He thrust his shoulders back and struck a pose, tilting his head mockingly. “Like what you see, my lady?”
She swallowed and turned away, ignoring his brief snort of derisive laughter.
It was all achingly familiar, watching a man take off his armor. She knew what each piece was called. Knew the weight of the helm and the feel of the small links of chain mail under her fingers. Even the scent of oil and sweat was familiar. So why couldn’t she recall even one instance of seeing a man do this?
She closed her eyes and fought back the return of tears.
“Is the tea ready?”
She opened her eyes. It must have been a few minutes because his hair was damp and curling and he was wearing a long-sleeved tunic, belted at the waist, that dropped nearly to the floor. She wondered if he were naked underneath, picturing the washcloth running over his body, and a deep flush burned her skin.
“I’m...I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “How is it that I know this is tea, and I know this is a mug, but I have no idea of how to make it?”
He pulled two wooden crates closer to the fire and retrieved a bottle from another. “I don’t know. But I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.” His face was shadowed in the flickering light of the flames.
She sank onto a crate. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Just start.” He poured the tea and tipped a generous dollop of brandy in, handing her a mug. “We deserve a little celebration. Maybe even more than a little.” He winked at her, his serious expression lighter for a moment, and poured a larger dollop of liquor into his own tea.
The mug was warm and solid in her hand, and the smell of the alcohol so familiar. “I know this.” She lifted the tea and took a sip. “I know that I prefer it with cream and sugar. And that I like cherries. And wine.” She took another sip letting the heat slide down her throat and soothe some of the heartache. “But I can’t remember where I’ve had tea, or any of these people or places you’re talking about. Or much of anything.”
“Do you remember my taking you out of the house?”
“Yes.”
“How about before that?”
While she struggled for an answer he stared at her over his tea, his silver gaze sympathetic.
He sighed. “Let’s start at the beginning. I know you’ve said you don’t know how you got into the cottage, but what’s the last thing before you woke up with me that you do remember?”
She tried to think past the very physical jolting of landing on top of him, her lips pressed to his, staring into his eyes. “I remember the party.”
“But, you said that was the spell.”
“I think it was the spell. It had to be. It went on and on and there was nothing solid. I danced and drank until it was all a blur. Or maybe it was blurred to start with.”
“Can you remember anything else? Where you lived? Your home? Your parents?”
She thought of the slip of memory that had come to her earlier. “I remember a woman, but for some reason I don’t think she was my mother. She seemed...different somehow from everyone else. I think I was very small.” She thought hard, trying to grab the memory and take more from it than it wanted to give. “I remember hiding behind her skirts when the big people came, and the touch of her wings on my face.” She shook her head. “A few words...a smell.” She slammed her palm down on her leg. “Oh, why can’t I remember anything else!”
Ardan reached out and touched her knee. “Tell me.” His wide capable hand was warm and solid, his skin rough with a swordsman’s calluses. How was it he could wield a sword, chopping and slicing like an expert, and yet be so gentle with the exact same hand?
Everything about him spoke of integrity and honor. He’d been nothing but good to her. She looked into his face and he was watching her, a sudden heat in his eyes.
He leaned in. His mouth was close, so close. His lips were firm, and so was his chin. He smelled of mint and soap and despite all his efforts, he still carried that underlying scent of chain mail that to her spoke of men and strength.
She swallowed hard. Suddenly she wanted to be held by someone, taken care of by someone. He was here and he’d taken care of her, a total stranger, every step of the way. Why not him?
She moved in. His breath warmed her face. She didn’t want this burden of knowing nothing and fearing everything. She wanted to lose herself. His eyelids dropped halfway and the look he gave her smoldered with silver fire.
No! She pulled back and a rush of air filled the space between them.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t even know who she was and she didn’t want to lose what little she had. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
His expression shuttered and he shifted his body in the opposite direction. “It’s all right.”
But she could see by the withdrawal in his eyes, that it wasn’t and the chill of the cave seemed suddenly colder.
She fumbled for something to fill the gap. “That woman back there, you said she was a queen?”
“The Black Queen. I knew as soon as I saw her. Despite the difference in the way she’s supposed to look and the way she looks now, there’s no mistake. She’s exactly like the description of the woman who’s been causing trouble around the Golden King’s lands and her power is like black treacle.” He gave a visible shake. “I’d heard she was dangerous, but I had no idea.” His mouth twisted. “If I didn’t know better, I would swear that the Lady Aoife had set me up by giving me an impossible task.”
“She seemed to know me. She said I should have stayed where she’d put me. Do you think she was the one who bespelled me?”
“You don’t remember? Even after seeing her?”
“No.” Her hand tightened on her mug and she forced her fingers to relax, one by one. “Nothing.” She shook her head. “I feel like I should know what to do. Like I always know what to do, but now, I have no idea. I can’t plan or strategize. I need to know more.”
