully all your ladies like this?” Ari demanded.
He didn’t bother to answer. He just kept herding her back toward the rock wall. She tried slipping past him a couple of times, but he was bigger and faster and more experienced in herding than she was at dodging.
“All right. All right,” Ari grumbled a minute later. “I’m standing on the wall. Are you pleased now?”
The stallion shook his head. Sidling close to the wall, he presented his left side.
That invitation was plain enough.
“I’ve only ridden a horse a few times when I was a girl,” she said, hesitating. “I’m not sure I remember how.” But she wanted to ride him. Tonight. Here. Now. Oh, she wanted to.
He turned his head and looked at her.
She took off her cloak, folded it, and set in on the wall. Gripping a fistful of his mane, she eased one leg over his back, glad that she had chosen to wear the loose trousers and long tunic she usually dressed in except when going to Ridgeley.
He moved away from the wall at a quiet walk, giving her time to get used to the feel of him under her.
An odd sensation, to have her thighs spread this way, to feel the heat of his body where she was pressed against his back.
They walked along the edge of the foam. There was no sound but the sea sending gentle waves to kiss the shore.
Ari breathed deeply, draining one kind of tension from her body.
He lifted into a canter, the change so smooth she didn’t have time to tense her muscles. The wind in her face tasted of the sea. She knew they were moving far more slowly than his gallop down the beach, but she felt like she was flying. Here there were no problems, no unhappiness. There was only the sea and the wind and the sand . . . and the powerful body moving beneath hers.
He circled, headed back toward her mother’s place, then went past it, taking them farther down the beach. As he circled again, Ari glanced up at the cliff’s edge.
Her muscles involuntarily clenched, throwing off her balance. The horse immediately slowed to a walk, his ears flicking back and forth.
“That’s enough,” Ari said quietly, trying to watch the cliff without appearing too obvious. “That’s enough.”
The horse snorted softly, sounding disappointed, but he headed back to her mother’s place.
Unable to resist, Ari looked over her shoulder and studied the cliff for a moment. Had there been a man crouching on the edge of the cliff, watching her? Or had it been nothing more than stone and a trick of the moonlight? It didn’t matter. It had scared her enough to remind her of why she should have remained out of sight instead of riding on the beach.
As soon as they were close to the low stone walls, she slid off the horse’s back, not waiting for him to stop.
“Quiet,” she whispered harshly before he could voice his opinion of having indulged an erratic rider. She scurried to the cliff base, hardly daring to breathe until she was safely hidden.
The horse hesitated a moment, then followed her.
Ari petted his neck. “Thank you for the ride,” she whispered, “but you have to go now. Someone might notice you and come down here to find out why you’re wandering by yourself. I can’t take that chance. There are too many hunters out tonight.” She shivered.
His gray eyes studied her for far too long. Then he turned and trotted back down the beach in the direction he’d originally come.
She snatched up her cloak and wrapped herself in it. That didn’t stop the shivering. Sitting next to the wall, she pulled her knees up and rested her forehead against them.
Please, Lady. Please don’t let anyone find me tonight.
Ari wasn’t sure if she was making that plea to the Mother of All Things or the Lady of the Moon. To the Great Mother, she decided as she raised her head to look at the night sky, feeling a little disappointed that she couldn’t see the full moon from where she sat. The Lady of the Moon would be wearing another face tonight, and it wasn’t a gentle one.
Eventually, she stopped shivering. Leaning back against the wall, she let the sea’s endless song lull her into sleep.
And dreamt that a puzzled, gray-eyed horse had quietly returned to watch over her.
Neall leaned against a tree at one edge of the woods that bordered the meadow behind Ari’s house.
If you’d had the brains you were born with, you would have stayed in your room tonight . . . with the door bolted. Some men may joke about the Summer Moon being the Bedding Moon, but the ones who bedded a woman they wouldn’t have chosen to wed tend to call it the Ensnarer’s Moon . . . with good reason.
His heart had overruled his head. He knew Royce was coming here tonight, which was why he’d crept out of his uncle’s house and ridden to Brightwood. But when he’d slipped away, his cousin had still been at the table, guzzling ale, so there was a little time to decide what to do.
