Praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
SUSAN KRINARD
“Animal lovers as well as romance readers and those who enjoy stories about mystical creatures and what happens when their world collides with ours will all find Krinard’s book impossible to put down.”
—Booklist on Lord of the Beasts
“A poignant tale of redemption.”
—Booklist on To Tame a Wolf
“A master of atmosphere and description.”
—Library Journal
“Susan Krinard was born to write romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Amanda Quick
“Magical, mystical, and moving…fans will be delighted.”
—Booklist on The Forest Lord
“A darkly magical story of love, betrayal, and redemption…Krinard is a bestselling, highly regarded writer who is deservedly carving out a niche in the romance arena.”
—Library Journal on The Forest Lord
“With riveting dialogue and passionate characters, Ms. Krinard exemplifies her exceptional knack for creating an extraordinary story of love, strength, courage and compassion.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Secret of the Wolf
Also available from
SUSAN KRINARD
and HQN Books
Come the Night
Dark of the Moon
Chasing Midnight
Lord of the Beasts
To Tame a Wolf
Available from Susan Krinard and LUNA Books
Shield of the Sky
Hammer of the Earth
Watch for the latest paranormal romance from Susan Krinard and HQN Books
Lord of Sin
Coming in fall 2009
SUSAN KRINARD
Lord of Legends
Dear Reader,
Of all the mythological creatures that have sprung from man’s imagination, none has been more beloved than the unicorn.
Nearly every culture in the world has its unicorn. The ancient Greeks were convinced that the unicorn, which they called the monoceros, made its home in India. The Chinese had the qilin, a peaceful beast that could walk on water and harmed no creature save sinners. Sometimes depicted with a dragon’s head, a deer’s body, a horse’s hooves and a lion’s tail, the qilin most often made its appearance during the reigns of benevolent rulers, and was considered the king of all “hairy beasts.” Similarly, the Japanese kirin was a creature of good luck and paramount among all living creatures.
In medieval Europe, the unicorn was a part of Christian symbolism and tales of courtly love. He represented fidelity, purity and nobility. He was fierce but gentle, wild and proud, but easily tamed by a virgin maid. His horn could become a deadly weapon or neutralize poison. In the famous “Hunt of the Unicorn” tapestries, he is brought low by a virgin and wounded by hunters, but in the end becomes a contented captive, chained by a golden collar to a pomegranate tree…a symbol of fertility.
The unicorn has continued to inspire stories, novels, art and music even today. He cannot be destroyed by the cynical pragmatism of our modern world. But he remains elusive, mysterious, invisible to our mortal eyes.
But what if a unicorn returned to our world from the Faerie realm where he had taken refuge from the hounds and spears of men? What if he were cast out in human form, compelled to accept a new body, imprisonment…and the aid of a beautiful virgin determined to “save” this strange man from a seemingly terrible fate?
Lord of Legends was based on these ideas. I hope you enjoy Ash and Mariah’s journey as much as I enjoyed creating it.
Susan Krinard
Lord of Legends
Now I will believe
That there are unicorns…
—William Shakespeare,
The Tempest
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
APPENDIX: THE FANE SERIES
APPENDIX: THE FANE AND OTHER FAIRIES
APPENDIX: A SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY
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PROLOGUE
New York City, 1883
“MAMA? Mama!”
Portia Marron looked at Mariah the same way she had for the past week, her eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, as if she could no longer see the real world.
But the world as Mariah knew it hadn’t been real to her mother for many years. Portia saw one much more beautiful, inhabited by wondrous creatures who sometimes crossed the barriers in her mind to whisper in her ear.
“Mama,” Mariah said again, squeezing the frail hand. “Please come back.”
Briefly, the faded blue eyes cleared. “Is that my little girl?” Portia asked in the croak of a voice seldom used. “Now, now. Don’t you fret none.”
Mariah looked away. Mama had relapsed so far that she was living in the distant past, when Papa had still been working on the railroad with his own hands and muscle, and Mama had been a rancher’s daughter.
Papa had tried to put that past far behind him. He’d done his best to buy his way into New York society, but his efforts had proved largely futile. Wealthy as he was, he was still one of the nouveau riche, without an ancient family name to open the gates.
Not that Mama had cared. In fact, it had always seemed that the harder Papa pushed his family to enter a society that rejected them, the deeper Mama retreated into her realms of fantasy.
Mariah patted the withered flesh stretched over the hills of blue veins. “Yes, Mama,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”
The brief moment of coherence left Mama’s eyes. “Do you hear them?” she asked dreamily. “They’re louder now. They’re calling me.”
