Her hose and his leathers came off and she smothered him with kisses, taking in his complete essence. Never before had she wanted, nor been wanted, so badly. Scanlon’s whole body was trembling, but he allowed her to set the pace, the timing. He was like a racehorse before the gates, ready to explode the second he was freed of his constraints. And moments later, Diesa freed him.
A moan of ecstasy escaped him, a moan she heard, felt, experienced. Her body came alive with sensation and her own moan mingled with his before she collapsed against him, spent. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. For long moments, they were silent, completely bound in each other’s love. Finally, Scanlon spoke.
"I love you, Diesa," he whispered.
"I love you, M’lord," she returned softly.
Scanlon chuckled. "M’lord? You would call your husband M’lord?"
She drew back to look at him. "But you are a lord. A god."
"If that is so, then surely you are my goddess," he told her.
She smiled at that and kissed him again, then fell into peaceful slumber with his arms tight about her in a reassuring embrace.
She work as the first rays of morning light played through the trees and fell gently upon Kittellan’s face. Diesa touched at his forehead gently, then looked up as Scanlon joined her. "He’s so pale," she said.
"He lost a lot of blood," Scanlon replied. "It will take some time for his body to regain its strength."
Diesa’s gaze drifted south and her old fear and loathing returned. Scanlon touched at her mind, then took her hand. "I will see to Marsden." He kissed her hand, rose and left.
Diesa sighed and looked back down at Kittellan. "Sweet angel," she murmured. She lay her head atop his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his soft breathing. It reassured her and she closed her eyes wearily.
"And no sweet words for me, Diesa?" The cold voice came from behind.
Diesa whirled, sleep ripped from her. She came to her feet with a gasp of horror. Marsden leaned against a tree, his face ashen, his clothing and hair disheveled. He looked as if he had waged a desperate battle for his life but in his dark eyes there was nothing but hate.
"H … how …" Diesa could not get her words to formulate.
"How did I get out of the elfin web?" he finished for her. "Well, that was no doubt thanks to you. Did you enjoy your lovemaking, Diesa? I hope so. Because it was the last time."
"What?" Terror ripped through her and her gaze flashed in the direction Scanlon had gone.
"He’s dead, Diesa," Marsden informed her. "See what you did? You made him careless, an easy target. He dropped his guard."
"That’s not true!" she cried. "He’s protected! By the elfin web."
Marsden laughed with wicked delight. "Not anymore. For some reason, he saw fit to have it removed. Perhaps it has something to do with you and your temper."
Memories whirled through her mind of attacking Scanlon, of feeling the sting of the elfin web that surrounded him. He had left for the palace right after that. For what? To have his father remove the web? To prevent her getting accidentally hurt again? Gods! Guilt assaulted her, tore her heart in two. What had she done? She stumbled backward as Marsden staggered toward her.
"And now I’ll dispose of the woman-boy as well," he said, brandishing his dagger, a dagger that shone red with blood.
Diesa stared at it in a daze. Blood. Scanlon’s blood. And suddenly, fury replaced her terror. White-hot fury and driving hate. Her hands balled into fists, her body went rigid and she pulled the magic from Omerron to her in one swift move.
"Nytalu onden!" she shrieked.
Marsden gasped, his gaze darting to her. He tried to throw his own magic, to shield himself, but it rebounded, sending him flying backward. He slammed against the ground, the dagger jarred from his grasp. Diesa felt the power swelling inside of her as she was overcome with rage and revenge. Her voice came out in a tight, cold whisper. "Onden visu!"
Magic spun through the air, snapped the early morning light to the brilliance of day. Marsden screamed, the sound echoing through the glen, bouncing from tree to tree, searing into her soul, a soul blackened with hate.
"Visu!" Diesa commanded.
A great flame shot from Marsden’s body. It engulfed him with its strength. His shrieks only intensified her rage, and she lifted both hands toward the sky. "Visu!" she screamed again, and the brilliant flame took Marsden to a fiery death. Diesa lowered her arms, and watched until the last of the flame was gone, then, cold and empty, she collapsed.
Chapter 17
* * *
Diesa slowly opened her eyes, trying to adjust to the soft light surrounding her. Confusion raged through her as she took in her surroundings. She was lying in a large, canopied bed, thick white blankets covering her. She turned her head just slightly, wincing at the pain that the small action caused.
The room was large and lavishly appointed. The walls were a pale blue, one broken by a wide window where lace curtains fluttered gently in a sweet breeze. The highly polished wooden floor was scattered with thick, cream-colored fur skins that invited bare toes. A fire crackled in the walk-in hearth, dancing in a soft glow off the dark wood mantle. Two velvet upholstered chairs faced the flames, a small burlwood table between them.
She pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. For a moment blackness swam before her eyes but it quickly cleared and she rose. She noticed she was clothed in a gown of white silk and as it fluttered around her ankles she shivered with delight. She had never touched anything so fine, so delicate, and she ran her hands over it in awe. Suddenly her awe and delight faded, ripped from her as memories, painful and hard, assailed her.
