Moon Shadows

by Nora Roberts

  She blew out her candle and tiptoed through the dark room to the window. Pulling the curtains open a few inches, she looked out on the moon-frosted landscape. A cloaked figure galloped across the open parklands toward the wood that fringed them. She watched as horse and rider disappeared among the trees and waited while her bare feet grew cold.

  Her patience was rewarded when they emerged on the moor. A moment later they vanished from view. The clock ticked the minutes away, but nothing else occurred as far as she could see.

  Phoebe let the curtain drop and made her way through the darkened room to the bed. There was something wrong at Thorne Court. She felt it in her bones.

  Curiosity was no match for the effects of her long journey. Snuggled beneath the covers, she fell quickly into dreams.

  It was summer and she was dancing across the moor in sheer delight, freer than she’d felt in years. So light and free that her feet actually lifted from the ground. Suddenly she was flying through the air, soaring like a lark with the sunlight warm upon her back.

  It was as natural as breathing. She flew and flew, filled with joy and wonder. Then a shadow covered her, and she froze in sudden fear. She began to fall, hurtling down while the sky turned black and the wind whistled past her. She couldn’t remember how to fly, and the ground was rising up to meet her as she plunged helplessly toward her doom.

  Then miracle of miracles, a hand reached out, clasped her wrist. She was lifted up and away, cradled against a wide chest and the thunder of her rescuer’s heart echoed the wild beating of hers. She couldn’t see his face but she knew who’d saved her.

  “Gordon!” she cried, but her words were lost in the rushing wind.

  They flew together over the dark countryside, heading toward a distant glow. As they drew closer she saw it was a castle, its every window glowing like the sun.

  She was set down gently on a marble terrace, where doors stood open to a vast, golden hall. Her blood stirred to the sound of harp and pipe and fiddle. Her companion bowed gracefully over her hand, his garments silks and velvets, a chain of sapphires around his throat.

  “Good even to you, Phoebe Sutton. Will you join me in the dance?”

  At the touch of his hand she was filled with happiness and delight. She dipped into a curtsy. “Indeed I will, my lord.”

  He led her inside the hall in the glow of a thousand candles. Phoebe caught her breath in awe. The golden walls shimmered with their own inner light, and lamps of ruby and emerald and topaz hung down from the vaulted ceiling.

  The center of the hall was thronged with the most beautiful beings she’d ever seen. Silks rustled and jewels winked as they swirled through the steps of an intricate dance. She gazed at them in wonder. They are like a band of angels, she thought.

  Phoebe turned toward her companion. “Have I died? Is this heaven?”

  Her words echoed around the room like crashing cymbals. A loud cry went up from the revelers, the dancing ceased and . . .

  Phoebe awakened with a start.

  Her heart bounded against her ribs and she was totally disoriented. She sat up with the comforter pulled up to her neck and looked around.

  Slowly she recognized the outlines of the carved wardrobe between the windows and the slipper chair drawn up before the hearth. She was in her chamber at Thorne Court. The lovely castle filled with glorious beings had been nothing but a dream.

  Her pounding pulse slowed and she realized the music still echoing in her ears was the singing of the wind beneath the eaves. Regret and a profound sense of loss filled her.

  I never saw his face, she thought and felt bereft. She would have liked to stay in that beautiful place forever.

  Then Phoebe shook off her disappointment. I am at Thorne Court, living in more luxury than I have ever known. For now, that is heaven enough.

  IN the castle on the moor the revels were in full swing. Blue light flared and dimmed in the gallery and a tall form took shape.

  Lady Rowan sat quietly, a crystal globe in her lap. She vanished it with a gesture and slanted a look up at the newcomer.

  “A quick return, Lord Jack. Did your courage fail you?”

  He’d caught a glimpse of the scene inside the globe before it disappeared: dancers weaving a circle around two people—himself and Phoebe Sutton. His eyes flashed with annoyance.

  “What tricks are you up to now, Lady Rowan?”

  “Why, what can you mean?”

  “You seem to have an unusual interest in my affairs tonight!”

