Cruel Enchantment

by Bast, Anya

  She looked at him, held his gaze for a long heartbeat. “Good. It feels really good.”

  He smiled and her heart broke a little. “You look better without it.”

  “Better . . . natural?”

  “Oh, yeah. I love the way you look.” He studied her with heavily lidded eyes. Her mouth went dry at the expression he wore, as if he was thinking about all the different ways he wanted her in that bed over there.

  A sound in the distance caught her ear and made it twitch. “Do you hear that?”

  He listened for a heartbeat and then rose, going to the door and opening it.

  “Sounds like a drum,” she said, pushing up and hobbling over to him, using her crutch.

  “That’s no drum like you know. That sounds like a bodhrán or two.”

  “Bough-rawn?”

  He nodded and grinned at her. “Yeah, bodhrán. You really are out of touch with your people.”

  She frowned at him.

  He grinned. “Come on, kitten, we’re going to find the source of that sound.”

  “What about Kolbjorn?”

  “He’s got no idea we’re out here in the Boundary Lands. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have the first clue where to look. No one short of one of the royals could find us out here, unless they were blessed by Danu herself.”

  She peered out the door and into the twilight thick woods, the sound of the music growing louder. The tribal beat called to her, igniting her fae blood. She wanted to go. “If you say so.”

  “I say so. Let’s go dance.” He glanced at her leg. “Or hop, as the case may be.”

  It wasn’t hard to find the celebration since it wasn’t far away. The musicians had set up in a clearing in the woods, lights from the sprae twinkling around them and the lush sentient foliage pulling back to provide them more room. Even as she watched, vines sprouted with blossoms and grew around her, unfurling their petals to the world and releasing their perfume into the air.

  On one edge of the clearing stood five members of a band, four men and one woman. Scots fae, Emmaline judged. The Scottish fae were of a smaller number than the Irish, having fared less well for some reason with Watt syndrome, though their customs and traditions were rich and touched all the fae. It was from the Scottish that the tradition of the Unseelie and Seelie courts had come originally, though court culture was a blend of all the fae cultures now. These musicians were not of either court; they were nature fae of some sort. Or so Emmaline presumed.

  All four of the men were shirtless, wearing only well-loved kilts in the ancient way around their waists and all of them in knee-high leather boots. Tattoos writhed over their muscled chests and down their arms—two men on bodhrán, one on a huge drum, and the other on a set of bagpipes. The woman, also dressed in a tartan of the same color, was barefoot and with leaves and twigs wound artfully through her long brown hair. She also played drums.

  The music they played was like magick, the beat of the drums, the bodhrán, and the bagpipes singing through her blood and waking parts of her psyche she’d thought dead. The beat pounded through the earth at her feet, through her legs. If she imagined it hard enough, the music healed her wounds—more than just one of them.

  In the clearing, in front and around the musicians, the birch ladies danced. In flowing gowns of white or earth tones, the fabric moved around their forms as they swirled and leapt in the moonlight, catching sometimes on the forms of their consorts—strong men dressed in tones of black, brown, and green. All of them appeared to be a natural part of their verdant surroundings, which they were. These were the fae of the wild places; they helped sustained the forests of the earth. The rest of the world had suffered the loss of their presence greatly.

  Humankind could never fully understand just how much damage they’d done when they’d banished all the magick from their world. They wondered why nature turned against them so often, why crops failed, why there were so many hurricanes, floods, and earthquakes. They wondered why buildings crumbled sometimes for no good reason. By imprisoning the fae, they’d destroyed the ecosystem of their world. The hardships they endured now were their karma.

  One of the birch ladies stepped toward them. Reddish blond hair curled past her shoulders, decorated with small twigs twisted through its length. Her thick hair framed a heart-shaped face and a full mouth. In the moonlight her luminous skin seemed to glow. She was barefoot and her long, bare arms were streaked with dirt, but, oddly, it seemed to suit her—making her even lovelier than she already was. Emmaline recognized her as the one who’d healed her at the cottage.

