Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  Before he made a decision, however, a loud crash sounded from the entryway, and a current of air and shards of wood came flying at him. He lifted one arm, and ducked, letting the splinters pelt his back. His coat protected his flesh. It was as though the door had been shattered.

  Realizing these were not ordinary callers, Christian reached up and collected the guns. He checked the chambers to make certain they were still loaded. Keeping one in his hand, he tucked the other into the back of his trousers beneath his coat.

  He heard boots crunching over what sounded like the remains of his front door. Right now, he really wished he’d had the garrison of knights Contessa had asked about when he first met her.

  “What was that noise?” Tabitha asked from behind him.

  When he looked back an unholy sound escaped him. Not only was the fragile witch there, but Contessa, Jackson, and the maids as well. Apparently none of them understood how to follow simple directions about staying put. “Take them out the back,” he spat quietly.

  “Where is she?” was bellowed from the entry in a deep angry voice.

  Christian’s heart sank. They couldn’t be speaking of Tessa, could they? He pointed down the walkway, silently urging them to flee before it was too late.

  “Contessa!” again came the voice from the entry.

  And Contessa paled.

  “Take them to safety now, old man!”

  “Too late,” Contessa whispered. “It is him.”

  “I said leave! Now do it! I’ll deal with this damn prince.” How could he be alive? Could he really have been in her bedchamber? He unlocked his revolver and cocked the hammer, thinking Prince Dominic Renard wouldn’t be consuming air much longer if he had anything to do with it.

  He watched the maids scurry away as the others took slow hesitant steps. While he appreciated the fact they didn’t want to abandon him, he couldn’t hesitate any longer and turned toward the foyer.

  Feigning a boldness he did not feel, Christian stepped into view. His gaze first traveled the destruction, then to a large man who was flanked by four others. All of them simply oozed menace. He suspected the largest in the middle to be the prince. Dominic had sable hair, hazel eyes, a long straight nose, and was dressed in the highest French fashion of their times. His black coat was embroidered along the cuffs, and his silk cravat was perfectly tied. The man was quite handsome, which was annoying. There was no way in hell he was letting that lot anywhere near Contessa. He took another step. “Tessa is my betrothed. I’ll kindly ask you to leave,” he said, leveling the gun directly on Dominic’s heart.

  The prince laughed. Actually laughed!

  Christian swore when Tabitha came into view at his side. “Christian, you may need my aid—” And as he thought more about it, perhaps having a witch backing him up wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Again Dominic bellowed with amusement. “I can hardly believe it.” He stepped closer. His eyes were alight with intrigue as he twisted a large ring around his finger. “You don’t know.”

  “Know what?” Christian asked, irritated. Then he heard Contessa arguing with Jackson and looked back to see her out-muscling the old man. “Tessa, please, I beg you. You must leave.”

  “Christian…” she said around Jackson’s shoulder.

  The butler’s polished black shoes were sliding along the floor as he kept working to keep Tessa safe. Bless him, thought Christian, he was the only one trying to honor his advice, even if the elderly fellow was failing at it.

  Dominic’s chest bumped into the gun when he came face to face with Christian. The guards, or whatever they were, fanned out, protecting their prince. “She won’t leave because she belongs to me.” The prince cocked his head to the side. “You don’t know who she is, do you?”

  Sharing one look with her, he ground the admission with his teeth, and then said, “Leave now.”

  The prince merely raised an eyebrow in challenge, and said, “She will come with me, and then I will kill her.” The words were spoken softly enough for only him to hear—Christian pulled the trigger. This man was trespassing and threatening everyone he cared about. He would not stand for it….

  Nothing happened.

  Grinning down at the weapon, the prince waved his hand over the metal. Christian felt something unseen slither over his fingers. Soon after that the gun flew from his grip and skittered uselessly along the stone floor. He reached for the other revolver. Again it was taken from him with something that felt like…magic?

  “Fool. Did you really think a weak human like you could defeat me?”

  Tabitha lifted her palms, muttered a collection of strange words and Dominic’s shoulder jerked back with the force of some sort of power.

  Yet Dominic was unaffected by that, too. His men didn’t like it, though. They growled their protests and stepped forward. With one hand, the prince signaled for them to stay back. He rubbed at his apparently bruised flesh, popped his neck, and turned narrowed eyes upon Tabitha. “A witch,” he murmured as though she was a curse. Then he squinted and Tabitha gasped with her arms held down at the sides of her body. It seemed she’d been bound by an incantation spoken inside the prince’s head.

  Dominic’s gaze shifted and locked onto Christian once more. Instinctively, he wanted to lift his hands up to claw at something invisible that constricted his throat, but he couldn’t move.

  “Christian,” said Tessa, much closer this time, “I remember now…he is fey. He is magical. You cannot fight him.”

  Well, that would explain a few of the things he’d just witnessed in the last few minutes, and was that why she’d refused to wed Dominic? A whole slew of curses flew through his mind. “Fey?” What was he up against here?

  Apparently the prince didn’t like Contessa moving around, so he did the same to her and Jackson as he’d done to the witch, physically binding them by a force Christian could not see.

  “Please spare them, Dominic! I will come with you.”

