by Anne Bishop
He shook his head. “One of those louts from the village has asked her to marry him, and she’s actually considering it. I couldn’t see any reason why she would do that unless she couldn’t stand being so lonely anymore. So I thought . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve visited most of the Clans here in Sylvalan—the eastern and midland ones, anyway. I even visited a couple of Clans in Arktos before they completely disappeared. And in learning how to deal with the human world, I’ve seen a good part of Sylvalan as well. The farthest she’s ever gone is a coastal town a day’s journey from Brightwood. She knows little of stories and music. She knows little of anything besides her weaving and her garden and her magic. I could show her the stories and the music, talk to her about other things.”
“Be a mentor as well as a lover?” Dianna asked softly.
“What’s wrong with that? Why should she settle for some rutting human who will roll on top of her, pump his hips a few times, then roll back off, when I can give her pleasure? Why should she grow old while she’s still so young because she’s always working?”
Dianna frowned. “Then why weren’t you there tonight to be a lover?”
Lucian sprang up from the window seat. “Because she won’t be with me until she’s decided what to do about him. Only a dog should have that kind of loyalty.”
The words hung in the air.
“If she chooses you, how long would this arrangement last?” Dianna asked cautiously.
“As long as it pleases both of us.”
“What if she wants children?”
He shuddered—and she quietly sighed in relief.
“My children, when I have them, will be Fae,” he said quietly. “I am the Lightbringer. I can accept no less.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I want to be with her because I care. But we also need to keep Ari away from anyone who might turn her against us.”
“Agreed. We need to protect her for her own sake as well as for ours.” She had a name for that lout who wanted to marry Ari. But that wasn’t something she was going to share with Lucian just yet. Not until she knew what Ari decided.
Chapter Twenty-five
After bedding down Darcy, Neall lingered in the stables.
Was there anything lonelier than being surrounded by people and still feeling alone? If he could have, he would have gone to Brightwood to celebrate the Solstice with Ari, to see the dance he vaguely remembered his mother performing, to feel the magic flowing to a living focal point and then spilling out over the land again.
It had been prudent to go with Baron Felston and the others to the village’s Midsummer feast; tomorrow he would ride over to Brightwood and see if Ari had reached a decision. Then, one way or another, he had plans to make.
Not much longer, Neall assured himself as he walked to the house. He would never again have to celebrate the Solstice in Ridgeley. The village’s Midsummer feast used to be a joyful time, a promising beginning for the young couples who chose to be wed that day. For the young men and women who willingly had clasped hands and pledged themselves to each other, it was still a golden day, and the way those women had looked at their new husbands had made him ache to hold Ari. But he’d noticed that none of the gentry couples had looked at their life partners with that same joy and anticipation. He suspected that, for them, the days between the full moon and the dark had been more than enough time for them to grow tired of each other. The ones who had pledged themselves in marriage had done so because a Summer Moon child was on the way—but it was status and property settlements that were the real enticements in accepting the “yoke of marriage.” Better to marry an heir than a second son you actually loved. Better to marry the daughter of a gentleman, even if she felt nothing but contempt for you because you were slightly beneath her own social status, than a merchant’s daughter who admired you.
Neall opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. Odella had been acting vile for the past several days, but at least they’d been spared—
“You slut!” Royce’s shout came from Baron Felston’s study.
Neall didn’t hesitate. He ran to the study and pushed the door open.
Baron Felston and Royce stood in front of the chair where Odella cringed yet still managed to look defiant. Felston’s wife stood to one side, looking at her daughter with undisguised contempt.
“You shame your family because you think you’re above custom and tradition?” Felston roared. “You had the chance to do what was proper. Even as late as this morning, something could have been arranged. A babe that comes early to a Midsummer marriage isn’t considered early at all. No one counts the months on their fingers or smirks behind their hands. Neither family has its reputation smeared or loses any of its standing in the community. But a marriage that takes place even a week later is quite a different thing.”
Odella’s lips trembled, but her voice was sharp enough. “I told you. I can’t marry him.”
“You lifted your skirts for a married man?” Royce yelled. “Have you lost all decency? What are you going to be? Ridgeley’s fancy whore?”
“Royce!” the baroness said sharply. “I won’t have such things said.”
“Why not?” Royce demanded, turning on his mother. “If that’s what she is now, she should at least get paid for it.”
“He isn’t married!” Odella said, straightening in the chair.
“Then what is he?” Baron Felston said. “Did you go on your back for some ill-bred lout who shovels out the stables?”
“He wasn’t ill-bred, he wasn’t a lout, and he wasn’t married!” Odella shouted. She paused, then said dramatically, “He was a Fae Lord.”
Silence.
Neall heard the clock in the hallway strike the quarter hour.
“A Fae Lord,” Baron Felston said heavily. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you telling me the truth, girl? You’re not just saying this?”
“I saw his face,” Odella said. “His real face.”
“Then where are the gifts?” Royce said. “According to the stories, the Fae always give gifts when they bed a woman. Let’s see them.”
“I didn’t get any gifts. He said a gift wasn’t given for the night of the Summer Moon, but he would bring a gift the next night.”
