by Anne Bishop
“All right, all right. I’m up,” Ari grumbled, making no further effort to greet the day. It was past time to get up, but once she started the tasks of the day, last night would become last night, and she wanted to savor those feelings a little while longer and think about the delightful dream she’d had early this morning. Lucian had offered to give her a present, and she’d named a silly thing that only a Fae Lord could give.
It was all nonsense of course, just a bit of fun her mind had conjured to amuse itself while her body still slept. Because if he really had offered her a gift in exchange for sex, that would no longer make last night a joining of two people for their mutual pleasure; that would be like being bought.
Not liking where those thoughts were going, Ari rolled out of bed. After stuffing her feet into slippers, she shuffled into the main room. As she opened the drapes and shutters, the sparrows and finch followed her from window to window.
Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.
“Shouldn’t you be out catching worms or some other crawly thing?” Ari asked.
Che-cheep.
“Well, just stay away from my lettuce. There are plenty of other things for you to eat without eating my greens.”
Che-cheep!
Smiling, Ari shook her head, then turned to study the hearth. The fire had burned out. No matter. She could tell that the slight chill in the cottage was left over from last night and would be gone once she opened a few of the windows and the top half of the kitchen door.
As she started toward the kitchen, she saw the saddlebags still sitting on the chair where she’d left them.
She knew Lucian was gone. She would have felt his presence if he was still nearby. So why had he left the saddlebags? What had he packed his extra clothing in?
Fully awake now, she hurried down the narrow hallway off the kitchen that led to the pantry and the washroom.
She’d collected the wet clothes and hung them up when she’d gotten up to use the chamber pot. His clothes were hanging in the washroom exactly as she’d left them.
A little troubled, she opened the room’s small window to freshen the air, then went back to the kitchen to heat water for her morning tea.
The hand pump felt a bit stiff and sounded squeaky as she pumped the water to fill the kettle. Probably needed to be greased. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been done. Ari sighed. Just one more thing to struggle with and fill the day. Just one more thing her mother or grandmother had taken care of when there had been the three of them to share the work.
But she couldn’t remember either of them doing that task, so they must have asked someone. Who would a family of witches ask? Certainly no one in Ridgeley. Ahern? But he’d already fixed the door. She couldn’t ask him for more help without being able to give something in return. Neall? He was usually willing to help with small things when Baron Felston wasn’t filling his days with so many chores he barely had time to breathe. But Neall . . . There were reasons why she was reluctant to ask Neall.
After adding some wood to the coals, Ari put the kettle on the stove to heat. Opening a cupboard, she took down a cup. Her hand hovered in front of the jars beside the cups before she chose the one that contained the special blend of herbs.
She could accurately gauge her fertile days by subtle changes in her body. The day before the Summer Moon should have been the last of them, but there was no reason to take chances. Drinking a cup of tea made from these herbs for another couple of days was a sensible precaution—a precaution she’d been taking every month since her mother died. It wasn’t fear that some man might force himself on her that made her diligent about drinking the tea, although the way Royce and some of his friends had been looking at her lately made her uneasy. It was herself she feared, that she might yield to loneliness or her body’s own romantic yearnings on a day when the consequences might be more costly than a few minutes of pleasure.
There were times when she thought it would be wonderful to have a daughter to love and share the world with. There were more days, especially lately, when she was glad it was unlikely that she would ever carry a child. Her daughter would be as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was and would be just as unwelcome. The joy of caring for Brightwood couldn’t mask loneliness, and there were times when even the joy felt like a burden. This land was her heritage and her duty, but someone besides the daughter-who-never-would-be would have to take up the mantle once she was gone.
So it was sensible to drink the herb tea for a couple more days to ensure as much as possible that she wouldn’t conceive.
But . . . Perhaps Lucian would like a child?
Shaking her head, Ari made her tea. Leaving it on the worktable to steep, she took a pitcher of water and the kettle into the washroom, filled the basin, and took a quick sponge bath.
