Thick lashes fluttered to reveal dazed orbs of green.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
Contessa’s eyes rounded and her body tensed. “Dominic!”
“Has not discovered us.”
“Yet.” There was a great deal of hopelessness and fear in that one word.
He didn’t want to waste time worrying about what might happen right now. They needed to eat and then leave as quickly as possible.
After digging around in his satchel, Christian presented a package wrapped in linen. When he revealed what was inside she gasped. “Fey honey cakes!”
“From your mother, princess, or rather, Your Royal Highness.” he said, taking one for himself as she bit into the spiced wafer.
“Please, just call me Contessa.”
“Of course.” Internally he chuckled, realizing he was doing to her what Jackson did to him. As the crumbly biscuit melted inside his mouth, he noted an unusual flavor for a sweet. Rosemary. “Mmm, these are nice.”
She nodded, finished off the first one and reached for another.
He did too. Queen Annabelle had packed more than a dozen of them. But after his third, he decided he was thirsty and figured she must also be. Christian retrieved the water skin and offered it to her first.
Once they were finished, he lifted her with him as he stood. Every joint creaked and groaned with the movement. “Can you walk?” he asked, lowering her feet to the forest floor. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he could manage it after spending the night like he had. He kept a hold of her until she steadied herself, hoping he could do the same.
“Yes.”
“We shouldn’t tarry any longer. I believe we’re only a few miles from the shore.” He slung the satchel over his head and rested the strap on his shoulder.
Contessa’s gaze darted around the clearing, and weariness was visible in every line of her face.
Christian lifted her hand from the blanket and linked his fingers through hers. She clutched at the wool with her other hand to keep it in place and shuddered from the chill of night that clung to the air. The blanket was too long, and it draped around behind her like a train, but at least her legs were covered. He took a step toward the north and froze.
A branch had snapped, and it wasn’t either of them who’d done it.
As an unnatural quiet fell upon the woods, Christian scanned their surroundings but saw no one and heard nothing more than their breathing, which seemed uncomfortably loud at the moment.
“Could it have been a doe?” she asked upon a soft shaky whisper.
“I hope that’s all it was.”
Tightening his hold on her hand he took another step and another, hearing nothing more than their footfalls.
Then, “Halt!” bellowed Dominic Renard.
Christian let loose a violent curse, shoved Contessa behind his back, and withdrew her father’s blade. He then shouted an incantation in Gaelic, and fortified it with one in Welsh. It should have taken the sword from the prince’s hand and flung it into the forest. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
“I’ll confess it took me all night to figure it out, but once I realized you were using the witch’s magic, with—I might add—a very creative twist, it was easy to track you.”
Christian gave Contessa another soft shove backward. “Move out of the way, love, while I dispatch this lout.”
The sound of leaves crunching beneath her slippers and the blanket dragging along grass was heard as she obeyed. He hoped she would trust him, and not sacrifice herself again.
Christian pondered that if Dominic had been fooled when he mixed the magic, perhaps it would work if he tried it another time, but with yet another twist. Muttering a magic-blocking spell that was an odd mixture of Latin, Welsh, and Gaelic, he prayed for the best.
Dominic frowned when it seemed whatever magic he’d spoken in his head failed.
With a narrowed gaze, Dominic brandished his weapon and offered a wicked smile that showed his teeth. “I’ll have her and her wealth right after I’ve dispatched you, you witless child. I have enough fighting experience with or without magic, while you’ve lived the life of a pampered and spoiled peer. Did you really think you could beat me in this?” Dominic laughed. “You’re probably more skilled with a gun than you are with a real blade, which, as you already know, won’t help you here.”
Christian swallowed because he knew Dominic spoke the truth. He could only pray James had taught him enough in the short time they’d had for him to prepare.
Dominic came at him with a two-handed slashing motion that whistled as it rent the air. Metal clashing against metal rang in his ears as Christian was forced to use everything he had to stop the blow with his own blade. A grunt was forced from his lungs in the effort as he watched his elbows bend under the strain and bring the deadly steel closer to his face than he would like. With one more grunt, Christian tightened his hold on his own blade and shoved them away while stepping back.
Still leering, Dominic swung again and again and again, until the forest echoed with the sounds of medieval battle. Each time Christian parried as King James had taught him. At this rate, however, Dominic would wear down his strength and he would surely lose this fight. A couple of times he heard Contessa gasp or squeak with fear. He had to ignore the sounds that made him want to check on her, knowing Dominic was not above stabbing him in the back.
But he also knew he had to change how he was fighting. He had to attack as much as he was defending himself or he would never defeat this fey prince. Dominic delivered one strike that rattled his joints as much as the king’s had. But Dominic had also left himself open for a split second afterward. Christian lunged forward and slid the blade along the side of the prince’s woolen coat, slicing into fabric and flesh. It wasn’t a death blow, even though he’d aimed for the man’s gut, but it was something....
