Faery Weddings

by Jo Beverley

  "Poor lady." He extended an arm. "Allow me to guide you to safety."

  Gwen hesitated, for she couldn't imagine who this man might be, and his appearance had been so very sudden. Listening most carefully, she could detect no sound of searchers nearby. On the other hand, there was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was of the dale after all.

  She studied him as best she could in the dimming light. It was hard to pinpoint his age. He seemed about Drew's age, and yet a great deal older. He had blond hair, silver eyes and --

  Gwen gasped. "Who are you?"

  He smiled. "You see the resemblance. Yes, I am a relative, Miss Forsythe. You are completely safe with me."

  Reassured by the fact that he knew her name, Gwen allowed him to lead her through the gloomy wood, most of her concentration on the ground before her. She had no wish to crown her foolishness by turning an ankle.

  "You must be a relative of my father's then," she said, but doubtfully. She'd never met any of her father's family, but from what she knew, and the portrait her mother kept, there was no resemblance other than fair hair.

  "After a fashion, yes." She heard humor in his voice, then he stopped and turned so that she was obliged to look up at him. Strangely, it seemed a little lighter around them, as if the full moon had broken through the clouds, and yet there was little moon tonight, and the canopy of leaves cut off what light it gave.

  "You are going to be surprised, Gwen Forsythe, but you must open your heart and your mind to the truth. Your family needs you."

  Gwen frowned at him, puzzled. Her only family was her mother. Unless it was Drew who needed her....

  Her rescuer took Gwen's hands in a firm, warm grasp. "Gwen, I am your father."

  She tried to pull free. "Don't be silly."

  "And I am of Faery."

  Gwen went still. A lifetime of stories had laid down fertile soil, and she couldn't quite scoff. Not here. Not now. Still she had to say it. "You can't be."

  "I can. I am." A mischievous smile lit his face. "Though perhaps you should not tell your mother. A charming lady, but conventional."

  Gwen had been wondering how such thing might be possible, and now the implication that her mother had no notion staggered her. She should have been horrified, if she believed it at all, but the image of this rakish gentleman with her placid, extremely conventional mother surprised a giggle out of her.

  He joined her in laughter. "You are a delight to me, daughter, and it has given me joy to watch over you. But now it is time for you to meet your Faery kin and learn the purpose for which you were created."

  When he tried to move on Gwen pulled back. "I am not a creation," she objected. "You speak as if I'm a slave."

  He turned stern, and even fatherly. "We are all slaves to our heritage. You are needed, Kerrigwen."

  "My name is Gwen."

  "Kerrigwen," he insisted, "which is a rank, not a name." He released her and stood back, gesturing her to precede him. "Come. Learn."

  A glimmering path traced the ground before her and ahead, through the trees, a faint light glowed -- a light such as Gwen had never seen, holding promise of summer growth and winter ice. Music teased her senses, but so high and soft it could be just imagination.

  She was not imagining the impetus, however. Despite a chill down her spine Gwen found herself unable to do anything but go forward on the magical path under the pressure of a man's hand -- her father's hand?

  "Do not be afraid." Her father's voice? "I will never let anyone or anything hurt you, my daughter."

  * * *

  In the eerily-lit glade, a beautiful woman sat on a high grassy mound dotted with flowers, flowers that should not all be in bloom together at this time of year. She wore a high-waisted dress in the latest style, but fine enough for Court, surely, having an overdress of spider-fine lace interwoven with gold and flower buds.

  Her golden hair was fashionably cropped into clustering curls around her face, but at the back it flowed down beyond her waist, seeming to grow into to the ground itself. Or out of the ground itself.

  Impossible flowers. Impossible hair. Impossible situation. This was Matt Ferryman's Lady, the Queen of Faery.

  She was dreaming, Gwen realized with relief. She'd fallen asleep against that tree, and was now in a vivid dream woven out of fears, desires, and childhood memories. She'd always loved tales of Faery, and always wanted a father.