  “My interest alights on many things,” she said sweetly.

  Jack wasn’t fooled. There was definitely mischief afoot. He sat down beside Lady Rowan. “The mortal woman reached Thorne Court safely—as I’m sure you know.” He frowned down at her. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes shone with golden depths and her mouth curved in a beguiling smile. “What I want is your happiness.” She tapped his arm with her jeweled fingers. “One way or another.”

  “I doubt your wish will be granted,” he said, his voice bitter as rue. “She saw the castle! Was that your doing?”

  A frown etched her smooth brow. “No. That is very unusual. She has the gift of second sight. That changes things . . .” Lady Rowan led him to a bench where they sat down. “I am curious. What is she like, this human woman?”

  “She is strong . . .” he said and stopped.

  That wasn’t what he’d intended to say. It was true, though. Although she appeared to be fashioned of fine porcelain, Phoebe Sutton’s will was forged of tempered steel.

  “She is also nobody’s fool.”

  Lady Rowan sighed. “Unfortunate!” She toyed with her bracelet of stars and dazzling sparks of light leaped from it. “Perhaps you should have left her to her fate, after all.”

  Jack scowled. His affection for Lady Rowan was sincere, but there were times when her attitude was so casual, so careless that it bordered on cruelty. Long though he’d lived among faerie folk, he realized now that he would never understand them completely.

  “You are a cold creature, my lady, for all the warmth of your smiles. You speak of a human life as if it were nothing,” he said harshly. “Of less importance than the blown seedlings of a dandelion puff. But I cannot be so careless where mortals are concerned. I did what I thought best—and now I must live with the consequences.”

  “Is it . . . remorse . . . you feel?” She turned the word over on her tongue, tasting its foreignness.

  “I pity her sincerely.” His jaw tightened. “She thinks she has reached a safe haven!”

  “Who is to say at this point?” Lady Rowan said. “Perhaps she has, and it will go no farther.”

  “If you believe that, you are grasping at moonbeams. Once Phoebe Sutton arrived at Thorne Court, her future was set. She will be drawn into your web, like others were before her.”

  Lady Rowan watched the emotions flit across his handsome face with interest and a puzzled curiosity. Lord Jack was always restive and out of sorts when he returned from the mundane world beyond the castle’s walls. Tonight, however, there was something more.

  “And if she is, then you may ride to her rescue again, like Sir Galahad.”

  Jack toyed with the silver bracelet on his right wrist. “In three weeks the seven years you bargained for me will be up. I shall be beyond helping myself, much less anyone else.”

  She dismissed his concerns with an airy wave. “A lot can happen in three weeks. But I do not like your mood.”

  She gestured and his gold and silver cup appeared in her hand, the sapphires like blue flame in the candlelight. “Nectar and mead, to ease your spirits.”

  Jack took the goblet, saluted her with it and drank deeply. As he did so, that odd little light glowed again in Lady Rowan’s eyes. The feeling that he was caught up in some devious game of her devising grew stronger. He set the goblet down, but it was already too late.

  Within the span of a single heartbeat her potion held him spellbound. Magic flowed through h
is veins, spreading a pleasant numbness. All the cold, empty spaces in him filled up with joy and merriment.

  Jack laughed, his good humor restored. Why should he bother with the fate of one mortal woman? Phoebe Sutton was nothing to him.

  Lady Rowan smiled, seeing the transformation in him. “Ah, that is more like it. I do not care to see you gloomy . . .”

  She could not understand the lure of the mortal world: how could he yearn for the brief human existence where every joy seemed countered by sorrow, when he could remain young and handsome forever in the Kingdom of Faerie?

  But there was no time to pursue the thought, even if she’d been so inclined. Jack rose, took her hand and bowed over it.

  “Come, my Lady Rowan!”

  She smiled and took his arm. They descended the marble staircase together and joined in the dance, and every care was forgotten.

  Chapter 6

  PHOEBE awakened early after a restless night. She’d fallen back into strange dreams. This time there had been no shining castle, only a lonely place with damp, rocky walls that had funneled her down and down into darkness.

