As Good as Gold

by Heidi Wessman Kneale

  “Where,” she panted, “are we going?”

  “Safest place I can think. We’re headed to the smithy.”

  “Oh, no!” wailed Daywen.

  ****

  As Belenus MacEuros--he’d introduced himself during their escape--dragged Daywen along, she protested loudly. “I can’t see Lachlan, Belenus!”

  “Only my mother calls me Belenus. Everyone else calls me Bel.”

  “I’ll be calling you much worse if you don’t let go!”

  His answer? He picked her up, threw her across his shoulder and continued his journey. They passed behind shops and homes, soon leaving the town behind. Lachlan’s smithy stood on the edge of Beltane, where horses could graze in wide, green paddocks.

  Daywen pummeled her fists against his back. “This is not dignified!”

  “It is far more dignified than if that gnome catches you. And what would you do if he does?”

  “But I don’t have his gold.”

  “That’s what I told him. Until I can lead him to whoever has his gold, he’s going to assume I’ve got it. Anyhow, the smithy’s the safest place for us; it is full of cold iron.

  She felt his hands, previously wrapped around her legs, creep upwards. It came to rest on her bottom. Before she could protest, she felt him take a deep breath and stop, using the misplaced momentum to unhitch her from his shoulder.

  Daywen found herself abruptly on her feet once more.

  “Sorry,” he said, avoiding her gaze. He seemed out of breath. Then he grasped her hand and pulled her along towards the smithy.

  She firmly pushed aside the dread of meeting Lachlan again. What if he’d changed his mind about her proposal?

  And what about this foreign gnome? Were they unseelie creatures, full of vengeance, or did he simply want his gold back?

  When they reached the smithy she pulled back on Bel’s hand. “I-- I can’t go in there.”

  Bel picked her up and carried her through the gate and into the warmth of the smithy. The ring of a hammer on anvil masked their entrance.

  “Ho, Lachlan!” he called out. “I brought your sweetheart!”

  Daywen’s face burned with shame. She struggled against Bel’s grasp but couldn’t escape. He dropped her to his feet, but kept a firm arm about her waist.

  “Oh, did you now?” Lachlan never broke the rhythm of his hammering.

  Daywen put her hands over her face.

  “She looks more like your sweetheart.” Lachlan said to Bel.

  Bel still had his arm about her, his other hand paused to stroke her hair. Then he snatched his hand back and released her by pushing her away.

  “It’s not my fault. She’s bewitched me.

  “First of all, we’ve got to get rid of that cursed faerie. She’s driving me mad.” He advanced on Daywen and she backed up until her back hit the side of the smithy. With quick fingers, he dipped into her bodice and brought up the velvet bag.

  “Oh!” Daywen exclaimed.

  “You got an iron box?” Bel asked Lachlan.

  Lachlan gave him a look as if he were an utter fool. “Got tha’ wee one over there.” It was large enough that Daywen could have squeezed herself inside.

  While Lachlan quenched his iron in a barrel of water, Bel dropped the velvet bag in the box and let the heavy lid close with a clang.

  “You can’t do that!” Daywen protested. She attempted to pry it open to no avail. Failing that, she grabbed Bel by the front of his shirt and jabbed a finger towards the box. “You get that out.”

  Bel removed her hand. “No.”

  She appealed to a man of more sense. “Lachlan. I need that back.”

  Lachlan laid down his iron. “You seem to be getting into a wee spot o’ trouble today, lassie. What’s so important about tha’ bag?”

  “It’s mine and I want it back.”

  He looked at Daywen, then at Bel. “What’s in tha’ bag, Bel?”

  Bel had been scrubbing at his forehead. “Gypsy magic.” He looked at his hand, then scrubbed at his forehead once more.

  Lachlan thought upon it, and nodded his head. “I see.” He shook his hammer at Daywen. “I dinnae ken where you get your ideas, lassie, but I know what that old gypsy woman gets up to. If you ha’ thought to set your cap for me, it’s not gonna work. I’m a blacksmith.”

  Daywen’s heart ached. “I know that. I’m sorry about... earlier today.” She slumped down against the wall of the smithy. “She told me to ask the first man I met to marry me.” She wanted to cry. “I’ve been made a fool.”