“So where are the gifts?”
“There aren’t any gifts. He didn’t come back.”
Royce snorted. “Were you that much of a disappointment?”
Outraged, Odella shot to her feet. “He didn’t come back because he was bewitched. He didn’t come back because Ari saw him and wanted him. So he forgot about me and has been having his romp inside her drawers!”
“Liar!” Royce raised his fist.
“You think just because she refused you, she hasn’t been lifting her skirts for someone else?”
“She wouldn’t dare.”
Odella laughed. It was a nasty sound. “Oh, she dared. I saw him there one morning, as bold as you please. My lover. The one who had promised me chests of gold and jewels.” Her mood changed. Her face crumpled in unhappiness. “When I greeted him, he just laughed at me. He laughed. And he was already pulling up her skirt before I could ride out of sight.”
“That bitch,” Royce said quietly. “I warned her about lifting her skirts.”
“When was this?” Neall asked. He knew the Lightbringer had been Ari’s lover, but, somehow, the Fae Lord being at the cottage during the day seemed more intimate and threatening than the man spending the night in Ari’s bed. That was just sex, a promise fulfilled because of that damned fancy. But during the day . . . that was life. The collection of small details that made up a shared day was what gave richness to what happened in the bed at night.
When they all turned to look at him, he realized he should have kept quiet, should have backed out of the room before they’d noticed him.
“Not long ago,” Odella said, her eyes filled with delighted spite. “Well after the new moon, so it wasn’t as if she was just fulfilling a pledge.”
<
br /> Neall closed his eyes as he tried to absorb the verbal blow. So. It hadn’t ended. Was that why Ari hadn’t given him an answer yet?
Wait. Wait. Something wasn’t right here. What had Odella said about the morning she’d seen the Fae Lord? That he’d lifted—
Neall looked at Odella. “You’re lying. You may have seen a Fae Lord there one morning, but you didn’t see him lifting Ari’s skirt.” He smiled bitterly. “She only wears skirts when she has to come to Ridgeley. At Brightwood, she wears loose trousers because they’re easier to work in.” He took a step forward. “What else are you lying about, Odella?”
“I’m not lying,” Odella spat. “He was mine! I should have had all the gold and jewels he’s given to her!”
Neall shook his head. A kind of recklessness filled him, pushing aside any thought of caution. “You couldn’t have met him on the Summer Moon. I’m not saying you didn’t meet a Fae Lord. It’s possible. But it wasn’t him. Which means she didn’t steal him away from you.”
“I say she did!”
Recklessness shifted to grim anger. “You want to deny whoever it really was you’ve been with in order to avoid a bad marriage, that’s fine. You want to say it was a Fae Lord who got you with child, that’s fine too. That gives you a way out since everyone knows Fae men don’t marry human women. But don’t accuse Ari of something she didn’t do. You might steal a man away from another woman simply because you wanted him, and you wouldn’t give a damn what it might mean to her. You’d even use one of Granny Gwynn’s potions to do it if you couldn’t entice him any other way. But Ari would never do that. Never.”
“How dare you?” Baron Felston said. “How dare you say such things to my daughter? How dare you side with that witch against your family? Have you forgotten who’s fed you, clothed you, given you a roof over your head for all these years?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Neall snapped. “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve begrudged me every mouthful of food and every castoff piece of clothing.”
“I’ve made allowances for you because your father was a gentleman in name only, but—”
“My father was more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be,” Neall said.
Baron Felston’s face flushed to an ugly red. “Get out of my house. Get out and stay out. You set foot on my land again, I’ll horsewhip you.”
“It will be a pleasure to leave you,” Neall said. He turned and walked out of the room. When he reached the staircase, he checked to make sure none of them were watching him. Then he raced up the stairs and ran down the corridor to his room. Let the servants think what they would; he needed to get out of here before Felston—or, more likely, Royce—thought about trying to keep the one thing he truly valued: Darcy. He hadn’t paid Ahern anywhere near what the gelding was worth, but he’d paid the asking price out of his own money, from the paltry wage Felston had reluctantly paid him for all his work on the estate.
Within minutes, he had stuffed his saddlebags with a couple of changes of clothing and his grooming tools. He took his bow and the quiver of arrows, then looked around the room to see if there was anything he’d missed that he would regret leaving behind. He grabbed the threadbare winter coat from its hook on the wall and left the room.
Down the servants’ staircase and out the kitchen door. Running to the stables as quietly as he could. Opening the doors for whatever light the moon would provide, then slipping inside and moving down the wide aisle.
Darcy’s head appeared over the stall door.
“Shh,” Neall said quietly before the horse could greet him. There was always one stableboy sleeping in the loft in case he was needed. He listened, heard a muted snore. Good.
Leaving his things beside Darcy’s stall, he opened the door and motioned the animal to stay. Moving as quietly as he could, he got his saddle and bridle from the tack room.
Darcy didn’t even shift his feet while Neall saddled him and arranged the saddlebags and the rest of his gear.
“Let’s go,” Neall whispered. He walked the gelding out of the stables. It was easier to close the doors that way.
