by Nina Mason
“Most of the folktales you will find herein concern human interactions with faeries. They are cautionary tales, by and large, intended to teach people how to avoid faeries by steering clear of the areas they are known to inhabit, or to keep them at bay with iron, which burns them. At their best, the so-called wee folk are capricious. At their worst, they are malicious. They have been known to steal people’s souls, kidnap children, and lure men and women into sexual enslavement. If you or a loved one should suffer this unfortunate fate, recovery is difficult and dangerous, but not impossible. Some of the tales in this collection provide detailed instruction on how to reclaim someone taken by the paradoxically named ‘good neighbors’…”
Her hopes climbing, Jenna turned to the table of contents. Her optimism ebbed as she skimmed the list of stories under the heading “Faery Tales.” None sounded even remotely like the story of Tam Lin. Not ready to give up, she flipped through the fables, hoping one of them might contain something of use.
“Do you take an interest in faery stories, Miss Cameron?”
Looking up, Jenna found Mrs. Emerson scrutinizing her from the end of the aisle. Seeing her opportunity, she met the librarian’s gaze head-on. “My mother used to read them to me when I was a girl. I was looking for one of my favorites—but can’t seem to find it.”
“If you can remember what the story was called, I might be able to help.”
“It was called Tam Lin. Does the name ring any bells?”
Mrs. Emerson gave her a stern look Jenna interpreted as disapproval. “How old were you when your mother read you the tale?”
“I don’t remember,” she said, hedging. “Does it matter?”
“Tam Lin chronicles the rape of a virgin and her subsequent attempts to abort the resulting pregnancy.” Both her tone and expression were admonitory. “It hardly seems appropriate subject matter for a bedtime story.”
Jenna, suddenly overheated, hesitated. To pursue the topic further might endanger her prospects for securing the job. On the other hand, dropping the subject might jeopardize her future with Sir Axel—and his very life.
“Be that as it may,” she said, feigning self-assurance she did not possess, “I was hoping to find the story in one of these books. My mother died when I was only fifteen, and, now that I’m in the Highlands, I thought it would be nice to honor her memory by reacquainting myself with some of her stories.”
Motherly compassion softened the librarian’s harsh glare. “Well, there are several works of fiction based on the legend, but, if it’s the original tale your mother recited, I recommend you seek out a second-hand bookshop.”
Jenna, holding her gaze, closed the book in her hand. “Can you recommend somewhere nearby?”
“Try the Emporium on the high street. It’s a bit like the Old Curiosity Shop in the Dickens novel. No guarantees, but you might get lucky.”
Jenna thanked Mrs. Emerson, reiterated her interest in the part-time position, and set off toward the High Street on foot. She was in the mood for a walk and hoped the exercise and cool ocean air would help to revive her sleep-deprived brain.
The Book Emporium proved to be a treasure trove for a collector of second-hand classics. To her delight, the shop also sold hot beverages for customers to enjoy while browsing. After scoring a hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, she took her time exploring the hotchpotch of books, cards, jewelry, and crafts by local artisans.
Though she did not find Tam Lin, she did come upon an appealing vintage edition of another classic tale that started off with the rape of a hapless young woman: Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. Jenna had read the book in secondary school, but could remember very little of the story. After killing a good hour and a half, she bought Tess, along with a box of note cards of local scenes—she had a weakness for pretty note cards, despite having no one to send them to—and headed back toward the library.
All in all, she’d had a very productive day—and still had her evening with Sir Axel to look forward to. Assuming he kept his promise. If he failed to appear, she could always go looking for him, she supposed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know where to find him. But she’d feel much better about the whole thing if he kept his word and called upon her.
Chapter 8
By the time the sky had darkened to full night, Axel had finished the ring and made a good start on the protective amulet he meant to hang over Jenna’s bed. After taking his second cold bath of the day, he hung the ring around his neck on a flaxen cord, dressed in his best tunic and trews, and mounted his sturdy black charger.
On his nightly patrol of the glen, he adjusted the charms that concealed him from human eyes and collected the plastic bottles and food wrappers he found here and there. As he deposited the discards in the rubbish bins, he once again scratched his head, unable to fathom the person who had no qualms about polluting a pristine natural habitat like Faery Glen. How anybody could be so infuriatingly selfish and obtuse was beyond him. And yet, sadly, such oblivious individuals seemed to exist in staggering numbers.
He just hoped there was a rotting pile of rubbish reserved for them in Helheim.
After finishing his rounds, he reined Odin toward the cottage, eager to see Jenna. Before dismounting, he rode around the perimeter to be sure all was copacetic. Nothing appeared out of place, though there was an automobile parked in the drive in the rear. A small red car with a black roof made of something akin to leather. Was it Jenna’s or did she have company? The prospect she might not be alone did not sit well.
Guiding his charger back around to the front, he hopped down, looped the reins over the porch rail, and strode to the front door. He knocked loudly and within a few seconds, the door opened. There stood Jenna, looking even lovelier than he remembered in a filmy white night rail. “Are you alone?”
