Enchanted Cottage (Avador Book 3, Books We Love Fantasy Romance)

by Martin, Shirley

  She smiled. “Long story, which I don’t wish to impart now. Perhaps sometime later….” She sighed. “I’m leaving and no need to ask where I’m going. I intend to make a life for myself elsewhere.”

  “Ah, Alana, if only, if only….” His face crumpled with hurt and sorrow. “I’ve always loved you, only you.”

  “And perhaps you’ll find another woman to love. You deserve a fine woman, a good wife. I pray that you will find the right woman soon.” She took a deep breath. “Now I’m going to my house to fetch all of my possessions that I can carry, and I’ll be leaving the village forever.”

  “So it’s goodbye?”

  “I fear so.” She touched his arm. “I do wish you the best, Brendan. May happiness be yours.” She walked away, head held high, regretful that she had caused him any grief but knowing her departure was for the best. She carried her bag that contained her clothes and wondered how much more she could carry.

  A rush of emotions consumed her as she entered her former home. Layers of dust coated the furniture, and a cockroach scurried across the floor, then another, and another. Spider webs clung to the upper corners.

  She considered the good people of Cairn to be honest, so if any of her things were missing, she knew whom to blame—Morag. She had long suspected that Morag stole from the villagers, for she had seen expensive objects in Morag’s home, items she could never have bought herself. Finding her dresses hanging from wall pegs, she shook the dust from the frocks and placed them in her bag, then gathered toiletries and as many more things as she could carry. Immensely pleased to find the money she’d earned from teaching still in a dresser drawer, she dropped the coins in her dress pocket. That, and the money Colin had given her, plus the money she’d garnered from the sale of her bracelet should last her until she obtained another teaching position. On the spur of the moment, she decided to bequeath the house to Maude Mulligan, a widow who had suffered enough already. She supposed a legal transaction would be necessary, but she’d tend to that later in Moytura.

  She stepped out of her house as the crowd was dispersing, the villagers returning to their chores, the farmers returning to their fields.

  “You’re leaving us, Alana?” Morna Eaghan called.

  Alana turned to face her, recognizing her as one of the women who had chased her from her home. “I think it’s for the best.” She kept a neutral expression on her face; no point in recriminations.

  “But where will you go? What will you do?”

  “Oh, I’ll find something.” She turned her back on the villagers, these people she had known from childhood, and walked on. Leaving the village behind, she headed back to her cottage in the forest. She would stay there to rest for a day or two, then head for Moytura. Looking up at the sky, she noted the sun as it made its eastward trek. Too late to go to Moytura now.

  Retracing her steps, she made the journey back to the forest. But when she reached the forest and the place where her cottage had stood, she found both the clearing and the cottage gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  After resigning his commission from the Elegian army in Komartis, Colin rode south, headed for the forest where he had met Alana and where he had spent so many happy days, despite his feverish illness. He bypassed Ulaidh, riding far out around the city, closer to the border with Fomoria. Since the trip took several days, he spent the night at an inn in Luchra, then other inns on his route.

  Starting out again the following morning, he took note of the landmarks and hamlets he passed, fearful of missing the path that led through this end of the forest. He welcomed a light breeze that brought relief from the heat of early summer. Endless fields boasted summer crops, tall corn stalks, kale, lettuce, and endive. He caught the sweet aroma of peaches, the fruit ripe and ready for picking. Here and there, hamlets and villages appeared, soon gone as he galloped past. Other travelers rode in both directions, stirring up dust from the road.

  Riding the Royal North-South Road, he wanted to sing with joy, as if he’d been granted everything wonderful in life. Alana, it has been but a short while since I last saw you, yet I’ve missed you as though we’ve been separated for years. How he loved her, could scarcely wait to see her again.