  "Come forward, Kerrigwen," said the Lady, in a soft, melodious voice. "Come sit with me here, so that we can talk."

  Gwen went. There didn't seem any point in fighting a dream.

  The Lady's soft, smooth hand cradled her face, turning it up for inspection. "You have a pretty daughter, Merlon. And not too much of Faery about her."

  Gwen glanced at the man she had conjured up to be her father and smiled. He appeared hardly ten years older than herself. Impossible again, but this was the most fascinating dream she had ever experienced, and she intended to enjoy it. She just hoped that something of it would linger in her waking mind.

  The Lady released her face and folded her beringed hands neatly in her lap. "Now, my dear, it is time for you to serve your people. You have been brought here to learn what you must know."

  Gwen imitated her, folding her hands and paying attention.

  "We thought that you would learn of faery ways by living in our land here, but I fear that you remain unenlightened. You humans are so strange, and grow stranger with each passing century. I must tell you then, that Elphindale is not just another area of hills and valleys. There is an ancient bond between the humans of this island and Faery, and a number of places where that bond is rooted. Here we are at the heart of all. Here is the center of harmony and prosperity for Faery and humans, both."

  Gwen found it easy to nod. For her, Elphindale was the heart of everything.

  "But we are threatened." The Lady stared into Gwen's eyes as if she would project her words into her heart. "By Dark Earth -- the powers that stand opposed to Faery. As people leave the land, lose touch with the land, Dark Earth grows in power.

  "Dark Earth?" Gwen had to ask.

  "It is always with us, in the earth."

  "Like hell?"

  The Lady made a click of disapproval. "This has nothing to do with such human beliefs. Dark Earth is not evil, any more than Faery is evil. It is part of the whole, but the whole must be in balance. Now Dark Earth grows stronger. Ancient materials are brought up from mines into the lives of humans in such quantities that the balance is disordered. Green places are destroyed and used for other purposes. Humans are stolen from our realm, from the good earth, the trees, plants and rivers, into Dark Earth towns. There must be balance in the dominion."

  Dominion. Gwen didn't like that word at all, but something in the Lady's features -- a hardening, an aging -- made her hold her tongue. The Lady's small white teeth had grown quite sharp....

  "Dark Earth growssss," the Lady hissed and her hair stirred like snakes. "As long as Faery holds here in the Dale we can maintain the balance everywhere. If Dark Earth should dissssrupt the patternssss here then the balance would tip for ever."

  "What would happen?"

  "We would leave this aspect entirely. That would be hard for us but harder still for humankind. Your human kin could never survive under Dark Earth unchecked."

  Part of Gwen's mind tried to remember that this was a dream, but by now it was a small part. She was caught in this story which resonated with beliefs rooted deep in her mind. "How do we stop Dark Earth?"

  The Lady smiled, and it was as if the sun shone. "The key is our partnership with humans, especially the link with the Elphinson family who preserve the Dale. They, like you, are half Faery, half human.

  "Sir Thomas?" exclaimed Gwen incredulously.

  "The blood has thinned. See how he is able to live away from the dale. Think how he once tried to cut the trees."

  "What of Drew?" Gwen asked urgently, for if the blood was thin, perhaps the ancient faery-bond didn't protect him
. She'd been trusting in that faery protection more than she'd thought.

  "He was a promising youth, but despite all we did, he too has left us. His blood is thin."

  Too thin?

  "This is for you to correct, child."

  "Me?" Instinctively, against logic, Gwen turned to the man who claimed to be her father.

  He came forward to take her hand. "You have the blood, daughter. You must give it to the Elphinsons."

  Gwen gaped. "A sacrifice?"

  He laughed. "I don't think so. You must marry Sir Andrew Elphinson and bring him back to the dale."

  Her heart leaped for joy. No wonder she was dreaming this dream. It was taking her directly where she wanted to go.

  Her father continued. "Here you will birth and raise children in whom faery blood will once again run strong. You will renew the bond."