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” Ardan placed his empty mug on the rocky floor by the fire and turned to her, holding out his hands, palms up. “Do you trust me?”
She looked from his wide strong hands to the steadiness of his gaze. He seemed like a man with honor and so far, he’d treated her fairly.
She knew nothing about him, almost as little as she did about herself. But in this topsy-turvy world, where she felt as out of place as high heels on the battlefield, if she couldn’t count on her instincts what could she count on?
And besides, she didn’t have any other choices. Did she?
Chapter Twelve
Ardan held still, hands outstretched, waiting for Thorn to make up her mind. She didn’t make a move, simply watched him with wary eyes. He was hyper aware of her in this moment and absurdly nervous, given the situation.
They were isolated in the cave together, just the two of them. And Triton, of course. Before tonight, he’d thought of her as an asset—something to use to get what he needed. But in the last hour—watching her fight her tears, trying not to watch as she cleaned up in the corner, realizing that she’d been missing her memory all this time—he’d become achingly aware of her as a woman.
She’d retreated again, after their almost kiss. Curled up inside his jacket like a marmot darting back into its den. And now he wanted to help her see her past, not just for his needs, but to comfort her, give her the thing she so obviously needed. “This isn’t my skill set,” he said. “But I’ll do my best.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I’m suggesting I peek into your aura. See what we can stir up in your memories.”
“Can’t you see into my aura without doing anything else?” She had a slight crease between her eyebrows, and her tone was suspicious.
“Of course. But I can’t go deep without either pushing past your boundaries, or you letting me in, and I think we’ll need to go deep. So tell me, my Lady Thorn, will you let me in?”
She took in a deep breath and straighten
ed up on the packing crate. “Yes.”
“Close your eyes and give me your hand.”
She gave him a wide-eyed look before placing her small, delicate hands lightly on top of his, palm to palm. Her long eyelashes fluttered closed.
She quivered, like a hawk freed of its jesses for the first time, scared and wary and unsure of what came next. He had a sudden image of her watching him undress earlier, her violet eyes hot and hungry. Arousal coursed through him and his hands jerked.
“Is it okay?” Her eyes shot open. “I can’t feel anything yet? Did you start?”
“No.” He shifted on his crate and forced his mind away from thoughts of kissing her lips, back to the task at hand. “Close your eyes again.”
She gave him a hard look, and then settled back down.
“Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out.” He waited until her breaths were slow and even. “Now, I’m going to reach into your aura. Stay with the breathing. In...out...In...out.”
He closed his own eyes and timed his breathing to hers. He’d only done magic like this a time or two, when fellow soldiers had been hurt and he’d needed to help them calm down, but this was different. She was different.
He opened his Gift and the clear lavender of her aura leapt into view. He’d dipped into the surface in the cottage, but now he needed to go deeper. He touched the defenses protecting her inner self, but they resisted.
“Thorn, I can’t see what we need to see if you won’t let me in.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try again.”
Her light danced through her aura gleaming in its own defense, then the surface shivered and gave. He dove beneath, right through her protections and into her true self. Just like before, in the cottage, he couldn’t sense an actual spell. But here there were odd pieces of her aura that appeared thicker, a darker shade of lavender blending to a deeper amethyst as if re-healed over a wound. He used his Gift and stroked, trying to find the section of her blocked memory.
“Tell me about yourself. Tell me about Thorn.” He kept his voice low and soothing.
“It’s what they called me, a rose with thorns.”
A section of her aura pulsed with a darker color and he sent a waft of his own vivid blue into the memory. It flared and he pushed just a tiny bit harder.
“Can you remember more? Who called you that?”
“The fairies—the day I got lost.”
Ardan was pulled into the memory. Now he saw things from the perspective of Thorn as a little girl, very little.
Her dress was pink and poufy and swirled around her when she spun. She called to a woman in a grey dress with an apron, who seemed vague and insubstantial compared to the sunny day and the details in Thorn’s dress.
“Look, Mary, I’m spinning.”
But the nanny didn’t pay any attention. Instead, the woman smiled at the figure of a man even more insubstantial than she was, almost a colorful shadow instead of a person. “Run along and play with your ball over there,” the nanny said, making a shooing motion while hardly looking at the child.
Thorn frowned and stamped her feet. She picked up a ball and threw it as hard as she could. It bounced a few feet away near the misty edges of the path. She ran after it, but as soon as she drew close, it rolled away. On the air there was a ring of laughter as the little girl chased the stopping and starting ball all the way down the gentle sloped lawn.
In Thorn’s memory, Ardan got the feeling that there was supposed to be a wall here, that there usually was. But this time, there was no wall and the ball rolled through grass that got higher and higher, and more tangled, the further the little girl ran.
Low well-pruned shrubs and apple trees were replaced by dense thickets. And soon they were in a wood of tall dark trees with high branches and dense leaves that grew denser as they ran. But the little girl didn’t notice.