  Instead of resuming his work, Lachlan put down his hammer. “Well, to my reckoning, I dinna think ya listened too closely. After all, you’ve ken me for years.” A bright smile creased through the darkness of his face. “On that note, ye have only met my cousin Bel today.”

  Bel ceased his rubbing and dropped his hand. “What?”

  Daywen looked up. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “You haven’t been thinking much, have ya, lassie?” Lachlan studied his cousin. To Bel, he said, “What’s wrong wi’ you?”

  He pointed a finger at the iron box. “That damned faerie dropped a curse on me.”

  Lachlan came over. He peered at Bel’s forehead and prodded it with a finger.

  “That not be gypsy magic. That be something worse.”

  Bel paled. “What’s worse than that?”

  “That be a mother’s blessing.” Lachlan backed off, hands held well away. “I wouldn’t be interfering wi’ that. ‘Tween it and tha’ wee faerie, you have no chance, Bel me lad. Might as well give in now.”

  Bel shook his head. “I... I can’t.” His gaze moved over to the iron box. His eyes narrowed in determination.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered. “No, no, no!” Daywen scooted past the two men and sat firmly upon the box. “That is mine!”

  Bel strode over to Daywen. “I don’t care. It’s going back to the gypsy and I’m getting my gold back.” He put his hands on her hips to lift her off the box. She grabbed his arms and kicked out at his legs.

  A perplexed look wrinkled his forehead. One of his arms snaked about her waist while the other moved to the back of her head. Before Daywen could draw another breath for a protest, he pulled her close and kissed her.

  Her heart thumped. When he released her, she found all her words of protest had fled.

  He had not lost his frown. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I can’t live like this. I don’t care what you say. That faerie must go back.”

  Lachlan muttered something. To Daywen, it almost sounded like, “Ye be a greater fool than I thought.”

  ****

  Bel strode down the road until it became a trail leading into the woods. He had to return the faerie. “Can’t live like what?” Daywen insisted as she hurried after him. She caught up to him and dragged on his arm.

  Bel tugged against her grasp. “This faerie magic is making me lose my senses. And I can’t have you distracting me constantly.” That itch in the back of his head cried out for her. He wanted to kiss her, and so much more. He wanted to stroke her hair, he wanted to feel her skin and hear her voice. He drew her in and kissed her once more.

  “Then give me the bag and I’ll walk away,” she gasped when he let her come up for air.

  “I can’t let ye do that.” He couldn’t. He really couldn’t. Thoughts of carrying her over to the tall grass beside the road and making sweet love to her flitted through his head. “You wouldn’t get farther than five chains before--”

  Bel shook those thoughts from his head. This was the faerie’s magic causing him to lose his senses. He’d come across enough of such magic in his travels, but nothing as strong as this. Before they left, he’d chanted countercharms. He armed himself with cold iron borrowed from Lachlan. He’d even thought about turning his clothes inside out, but feared that if he took them off, he would not want to put them back on for quite some time. Still he was drawn to her.

  Daywen protested and dug in her heels, dragging at his
grip on her arm. “You’re conceited, Belenus, if you think that this is all about you.”

  Bel slowed, but did not stop. “This is all about me. I know fae magic when I see it. I will not be trapped this way.”

  “This is no trap,” she spat. “Ye can walk away at any time. Give me the faerie and be gone.”

  “Oh, you think it that simple, do you? Do you think that this little spell will go away as soon as you do?” Images of his father, generally clueless in his life, yet so deliriously happy with his mother danced in his mind. Did the faerie do that? Bel couldn’t have that in his life. If he gave in to the magic, it would drive him mad every time he left Daywen behind to go searching for fae gold. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his task, and he’d be cursed and sent to his death by unseelie creatures.

  “No,” he stated. “The faerie goes back.” He shook her off and backed away.

  “Give me back my faerie!”

  “No,” he cried.

  Then he turned and ran.

  ****

  With a shriek of rage, Daywen lifted her skirts and set off after him.

