But there were still the Dullahan, terrifying creatures, to deal with, not to mention the shape-shifting Pooka and the Sluagh, those gorgeous soul-eaters riding the shifters into battle. And there was Mab.
The sounds of war were overwhelming. She had a whole new respect for the military in her home world. They faced the threat of such battles every day. And voluntarily put themselves in harm’s way all the time.
And the shouting—the shrieks of fear and the screams of pain—was terrifying. The scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air and Maggie fought to breathe it all in, anyway. She swung her iron sword like an avenging angel, cleaving her way through the Fae that stood between her and the former queen at the center of the melee.
Again and again, Maggie’s iron sword clashed with the sterling-silver blades of the rogues and she saw them react in panic to the dull gleam of her own weapon. They knew it was iron. Knew they could be poisoned, taking centuries to recover, and so they ducked when they should have fought and she was making actual headway.
She was grateful. Through the din of battle, a wild, stray thought scuttled through her mind. She was an artist, not a warrior queen. She hadn’t been built for this. Her arms ached, her shoulders screamed in quiet agony and her heart thundered in her chest like a runaway horse. She was so far out of her element, it wasn’t funny. How in the heck had destiny ever decided to choose her for this gig?
Fear and fury clogged her throat. There was no time to think. No time to worry. She had to trust that Bezel and Devon had succeeded in getting Eileen away safely. She had to trust that her Warriors and guard would stand together, forgetting their former enmity as they faced a common foe.
And she had to trust Culhane.
Strange, but all of her worries now meant nothing. When it really mattered, when everything was on the line and she was fighting for her life—of course she trusted Culhane.
He was near her throughout the battle and she was aware of him on a soul-deep level that didn’t even require seeing him. She felt him. Felt their connection and it steadied her even in the middle of this horror.
Maggie ducked, parried a blow and came back up screaming at the Sluagh attacking her. She swung her sword blade to slice into her enemy and was both sickened and gratified at the sensation.
“Maggie!” Culhane shouted her name.
She whirled around and watched him fly at her, skimming over her head to impale an attacker she hadn’t noticed; then Culhane landed in front of her, planting his own body between hers and danger, and Maggie knew without a doubt just how important he was to her.
When this was over, when they were back safely in the palace, she was going to tell him that she loved him and that she did trust him. Did believe he loved her. And then she was going to hold on to him and not let go for at least a hundred years.
“How touching!” Mab’s voice carried over the clashing battle raging around them and Maggie turned to face her.
Cold raced through her veins as she looked at the female who had brought them all to this because of her own thirst for power. Fury pumped anew as Maggie remembered that this bitch had changed Eileen into a full-Fae, taking all choice from her. And rage settled into a seething brew in the pit of her stomach with the recollection of all the pain Mab had caused.
Was causing.
“Flying warriors,” Mab said over the tumult. “A nice trick.”
“I don’t need tricks, bitch,” Maggie told her, and enjoyed the flare of insult in Mab’s eyes.
“Just your own private bodyguard?” Mab’s gaze slid to Culhane. “I told you once he couldn’t be trusted.”
Yes, she had. And Mab’s words had fed Maggie’s own doubts and fears until she’d turned from Culhane when every instinct she possessed had screamed at her to cling to him. Maggie smiled. She’d trusted Culhane all along, really. It was only her own fears that made her doubt him. Her hesitation at accepting her new life. Her worry over the destiny that had claimed her. When she doubted herself, she doubted what she felt and she felt the most, for him.
God, she was an idiot.
Looking at Mab, Maggie said, “Let it go, Mab. You can’t come between Culhane and me. You’ve already lost and I think you know it.”
Astonished, the other woman said, “You believe in Culhane? You are a fool.”
“Nope. I’m the Queen. You’re the fool.”
Mab screeched, throwing her head back to howl at the sky in frustration. Maggie could almost sympathize.
“I don’t need Culhane to take you, either,” Maggie said, and really hoped that was true.
“Prove it.” Mab swung her sword and the blood-drenched weapon hummed as it whipped through the air.
Maggie lifted her own blade, countered Mab’s thrust and swung one of her own.
Vaguely, she was aware that Culhane had stepped to one side, allowing her to fight her own battles despite the fact that he no doubt wanted to jump in and take care of it for her. And Maggie felt a swell of courage rise in her, born of his belief in her abilities.
Again and again, her blade crashed against Mab’s. The power of those blows sang up Maggie’s arms and into her shoulders. Their swords collided over and over as the battle around them was slowly won by Maggie’s forces.
The two women were oblivious to anything but their own private war, though. The rest of Otherworld could have slipped into another dimension entirely and they wouldn’t have noticed. All that existed was the two of them. This fight. This clash of two wills.
