by Anne Bishop
“Brightwood,” he said, letting the gelding choose its own speed. If Felston punished him for shirking his duties, so be it. What the baron wanted wasn’t worth a pebble compared to Ari.
When he and Darcy reached the cottage, they were both sweating heavily from the hard, fast run.
“Ari!” Neall kicked out of the stirrups and leaped out of the saddle in a way that would probably get him killed with any other horse.
What could be wrong here? Had something happened to her? The only weapon he had was his work knife, and that wasn’t going to help much. He drew it out of the sheath in his boot and promised himself that he wouldn’t go out again without at least a bow and quiver.
“Neall?”
Her voice was faint. He turned, trying to catch the direction. The gelding figured it out faster and ambled toward the privy that stood a few feet from the cow shed.
Neall ran to the privy, reached for the door—and had enough sense left to hesitate. “Ari?”
“Neall?” she squeaked.
“Yes, it’s Neall.”
“Go away.”
“Damn it, I will not go away!” He reached for the door again.
“Neall . . . go stand by the well for a minute or two. Please.”
Starting to feel foolish, and angry because he did, he turned and strode to the well. “Walk,” he told Darcy. “Go on, take a bit of a walk around the meadow to cool down. Then you can have some water.”
Darcy snorted, looked at the privy, then began an easy walk around the meadow.
Neall watched for a few seconds to make sure the gelding would walk and not start to graze. May the Mother bless Ahern. He didn’t know how the man managed to raise horses that had more brains than any others, but he was grateful the old man had been willing to sell the gelding to him.
Filling a bucket from the well, he stripped off his sweaty shirt, then used the dipper Ari kept on a hook to pour water over himself.
A bit of maliciousness? Was that all the warning had been?
Darcy paused, snuffled something in the grass, then shied and trotted back toward him.
Neall saw a gray body with black streaks rise out of the grass and felt his heart trip.
Yap. Yap yap yap.
The puppy raced toward him. The breath he’d been holding came out in a rush of relief when he saw the tan front legs.
A few feet away from him, the puppy tripped over its feet and somersaulted until it ended up nose to toes with his boot. It yapped fiercely at his boot until Darcy, curious now, came up behind it and snorted on its tail.
Yipping, the puppy tucked its tail between its legs and ran for the privy. Ari came out, picked up the puppy, and headed toward the well. She looked frustrated and annoyed—until she noticed that the gelding was lathered. Then worry filled her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Feeling too many things that weren’t comfortable, Neall splashed his face with water before replying. “You tell me.”
“So,” Ari said quietly after a long pause. “It bothered him that much.”
Neall straightened slowly, wiping the water off his face. “Who?”
Ari hesitated. “One of the Small Folk was here when the hawk came. It brought a rabbit, and he”—she put a slight emphasis on the word to indicate the small man—“said the hawk was a Fae Lord.”
Neall’s chest tightened. “A Fae Lord brought you a rabbit. Did he say why?”
“He was in the form of a hawk, Neall. There wasn’t any conversation.”
“That doesn’t explain—” Something shivered through him, making him hope he was wrong. He’d known the man who had claimed Ari at the Summer Moon wasn’t local gentry, but he’d wondered if the lover might have been a well-to-do merchant who was staying in the area for a while. Now he had to consider that the man might have been one of the Fae. He, better than anyone, knew such meetings and matings were possible. “The . . . gentleman . . . you gave the fancy to. Could that have been him?”
“No.”
“Ari, if he didn’t tell you he was Fae—”
“It wasn’t him. That’s not his other form.”
Neall leaned against the well, staggered. So she had known her lover was a Fae Lord. Not a man who had stayed in the area awhile and gone away, but someone who might still be around—and still be interested in Ari.
“There must be a Clan nearby,” he said quietly. “The roads through the Veil are always connected to the Old Places. So there must be a road that leads to Brightwood.”
“How do you know those roads connect to the Old Places? None of the stories are that specific about where the shining roads are. And if that’s true, why hasn’t anyone around here seen them until now?”
Because they hadn’t wanted to be seen. Neall shook his head. This wasn’t the time to tell her he’d seen the Wild Hunt come out of the woods beyond the meadow. But he could tell her the other reason why he knew. “A friend of my mother’s told me that when I was a small boy.” He hesitated, gathered his courage, and wondered if he’d lost her before he’d tried to win her. “Do you know who he was? The one who . . .” He couldn’t say it.
She didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, “The Lightbringer.”
“Mother’s mercy.”
“He was kind, Neall . . . and now it’s done.”
“Are you sure?” Was a rabbit any different from a salmon as a wooing gift?
There was enough of a hesitation before she nodded to make his heart sink. So. She was still drawn to the Lord of Fire. Enough to welcome him to her bed again?
Neall straightened, pulled on his shirt, and shook off feelings that could cripple him. I haven’t lost until she tells me to go without her. But there was no question of him heading west and coming back for her. Not with a Fae Lord for a rival—especially that one.
“So,” he said, holding out his hand for the puppy to sniff. “You’re not going to give him an embarrassing name, are you? Women always give dogs names that make men cringe.”