  She went to the window and threw back the curtains. It looked to be a glorious morning. Last night’s wind and rain had given way before a beaming sun, and there were tiny patches of green visible in the gardens below her window.

  A man rode toward the house, reining his mount in as he neared. There was no mistaking Gordon in the clear light. It amazed her that he could ride so well despite the results of his injuries, tall and strong in the saddle. Had it been him she’d heard riding out in the night or was he merely returning from a fresh morning’s gallop across the meadows?

  Suddenly Gordon tipped his head back and glanced up at her window. For a moment Phoebe’s gaze locked with his. She waved and gave him a ghost of a smile. He returned a mocking salute and rode off toward the stableyard.

  She scanned the bare and rumpled hills, searching for anything that resembled a castle. There was nothing to see except a tumble of dark stones at the summit of the nearest hill. There was no resemblance in their flat planes to the soaring turrets and bright Gothic windows she’d seen, but there was definitely something unsettling about them. Wisps of dreams stirred at the back of her thoughts, too insubstantial to grasp.

  Phoebe turned away, pondering her odd dreams and the dazzling castle. Somehow they were connected. She was sure of it.

  She put on her second-best day dress and swept her hair up into a coronet of braids and was ready to begin her first day at Thorne Court. As she tucked a stray wisp of hair in place, Elsie opened the door and peeked in. The maid’s mouth dropped in dismay.

  “Oh, miss! I didn’t expect you up so early. Orders were to let you sleep as late as you liked. If only you’d rung, I would have brought a tray . . .”

  Phoebe smiled to put the woman at ease. “Like you, I rise with the larks. I shall be taking my breakfast below most mornings.”

  Elsie was disappointed. She made a little clucking sound of disapproval. “Lady Gwynn always takes a tray in bed, of a morning . . .”

  Phoebe heard the disapproval in the woman’s tone. Oh dear, I’m starting off wrong with Elsie. I shall have to mend my ways.

  Breakfast in bed was a luxury that hadn’t even occurred to Phoebe. The only time she’d had a meal tray brought up, she’d been nine and covered in chicken pox. But that bit of information would shock Elsie’s sensibilities of what was befitting a lady, so Phoebe smiled and kept it to herself.

  “Perhaps toast and coffee in the morning, then,” she said.

  The maid beamed. “ ’Twill be like old times, miss. After Master Gordon’s—that is, Lord Thornwood’s—accident, everything changed for the worse. There were no more grand parties or houseguests to stay at Thorne Court, and all the furniture was put into holland covers.”

  Here was a servant more than eager to gossip, and Phoebe set her qualms aside. “It must have been terrible. How did it happen?”

  “That’s the thing,” Elsie sighed. “No one knows but God. Master Gordon went out for a ride and his horse come back without him. A search party found him up on the hillside, half dead and looking as if he’d been struck down by a lightning bolt. When he finally came to his senses, he couldn’t recall what had happened to him.”

  Phoebe bit her lip. “Such a terrible tragedy! His life was not so golden as I imagined.”

  Elsie was in full spate now, excited to be the one to impart the story to the newcomer. She went to the bay window. “If you look out this side, miss, you can see the place where they found him.”

  Phoebe joined her. “There.” Elsie pointed to the crest of the moor. “Do you see those dark rocks up at the top? The master says ’tis really a tomb of sorts, but I’ve never heard it called aught but the Faerie Stables.”

  If she strained her eyes, Phoebe could make out several rough slabs of rock standing to form a wedge shape, with others laid over for roofing.

  “A dolmen,” she said. “I’ve seen them in illustrations. Perhaps I’ll ride up there one day.”

  A look of horror crossed Elsie’s face. “Never say you will, miss! ’Tis mortal bad luck to go up there.”

  Phoebe managed to calm Elsie’s fears and change the subject. “I heard hoofbeats in the night. Someone riding across the park.”

  Elsie reddened. “That would be the master. Can’t sleep. The pain, you know. He’ll have his horse saddled up and go for a long ride at all hours.”

  “It seems like that would worsen his pain.”