  Gwen's heart was thundering, but common sense ruled, apparently, even in dreams. She remembered all Drew's letters, letters about dances and house parties, about beauties in Brighton and the Toasts of Town. He would have no interest in a simple country girl with sun-browned skin, who never tried to do more with her curls than brush them. He'd laugh at the appearance of a person who so hated to leave the dale that her clothes were home-made, and to the simplest design.

  She had to swallow before she could say the stark words. "I'm afraid he would not want to marry me."

  "Do you not look in a mirror, child?" the Lady asked. "You have beauty such as no man can resist."

  Gwen laughed. What foolishness there was in dreams. "Me? I can never be bothered with lotions, or hair-styles, and I design my clothes to need the fewest stitches."

  The Lady's laughter joined hers. "What need have you of beauty aids, child? Or of fashion? You could walk among men in your shift with your hair down to your knees, and they would fall at your feet. How can you be so foolish?" Then she answered her own question. "Of course. You are bound to the land here, too. Not as much as we, but greatly. You will have encountered few men of your station. The lower orders would not dare raise their eyes to a well-born human and a princess of Faery."

  "Is that why...?" Gwen remembered how the village lads had always treated her in a special way. Even the boldest of them never teased, and if she went to one of their village dances, her partners never seemed to be at ease. This behavior had strengthened her belief that she lacked what attracted men. It was pleasant of her dream to try to furnish another explanation, but it was foolishness all the same.

  "Drew grew up with my attractions," she pointed out, "and showed no sign of falling at my feet."

  As if she understood, the Lady touched Gwen's cheek. "You were a child still, my dear. Believe me, when next he sees you he will not be so indifferent. But if the Lord of Elphindale proves slow to succumb there are ways to capture his attention."

  "Love potions? That would be wicked!"

  Her father answered her. "The love will be real, Kerrigwen, no matter how arrived at. The man will not suffer by all this, I promise you. Do not fail us."

  Gwen Looked between the two ruthless people. "Don't call me Kerrigwen. My name is Gwen."

  "Gwen is your human name," said her father. "Kerrigwen is your title. You were born a princess of Faery. The night after your human christening you were brought here to be named by us, and blessed by us." He drew her to her feet to face him. "I have something to tell you now, daughter. Something important, so pay attention."

  "Yes?" Gwen's heart began to speed, for she couldn't imagine what else could be said to shock her.

  "You are as much faery as you are human. You can claim that heritage if you wish, and come to live among us."

  "Leave the world behind?"

  "You sound horrified, but think. Your lifespan among us would be many, many times longer than among humankind. So long that we are sometimes called immortal. And in all that time, you would never grow older than you wished to be, never suffer pain or illness, hunger or thirst, or any other of the ills of humanity."

  "But I would never marry, or have children?" And it was Drew she thought of. Drew at the altar. Drew's children in her arms.

  Oh, foolish dream.

  "You could have children by mating with a human, but the child must be raised by humans. That is not easy for a female to do."

  Gwen looked between the Lady and her father -- perhaps her father -- wondering if the Lady had borne babies, wondering about changelings. It was as if the very trees held their breath.

  "But if I stay here with you, what of your plan?"

  "We would make another," said the Lady, as if it were of little concern, but a bleakness in her eyes told Gwen it would be a setback.

  A setback for the dale and Faery.

  Perhaps for all people?

  It tipped the balance, though it had not been a hard choice. She had no desire for a life of sterile pleasure, and could not endure to leave the world behind, the world that -- she prayed daily -- still held Drew Elphinson.

  "I don't belong here," she said.

  A gentle breeze stirred, as if the trees sighed in relief.

  Her father kissed her cheek, glowing with new hope. "Then you will save us all."

  "But I don't know how!" Gwen protested. "What am I supposed to do? We never go anywhere, and Drew's on the Continent. Even when he was in England, he never came here. Mother and I don't have the money to travel, and if we did we don't know anyone, or know how to go on in Society."