  “Aurora,” Aeric greeted her. “We heard the music and decided to check it out.”

  Aurora smiled. “Good. Music and dance will help Emmaline to heal.”

  “Thank you for treating my injury,” said Emmaline.

  “Any friend of Aeric’s is a friend of mine.” She inclined her head. “I was happy to help and, anyway, you’re someone very important to the future of the fae. I could hardly let you suffer.”

  Emmaline gave Aeric a pointed look.

  Aeric raised his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

  Aurora laughed. “That was only my intuition speaking, nothing else. I don’t know specifics. I only know that you’re trying to do something very big for us, something that could affect our future in a major way.”

  “Yeah, well,” Emmaline answered. “I’m going to give it my best shot, anyway.”

  “That’s all anyone can ever ask. Now, please enjoy the music.” Aurora nodded at them both and then melted back into the merry celebration.

  Emmaline leaned on her crutch and watched everyone dance with the chaotic loveliness of the music pulsing around her.

  “So, wanna?” Aeric asked with a jerk of his head at the dancers.

  “Wanna what?” She wrinkled her face at him. “Dance? I can’t dance. If you haven’t noticed, I’m on a crutch over here.”

  He rolled his eyes. Stepping up to her, he pulled her in close to his chest, urging her to put her feet on his. Then he took the crutch from her grasp and tossed it aside. Holding her close, pretty much holding her up, he began to dance.

  Her breath arrested in her throat. A memory of dancing with her father once this way assaulted her brain for a moment. However, this was different. Much, much different. After all, she was not feeling particularly daughterly in Aeric’s arms.

  Not at all.

  The scent of him, leather and man, teased her. The heat of his body and the bunch and flex of his muscles as he moved. His arms, so strong, supporting her. All of it combined to make her head spin and her libido flare to life. She could tell herself all day long that sleeping with Aeric was the worst possible thing she could do, but there was no convincing her body of that. Just the press of him against her made her knees feel weak and fantasies whirl uncontrolled through her mind.

  She didn’t really know what to do with her head, or her eyes, for that matter. He was taller than she was, but he was looking down at her as they danced. The pace they danced at was slower than the music out of necessity. It was intimate—too intimate.

  “It’s okay if you lay your head on my chest,” he said, his voice rumbling through her as he spoke. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  Swallowing hard, she did it. The warmth of his body radiated through his shirt and warmed her cheek. After a moment she gave in to the powerful urge to close her eyes.

  He held her and danced until the moon was high in the sky and partially covered with clouds. Soon only the small, glittering lights of the sprae lit the clearing. Someone brought out bottles of elderberry wine and apple liquor, a few baskets of cheese and fruit. Someone else lit a fire.

  Later on all the birch ladies and their men ended up sitting or reclining on lush foliage, talking while the musicians played on in the background. Aeric and Emmaline sat nearby, under a huge tree. The power of the woods unfurled upward from the magick-soaked ground, bathing them in rich power and sweet scent. It made Emmaline feel almost drunk, tho
ugh she’d hadn’t consumed a sip of alcohol.

  “So you’ll be the one to bring the key to David,” said Aeric. They were sitting on the side of the fire farthest from the Scottish fae band, whose playing was becoming more chaotic in direct correlation to the amount of elderberry wine they consumed. “How do you plan to work that out with the Phaendir?”

  She drew a finger through the grass near the basket of food they were munching from. “I have that set up. I told Maddoc that the stress of the mission would require me to take a small vacation when I returned and I planned to visit my mother for a week. I’ll have to be careful they’re not watching me, but as soon as I check in with the Phaendir, I’ll be off to Israel.”

  “Off to David the diver.” There was a dark note in his voice that didn’t fit.

  She looked at Aeric cautiously, trying to figure it out. “Yeah. David lives for diving. We used to take our vacations in all the places where the diving was good. He always wanted me to go with him.” She chuckled. “But I far preferred to lie on the beach with a good book.”