A child was a dangerous thought because it was appealing. But not appealing enough. Oh, Lucian had been a splendid lover and had proved beyond her hopes that not all men were like Royce. Just the thought of what his hands and mouth had done to her made her feel fluttery inside. But that didn’t mean he would welcome a child that had been created with a witch. Besides, he would be gone by the dark of the moon—or even sooner, since her courses might start before then.
“And for all you know, he could already have a wife and children,” Ari muttered as she returned to the kitchen to drink her tea. Married men weren’t supposed to accept an invitation made during the Summer Moon, but plenty of them did. Why should the Fae be any different?
“Because you don’t want him to be so . . . common, so much like Royce or Baron Felston or any of the other gentry in Ridgeley. You want his heart to hold the leash on his loins.” Ari cut a slice of bread and spread jam over it. “Even if he does have a wife, accepting the fancy and coming here last night was his choice.” But it would be a bitter discovery if she found out he had a wife he should have been loyal to.
Neall certainly wouldn’t approve of her welcoming a married man into her bed, whether the Fae lived by a different moral code or not.
Sighing, Ari drank her tea. Leaving the bread on the worktable, she went to her bedroom to get dressed.
In some ways, Neall was as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was. Maybe that’s why, as children, they had become friends. Were still friends, even though she didn’t see much of him anymore. He seemed more . . . cautious . . . about being around her now.
“Which is neither here nor there,” Ari told herself firmly. “He doesn’t have any right to tell you what to do with your life or whose company you can or can’t enjoy.”
Since the words didn’t sound indifferent when spoken out loud, Ari clamped her teeth together. She could deny it as much as she liked, but what Neall thought did matter. Just as what Ahern thought mattered. Maybe because they were the only people left who cared about her at all.
Well, neither of them was likely to find out that she had a Fae lover for the next few days, so she was just chewing worries into her day, as her grandmother used to say.
After pulling on her oldest trousers and tunic, Ari swiftly braided her hair. There was no point in dressing in better clothes when she was going to be working all day. The only person who would see her was Ahern, and the only thing he would notice was the sweet bread she was bringing. So she’d take a quick walk over to his farm, then spend the day working in the garden.
And she would not—would not—let herself diminish the satisfaction she felt when she worked with the land because she was brooding about men. She just wouldn’t think about them. She wouldn’t think about Neall or Ahern. And, most of all, she wouldn’t think about the Lightbringer—or wonder if he was coming back tonight.
Chapter Nine
Even though she sensed they would have preferred no other company but their own, Dianna lingered over the morning meal she had shared with Lyrra and Aiden in one of the Clan house’s communal rooms. Lucian had returned early that morning, and she had wanted to meet him casually, when enough time had passed that i
t wouldn’t seem like she had been waiting for his return to find out what had happened last night.
Lyrra put her feet up on the padded bench and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Perhaps today I’ll whisper in someone’s ear and inspire him to write a great epic,” she said, smiling.
“If you do, try to pick someone with at least a little skill for writing,” Aiden replied, leaning back in his chair. His voice was bland, but his blue eyes sparkled.
Dropping her feet to the floor, Lyrra sat up straight and stiff. “You can’t tell me everyone you touch has golden fingers or a silver voice. I’ve heard some of the braying that passes for singing.”
“I’ll not deny it, but at least a bad song doesn’t have to be endured for long, while a bad epic . . .” He made an exaggerated shudder.
“Oh, I can see what this day will bring,” Dianna said. “Someone is going to write a very long, very bad epic, which will be set to music. It will be called The Battle of the Bard and the Muse. The music will be played off-key and off-tempo. The words, which were written as prose, will be stuffed into the melody with no regard to any sense of rhythm. Wherever it is performed, there will be much weeping, which will have nothing to do with the story itself.”
They just stared at her.