“Not now that you’re here.” She offered him a teasing smile. “Would you like to come in?”
He was as relieved by her answer as he was annoyed at himself for his jealousy. Much as he would like to believe centuries of meditation had cured him of such infantile emotions, he clearly had more work to do.
Stepping across the threshold, he kissed her before moving into the living room. Candles had replaced the electric lights of the night before. There was a blaze in the stone fireplace as well. The combined effect was both cozy and romantic—an ideal setting for what he had in mind.
“Have a seat.” She gestured toward the divan. “Can I get you a drink? I picked up some wine and a decent bottle of whisky on my way home from Cromarty.”
“Whisky would be wonderful.” The village lasses sometimes left a bottle in the well, but it had been quite a while since he had emptied the last. “And what, if I may be so bold, took you all the way to Cromarty?”
He took a seat on the sofa. She brought two glasses of whisky, handed him one, and sat beside him.
“I went to see about a job at the library there.”
His mind turned like a millwheel. If she was looking for a job, she was following through on the offer she had made to him the night before. That was a good thing, even if Cromarty was a wee bit of a distance to go every day. “Did you have any luck?”
“You could say that.” She beamed at him. “The head librarian all but hired me on the spot. It’s only part-time, but once I get my foot in the door, it could lead to bigger things.”
“To your success.” He lifted his glass.
She clinked hers against his. “To better times ahead.”
A sip told him she’d described the whisky unjustly. The satisfying blend of leather and peat was a vast deal more than satisfactory.
“What would you like to do tonight?” She set her hand upon his thigh, drawing his focus to the point of contact.
“I brought my horse, thinking we might take a moonlight ride around the glen. But I gather by your mode of dress you had something else in mind.”
“I did.” A blush reddened her pale, freckled cheeks. “Though I’m not bothered by going f
or a ride, if you’d rather.”
He eyed her sheer ensemble with lust in his heart. “To say I would rather go riding than make love to you might be a wee bit of an overstatement.”
“I’ll go change.”
As she rose from the sofa, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “There is no need. I like what you are wearing.”
“But—what if someone wanders into the glen unexpectedly? Like I did the other night.”
“There is no need to worry about that,” he said. “I have altered the charm I use to conceal myself to include you. No one will see either of us, or the horse. Even if we run right over them.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What sort of charm did you use?”
“One that can make people see what is not there—or not see what is.”
“It sounds like hypnosis.”
“That is precisely what is. Only my father called it Sgoil Dhubh—or Black Schooling. I concentrated the charm in a rowan branch, which I placed across all the paths of entry. Any who step over the twigs come under my spell.”
She looked impressed, which pleased him. “That’s some trick.”
“Aye.” He sipped his whisky. “It was one of many martial feats I learned as part of my warrior training.”
Again, she looked confused. “Did you say martial feats? How does that differ from martial arts?”
“Martial arts refers to weapons training.” He continued admiring her figure through her filmy nightgown. “The use of staves, swords, spears, and the like…while feats describes the many forms of sorcery a warrior can use to defeat his foes.”
“And none of these feats, so called, has any more effect on your queen than your other magic?”
Pulling his gaze away from her form, he looked down at his glass. “I only wish they did.” He turned the glass with his fingers. “As long as I wear the torque, I am bound to Queen Morgan.”
“What about when you’re a gyrfalcon? Does the torque still work?”
“I could turn myself into a beetle and the torque would still have its power. It’s an embedded enchantment, Jenna—and unbreakable.”
“What about when you leave on your quest? What will happen then?”
“She will adjust the binding magic accordingly.”
The conversation ceased. Gazing at the fire, he sipped his whisky while trying to decide when to give her the ring. Would it be better to do so now or after their ride?
“Axel…can I ask you something?”
“Aye. You can ask me anything you wish.” With a teasing smile, he added, “I might choose not to answer, but you can always ask.”
She returned his smile while running her hand up his thigh in a most distracting manner. “If you could break her hold over you, would you?”
“An interesting question.” He fingered the ring beneath his tunic. “But let us not waste the evening talking of things that can never be. Our time together is short. Let us spend it on more productive pursuits.”
When she opened her mouth—to argue, presumably—he seized her by the back of the head and pulled her mouth against his. She tasted of whisky, longing, and hope. She also tasted of powerful magic. Hungry for more, he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, seeking admittance. As the gates parted, he slid his probe inside her mouth, gliding it against hers in a slow and sensual dance of seduction.
The longing he had fought to keep under control all day snapped its tethers. Desire flowed through him, frightening in its power. A fast-moving wildfire, it set his blood ablaze, melted his bones, and charred his resolve. For one searing, insensible moment, he let it swallow him up. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her closer, mashing her breasts against the wall of his chest. Sandwiched between them, the ring around his neck burned into his flesh.