  “Why should I believe you? When you fell down those stairs I suspected you did it just to escape a marriage to me. I still do.”

  From taking in her shocked expression, Christian could see Tessa did not remember a fall. The blackguard probably pushed her.

  Dominic went on, his tone imperious, “And to think, all this time, I thought you were dead. How long has it been? Hmm? Four or five centuries?” The Prince kissed her cheek. “I loved you. I suffered at your loss.”

  Anger rose like bile in Christian’s throat. Forcing a lady into marriage does not speak of love. “You lie!” Christian croaked for lack of air. “You’re the one who killed her!”

  Leering, the prince shifted his gaze again. “And why would I murder my own bride before the wedding?”

  The question was exactly what he’d wondered himself, and a hint of self-doubt set in. Had he been wrong about everything? No, he couldn’t be, and he shoved the question aside without further reflection.

  “Besides,” added the prince, “as we all can plainly see”—he waved a hand in her direction— “she is not dead. You accuse me of a crime I did not commit.”

  He didn’t know what to think...someone had trapped her in ghost form, someone had....

  “I’ll marry you now! Just leave them be. We can go back to your castle—” Tessa cried.

  Christian struggled against his bonds. “No, Tessa, do not say such things!” he barely managed, hearing his voice edge into desperation.

  Dominic ignored him. “I will be taking you back with me.” He paced around her. She trembled as tears leaked down the sides of her face. The prince was unmoved by a sight that ripped a hole in Christian’s heart. “Of course I’ve had a few other wives since you, and my holdings are now quite vast. Luckily for you, however,” he lifted a lock of hair from her cheek and smelled it, “I’m between wives, so we will be getting married.”

  “She’s already betrothed to me,” Christian ground out, his voice a scratchy noise.

  Now the prince looked at him. “He doesn’t know
the truth about you, does he?” His gaze passed from her to him and back as a slow, wicked smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Neither of you know.”

  Silence fell, uttering the truth.

  Dominic’s smile became even more evil and triumph flashed in his gaze. He gathered Contessa’s chin between his fingers and kissed her, obviously trying to prove to all watching that he claimed her for his. Christian again wrestled against the spell holding him in place, but could not budge. “Don’t touch her!” His chest expanded as he fought for air.

  Dominic went on as though Christian had said nothing, “I do not know how she came to be here with a human earl, but she does not belong here. She is above you,” he said to Christian. “Did you truly think you were worthy to wed the fey princess of the northern realm?”

  Fey princess? Oh, bloody hell, thought Christian. She wasn’t even human. His heart shattered right there and crumbled to his feet. He looked at her and saw her heart was also breaking, that she truly had not known. And…and…what did it matter? He loved her, and knew she loved him back. He couldn’t let this evil cur take her. Dominic would hurt her, and, as he’d just threatened, kill her.

  “I’ll be good, Dominic. I will not argue or complain. I—”

  “Silence, Tessa. And just to show you what a noble man I am, I will spare them. For now.” The prince looked intently at her and uttered a foreign word which apparently cast a spell causing her to faint, because her eyes fluttered shut and she began to sink. Dominic caught her as she fell and tossed her over his shoulder. “Stay away from us. Or, trust me, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  Christian’s insides churned as he watched them leave—taking her—while he remained completely helpless to do anything about it.

  Once the villains were gone and the magic holding them prisoner dissipated, a stifling and depressing loss descended upon the room. Christian’s legs could not support him and he sank to the floor, gasping for breath. He swiped at moisture upon his cheek, and looked at his wet palm. Of course he wept for her, but it was quite apparent he wasn’t the only one by the sounds of weeping that were not his. Those sounds reminded him of the others, and he decided he’d spent enough time wallowing in his loss. Moving to Jackson, he bent down hoping the frail man had not been injured. “Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

  “Chris, I’m deeply sorry. I tried—” The butler cut himself off with a bought of heavy sobbing. “That poor girl! What will be done with her?”

  Horrible things, Christian feared. “I know, Jackson, you did well.” Christian patted him on the back and hooked an arm beneath his to help him up. “Please do not blame yourself.”

  Tabitha sniffled. “Be soothed by the knowledge that he would have found her anyway. Escaping a fey prince is not easily done, if not impossible,” she said. “If I’d only known what he was beforehand, I would have tried a different spell before he bound my magic.”

  “You are not to blame for this either, Tabitha, but we must get her back. Are you saying you may know spells that would work against him?”

  “I could teach you what I know, but we will never find his castle.”

  He didn’t want to hear that. Frustrated and worried, Christian shoved debris from his trousers and then said he was going to the library to research fey.

  He went through his books like a madman, leaving volumes strewn about the floor, tables, and chairs. Piled upon his desk was every book with any mention of fey in them, each one left open to the pages noting the most useful information.

  After spending hours upon hours scouring every book, Christian rocked back into his chair, raked fingers though his already disheveled curls yet again, and groaned. All he’d learned was that, much like faeries, fey were magical beings but without the wings, and while they were not immortal, they lived for centuries instead of years. And for a moment he’d thought that perhaps Tessa was right, perhaps they could not marry, but then he’d found record of a human wedding a fey. In truth, he did not know what to believe. He took in the state of the chamber surrounding him. Haggard was the best way to describe his emotional and physical state, and disaster was the best way to describe his library. Worry clawed at his insides. What could he do? Where could he go? But as the prayerful pleas rose from his heart, no answer came.