  “Why didn’t it work out between you?” He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed.

  Her smile faded. “I wasn’t the right woman for him. He deserves someone who can offer all of herself.”

  “So you never loved him.”

  “No. I did love him. I loved him very much. I just didn’t—”

  “Love him enough?”

  “It wasn’t the kind of match either of us wanted.” She paused, drew a breath. “Well, not the match I wanted, anyway. We both wanted soul-deep, crazy love. We didn’t have that. Instead of a raging thunderstorm, our love was more like—”

  “A light rain?”

  “Stop.” She pushed his shoulder and laughed. “We just didn’t have what it takes.”

  “You’ve been with a lot of men, though, right? All human?”

  “Well, yeah. I haven’t been a nun, Aeric. You might be surprised at how few men I’ve been with over the centuries, though. I’ve been picky.”

  “But none of the relationships worked out for the long term.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, wanting to argue with him. She couldn’t. “I’ve yet to the find the love of my life, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s because you need a fae man, not a human.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged a shoulder and popped another grape into his mouth. “You need a man who will truly understand you. A human will never be able to do that. Humans love the fae, fear the fae, or hate the fae, but they will never understand the fae.”

  It was true that she felt good here, in this clearing with her people. The beat of the drums and the sound of the bagpipes did more than make her want to dance, they ignited a part of her heritage, a part of herself she’d been forced to make dormant since she’d left Ireland so long ago.

  “Maybe, but the problem with that is threefold. One, it’s not like there’s an ocean of eligible fae men beyond the walls of Piefferburg. Two, there are fae men here in Piefferburg, but I’m not staying. Three, all the fae men in here want to kill me anyway.”

  He grinned. “But then you win them over, bend them to your will, and compel them to take you dancing.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher.” The words boomed out from behind her in a bass voice.

  Every muscle in her body tightened and she gripped her crutch, ready to bring it up into the speaker’s gut. Aeric also visibly went on guard.

  “Emmaline Siobhan Keara Gallagher. I remember you.” The words were spoken with a thick Scottish burr. The speaker had never had his accent washed out the way she and Aeric had. Her Irish accent was completely gone, and Aeric’s was but a mere whisper of what it had been once upon a time.

  And she knew that voice.

  Aeric hopped up and got into the man’s face. “Listen—”

  “Wait.” She looked up. “Graeme?”

  “My wee lass has gone and got herself all grown up.” He grinned. “Pretty as ever.” He raised a brow. “And not even wearing that stinking glamour.”

  “Graeme!” She struggled to her feet with the help of the crutch and threw herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it. It’s been so long. How did you know who I was?”

  “Ah.” He jerked his head at Aurora. “She thought I might know you from the old days. Thought you could use a friend.” That last was accompanied by a pointed look at Aeric.

  She laughed, totally shocked at seeing him after all these years. “I was so worried about you. I thought maybe Watt syndrome got you.”

  “The Watt’s never touched me, lass.” He touched her cheek. “And I was worried about you long before that.”

  The joy that had made her heart feel so light turned into a black cloud as she remembered. Her smile faded. “I survived it, Graeme.”

  He smiled. “So I see.”

  She turned to Aeric, who looked more than a little perplexed by the whole exchange. “Aeric Killian Riordan O’Malley, please meet Graeme Alaisdair Mackenzie.”

  Graeme grabbed Aeric’s unwilling hand and shook it. “The Blacksmith. I know you, too.” Then he leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “Why hasn’t he killed you?”

  “Long story,” she murmured back. Then to Aeric she said, “Graeme helped me after my parents died and I was all alone. He’s one of the few people who ever saw me without my glamour.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Aeric muttered.

  Graeme grimaced. “Please. She was but a small girl back then. I had no designs on her.” He gave her an exaggerated leer. “Though maybe now I do.”

  Emmaline laughed. Then she threw herself into his arms again and gave him a long hug. “It’s so nice to see you, Graeme. So nice to see a friendly face.”