  "Everything will be arranged," said the Lady with a confidence Gwen found unsettling. "Be ready to do your part when the time comes."

  What part? Gwen felt more worried by the moment. If there was any sense to it at all, her mother had been tricked into bearing her. What other tricks were in hand? Though it took courage, she looked straight into the Lady's silver-ice eyes. "I won't trick Drew into wanting to marry me. I won't do that."

  "You will do what you have to do."

  Though she couldn't quite voice defiance, Gwen silently vowed that she would do nothing that was wrong. "I don't even know anything about love potions and things like that."

  "Betsy Raisley does."

  Betsy Raisley was Gwen's maid-companion. She'd come up to the Hall a few years ago asking for a place. Since she had skill with creams and lotions and seemed able to take care of clothes she'd been hired as general ladies' maid and rapidly become a friend.

  Gwen remembered now that her mother had expressed mild surprise that a Raisley be interested in entering service, for they were an independent family. They made most of their money selling potions at the local fairs. Gwen shivered over being entangled in a long-woven web, and at the suspicion that it was not a web easily escaped.

  "I won't trick him," she whispered, as much to herself as to the Lady. "How could anyone bear to live with someone they've tricked in such a way?"

  "Oh, you humans." The Lady swept out her hand, trailing tiny sparkles of light which became a gossamer curtain.

  Chapter Five

  As the curtain faded, Gwen stared at the dark woods behind.

  Not woods.

  Now she faced a ramshackle building, a row of small white tents, and humps that were doubtless men sleeping in the open. There were no trees and something in the air was wrong as well. This was not the moist air of Derbyshire. This carried country smells different to those she was accustomed to.

  She glanced around, but the faery glade, the Lady, and the man who claimed to be her father, had all disappeared. She should be frightened, and yet she was not, for she guessed what was before her.

  Drew.

  Her dream had taken her to Europe, and to Drew, and that was proof positive that it was a dream.

  Dull noises, distant calls, and the glimmer of banked campfires, told her she was in the middle of a sleeping army. Carefully, she stepped forward over tussocky ground, drawn to one tent, her eyes becoming accustomed to the light.

  She had to kneel to look into the tent, and it should have been too dark to see much in there. She saw Drew
clearly, though, rolled in a blanket on the ground with only a pack for a pillow. He was alone. Possibly the only concession to his rank.

  Major. He'd been promoted to major not long before. He'd not written to tell them. They'd found it in a newspaper.

  She worked her way forward until she was kneeling beside him. He was still handsome, with straight nose and square chin, and absurdly long dark lashes resting on his cheeks, but so much older. Perhaps it was just that he looked so deathly weary. She'd never seen him haggard, with a couple of day's growth of dark beard and a nasty bruise on his temple.

  He was still Drew, though. Her beloved Drew. Gingerly, she brushed a tendril of hair off his brow. A primitive instinct surged in Gwen to tend him, to feed and comfort him until he once more glowed with youth, health, and vigor. She doubted her dream would allow her that.

  But who knew the rules of dreams? She settled beside him wondering just how far her dream-freedom would let her go.

  A rough blanket covered him from the chest down, but he seemed to be only wearing his shirt. His open-necked shirt. The years had changed his body, too. Strong muscles rose into a man's neck. Unfastened cuffs exposed brown forearms wound with powerful veins.

  How could she picture a man's body so, she who was too well-behaved to have noticed such things before? Dreams were strange things indeed, and this dream was summoning a wild desire to touch his skin, to test the warmth and hardness that it promised.

  Once or twice, as young children, they'd swum together, she in her shift and him in his drawers. She'd always known that the boys didn't wear even that much when she wasn't there. She'd seen his body. A boy's body.

  Mr. Fenlock and her mother had taught them dancing, and they'd spun in one another's arms for precious, magical moments. She'd held a youth's body decently covered in shirt, cravat, and coat.

  That night by the lavender-edged wall she'd embraced a young man's body -- the only time there'd been anything remotely loverlike between them, and still they had been armored in the full dress of their station.