  He yanked open the drawer containing his art supplies and withdrew paper and a charcoal, then began sketching her face from memory, cursing himself for not doing a recent portrait of her. He guided the charcoal and watched, eager to see her, as her sweet innocent face emerged upon his paper. Smudging shadow under the smooth planes of her cheekbones and over the fullness of her lips, Christian vowed to himself that he would paint an enormous one of her when...if he got her back.

  Taking the new drawing with him, he left the library for his bedchamber. While walking along the hallway to his room he heard, “Christian,” in a voice he did not recognize. He spun around, but no one was there. Could he be so tired and emotionally drained he was hearing things?

  Continuing onward, the voice came again, “Christian Sparks, Earl of Krestly Castle.”

  Again he jerked around. Again no one stood there. Then he noticed the mirror above the hall table. It was the oldest piece of furniture in this demesne, and most likely an original piece because the frame was much more ornate than any of the other mirrors. Roses and leaves were carved into the surface of the frame which had also been gilded with gold. It was elegant even though the finish had crackled and flaked away in places. But as he focused onto his own reflection, the image changed, and looking back at him from behind the glass was a man and woman. The portrait slid from his fingertips—not only did he feel weak with shock as he realized he faced a king and queen, but the woman resembled Contessa so much, he gasped and was at a loss for words as well as breath.

  Chapter 27

  Threats

  A rocking motion drew her out of what felt like an unnatural slumber. Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze was met with a pair of smirking hazel eyes.

  Contessa swung upright and away from the prince, peering blearily around the carriage she was in, noting that her wrists were bound with an unseen magic. She could hear horses trotting along beside them, and the sound of the wheels rolling along rocky terrain. Wondering where he was taking her, she leaned forward to look out the window. She did not recognize the land well enough to know where they were or how long she’d slept for them to travel there. They could be anywhere in England or Scotland at that point. And even if she could escape Dominic, she would not get past the many guards surrounding them.

  A hand grasped her shoulder and she was jerked backward against a solid chest. “Sweet, Tessa.” He stroked her hair. The caress caused her stomach to roil. “You have not changed.”

  “Neither have you.” She hoped he took that like the insult she meant it to be.

  When she tried to pull away, he forced her to stay by tightening his hold around her waist. “I was quite distressed when I thought you’d died.”

  “I’m certain you were.” She remembered now. He only wanted to marry her for her parent’s land and wealth, had threatened war if they did not comply. “Where are my mother and father?”

  He sighed, as though the conversation bored him, and plucked lint from his white trousers. “They’re locked away within the mist. They cannot escape it.”

  They were alive! Her vision blurred with joy. But, “Why are they imprisoned?”

  “Because they fought our engagement.”

  She gasped. “Even after?”

  A leer of pure sinful amusement twisted his mouth. “Yes, even after I marked you as mine. The fools.”

  They had not betrayed her, or sold her to this horrible prince! But they had suffered for their choice. She then understood why she wore a wedding gown the day she’d died. Because not only had she allowed Dominic to take her from Christian to protect him, she’d also consented to a wedding she did not want to save her mother and father. Even so, she still did not know how things h
ad ended with her death.

  “Oh,” he whined, “must you weep?”

  How could she not? Her sensibilities were being tossed up and down in a crazy whirlwind of emotions. Someone had murdered her—she did not believe the nonsense about throwing herself down the stairs to escape him, for that would not aid her parents. So who had done it if he had not?

  And now that she knew her parents lived, she wanted desperately to see them. “But if I wed you will you let them go?”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled thoughtfully.

  “Please, I must see them. Should they not be at the wedding?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He shifted on the seat, gathered her chin with his fingers and coaxed her to make eye contact. She could not tell if he looked at her with compassion or pity, but with jerky, angry motions, he gathered a handkerchief from his pocket swiped at her tears and then shoved the cloth into her hand.

  Contessa secretly wished to return the crest-embroidered linen soiled.

  Whilst she suspected he meant her harm, he wasn’t always horrible toward her. It was something that puzzled her. Before he had taken her from Krestly Castle he’d bound all of her limbs which had been a dreadful feeling, but whilst in this carriage, he’d left all but her wrists unbound. At first it seemed like a kind thing to do, but as she thought about it, she grew to comprehended that perhaps she too had fey powers, and he was simply protecting himself from that. As the realization struck her, she looked at her wrists, gave them a tug, and then she saw it…. As though the magic were a living thing, it twisted and slithered in and around her wrists like a black serpent.

  Watching it move, she became sick to her stomach because whatever the spell was, it was horribly repulsive and she wanted to scrape it from her flesh. Panic seized her. “Get it off!” Tessa shouted, before shoving her hands beneath his nose.

  Dominic cocked an eyebrow at her, and pushed her arms away. Anger flared to life in his gaze. “Do not ever tell me what to do.” Promise of injury stood behind the words.