  A magnificent oak stood at the entrance to the forest, and there he was! Soon, soon, he would see Alana again. Wild interlocking grapevines overhead hindered his vision, giving the woods the appearance of eternal gloom. He stopped and waited to give his eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness. Then he pressed on deeper into the woods. He kept his horse to a slow trot, riding this familiar road that brought him closer to his loved one. Worry clouded his thoughts, about how his father would greet Alana, if she agreed to join her life with his. Too late, he regretted that he hadn’t told his father about Alana. He recognized that even if she agreed to marry him, he must proceed slowly. After careful thought, which he should have indulged in before leaving Komartis, the answer came to him. He would woo her as a lover should court his sweetheart, and at the same time, prepare his father to accept her. Once again, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t know if she cares for you.

  Farther into the woods, he looked for the clearing. Where was it? Where was the cottage? He rode his horse from right to left, covering the ground where he’d first seen the clearing and the cottage. His frantic eyes covered every tree and bush, as though the house would suddenly appear. Knowing how easy it would be to become lost in the vast woodland, he stopped to take stock of his situation. He was on the right path, that he knew. He recognized the trees, the oaks and maples, the lone weeping willow. The scent of sassafras blew his way; everything appeared as he remembered … but no clearing and no cottage. This must be magic, he thought. Nothing else made sense.

  Keen disappointment overcame him, a distress like nothing he’d ever known. He would never see her again. She was out of his life forever. He didn’t know how he could go on living without her. He recalled her sweet voice, her lustrous auburn tresses, the lilac fragrance that clung to her, as much a part of her as her mouth or blue eyes. If she were with him now, he would kiss every blemish on her face and pray to the Goddess that Talmora would cure her of the curse and make her as lovely as she surely must have been.

  The horse neighed, bringing him back to reality. He patted the mare’s shoulder. “I’ll wager you’re thirsty. Let’s hope the river is still here,” he said in a vain attempt at humor. He walked the horse down the rocky path, hearing the familiar roar of the river. He stopped by a boulder on the shore and dismounted, leaving the horse to drink her fill and munch on the grass. He stared off to the distant Orn Mountains, the low-lying clouds that shrouded their peaks.

  “Cairn.”

  “What?” He spun around to see the old man, still clad in his brown robe, the same man who had once lectured him. “Well, old man, you have a habit of surprising people. Now, what did you say?”

  “Cairn, her village. She returned to Cairn recently. I can’t keep track of the days. One day is much like another. When I last spoke with her, that’s where she told me she would go.”

  Struggling with impatience to search for Alana and happier beyond measure, Colin absorbed the man’s words. “Where is Cairn? Never heard of it before.” His pulsed quickened, his breath catching as he waited for the old man to tell him.

  The old man shrugged. “How should I know? Many hamlets and villages in these parts. You will have to ask around to discover the location. Can’t be far from here, for she set out to walk to her village.”

  “Ah, thank you! I can’t tell you how much—“ But he was speaking to empty air.

  Colin paced back and forth, silently urging his horse to finish drinking and munching on the grass, so he could be on his way. Soon enough, the horse raised his head and turned his way. He mounted again and followed the path out of the woods.

  Afraid to press his luck, to suffer an accident with the horse, he held the mare to a walk, through the dense expanse of oaks and maples, of earthberry bushes and forest fe
rn. Countless minutes later, he emerged from the woods and reached the Royal North Road. After a short ride, he entered a hamlet, praying that someone there could tell him how to find Cairn. He walked the horse to a well in the center of the hamlet, where several women had gathered.

  Luck was with him. “Oh, Cairn,” an older woman said, “a few miles to the west. Used to be a hamlet but it’s grown over the years.”

  “How many miles?”

  “Don’t know. Keep ridin’ until you see a pile of stones at the entrance to the village. Sacred stones, ya know. That’s how the village got its name.”

  Thanking her, he left the hamlet and headed west. Soon enough, he spied a tall pile of stones. He trotted past the blacksmith’s, the rows of cottages on both sides of the narrow dirt road. He stopped at the village well, which seemed to be a popular meeting place, no matter where he went.

  “This is Cairn?” he asked the women, just to make sure. Old women and young had gathered here, their ragged clothes and bare feet evidence of their poverty.