Dominic’s face twisted with disbelief and confusion as he looked down at his bloody clothing, then he bellowed with rage and came at Christian with renewed vengeance and managed to slice into his sleeve, also grazing his arm. The cut burned and he could feel warm blood trickling down to his elbow as it then became saturated in the fabric of his shirt. Contessa expressed another protest, but he didn’t hear her moving about so he hoped she was staying well out of the fray.
It was apparent Dominic was struggling with his injury, perhaps even more than Christian was with his, as they continued to battle. When Dominic stumbled and color drained from his face, Christian realized he just might win this fight and that knowledge renewed his conviction.
But, it seemed, as Dominic came to the same understanding, his pompous expression faltered, sliding into obvious desperation. As Christian witnessed the sudden change, it worried him because he’d always perceived a desperate man as a more dangerous man, and a more unpredictable opponent.
He was right to be concerned because Dominic suddenly withdrew a long dagger from his boot, and shouted, “She’s not worth this much trouble!” then launched the deadly-looking knife Contessa’s way. It stuck her in the chest, right where her heart should be. A shuddering breath trickled from her lips as she clutched at it with a look of utter bemusement in her eyes. Christian watched with his heart turning over inside his chest as she collapsed and fell to the earth. Motionless.
“No!” Christian tried to run to her, but he could hear Dominic behind him and he swung back just in time to stop the next blow. He cut out a string of his vilest curses and attacked the prince with a fury he didn’t know he possessed. It wasn’t enough. As Dominic managed to force him backward, his foot found a loose stone upon the ground. His ankle twisted as it rolled beneath his foot and he lost his balance. When his back slammed painfully into more forest debris and more sharp stones, pushing all air from his lungs, Dominic rushed at him.
But Dominic also tripped on the same rock, came crashing down on top of Christian—and then didn’t move again. It took Christian a moment or two to realize that the red-stained sword he could
see was the one he held and it was protruding from the middle of Dominic’s back.
Dominic had been thoroughly impaled.
Disgust caused bile to rise in his throat as he scrambled out from under the dead prince.
Contessa was his first thought, however, and upon unsteady feet, he made his way to her. She lay before him with one arm across her stomach and the other stretched out to the side. Her eyes were closed...and she was far too still.
Christian dropped to his knees, pulled the blade from her chest, shoved open the blanket and ripped the buttons loose on his coat. He wasn’t certain exactly where she’d been struck, but there was no blood staining her white camisole. He eased her onto his lap, cuddling her head in the crook of his arm. Her head rolled limply as he moved her closer, and she remained unmoving. “Tessa, don’t leave me! Please hold on!”
He brushed away locks of her hair that had fallen across her face which was as pale as it had been in death. Her chest did not rise and fall with the intake and exhale of breath, and her lips were turning blue. “No! No!” He lifted her and settled his ear over her heart. Sobbing now, Christian shook his head and lowered her again to his legs. There was no heartbeat.
She was truly dead.
“Oh, Contessa, my love, I’m so sorry. So very sorry—” Tears dropped onto her face. They were not hers, but his. He reached to brush them from her skin when she vanished.
Completely vanished. Well, except for the blanket, his frock, and her undergarments. He was left sitting in the woods...alone, his arms filled with cold fabric.
Rational thought fled him and utter bereavement filled the void it left behind. Christian hunched forward with a bowed head and his free hand fisted around his hair. He had no idea how long he sat like that, but when he lifted his head the sun had risen above the horizon and the birds were out pecking for their breakfast amongst the fallen leaves. In a daze Christian gathered up the blanket and clothes, folded them, and then stuffed them into his satchel. Her shoes he left behind. He didn’t know what else to do with himself except go to her parents and tell them of their great loss.
With trembling limbs he rose to his feet and retrieved King James’ sword, wiped it clean on the grass and settled it back in the scabbard.
He staggered and then leaned against a tree to steady himself. Could she truly be gone? If she’d turned ghostly when she was struck he might have believed she lived, but she hadn’t. The king’s words came back into his mind. She cannot be killed in ghost form. But she’d not been in ghost form. Her body had been cold and lifeless before she’d disappeared. And never when she had turned into a spirit had she vanished from sight completely. He could always still see her even though she was transparent.
Even when she’d been a ghost he’d witnessed more life in her than he did just now. The spell protecting her must have been damaged too much.
Reaching into his shirt, he withdrew her engagement ring. He’d worn it upon a chain around his neck since she dropped it each time she shifted to spirit form. The emeralds and diamonds glittered and winked at him, reminding him of her, of her eyes. He swore and pinched his eyelids shut, forcing the tears there out the corners of his eyes.
After what felt like an hour or more, Christian pulled himself together and made his way to Dover Straits, across the channel, home to Kreslty, gathered his horse, and then headed to the woods to find the mist.
Unable to look them in the eye once he was there before her parents, Christian stared at his boots and said, “I’m terribly sorry, My Lord, but...I have failed you. Dominic killed her with a dagger thrown into her chest.”
Silence brought his gaze up to the king and queen. He dragged his sleeve across his eyes trying to clear his tear-blurred vision and was rather surprised he didn’t get the distraught reaction he was expecting.
King James cleared his throat and, with an air of confidence Christian couldn’t understand, asked, “Was she bleeding?”