Ari narrowed her eyes. “Women aren’t the only ones who sometimes choose odd names for animals. You named the gelding Dark Sea and ended up calling him Darcy.”
“That’s how it sounds when you say it fast,” Neall muttered. Deciding not to continue a discussion he couldn’t win, he studied the puppy. “Where did you get him?”
Ari’s huff at the blatant change of subject turned into a smile. She set the puppy down. “Dianna gave him to me. I was going to name him Fleetfoot.”
The puppy spotted a butterfly and gave chase until he tripped over his feet and went rolling.
“Then I thought of calling him Hunter.”
The puppy found his tail and chased that, too.
“So what did you decide to name him?” Neall asked solemnly.
“Merle.”
Neall nodded. “A good choice. At least it’s a name he can live up to.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
Dianna cursed silently as she watched Lyrra and Aiden stride toward her, probably coming to find out what had happened at the cottage today—which was something she didn’t want to discuss with them yet. Falco would reach her first, but there wouldn’t be enough time to talk before they had unwelcome company.
She gave Aiden a cool stare, knowing it was pointless to give a subtle command to Lyrra. She was, after all, another woman—and the Muse thrown into the bargain. She would see it, understand it, and ignore it if she chose.
Aiden, however, slowed his steps and caught Lyrra’s arm, forcing her to match his pace.
“Well?” Dianna asked Falco. She’d been worried about him, although she’d never admit it, and it made her sharply impatient.
Falco shifted restlessly. “She gave me a hind leg.”
Dianna wanted to shake her head vigorously to clear up whatever was wrong with her hearing. “She what?”
“From the rabbit. When she took the rabbit into the cottage, she cut off a hind leg and brought it back out to me since
I had done the work of catching it.”
Dianna’s narrowed eyes snapped with temper. “Why were you still there? I told you to leave the rabbit and go.”
He blushed. “I wanted to see a witch. I’d seen her before, of course, but I hadn’t known at the time she was one of them. So . . .” He hunched his shoulders. “She knew I was Fae.”
Dianna sucked in a breath. “How could she know? You didn’t reveal yourself, did you?”
“No!” he said quickly—and too loudly. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, then lowered his voice. “One of the Small Folk was with her, and they always recognize us, no matter what form we wear.”
What she muttered under her breath made Falco flinch. “What was one of those mischief-makers doing there?” If the Small Folk started causing trouble, would Ari feel any warmth for any other folk who were magic?
“She wasn’t troubled by his being there. And—” He looked puzzled. “She seemed afraid of me. If these wiccanfae are so powerful, why was she afraid of me? What could the Lord of the Hawks do to her?”
“Maybe not all of them are powerful,” Dianna said thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re like us in that way, and there are stronger and weaker among them.” If that were true, Ari might not have enough power to harm them, but she still might be able to help them understand what was happening to Tir Alainn. Noticing that Aiden and Lyrra were now only a few steps away, she smiled at Falco. “Thank you. You did well.”
He studied her carefully. “One rabbit won’t last very long, especially with a growing pup to feed. I could bring another in a day or two.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Falco greeted Aiden and Lyrra, bid Dianna farewell, and left them.
“What was Falco up to today?” Lyrra demanded as soon as Falco was out of earshot.
“Nothing foolish, I hope,” Aiden said.
“He was performing a small service for me,” Dianna replied. “Aiden, you will play your harp for us tonight, won’t you?”
Lyrra looked mutinous at the change of subject, but when Aiden unexpectedly yielded, the Muse considered him for a moment and didn’t argue.
Dianna knew she shouldn’t push them aside. They were both too aware of the dangers to Tir Alainn, and since she couldn’t talk to Lucian right now without admitting that she’d been visiting Ari, these two were her best allies.
But she couldn’t talk to them tonight. Not just yet. In a couple of days, she would go back to Brightwood and find out if the puppy was pleasing enough that she would be forgiven for not respecting privacy.
Then hopefully, she would have something to tell them.
Lucian stood at the edge of the terrace and watched the windows of the Clan house fill with lamplight, one by one, as the daylight gave way to dusk. Inside there was food and company. He wanted both and could stomach neither.
He missed her. He tried to believe that it was her body and her bed that he wanted, but the truth was, he missed her. Missed the sound of her voice, even though the things she spoke of usually bored him. Missed looking at her as she moved about the kitchen to feed the belly’s hunger after the loins had been sated. He missed the quiet strength in her, and wondered what she would be like when she truly bloomed. And he missed touching her . . . and being touched.
He shouldn’t have missed any of those things. Didn’t want to miss them. He should have been able to walk away and not look back. Except it didn’t feel finished. That’s why he still thought of her, hungered for her. He hadn’t given her the parting gift, so he didn’t feel as if they’d parted. If he’d had those last two days to enjoy her, it would have been done, and he would have been the lover who had taught her what pleasure could be found in bed and she would have become a warm memory for him—and nothing more.
Instead, he thought about her and wondered if she was well, and if her garden was blooming, since it seemed so important to her. And he wondered, if he went back to visit, if she would open her arms and take him to her bed again.