Finally, the ball rolled to a stop at the base of a wide oak tree. Thorn caught up to it, scooping it out of the rotting leaves and into her arms with a gleeful shout. “Ah, got you, you naughty thing.”
She turned around and started to make her way back, but the garden was gone. Instead she was surrounded by forest. Now she paid attention. These trees were the tallest Thorn could remember ever seeing, and so thick they nearly blocked the view of the sky. These trees were nothing like the carefully pruned trees of her garden. These had heavy blankets of dark green moss that smelled damp and musty. The air was cool here, and Thorn shivered.
“Mary?” she called, her little girl’s voice sounding small. “Where are you?”
But there was no answer.
She stamped her foot, clutching the ball in front of her and pitching her voice louder. “Mary, I demand you come out. It’s time for tea and I’m hungry.”
There was a brush of memory that said she always got more attention when she was loud. But not this time. This time only the sounds of crickets and the rustling of branches answered. A shadow covered the sun and the woods grew dark.
“Hello?” This time her voice was barely a whisper, and she hunched her shoulders, feeling small and pitiful.
A tiny light winked in the leaves of the bush next to her. It grew from a tiny flicker into a bright glow about the same size as the ball. Thorn peered closer and realized that this wasn’t a glow ball, it was a glowing woman with delicate translucent wings.
She fluttered in the air in front of Thorn and spoke in the chiming language of the smallest fae, her voice sounding like the ringing of tiny bells. “Hello, my dear. What is such a lovely rose doing out of its garden?” The fairy laughed, her voice singing out into the woods.
The sun came back out, brightening up the dense shadows and dancing through the leaves. It sparkled on the tiny woman’s glittering golden dress. Thorn reached out a finger to touch it, but the fairy just laughed and darted out of the way.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Buttercup. And by the look of you in your pretty pink dress with all those ruffles, you must be a rose fairy. But you’re far away from your garden, aren’t you, little one?”
“Mary’s gone and I’m hungry for my tea.”
“Come on, little rose, I’ll introduce you to my sisters.” The fairy grew bigger, until she was twice the size of Thorn, but still half the size of a normal Tuathan woman. Her face was narrow and sharp, her bright yellow eyes crystallized like Thorn’s but with an alien gleam that spoke of things the little girl was better off not knowing anything about.
Wings fluttering, the fairy reached out her hand. “We have a tea set out in the glade and we’re more than happy to share.”
Still Thorn hesitated, glancing from the bony fingers back to where the garden had disappeared. “Mary says I’m not to go wandering.”
Buttercup leaned close and whispered into her ear. “We have gingerbread. Do you like gingerbread little rose?”
“Oh, I love it. But I’m not supposed to go with strangers.” Thorn tightened her hands into fists at her side, making herself fierce, like her nanny had said to. “I’m supposed to bite and kick and fight if someone tries to take me. Mary said so.”
“My, you are a thorny one.” The fairy laughed, the sound ringing around the forest until every leaf seemed to laugh with her.
“But not to worry. I’m not a stranger, child. I’m Buttercup.” Something dark crossed the fairy’s face. “And it will only be for a little while.”
Thorn took a step back, glancing at the dark brooding trees. “I don’t think...”
The fairy shook her head, seeming to shake off the darkness and scattering bright gleaming golden dust with her movement. “We’ll have a party.” She smiled, and suddenly the light was back.
“A party?”
“Yes, with tea and little cakes with icing, and you can drink from a flower cup the size of a thimble. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes, very much.” The little girl put her hand trustingly into the fairy’s. “I love parties.”
And off they went, their conver
sation fading as Ardan slipped out of his link with Thorn and became his own shadow within the forest.
If she could remember this, than perhaps she could remember more—like where she came from, and if the Black Queen really had done this to her.
But the woods seemed far away now, the figures of the little girl and the fairy disappeared around a tree. He desperately tried to send some power into Thorn’s aura to get the memory to stay, but there was a flare of bright violet and a wall of power slammed down, cutting him off and spinning him away. With a twist of vertigo he was shoved out of her aura and back in his own body, his head pounding with the rebound.
“What the hell was that?” She jerked her hands back as if he’d burnt them, her eyes wide open in shock. “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Then what happened? One minute I was going to tea with Buttercup and the next it was all gone. I was so close.”
“I don’t know.” His body ached as if he’d done countless drills running in his armor on the practice field.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You were there. You saw. I was almost to the part where she tells me they feed on fear and I’ll be a tasty morsel.”
“Who feeds on fear? Where did she take you?”
“I don’t know!” She slammed her fists onto her thighs. “So close!”
“Something interfered.”
“Was it a spell? Is that why I can’t remember?”
He shook his head, regretting the movement as soon as it happened. “It doesn’t feel like a spell. It almost seems like you’ve set up walls yourself, cut off your own memories.” He thought back to the areas of her aura that seemed to be missing, the edges thick like scar tissue. “In fact, I’m not even sure there are many memories even there.”
Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5) Page 8