He knew perfectly well how Royce would react if he was the one Ari offered the fancy to. Royce would make his life more of a misery than it already was. But Ari was worth whatever misery might come of it. She was worth far more than that—even if she never seemed to actually see him.
So he was here to make sure he was the first man she would see. When he’d heard the whispers about the fancies Odella and some of the other girls had purchased from Granny Gwynn, he’d told himself over and over that he was just acting as a friend. A man could accept the fancy without taking advantage of the physical pleasure that was offered with it. Or, perhaps, accepting that offer just once to seal the bargain—and to assure the girl that she was desirable.
He told himself that he would refrain so that Ari would realize he wasn’t like Royce, that she mattered to him far too much for him to take advantage of love magic that gave her no choice. He needed to have her make that choice. If she didn’t, if she just tolerated him in her bed because she had to . . .
If she gave you the fancy, you’d be spending as much time in her bed as you could before the bargain ended. And if her belly swelled with your child because of it . . .
Neall closed his eyes. Even if he got her with child, she wouldn’t necessarily agree to stand with him at Midsummer and say the pledge that would make them husband and wife. And if she didn’t agree, she would be facing those months, and the birth that would come after, alone. He couldn’t do that to her. And he couldn’t stand by and not take advantage of anything that might bind her to him.
“Prey isn’t usually so obliging as to stand waiting for an arrow in the heart,” a rusty voice said quietly.
Neall stiffened but made no other movement. As he opened his eyes, he turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice.
The small man was no taller than the length of Neall’s arm, a stout little man dressed in the brown and gray clothing that would make him invisible in the woods. An arrow was loosely nocked in the bow he held.
“The Mother’s blessings be upon you,” Neall said softly. When the man didn’t respond to the greeting, Neall’s chest tightened. He’d always been courteous and careful not to give offense whenever he and one of the Small Folk crossed paths. They didn’t wield the power the Fae did, but their mischief magic could make a person’s life difficult, and if they were sufficiently riled, they could be deadly. But he knew this one, had spoken with him any number of times, so he didn’t understand the anger filling the air between them now.
“What brings you to Brightwood tonight, young Lord?” the small man asked.
Ah. So that was it. “The same thing as you,” Neall replied, giving the man a bit of a smile.
“I think not.”
Neall’s smile faded. “What I do here is none of your business.” Then he added angrily, “You’re not the only one who cares about Brightwood and the witches who live here.”
“Witch,” the small man said with a trace of bitterness. “There’s
only one left now, isn’t there?”
Before Neall could reply, they heard a horse cantering down the road. Neall crouched down. His eyes flicked from the piece of the road he could see to the dark cottage.
Royce came into view, reining in hard enough to set his horse on its haunches. He studied the cottage for a long moment before dismounting and striding toward the front door.
“No lights,” the small man said, now standing beside Neall. “No smoke rising from the hearth. No reason for anyone to think she’s home.”
That was what worried him. He’d seen no flicker of a candle or lamp since he’d arrived, and he’d seen no sign of Ari. But she must know she couldn’t thwart the fancy that way. And where else could she be?
The small man said, “If she keeps the door bolted—”
“Love magic doesn’t work that way,” Neall snapped. “If she tries to defy it, it will turn against her.”
“A convenient spell, that,” the small man said with deadly softness.
They heard Royce pounding on the front door, watched him circle round the cottage and pound the kitchen door. His curses reached them clearly.
But no light flickered at any of the windows, no shutter moved to indicate someone might be peering out.
“You bitch!” Royce shouted. He threw his weight against the door again and again until the lock broke and the door swung inward. “You’ll give me what I came for, one way or another.”
Royce tried to take a step forward, and ended up taking a step back. He tried several times, but couldn’t cross the threshold. “Bitch!” He spun around, and every line of his body shouted his intention to vent his rage on something.
Give him a different target, Neall thought, rising from the crouch and glancing at the still-dark cottage. You can survive a beating. As he started to step away from the tree, the small man gripped his wrist, holding him back.
“Can’t you feel it?” the small man whispered harshly, pulling Neall down to a crouch again.
“Feel wh—”