  “Right, sir.”

  Relief flooded him, a rush of happiness. Any minute now, he would see her, talk to her, hold her in his arms.

  They looked him up and down, as though gauging his station in life by the manner of his dress and the breed of his horse.

  “Alana Cullain, where does she live?”

  “You’re out of luck, sir. She was here a few days ago but she left.”

  Disappointment crushed him. After all this riding, his hope to see her again. And now, she was gone. “Where did she go, do you know?”

  The women exchanged puzzled glances, then looked up at him. “Dunno. She used to teach reading and ‘rithmetic, so I guess she went on somewhere else, mebbe Moytura.”

  A second woman nodded. “Yeah, she musta went to Moytura.”

  Ah, no! Sheer willpower enabled him to maintain a neutral face, but inside his heart and soul cried for the woman he loved.

  With an aching heart, he rode on. How could he bear it, to have missed her by only a few days? If only he had reached Cairn sooner, if only he had told her how much he loved her when he had the chance. But ‘if onlys’ wouldn’t bring her back to him. He would never see her again, never see her again.

  So back to Ulaidh, a journey that would take several days. That evening, he stopped by a tavern, then rode on early next morning, a day’s ride to Moytura. Senseless to hope he would see Alana there, assuming she had gone on to Moytura. In a city of thousands, what hope did he have of finding her? Still, the city was along his way, so he decided to spend the night at the Snow Leopard, one of the better inns in the city. First leaving his horse at the city stable, he strode on to the inn, a short walk.

  Inside the Snow Leopard, he ignored the other patrons as he ate his dinner of beef stew and barley bread, warm from the oven. He looked up whenever the door to the inn opened, as if he would see Alana enter. Fool! What makes you think you would see her here, in a city of thousands?

  He left Moytura early the next morning and reached Ulaidh two days later. He should be happy to arrive home, to spend time with his father, to look over the familiar fields, rich with summer crops. But all he could think of was Alana and the sharp heartache of never seeing her again, the realization that he would spend the rest of his life without her.

  Weary after days of riding, crushed by his great loss, he wanted only to forget everything else. Yet he knew he must go on with living, knew his father depended on him.

  After stabling his horse, he strode on inside and headed for his father’s study. The familiar room, with its rows of books, blue brocade draperies, and his father’s oaken desk, brought back so many memories and made him glad to be home, despite his heartache.

  Finian Duffrey rose to greet him. As a prosperous landowner, he wore a gold belt around his waist; his dark green tunic and black velvet trousers evidenced his wealth. Colin recognized that he had much to be thankful for, unlike many people in this country of Avador, who lived from day to day, eking out just enough food to feed their families.

  His father held him close. “Son, you’ve been away for one whole nine-day. What could have taken you so long?”

  Overwhelmed with depression but reluctant to show his father disrespect, he gave the only reply he could. “I had personal business to tend to, but I’m happy to be home again.”

  His father raised his eyebrows but didn’t question him. “And I’m happy to have you home. Well, then, sit down and rest. I imagine you have done much riding these past few days.” He reached for a decanter of wine on his desk and poured him a glass, then returned to his seat.

  He took a chair next to his father’s desk and sipped his wine, a fine-flavored wine that quenched his thirst. He crossed his legs and attempted to show interest in his father’s words.

  Frowning, his father looked his way. “Do you feel like discussing business—personal

  business, I should say—or would you rather go to your room and rest? You have had a long journey, I’ll grant you that. This business can wait until later.”

  “Now is as good as any time, sir.” Uncertain of what his father wanted to discuss but fearful the ‘personal business’ related to marriage arrangements, he fixed a bland expression on his face and steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

  “Very well. As I mentioned when you returned home from the army, the Duffrey name is respected throughout Ulaidh, indeed, throughout much of the country. You know this. I don’t need to tell you.”

  Colin’s heart beat faster, his breath coming in short gasps, but he kept the neutral expression on his face. He was becoming very good at hiding his emotions.