The sounds of the battle died away. Maggie thought of nothing but Mab. All she could focus on was the feeling that this was it. The moment of truth. The powers, the strength, inside her were fierce, but would it be enough to defeat the bitch Queen of this dimension? Was she fast enough, strong enough to end this here and now? And did she really have it in her to cut off the woman’s head?
Mab charged, forcing Maggie back, step by step, parry by parry. She couldn’t look away from Mab. Couldn’t see where she was walking, because to take her eyes off her opponent would mean her own death.
So she didn’t see the fallen Fae behind her. Didn’t know that she would fall, until she hit the ground with a thump hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Didn’t know this was the end until she looked up into Mab’s fierce face and saw triumph written in her silvery stare.
Then Maggie closed her eyes. She really hadn’t expected to lose. And in an instant, images of her life flashed in front of her in a sorry sort of slide show that had a well of self-pity rising up inside her. It was over and no way did she want to actually watch Mab’s sword come slicing down into her own chest.
She braced herself and waited for the pain.
Instead, a heavy weight dropped across her. A moment later, she heard Mab scream.
And then there was silence.
Maggie opened her eyes again, saw Culhane’s body draped over hers and saw Mab’s sword, jutting up from his back.
“Oh God!” Panic erupted as Maggie screamed and shoved at Culhane’s body to get him off her. He’d saved her by sacrificing himself? What the hell had he been thinking? Why would he do that?
Love, her brain whispered.
He did it for love.
Then she heard his voice in her mind. Must I die for you then, to prove my loyalty? She cringed and felt tears well in her eyes as she remembered her response as well. . . . That would be a good start.
“No, it wouldn’t! Damn you, Culhane, no!” Maggie scrambled out from under him, rolled him onto his side and looked around wildly for help. Any kind of help. What she saw was Mab’s lifeless body—missing its head—lying nearby, with Quinn standing beside it and warriors and guards racing toward her.
And she didn’t care.
All she cared about at that moment was that her warrior was lying so still, his glorious eyes closed, a damn sword sticking out of his back. She yanked it free, tossed it to one side, rolled him over and stared down into his face.
Around her, she was just ba
rely conscious of a crowd gathering. She couldn’t look at any of them. The guards or the warriors. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Culhane. She was too focused on keeping him alive and well. Yes, they were immortal, she thought wildly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be incapacitated, wounded so mortally it might take generations to recover.
“Don’t you check out on me, you bastard,” she shouted, grabbing hold of his shirt and shaking him with what was left of her strength. “Open your eyes, Culhane! Open them. You’re not dead; you’re immortal! Damn it, somebody make him open his eyes!”
“Maggie . . . ,” Quinn’s voice, as if from far away. Sad. Quiet.
She didn’t want sad. She wanted pissed. Or helpful.
Screw sad.
“Damn you, Culhane,” she shouted again, on her knees now, pushing her face into his. “Wake up!” She slapped him. Once. Twice. Then she caught his face between her palms and kissed him hard and long and deep.
Now she knew. She knew just how much he meant to her. He loved her? She believed him. He wanted to make babies? She was ready.
When the kiss ended, she lowered her voice and hissed into his ear, “I do believe, Culhane. I believe in Faeries. I believe in everything you’ve ever told me. I believe in destiny and you’re mine. I believe you love me. I believe we’re freaking married. And I believe that if you die, I will kill you myself.”
He opened his eyes then, looked up at her and smiled. “You really are crazy, aren’t you?”
Relief poured through her, quickly followed by a flood of gratitude. Maggie laughed like a loon. “I must be, because I’m married to an arrogant know-it-all and I’m going to have babies who will have a pixie godfather and learn how to fly and—”
Culhane grinned, reared up and kissed her until Maggie was gasping for air.
“Are you really all right?” she asked.
“I will be.” He winced a little. “The blade was not iron, so I will heal quickly.”
“Then why the hell were you playing dead?”
“The sound of my love’s gentle voice was soothing me to sleep.” He gave her a wry smile.
“Very funny. I should be so pissed,” Maggie said, then smiled through her tears. “But honestly, I’m too glad you’re alive.”
“For which I am grateful, my Queen,” he said, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, wincing with pain, but clearly willing to withstand it. When she reached out to help him, he shook his head.
Then he turned, scanning the faces of the males and females surrounding them. Battle-weary, bloodstained and filthy, they all smiled back at him. Quinn nodded, plucked Culhane’s sword from the ground and handed it to him.