Lucian’s heart beat a little faster.
There was no reason why Ari wouldn’t welcome him. He’d been a generous lover, in bed and out. There was no reason why she should turn away from a man who excited her. And he did excite her. He knew it. He could go to her cottage tomorrow evening and—
No. Not the evening. That would look too much as if he assumed his expectations would be met. Tomorrow morning, then. Just to spend time with her, be with her. Maybe it would help him understand her a little. And when he left, he would take nothing more than a kiss so that she would know it was more than her body that he wanted, if only for a little while longer.
He drew in air and was certain it was the first deep breath he’d taken in days.
Smiling as he heard the opening notes of a tune, Lucian went inside to join his kin.
There was still enough light to stop at one more tenant farm before returning to Felston’s house.
It’s not home anymore, Neall thought, letting Darcy do the work of keeping them safe on the road while his mind wandered through all the pieces of the day. Never really was home.
Each day he spent there chafed him more than the last. He wasn’t a child anymore who was forced to feel grateful that someone in his father’s family had taken him in. He was a man who had a future waiting for him, and it was time he reached for that future.
Would Ari choose to go with him? Or would the Lightbringer’s presence be enticement enough for her to stay at Brightwood? But how long would he stay? And what would happen to Ari when the Fae Lord tired of the affair and disappeared?
“Dianna gave him to me.”
The pup had given him a scare until he saw the tan legs. He’d thought it was a shadow hound.
Who was Dianna? She had enough arrogance to be gentry, but she wasn’t. He’d bet the meager wages Felston grudgingly paid him on that. So who—
“You can see through the clamor?”
Suddenly dizzy, Neall dropped the reins and swayed in the saddle. The gelding did its best to help him stay in the saddle, so, rather than taking a hard spill, he slid out of the saddle and onto the ground.
Ashk.
He went into the woods to find the fox den his father had shown him a couple of days before. He wanted to see if the vixen had had her kits yet. His father was busy, so he went into the woods alone, even though he wasn’t supposed to.
As he quietly approached the den, he saw Ashk sitting on a log nearby. She didn’t realize he was there until he was almost beside her, and then . . .
Her face was the one he could glimpse through the blurriness, the face beneath the one the eye usually saw. It didn’t occur to him that there was anything strange about her ears being pointed or that the feral quality in her face was something to fear. She was Ashk, his mother’s closest friend, the friend who sometimes looked after him when his parents both had work that couldn’t be interrupted by a young child.
She stared at him for so long, he wondered if she was going to scold him for coming into the woods alone. Then she invited him to sit with her since it was almost time for the birthing.
He heard nothing, but she did. He knew by the way she smiled and squeezed his hand that the vixen had birthed her kits and all of them were well.
Then she walked him back to his home. And the only time her face had blurred again when he looked at her was the day she had taken him to the village to meet the stranger named Felston, the man who had agreed to burden himself with a family obligation.
Neall lowered his head until it rested on his raised knees. Darcy snuffled him worriedly, no doubt confused about why he was just sitting in the road.
Ashk, his mother’s friend, was Fae.
“You can see through the clamor?”
He’d asked his father what “clamor” meant but had never explained why he’d wanted to know. So the answer had made no sense to him. But that wasn’t what Ashk had said. She’d said glamour—the magic the Fae used to confuse the eye and make themselves appear to be
human.
And he could see through it. That’s why his vision blurred at times. He was seeing through the mask for a moment before his eyes yielded to the magic.
“Dianna gave him to me.”
He had seen her before . . . on the night of the Summer Moon, riding a pale mare with her shadow hounds running ahead of her.
Mother’s mercy, why was the Huntress spending time at Brightwood pretending to be human?
Darcy shoved him. He raised a hand and rested it on the gelding’s muzzle—and felt another wave of dizziness sweep over him.
Ahern, who raised the finest horses in this part of Sylvalan—perhaps in all of Sylvalan. Ahern, whose face sometimes blurred for the first few seconds when Neall saw him. Ahern, the gruff old man who seemed to have a proprietary interest in the women who had lived at Brightwood—and the girl who still lived there.
Ahern, too, was Fae.
Slowly climbing to his feet, Neall leaned against Darcy for a few moments to get his balance before mounting.
It was tempting to turn around and ride to Ahern’s farm, but he needed time to think and steady himself before he confronted the old man.
The Fae had been present all along. But why were so many of them showing up now? And why had the Lightbringer and the Huntress, the two who could command all the others, suddenly becoming interested in Ari?
Chapter Twenty
Morag woke from an uneasy sleep. At first, she thought the light was so pale because it was just past dawn. Then she heard children playing outside and knew it was later than that.
There’s a storm coming.
Shivering, she quickly dressed in black trousers and black overdress. Her own clothes. For the past few days, she’d worn garments loaned to her by other women in the Clan while her “corpse clothes” were cleaned and mended. The words had been teasingly said, but the women’s eyes had conveyed something else. There was no one in their Clan who was one of Death’s Servants, and in her own clothes, she looked too much like who she was. For Morphia’s sake, she had yielded. But not today.