As Neall turned to close the doors, Darcy snorted a warning. Neall spun around, swung into the saddle just as Royce ran toward the stables, shouting, “Thief! Thief! He’s stealing our horse!”
Before Neall could collect the reins, Darcy charged straight at Royce. In the moonlight, Neall saw Royce’s eyes widen with fear as he skidded to a stop and barely flung himself out of the gelding’s path.
Darcy raced down the estate drive. When they reached the road, Neall tried to slow the animal, but the gelding had the bit between his teeth and refused to obey. They raced down a road full of moonlight and shadows—and Neall realized that they weren’t running away from Baron Felston’s estate and the village of Ridgeley; they were running toward something. And someone.
“We can’t go there,” Neall said firmly. Holding Darcy back wasn’t easy, but he’d had enough time to consider what to do before they’d reached this point in the road. “Not tonight.”
If he showed up at Ari’s cottage tonight, she would let him stay. He couldn’t do that. The choice to come with him had to be her own. It couldn’t be made because he had to leave now. Tomorrow he would ride over to Brightwood.
“This way,” Neall said, turning the gelding away from Brightwood. “We’ll see Ari tomorrow.” Darcy made one more try at heading where he wanted to go, then set off down the road in a heavy-footed, bone-jarring trot that made Neall grit his teeth to keep from biting his tongue.
There were still lights on at Ahern’s farm. There was even a small bonfire between the house and stables.
Yes, Neall thought with grim amusement, Ahern and his men would still be celebrating the Solstice.
As he trotted into the light, the talk and laughter around the bonfire faded.
“You’re out late tonight,” Ahern said, stepping away from the fire to meet him.
Neall swung out of the saddle. Feeling Darcy’s muscles bunch, he kept a firm grip on the reins. The last thing he needed was the gelding bolting for Brightwood.
Ahern’s sharp eyes took in the bulging saddlebags, the bow and quiver, the winter coat tied behind the saddle. “You going on a journey?”
“Soon. Not tonight.” Neall hesitated. That reckless feeling was pushing at him again. “The baron threw me out of his house tonight. I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days. I’ll work for my keep.”
For the first time that Neall could remember, Ahern looked uncomfortable. “I can put you up tonight, but it would be best if you made other arrangements in the morning.”
“Why?” Neall said quietly. “Because you’re Fae?”
He was aware of the men moving toward him. He was aware that some of them were holding pieces of burning wood, and it wasn’t because they wanted more light. But he kept his eyes on Ahern’s face and wondered if he’d misjudged the man.
“What makes you think I’m Fae?” Ahern finally asked.
“Fae blood runs through me too. I can see through the glamour.”
A long silence. Then Ahern said, “Get your gear. We’ll take it up to the house and then talk.”
As soon as Neall let go of the reins to get the saddle bags, Darcy knocked him down and bolted.
“You!” Ahern said sternly.
Hooves clattered to a stop.
“Come back here and behave yourself.”
With obvious reluctance, Darcy returned and stood quietly while Neall got his gear.
Ahern looked at two of his men. “Get him bedded down.” He watched while the men led the gelding into the stables. Shaking his head, he led Neall up to the house. “When he was a foal, she used to pet him whenever she stopped by. Got to the point where we had to lock him up to keep him from following her home. I thought he would have forgotten by now.”
“She still pets him, so he’s not likely to forget,” Neall said dryly. “But it does explain why he gets so stubborn whenever we’re nearby and don�
��t stop at Brightwood.”
“She never took to riding. I made sure she knew how to sit a horse, but she didn’t want one of her own. If she had, you’d never have gotten that one.”
They said nothing more until Neall left his gear in a small guest room and they were back outside, walking toward one of the paddocks.
Ahern rested his arms against the top rail of the paddock fence. “How long have you known?”
“I’ve been seeing it ever since I met you,” Neall said. “But I just recently figured out what it was I was seeing.” He hesitated, then decided a question left unspoken was a question that would never be answered. “Which one are you?”
Ahern made a sound that might have been a gruff laugh. “Can’t you guess?”
“A Lord of the Horse,” Neall said. When Ahern just looked at him, he felt a little chill run down his spine. “The Lord of the Horse.”
Ahern nodded. “The Lord of the Horse. I command, they obey.”
“Why are you living here? Why aren’t you in Tir Alainn like the rest of them, coming down here whenever you want to amuse yourself?”
“There’s a large dose of bitterness in those words, young Neall.”
“Maybe I have reason to feel bitter. Or, at least, worried. The Fae seem to be taking a lot of interest in Brightwood these days. And in Ari.”
Ahern stared at the land. “You’re going to your mother’s land, aren’t you? That’s where you’re headed now that you’ve reached your majority and Felston doesn’t hold the reins in any way. And you’re taking Ari with you, aren’t you?”
Neall just stared at him.
“Well then,” Ahern continued, “it doesn’t really matter whether the Fae are interested or not, does it?”
“How—How did you know about the land?”
“Astra, Ari’s grandmother, told me about you.” He made another gruff, amused sound. “Obviously, there were a few things she didn’t mention. But she told me you would go back to your mother’s land when you came of age—and she told me not to stand in your way if you tried to persuade Ari to go with you.”