“Perhaps the Lady of the Moon should be the epic’s subject,” Lyrra said coolly after a long pause.
“Perhaps,” Aiden agreed quietly.
There was no sparkle in Aiden’s eyes and no friendliness in Lyrra’s. Apparently only the Muse and the Bard could tease each other and not pay for the jest.
“I ask your indulgence,” Dianna said, feeling annoyed by the necessity to say the words. Especially to Lyrra. The Muse came from a Clan a little farther north, but close enough that the Clans visited each other fairly often, and the two women had been friends for several years. Aiden came from a Midlands Clan and until he had come to her Clan’s house to help find a way to stop Tir Alainn’s destruction, she’d only met him a few times, despite their being distant kin. But the few weeks he’d been living with her Clan were quite enough to make her wary of his sharp mind and even sharper tongue.
“It was meant to tease, as you were doing,” Dianna said. “It would seem I have no skill for such things. And . . . my thoughts are a little preoccupied at the moment.”
“Oooh?” Lyrra said.
Before Dianna could decide how much to say, Falco entered the room and strode over to them.
“Have you seen Lucian today?” Falco demanded.
“Not yet,” Dianna replied. “Why?”
“He’s acting strangely. And you wouldn’t believe what he’s asked the Cloud Sisters to do.”
Noting Lyrra’s swift, concerned glance at her, Dianna remained focused on the Lord of the Hawks. “What did he ask?”
Falco shook his head. “You have to talk to him, Dianna. You have to find out why he’s . . . different . . . today.”
Dianna felt chilled. She had urged Lucian to go to that cottage last night. If there was something wrong with him because of it . . . But what could have happened that would make him different? What kind of creature was this female?
“Perhaps he’s in love,” Aiden said blandly.
Dianna’s head whipped around to face the Bard. Did Aiden know where Lucian had gone last night? Did he know he was talking about a Fae male becoming enamored with a human female? It didn’t matter. The barb in that bland comment had found its mark.
Oh, there were Fae who became tangled up with human females and not only lost all sense of what was right and proper but actually developed feelings for the creatures. But none of them were Lucian, none of them were the Lightbringer. For him to become ensnared . . .
“Dianna?” Lyrra said softly.
Fighting to appear calm, Dianna inclined her head slightly toward Falco. “My thanks for bringing this to my attention, Falco. I’ll talk to my brother.”
“I would advise you to do it soon,” Falco said. “It’s disturbing the rest of the Clan to see him acting so strange.”
No one spoke until Falco left the room.
“I saw Lucian briefly this morning,” Aiden said.
“And?” Dianna prodded. “How did he seem?”
“Pleased.” Aiden paused. “He wasn’t here last night.”
“No.”
“And he hadn’t gone to visit another Clan.”
Dianna shook her head slowly. “But where he was is no concern of anyone but—”
“I am not of this Clan, but Lucian and I are still kin through our fathers,” Aiden said sharply. He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “As you and I, therefore, are kin. It is my turn to ask for indulgence. I should have not been so sharp about being teased by you.”
“There are different rules for kin?” Dianna said, forcing a smile.
“There are,” Aiden said, not returning the smile. “Will you talk to him?”
And say what? Dianna wondered. “Not yet.” She raised a hand to prevent the protests Lyrra and Aiden seemed ready to make. “There is something that must be done before Lucian and I talk.”
“Don’t let it wait too long,” Aiden said. Then he hummed a few bars of “The Lover’s Lament.”
Understanding the warning, Dianna stood up. “We’ll talk again this evening.”
“Good hunting,” Lyrra said softly.
Dianna inclined her head and left the room.
Good hunting, she thought as she hurried to her rooms. Yes. Not the usual kind of hunt, but a hunt nonetheless. Until she actually saw this female creature for herself, she was holding an empty quiver instead of sharp arguments that could find their mark.
If Lucian was truly acting as strangely as Falco indicated, she would need arguments sharp enough to pierce a heart.