Holding the tip of the blade high, Culhane glanced at their victorious troops, then shifted his gaze to Maggie. Smiling, he shouted, “Together we have accomplished what we could not have done separately. We have won the day. We have found new unity.”
Cheers broke out, a shouting chorus of triumph.
But Culhane wasn’t finished. Grinning widely, he called out, “To our Queen!”
And as one, the Fae Warriors, male and female, echoed his shout, slammed the tips of their swords into the bloody earth and went down on one knee in front of Maggie.
Epilogue
A week later, Maggie slipped into the palace living room and hoped her escape from the dining hall had gone unnoticed. Fighting Mab was one thing. Listening to Nora’s never-ending wedding plans was something else.
Her sister was bound and determined to have a “real” wedding. And since her pregnancy was so far along that Nora was spewing Fae dust regularly, like Old Faithful erupting, the wedding would be there, at the castle. If they all survived Nora’s incessant strategic meetings.
“Peace,” Maggie whispered, and walked across the room filled with cozy furniture, burning pine-scented candles and a roaring fire in the hearth. She glanced at the giant Christmas tree in the corner, blazing with real Faery lights, and the dozens of gaily wrapped packages lying beneath it.
Their first Christmas in the palace and so far it looked like a winner. In fact, she thought they just might start a new tradition for the Fae. She’d already heard that indoor trees were becoming quite the rage in the city.
And all over Otherworld, the males were beginning to come into their own. Sure there were a few problems, but mostly, things were looking good. Although Bezel was insisting that pixie rights should be the very next thing Maggie looked into.
She’d put it on her list. But all in all, life was good. Mab was defeated and she wasn’t coming back. Jasic was still spending quality time in his cell . . . until he earned his way back into the family, though Maggie was thinking she might spring him for a few hours on Christmas Day. Bezel had made up with Fontana and was now boasting a cherry red velvet suit. Devon was spending as much time at the palace as he was at warrior training and Eileen hardly floated at all anymore.
Claire and Mac were still at each other’s throats, which explained why Claire had gone back to the human world for a vacation before Christmas. And as for Maggie and Culhane . . .
She grinned to herself, reached out and jingled a bell ornament just to hear the chime. Real wedding or not, warriors really did make the best husbands. Of course, Maggie had already told him he could forget all about the dissolving-the-marriage thing. He was in this for eternity, so he might as well get used to it.
She was happy. Really happy for the first time in her whole life. She could hardly wait for her birthday, the day after Christmas. Culhane was taking her to Inia and had promised to keep her naked and—
“There is trouble,” Quinn announced as he and Culhane stalked into the living room.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Maggie complained, knowing that she’d jinxed herself again. “I was relaxed for what? Like ten seconds?”
Culhane came to her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. “It is nothing, Maggie. Nora has turned our fearless friend into a quivering pixie. Quinn is an old woman.”
At that insult, the other warrior blew up like a puffer fish. “This is not about Nora.” He glanced around the room. “She is not here, is she?”
“No,” Maggie told him, smiling. The big brave warrior had drawn his personal line at choosing flowers for Nora’s bouquet.
“Ah.” He sighed, then scowled, remembering his mission. “Maggie, the warriors are threatening to riot because the female guards are insisting on moving into the Conclave.”
“Seriously? That’s the big problem? Dorm troubles? Hello? You guys do magic, remember? Add another building for them,” Maggie said, and smiled, tipping her head to one side so Culhane could kiss the spot he’d missed.
He grinned and complied.
“That’s not all,” Quinn said, clearly disgusted with both of them. “There is talk that one of the sacred relics of Fae has been discovered in Ireland. If this is true, the rogue Fae will be after it.”
“Oh, for—” Maggie broke off and glared at Quinn. “Can I have one damn weekend? Can I just enjoy Christmas and my birthday? Eat too many cookies? Have some Chardonnay? Lots and lots of Chardonnay? Open presents? Can I just relax for a few days? Is that really too much to ask?”
Culhane grinned wider. “It is not, my Queen. Why don’t I see if I can help you with your relaxation?”
“Oooh,” Maggie said with a sigh, turning her back on Quinn to look up into the pale green eyes she loved so much. “Now that sounds like a good idea.”
“There is trouble!” McCulloch shifted into the palace living room, eyes fierce.
“What?” Maggie and Culhane shouted the word together.
“I went to the human world to see Claire,” Mac said, gaze fixed on his Chieftain and his Queen. “I wished to bring the witch back to Otherworld. But her house had been ransacked. Claire is gone.”
About the Author
Maureen Child is the award-winning author of more than one hundred romance novels and often says she has the best job in the world. A si
x-time RITA nominee, Maureen lives with her family in Southern California.
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