  Graeme jerked a thumb at Aeric. “And this one? He’s not a friendly face? Do I need to do something about him, then?” Graeme was a big man, burly in the way some of the Scottish wildings could be. His magick lay in the realm of the trees, oaks, in particular. He was built like one, but she doubted he would be a match for Aeric in a fight.

  Aeric emitted something that sounded a lot like a growl.

  “Hey,” Emmaline said, putting up a hand. “There’s too much testosterone all of a sudden. I didn’t mean Aeric. I meant the fifty-two thousand Unseelie fae in Piefferburg who want to see me strung up.”

  Graeme laughed, a big, booming sound. “Well, you did offend quite a few of them. Go on over to the Rose Tower; you’re a rock star over there.”

  Aeric bristled. “Over my dead body.”

  “Mine, too.” She shivered. “No, thanks. If I ever see the Summer Queen again, it will be too soon.”

  “Where are you staying, lass? Can I help you with anything?”

  Aeric cut in. “She’s staying with me and we don’t need any help. Emmaline, it’s time to go.”

  Emmaline frowned at Aeric. “What is your problem, Aeric? I would like to stay and talk to my friend. He’s the only one I have here, after all.”

  “What am I, then?” He pulled her, stumbling, to the side and held her up so she didn’t fall. He whispered near her ear, “Make no mistake; I am the only person you can trust right now, Emmaline. I don’t like that he knows who you are. I don’t like the vibe I get from him. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Her jaw locked and her eyes narrowed. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he sounded jealous. “You’re being completely un—hey!” He’d lifted her over his shoulder in one smooth motion; her crutch dangled from one hand and her fist pounded on his back. “Let me down. Gods damn it, Aeric. I can hurt you, you know! I’m a trained—oof!” He jiggled her on his shoulder to make her stop talking.

  Aeric stopped in front of the Scotsman. “Sorry, Graeme, we’ve got to be going.”

  He walked the whole way back to the cottage like that, despite her protests. “You don’t have to be jealous of Graeme,” she groused at him
when he finally set her on her feet inside the building.

  “Jealous? Who said anything about jealousy?”

  “You sounded pretty jealous to me back there, Aeric.” Her face reddened. “Not that I think you want me or anything, just jealous in a general . . . ‘all women are mine, I am man’ kind of way.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I have an ‘all women are mine, I am man’ kind of way?”

  She puffed out a breath in frustration. “Most men like you do. You know, because you’re men. Manly . . . uh, men. You have a caveman urge to claim all women as your own, even the ones you don’t really like.” She was making this worse. She should shut up.

  “Manly men.” He walked over to her. “Urge to claim all women? For your information, I am very much a one woman kind of man. I see a woman I want and nothing stands in my way of claiming her. Her. Singular.”

  Her mouth went dry.

  “When I want a woman, she is mine. No other man stands in my way, and I find no other man a threat. Therefore”—he tipped her chin up with his finger—“no jealousy. No reason for it. Get it?” His voice was slow, like warm honey, and his eyes were heavy lidded. He added something low in Old Maejian that she didn’t understand.

  Oh, Danu.

  She swallowed hard and backed away from him a little. He was making her heart pound. Once upon a time she would have given anything to be the one woman he wanted, the one he wouldn’t let anyone stop him from taking. That time didn’t seem long ago at all. In fact, she could recall it quite easily. . . .

  “Okay. Well, anyway, Graeme’s gay.” She cleared her throat. “So, you know, uh, just for your information. That was my point.” That point seemed really superfluous right now.

  He reached out and pulled her flush up against him. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Good for Graeme.”

  She dropped her crutch.

  THIRTEEN

  HE moved her backward, toward the bed.

  “Aeric? What are you doing?”

  “Taking what I want.” He pushed her gently backward, spilling her onto the mattress. He came down over her, arms on either side of her, almost so she couldn’t get away.