  “No, miss, he always seems the better for it when he returns.” The woman seemed anxious to be off this subject also. “The breakfast room is two doors past the book room, then turn right. You’ll see James at the door.”

  Phoebe took the hint. Following the maid’s directions, she went down the staircase, admiring the intricate carving she’d been too tired to notice the previous night.

  At the end of the long corridor a solemn footman opened the door to the breakfast room. Like the other servants she’d seen at Thorne Court, he was well past his youth.

  The pretty parlor looked cheerful and inviting, all white wainscoting, with draperies of sprigged yellow silk flanking the bowed window. The tantalizing aroma of eggs, ham, bacon and coffee greeted Phoebe, but couldn’t seduce her across the threshold. Her feet seemed glued to the floor.

  I am a coward, she acknowledged, afraid to see Gordon’s terrible scars by the glaring light of day.

  It was not for her sake, but for his that she dreaded it. Phoebe was afraid of what he might read on her face. His intense gaze seemed to miss nothing. To a man of Gordon’s pride, pity would be worse than revulsion.

  It was difficult to reconcile her images of him from the past with what he was now. In time I shall become accustomed to the changes in him, she told herself. Meanwhile I must do my utmost not to turn away.

  She was aware of the footman watching her from the corner of his eyes. Best to get it over with quickly. A mental shake, a deep breath and she forced herself to enter the parlor.

  It was empty except for the butler, busily checking the hot dishes on the sideboard.

  Holloway greeted her with a bow. “Good morning, miss.”

  “Good morning, Holloway.” She noticed there was only one setting at the table. “Has His Lordship been down to breakfast already?”

  “No, miss. He has not returned from his morning ride as yet.”

  After all her anxiety over this daylight meeting, Phoebe didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She helped herself to ham and eggs from the sideboard and took her place while Holloway filled her cup.

  She didn’t see Gordon come in from the corridor. He stopped on the threshold. In the warm morning light Phoebe’s hair was like a red-gold halo. She was so vibrant and alive in this house of dust and shadows it struck him like a blow. He had to look away a moment.

  He’d pictured her here like this a thousand times. The reality of it was overwhelming. At least when I am gone s
he will be sheltered here.

  Phoebe looked up suddenly, as if she’d felt him staring at her. She noted the lines of strain in his face, the deep shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

  “Good morning. How was your ride?”

  “Excellent, thank you.” He ignored the food set out on the sideboard, but sat down beside Phoebe and accepted the cup of coffee that Holloway silently offered him.

  “Which reminds me, I’ve left orders with Hugh to set one of the hacks aside for your use. There’s a nice little mare I think will suit you. I don’t advise you to leave the estate grounds, however, unless you take a groom with you.”

  “I am not a novice rider,” Phoebe said.

  Gordon nodded. “Exactly my point.” He remembered her galloping, neck-or-nothing, across the park at Wickersham. “Curb any temptations to explore on your own. Wickersham was tame country compared to the Devon moor. The land beyond the estate is both treacherous and unforgiving. A minor accident might cost you your life.”

  “You’re just saying that to frighten me.”

  His frown deepened. “There are many dangers awaiting the unwary out on the moor. Hidden smugglers’ caves, treacherous bogs that look like solid ground . . . none of them places where someone totally unfamiliar with the terrain should venture!”

  His vehemence backfired. Nothing could have been more calculated to spur Phoebe to explore the mysterious moor. Especially the dolmen on the crest of the hill. She made a noncommittal answer and finished her scrambled egg.

  She accepted more coffee. “Shall I meet Lady Gwynn this morning?”

  “I’m afraid this is not one of her good days. Tomorrow would be better.”

  “Very well.”

  A strained silence fell. Holloway, good butler that he was, realized it behooved him to withdraw. He slipped away silently.

  Gordon’s eyes were riveted on Phoebe, arrested by the proud lift of her head, the elegant curve of her throat. When he’d first set eyes on her at Wickersham, she was a sandy-haired girl, with invisible brows and lashes, and no hint of the beauty she’d become.