Among other runes, he had carved Kenaz, the torch, into the talisman. Kenaz was the rune of inspiration and regeneration; of passion, lust, and sexual love. Growling against her mouth, he pushed her down on the couch. He wanted to woo her, but, just as much, he yearned to be inside her. To feel her tight scabbard encasing his steel. To stab and stab until he exited this world, this life, in a blaze of glory.
She voiced no objection—not that she could with their mouths locked together as they were. Her tongue was too busy saying yes to say no; her fingers were too entangled in his tunic to push him away. Her negligée was bunched between them and their pelvises were writhing together. These were not the actions of a woman who wanted him to cease and desist.
Still, he should, he should. This was not the way for a knight to behave with his lady. His gallantry retreated when she clawed his back and lifted her hips in invitation, grinding her mons against his erection.
If she wanted him, far be it from him to deny her. Putting his weight on his knees, he pushed off her, freed his cock from his trews, and lifted her nightgown. Her underwear was white this time and even scanter than the pink pair. Please let her be not too attached to them. He ran his fingers over the crotch, pleased to find it moist. She emitted a soft moan and wriggled against his caressing digits. Desire incinerated his self-control. Hooking two fingers inside her panties, he tore them free and tossed them aside.
The auburn nest between her legs was a whip on the flanks of his passion for her. Taking his weight on his arms, he lowered himself onto her and took possession with one ardent stroke.
“As good as this feels, you haven’t answered my question.”
There was a whiff of mischief in her tone.
With a satisfied smile, he withdrew to the brink of separation and plunged into her again. “I thought we had retired the subject.”
“You may have, but I have not.” She released a sigh he did not like in the least. “I’ve only just found my voice, Axel. Please don’t try to take it away from me again.”
Guilt and self-recrimination sprouted inside his heart like deadly nightshade. Pulling out of her, he moved away and plopped down on the couch at her feet. Picking up his unfinished scotch, he swallowed what was left. “I would never do that.” He stared blankly at the empty glass in his hand. “Not intentionally, anyway.”
Coming up beside him, she put her hand on his bicep. “I probably shouldn’t say this, given how little time we’ve known each other, but I strongly suspect I’m falling in love with you. I know it sounds mad, but I also know how I feel.” She paused for a breath and to take his glass, which she set on the table beside hers. “I don’t expect you to love me back, but I do hope you’ll allow me to express myself—however much you might not want to hear what I have to say.”
She’d misunderstood his motives. He had no desire to silence her; he only wanted to protect her. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said with all sincerity, “I will always want to hear what you have to say.”
Her soft hand brushed his cheek and pushed back his hair. “Does what I just said about the strength of my feelings scare you?”
“No, it gladdens me. Because I feel the same way.” He reached behind his neck and untied the cord holding the ring. Cupping the wee talisman in his palm, he held it out to her. “I want you to have this. To fall in love after a day might seem mad to some, but not to me, because I believe in fate and magic and divine purpose, Jenna.”
“I believe in those things, too.” With tears in her eyes, she took the ring from his hand and studied the inscriptions he’d carved into both sides of the circle. “It’s so beautiful. Did you make this especially for me?”
“Aye.” His throat was so thickened by emotion he could barely get words out. “From a stick of ash I found this morning. After I left you. It will protect you from physical harm and bind us together emotionally. Let us hope it brings us to a better end than the ring Sigurd gave to Brunhilde.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the story.” She looked up at him with eyes so full of tenderness it was all he could do not to grab her to him. “Will you share it with me?”
“Gladly, but first, there are other things I must t
ell you.” He took a shuddering breath to cool his emotions and steel his nerve. “The first is that my role as a knight requires me to serve my queen in ways you might find…well, objectionable.”
Concern etched her features. “Objectionable? How so?”
“As a portal guardian, I have been granted certain freedoms. I am, however, still a knight, still one of the queen’s drones.”
She withdrew and bit her lip as she regarded him. “Did you say drones? As in a male bumblebee?”
Unable to bear her gaze, he looked away. “Aye, and, in the manner of male bumblebees, the main function of a knight is to populate the colony with workers.”
“Oh, my God, Axel. You sleep with her? How often?”
“As often as she summons me to do so.” He returned his gaze to her face, which had lost all its color and looked pinched.
“Do you have children with her?”
“Aye, but I am not a true father to them.”
The ensuing silence was excruciating. She just sat there staring at the ring as she turned it in her fingers. What was going through her mind? He resisted the urge to read her thoughts. Better to wait for her to share her response than intrude upon her private reflections.
Finally, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. There were tears in her eyes, but also a gleam of steely determination. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and threw back her shoulders. “I have to get you away from her—whatever it takes.”
“No.” Breaking away from her gaze, he licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He would much rather continue as they were, deficient though their situation was, than risk losing her in a reckless quest for perfection. “It is wiser to go on as things are. We can see each other in secret, pledge our hearts to each other without her suspecting. If she discovers my disloyalty, she will do to me what she did to Sir Leith.”