  The man could run. No matter how hard her feet pounded the dust, no matter how much energy her anger gave her, the gap between them widened. Soon he passed out of sight and around a bend.

  Daywen did not slow down. While she ran, she thought about his reaction. He’d kissed her in the smithy. When he had, it was like setting a tumbled chair to rights. It was as if every chair around the table had been set back in its place.

  He’d kissed her again, and in her mind, this was how things were supposed to be. The faerie had been right.

  She wanted him to kiss her again, though her heart had skipped a beat when she thought he was going to carry her off the road and ravish her. A tiny corner of her heart wanted him to. That same tiny corner wanted to goad him into it.

  But he had run away, taking the faerie with him.

  Oh! If Alishandra discovered that someone else had the faerie...

  Fear carried Daywen the rest of the way to the garish wagon.

  Sure enough, Bel had beaten her to it. She heard him calling out in the glen before she saw him. Daywen emerged, panting and prickly with sweat a moment before Alishandra slipped through the trees.

  The gypsy glanced over Bel before settling her gaze on Daywen. “I see ye have found him.”

  “Found nothing!” Bel insisted. He strode up to Alishandra and thrust the velvet back into her hands. “Lift this spell and give me back my gold.”

  Alishandra’s hand closed over the bag. “What spell? And no.”

  Bel’s hand went to his waist and rested on his dagger. “You tricked her and trapped me.”

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Then what is this?” he demanded, pointing to his head.

  Alishandra came closer to him and sniffed about him. “The real source lies within you. I’d say you’ve been the victim of someone else.”

  Daywen felt let down. “Then what has the faerie done?”

  “What it was meant to do for ye; show ye the best match for ye, nothing more. For you, she is simply to glow when she senses the presence of an ideal man.” Alishandra lifted the bag to her ear. “And she tells me she has done that.”

  Alishandra waved her hand in dismissal, sending her bracelets clattering. “Now off ye go and dance at your wedding. I wish ye both many fat babies.” She turned to leave.

  Bel caught her by the arm. “What about my gold?”

  “You mean my gold?” Alishandra spat at him.

  Bel grabbed her by the front of her shawl and growled in her face when a voice interrupted them.

  “Meine Goldmünzen?” it said.

  Both Bel and Alishandra turned to face the newest arrival.

  The Germanic gnome stood in the clearing. “Sie sind schnell, Sohn von Adam, aber nicht schnell genug,” it said. “Wo sind meine Goldmünzen?”

  Daywen had no clue what he said, but she recognized the word “Gold”. She drew in a deep breath and put her hand over her mouth.

  Alishandra’s eyes narrowed.

  Bel drew in a breath as he faced off the gnome. “Sie hat sie,” he said, pointing to Alishandra. “She’s got your gold, you wretched creature.”

  The gnome looked at him, then at her. He stepped closer and held out his hand. “Ich habe meine Goldmünzen zurück jetzt.”

  Daywen’s gaze rested on the velvet bag of the faerie which Alishandra clutched in her hand as she faced down the gnome, shrieking at the fey creature in a language Daywen didn’t understand. She had a sinking feeling that she would never get it back, nor would she ever get another.

  When she turned around, Bel had gone.

  ****

  “Belenus, back so soon?” His mother’s smile faded as she looked upon the angry countenance of her son.

  “What did you do to me, Mother?” He stared down at this frail old woman. He’d never expected such interference from her.

  Her eyes shifted in a way that reminded him of the gypsy woman. “What do you mean?”

  He threw his arms out. “You’re interfering in my life. Where did ye get magic like that?”

  His mother gave up her pretenses. She steepled her fingers before her and tapped them against her lips. “I am disappointed in you, Belenus. I will not tell you what I have done, for I see I wasted such a precious gift on you.” Then she turned her face from him.

  “Now, Mother...” If anyone could get to him, it was her. He knew how much she loved him, how much she’d sacrificed for him growing up. He knelt by her chair. “Please, Mother. Tell me what you’ve done.”

  She drew a deep breath before turning to him. “Your grandmother gave me a gift. She’d gotten it from her mother, and so on. I have no daughters--only you.” She made a small sound that could have been a sob. “And now my line will end with you.”