Neall didn’t need to see the stone marker to know he was now on the part of the road that cut through Brightwood. He could feel a subtle change in the air, and his mood lightened in response to it. Even the gelding, which had been bred and raised on Ahern’s farm, could sense the boundaries of Ari’s land—and could sense them a little too well.
Shortening the reins just enough to keep Darcy’s attention, Neall said, “We’ll approach at a dignified trot rather than cantering into the yard like unmannered colts.”
Darcy snorted, then tested Neall’s sincerity by shifting from an easy trot to a brisk one.
“We aren’t doing this,” Neall warned. His voice didn’t hold the sincerity it should have, but his hands were firm. The result was what he expected—a compromise in speed that obeyed the command from his hands but had listened carefully to the tone of his voice.
Well, they’d just get to the cottage that much sooner, and he couldn’t argue with that.
Yesterday had been a misery. At breakfast, it had only taken a glance at Odella’s face to know that the man she had met on the Summer Moon had not been to her liking, and that the man’s skills as a lover—or his lack of them—had made him even less appealing. The fact that she couldn’t refuse him until the dark of the moon without having the magic in the fancy turn on her made it even worse. It would have been bad enough to endure one time with a man who disappointed, but to suffer him again and again . . .
Seeing the unhappiness in his cousin’s face had made Neall feel more sympathy for Odella, but it was a small cup of sympathy, and weak. Odella had not only brought this on herself by buying love magic from Granny Gwynn, she had also, with no kind intent, boxed Ari into the same corner.
Royce had been suffering from a rough night with the bottle, an overindulgence that he’d probably hoped would numb the fear of seeing the Wild Hunt, and had been more abrasive than usual.
Then Baron Felston began making barbed comments about how he, Neall, had probably spent the Summer Moon in his own virtuous bed instead of “flexing his muscles” as any other young man would have done. Knowing he would have been roundly condemned for “flexing his muscles,” especially if any young woman came forward a few weeks later and accused him of
getting her with child, didn’t take the sting out of the baron’s remarks.
Despite what the baron sometimes implied, he was as hungry as any other young man for the pleasure a woman’s body could give, but knowing that Felston wouldn’t hesitate to try to force him into a marriage that would trap him here made him even more cautious about accepting an invitation from any woman who was looking for a husband and a household of her own. That fleeting pleasure couldn’t compare with the need to go home to his mother’s land. Besides, he’d given his heart to Ari so long ago he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love her.
To make a bad start to the day even worse, Royce had decided to go with him to check the tenant farms and see what needed to be done. He’d expected Royce to grow bored with playing lord of the manor and return home or ride into Ridgeley to meet with his friends at the tavern. But Royce, with cutting remarks and steady complaints, had stayed with him throughout the long day.
Which was why he hadn’t come to Brightwood yesterday, and had even avoided the tenant farms that bordered Ari’s land—especially after the second time Royce suggested going there. He’d wondered why Royce had been pushing to visit the cottage while he was with him, and he’d wondered why his cousin hadn’t simply gone alone. It wasn’t until they were approaching the home yard and Royce finally relaxed that Neall had understood. Royce had wanted to go to Brightwood, probably to find out where Ari had been on the Summer Moon, but he’d been afraid to ride there alone in case he met up with the Huntress and her shadow hounds. In fact, he’d simply been afraid to ride anywhere alone, but he hadn’t wanted to remain at home under Baron Felston’s critical gaze. So Neall had spent the day silently fretting over Ari’s broken kitchen door and that he couldn’t ride over and fix it for her while Royce was with him.
But that was yesterday. This was today, the cottage was in sight, and he had an hour he could spare for a visit.
As he trotted past the cottage, intending to tether Darcy by the unused cow shed, something caught his eye. He reined in hard enough to set the gelding on its haunches, then murmured a wordless apology to the animal as he stared at the cottage’s front door.