She sagged to the bed, holding onto the bedpost for support. Scanlon! Dead! Her heart spasmed with grief and she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the bed, sobs of disbelief erupting.
::Dead?:: His voice touched gently at her mind.
Diesa’s head snapped up, a gasp escaping her. "M’lord?" she whispered into the room. Was that it? Was she dead as well? Was this what the afterlife looked like? It didn’t matter! Not as long as she could be with him.
He chuckled softly. ::No, M’lady, this is not death. You are not dead. Nor am I.:: The door to the room opened and he stepped inside.
He was resplendent in a silken tunic of pale blue, dark blue hose and silver slippers. His long, golden hair was pulled back in a leather tie and a golden circlet tamed the curls that framed his face. Diesa remembered the first time she had seen him. Then his beauty had awed her, now it overwhelmed her. She brushed her tears aside with a shaky hand as he approached her with a smile.
"But Marsden … he …" Diesa could not finish the sentence.
"He did inflict his damage, yes," Scanlon agreed. "But it was not deadly, thanks to some powerful dryad magic."
She stared at him blankly. "Dryad magic?"
"Yes. I used your residual magic to heal my wounds. Were it not for you I may very well have died." He bent and kissed her gently. "Thank you."
The whole episode came rushing back to her at his touch. She saw the bloody knife clutched in Marsden’s hand, felt his hate, then heard again his scream of agony as she had cast her magic in a death spell. The flames of his destruction still burned brightly in her mind and a soft, horrified sob escaped her. She covered her mouth with her hand. "I killed him!" she breathed.
Scanlon drew her up and into his arms. "You had no choice."
"But … the magic … I … how …?"
"Diesa, you are a dryad. You used the powers that were born into you as a true princess of Omerron."
"Princess?" She looked up at him. "No. That was only something my mother called me. It wasn’t real."
"It was real. Very real." He sat down on the bed and pulled her down beside him. "You have been in a healing sleep for almost a week. During that time, I did some research. Your display of magic piqued my curiosity. I went to Omerron and found a few survivors of t
he attack that drove you out of your land. What I found was astonishing. Your mother was their Queen."
"What?" Diesa gasped. "M’lord, stop it! Is this yet another game you play?" She tried to pull away but he held her gently.
"No game, Diesa. The truth. Omerron was not recognized as a separate kingdom by any but the dryads. Your mother was revered as the Queen of the dryads. She never married. You are her only child. Yes, you were the product of a rape and yes, you are part human. But that does not change your lineage. You still have claim to the title. And with your mother dead, you are now queen."
Diesa stared at him, aghast. She searched the gray eyes for any sign of deceit, but found none. He was telling her the truth!
"But my father, he was the—"
"Your father was a prince, yes. But he has another heir before you. And I do not think you would wish to claim that title over the one your mother held. You are a dryad. You are of Omerron. That is your true heritage." Gently he reached out and touched her cheek. "Diesa," he started, then paused, as if his next words were said only out of duty. "Diesa, you are the Queen. I cannot blame you if you wish to return to Omerron and your people. It is your place. But," he took hold of both of her shoulders, his grip almost desperate, "know this. I love you. I have given you both my heart and my soul. I have asked you to be my wife. I ask only that you consider this when making your decision."
"My decision?" she echoed. She gently pulled away from him and walked to the center of the room. She gazed over her surroundings, then looked back at him. "Where are Kittellan, Drake and Magus?"
He frowned, puzzled. "At my home. Why?"
"And will you go back there? Or stay here?"
He shrugged. "I prefer living in simpler surroundings. I will return to my cottage."
Relief surged through her, and she went to stand before him. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, once more embraced by the softness of his love. "Then, M’lord, my husband, that is my place as well."
A smile crossed Scanlon’s face and he reached up to pull the leather tie from his hair. He placed it gently about her wrist, fusing the ends together with a single spark of magic, then brought her wrist to his lips. He kissed the leather tie gently, his gaze on hers. "Free spirit, Diesa," he whispered. "May you always find yours with me."
JennaKay Francis
JennaKay Francis has been writing since she was 12 years old. She has written in many different genres—science fiction, childrens, mainstream, poetry—but truly found her voice and love in fantasy. She writes fantasy adventure, fantasy romance, dark fantasy and children’s picture books.
Her first official publication was a children’s poem that was the Grand Prize winner in a contest sponsored by Half-Price Books. Her prize was a $500.00 gift certificate at Half Price Books—something she took great delight in spending. She has been published in several local newsletters, several print magazines, as well as numerous online magazines in both fiction and non-fiction.
You can visit her homepage at…
http://www.geocities.com/jennakayfrancis
Jenna lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, their three delightful children, two wild cats, a chihuahua that thinks he’s really a dog, one rat, one anole and a several tanks of tropical fish, frogs and newts. Oh, yeah, and a forest full of elves, fairies and magic.
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