  He pointed to his forehead. His voice was gentler, but he still needed answers. “What did you do?”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  His mother looked at him, and Bel sighed. He answered the door, sparing his mother’s poor, arthritic joints.

  A punch to the face sent him reeling back.

  “I hope you’re happy!” said a furious Daywen, striding after the retreating Bel. “Thanks to you, I have an empty heart, an empty future, and an empty purse.”

  Was he bleeding? He checked his nose, but his fingers didn’t come away tinged with red. It hurt, but not as bad as the words she spoke.

  “I am not paying ye back a single groat, Belenus MacEuros. Not in coin, not in favor, not in anything!” She shook her finger in his face. “You’re a greedy, selfish, ignorant lout, and I hope ye die as miserable and alone as I am!” she shouted at him.

  “How did ye find me?” he asked.

  “Lachlan. He seemed quite amused at the prospect of the likes of me catching up with ye.”

  His mother sat up straight. “Belenus? What’s this?” Bel tore his attention from Daywen to his mother when he heard the tone of warning in her voice. “She’s the one, isn’t she? Oh, I’m disappointed in ye, boy. Ye went and asked for your gold back.”

  For the first time since her assault on Bel, Daywen seemed to notice Bel’s mother in the room. “Oh. My apologies, goodwife.”

  Bel’s mother waved her hand dismissively. “Not goodwife any longer. Widow MacEuros now, but I wager you knew that. Forgive me if I don’t rise and greet you properly. My old bones are not what they once were.”

  Daywen looked from mother to son and back again. “Oh...” She looked like she was going to cry.

  “Belenus,” his mother warned. “Have you done ill by this young lass?”

  “I...” His eyes on Daywen, he felt the lingering effects of magic spread warmth across his forehead and tickle the back of his mind. A tiny corner of his heart irked at having done her ill. He couldn’t lie to his mother.

  So he changed the subject. “We are not discussing what I did to her, but rather what ye did to me, Mother.
”

  Daywen folded her arms. “Oh, I think we should discuss what ye have done to me.”

  His mother studied Bel and Daywen. “If I understand this correctly, this is the lass that stole the gold from ye to get the faerie?”

  “Yes,” affirmed Daywen, her voice unsure.

  “And where is the faerie now?”

  Daywen’s eyes narrowed. “He stole it from me and returned it to Alishandra,” she spat.

  “Oh, Belenus,” his mother cried. “I am disappointed in ye. No amount of money can compensate for shattering someone’s dreams.”

  “I didn’t get me money back from the gypsy, if that’s what ye mean.”

  “No, that is not what I mean.” She slapped her arthritic hand against the arm of her rocking chair. “I am sorry I gave ye that gift and if I could take it back, I would, because I am ashamed of ye, lad.”

  That stung. Between Daywen’s tearful, angry countenance and his mother’s disappointment, Bel felt smaller than a rat.

  He gave in. “All right, Mother. At least tell me what it was ye gave me. What was it that was so important that you passed it down from generation to generation?”

  His mother closed her eyes. “I tell ye this only if ye will set things to rights.”

  “Mother...”

  “Promise! On your father’s grave.”

  Bel didn’t know what to say. But if he didn’t find out what it was, how was he to rid himself of it? How was he to free himself from the distraction that was Daywen? Even now his heart ached to take her into his arms and make everything better. “I promise,” he finally said.

  His mother nodded. “What I gave ye was a family gift, that ye would know true happiness when you found it.” She inclined her head. “How do you think I found ye father?”

  Bel raised a hand to his forehead. “But I thought the faerie...”

  “No,” said his mother. “The faerie was for the convincing of him in the end. The gift was for the convincing of me in the beginning.”

  Bel wasn’t sure he had this right. “You mean, ye loved Father because of the gift?”

  “What? Was he not worthy to be loved?” Her eyes turned from his to the memories of the past. “He was all that was good and wonderful in a husband. I chose well.”

  She turned to Daywen. “I’m sorry ye never found ye sweetheart. Ye would have seen something quite amazing. The faerie glows in beautiful colors when her task is done--”