  “With the family reputation in mind,” his father continued, “and aware that we have a tradition to uphold—a tradition that goes back centuries, I might add—I have given careful thought to your marriage.”

  His heart sank. He wanted to shut out his father’s voice, leave the room, but he kept quiet.

  His father threw him a questioning look. “Do you have any particular lady in mind?”

  “No, sir.” Only the woman I love more than life.

  “All right, then. You surely know Neal Furneth, whose estate adjoins ours?”

  “Yes, of course.” And his bitch of a daughter.

  “He has a daughter, quite a refined lady who would make you a suitable wife. Furneth and I have discussed joining our families. With your agreement, we will draw up an arrangement between you and Donella Furneth.” He gave him a long look, as though waiting for his reaction. He cleared his throat. “If you agree.”

  Ah, yes, he knew Donella Furneth, a vain, selfish woman. He didn’t love her, and he knew she didn’t love him. He also knew her affections centered on a man so far beneath her station, that if she married him—one of the tenant farmers on their estate—her family would disown her.

  “Colin?”

  “Yes, sir, it will be as you want. I’ll marry Donella Furneth.” He took a deep breath. He wanted to tell his father about Alana, how he had met her and how she had taken care of him. But he saw no point in baring his heart. He forced a smile on his face, never revealing the ache inside him.

  His father beamed. “Very good. We will draw up the arrangements tomorrow. Then the handfasting ceremony will take place at the Furneth estate, of course. One nine-day from now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The cottage! Where was it? And the clearing? Upon leaving Cairn, Alana returned to the forest, only to find that her cottage and the clearing had disappeared. Having intended to stay at her cottage one night before journeying to Moytura, she stared, dumbfounded, at the place where her cottage had stood and saw trees, nothing but trees and bushes! This couldn’t be. Could not be. But it was. She blinked her eyes, as if expecting the cottage to suddenly reappear. Looking around, she saw the familiar oaks and maples, the lone weeping willow, and the path that led to the Nantosuelta. She heard the usual sounds of the woods, the rustling in the bushes, the clucking and howls. Breathing deeply
, she caught the scent of sassafras.

  Exhausted and heartsick, she wanted to cry but realized tears would gain her nothing. Could it be that the Goddess had used her magic to provide sanctuary when she had most needed a refuge? Yes, surely Talmora had used her magic to help her, when everyone else had deserted her, and she had no one to turn to. Be thankful for that much and for having known Colin, even if you never see him again. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she brushed them away, too well aware she would never see Colin again.

  She saw the sun sinking below the horizon, firing the sky with a golden glow. Soon, darkness would come to the forest, too late for her to head for Moytura. She feared spending the night in the woods, where wolves and jackals prowled the woodland, and deadly snakes might catch her unawares. Afraid to sleep among the trees, she headed down the path and stopped a few feet from the raging river. Her stomach rumbled with hunger; her feet ached from walking. Soon, darkness fell, and the first faint stars glimmered in the sky. In no time, hundreds—thousands!—of bright stars lit the heavens, and a full moon silvered the rippling waters of the river. Cool air replaced the daytime heat of early summer, and she dug in her bag for her new wool cape. Regretting that she had to spread the soft, clean wool on the ground, she flipped it out, then lay on one half of the cape, drawing the other half over her. The nighttime sounds of the forest kept her awake for a long time, the hoot of an owl, the frightened scream of a deer. After much tossing and turning, she fell into a restless sleep, but when she slept, she dreamed of Colin.

  Hours later, she awoke as the sun rose in the west, lighting the sky with lavender and rose, its golden rays shimmering on the river like diamonds. Sore in every muscle from her neck to her hips and feet, she sat up and stretched. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, her mouth bone dry with thirst. After removing her shoes and stockings, she waded into the river to drink, scooping up handfuls of water. She splashed back out, waiting for her feet to dry as she shook out her cape and returned it to her bag. She relieved herself behind a bush and sat to don her stockings and shoes, then left the forest.