When Christian did little else but gape and shake his head at the question, the king said, “She’s not dead.”
“But she wasn’t breathing, she had no heartbeat, and she was deathly pale....”
“And where is she now?”
“I have no idea. She disappeared. Left her clothing behind and—”
“Son, the spell we placed on her was quite thorough, and only slightly fractured, and even though it had been weakened, it was still in place. Dominic could not have killed her.”
“She never turned into a ghost, and you said—”
“Do not waste time trying to understand it, Christian. Go to Contessa. She should be sleeping at Krestly in her chamber. She could be frightened if she awakens alone. Be there for her,” commanded King James, his tone imperious.
“T-truly?” Christian could hardly believe what he was hearing. His hand rose to his chest because he thought his ribs might burst around his heart as it swelled with relief.
“Aye, now stop dallying and go!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Christian fled their keep, vaulted into Prince’s saddle and nudged the beast into an all out gallop. He may have been impressed with the spell they’d created before, but to actually save her life from something like that.... Christian was still having trouble believing it but he was hoping and praying she was just as they said—sleeping soundly in that enchanted bed of hers. He again thought of what he’d seen in the woods of France: her gray complexion, her lack of breath and beating heart. Was that how she’d look after the fall down the stairs? If so, it was no wonder all believed her to be dead.
He raced inside his castle and took the stairs two at a time. Once he got to the location of her chamber he was met with a stone wall. How was he going to get past this? Why wasn’t the door there? Crashing through it was the only way he could think of to get to her. “Jackson!” he bellowed. And when no one answered, again he shouted, “Jackson!”
“Christian, you’re back. Did you find her? Is she safe?” Jackson asked, huffing from the exertion it had taken for him to answer the call.
“Get me a sledgehammer!”
“I beg your pardon.”
Christian swung around and looked the old man in the eye, barely noting that Tabitha had just arrived and stood next to his butler. “A sledgehammer, and hurry!”
“Yes, Chris, right away.” Jackson still looked a mixture of confused and curious as he worried a hand through his snowy hair, but Christian wasn’t willing to explain things just yet. He was still reeling from her death and then.... He had to see her. It was the only way to soothe his fears completely.
Jackson stood at the top of the staircase in what looked like a moment of indecision, as though he didn’t quite know where to look for the needed item and then, deciding, scurried down. Christian twisted around to face the wall and ran his hands over it. “Please be in there, Tessa. Please be sleeping and not distressed,” he whispered to no one else but himself.
He’d forgotten about Tabitha, who was apparently still behind him. “Where is Lady, or rather, Princess Contessa?”
“In here.” He hoped.
“What happened with Dominic? Did you defeat him?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t say he liked how hoarse his voice came out. Christian looked at the witch and noticed she carried her big book of spells. Then an idea occurred to him. “Can you get through this wall?”
“I’m afraid her parents guarded the entrance to her chamber against magic of any kind.”
A frown pinched his forehead. “They told you this?”
“Yes, only they can remove it, and they cannot escape as of yet. But I may be able to help them. Though it will take time—”
“Will I be able to smash through it?”
“I believe so.”
“Why?” he demanded a bit more harshly than he meant to.
“Love, I suppose.”
“What?”
“Well, I am quite fond of the girl, but I do not have the bond that her parents or you have with her.”
C
hristian rubbed aggressively at his temples. He was getting the mother of all headaches because the old woman wasn’t making any sense at all. And thank the saints Jackson returned just then. He took the club and swung.
After bashing at the rock for who knew how long it started to break away and reveal a wooden door. He kept at it until he had a hole large enough to get through and then began hacking away at the decrepit wood beneath the stone. It crumbled into dust with ease.
He dove through, pushed to his feet, and gasped when he saw the state of the chamber. The vines and insects that had been living were dead and rotting away. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, except for the fabric upon the bed, which was like new. And she was there, a vision dressed as a medieval bride. The sun shone through the chamber window, caressing her as though it could not resist doing so. Perhaps it couldn’t. He certainly knew the feeling.
Christian settled upon the mattress next to her, lifted her hand into his and marveled at the feel of her warm, supple flesh. Kissing her palm, he whispered, “Contessa,” allowing his fingers to curl into the pulse point at her wrist. It was comforting to feel the beat of her heart.
She did not stir at the sound of his voice.
“Tessa, darling, wake up.”
And when that failed to awaken her, he did the one thing he wanted to do, the one thing that had worked before...Christian drew her sleeping body against his chest, cradled her head in the palm of his hand, and kissed her. Against her soft lips he wept with joy at the feel of her plush mouth against his.
Yet when he pulled away, she still slept.
Chuckling now, he hugged her and rocked her, and muttered words of love to her as he pressed her cheek to his.
After exhausting his creativity with every bit of romantic wooing he could think of, he felt her tiny hands grasp at his torn shirtsleeves, and he knew she was finally awake.
Leaning back he was met with, what he believed to be, the loveliest green eyes ever. This close he could see the flecks of emerald shot through with pale peridot. Like rare jewels they sparkled in the light coming from the window.
Fair Maiden Page 27