It took all Mariah’s control not to squeeze too tight before she released Mama’s hand. “Not yet, Mama. They don’t want you yet.”
“But they sing so beautifully. Can’t you hear?” Mrs. Marron rolled her head on the down pillow. “So sweet. You must hear them, my darling. They will be coming for you, too.”
Mariah shuddered, knowing her mother wouldn’t see. “Perhaps someday, Mama.”
“Someday,” Portia sighed, releasing her breath too slowly. Then she turned her head toward Mariah, and a strange ferocity took hold of her gaunt face.
“Don’t let those doctors take me back,” she said. “Promise me, Merry. Promise me you won’t let them take me.”
Sickness surged in Mariah’s throat. “No, Mama. I won’t.”
“Promise!”
“I promise.” She sketched a pattern across her chest just as she’d done as a little girl. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Mrs. Marron relaxed, the tension draining from her body. “You’re a good girl, Merry. Always have been. You never cared about them snooty harpies. The best of them ain’t as good as you.” She smiled again. “You remember when you was little, and I read you them fairy stories? How you loved them.”
“Yes, Mama.” She had loved them: fairy tales and all the romantic adventure stories about lost princes and hidden treasures. She’d half believed they were true. Not anymore.
Mama felt across the sheets for Mariah’s hand. “Don’t give up, Merry,” she said. “Sometimes the good things seem far away. Good things like love. But it’ll find you, my girl. Sooner or later, you’ll have to believe in something you can’t see.”
That was the old Mama. The one who had been less and less in evidence as the months and years passed. The one who never would have survived in the asylum if not for her invisible companions.
The one Mariah missed so terribly.
She leaned over to kiss Mama’s cheek. “You should sleep now,” she said. “When you wake, I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea and a few of Cook’s fresh biscuits.”
“Biscuits.” Mama slipped away again. “I wonder if they have biscuits there. I’ll have to ask….” She closed her eyes and almost immediately sank into a deep sleep.
Mariah’s legs were trembling as she rose from the chair beside the bed. All her efforts had gone for nothing. She had been the one to insist that Mama be brought home, so she could care for her. But she’d failed. She was certain that Mama was dying for no other reason than that she wanted to go to that other place.
A place that wasn’t heaven. It wasn’t even hell. It didn’t exist at all and never had.
Mariah trudged down the stairs, hardly bothering to lift her skirts above the floor. The idea of dressing for dinner was repellent to her, but Papa would insist. He would not abandon the life he’d fought so hard to achieve, not even with death so close in the house.
“Miss Marron?”
Ives bowed slightly, always proper, as only an English butler could be. “Mr. Marron requests your presence in his office.”
“Yes, Ives. I shall be there presently.”
“Very good, miss.” Ives bowed again, passed her and continued up the stairs. Mariah wondered if Papa had sent him to check on Mama. He still loved the woman he’d married, though in truth she’d left him long ago.
Mariah continued on to the office and knocked on the door. Papa let her in, chomping furiously on an unlit cigar. His big bear paws hung in the air, as if he didn’t know whether he ought to embrace her or fend her away.
“Well, sit down,” he said, gesturing toward a chair. “I’ve something to discuss with you.”
She sat and smoothed her skirts, reminded again of how much she detested the new fashion of large, projecting bustles.
Papa cleared his throat. She sat up straighter. He still wanted her to be the proper lady, even when no one was there to see or care.
“You know your mother and I had always planned for you to have an advantageous marriage,” Papa began, sinking heavily into his leather chair. “You asked that we put off such discussions while…while your mother was indisposed. But it is now clear that she will not recover as we had hoped.”
“She needs more time,” Mariah said, knowing that she was lying to herself as much as to him. “Please, Papa. Be patient just a while longer.”
“No.” He stubbed out his cigar and leaned heavily on the ebony desk. “No more waiting, Merry. It’s time and past that you were married.”
To someone who will take me before I begin showing the same signs as Mama, Mariah added silently. If such a person existed.
“You may wonder if I have someone specific in mind,” he rushed on. “There is a fresh crop of English gentlemen arriving this season, and you will be meeting all of them.”
Impoverished gentlemen, he meant. “Viscounts” and “earls” and assorted “sirs” who were in desperate need of a wealthy wife, even if she were American.
Mariah didn’t have to ask why Papa wanted her out of New York. Away from the influence of her crazy mother. Away from the gossip. He wanted to secure her future, her security…and, above all, her sanity. But there were some things the human will, however indomitable, could not overcome.
“I don’t wish to leave New York,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Not so long as Mama needs me.”
“You’ve spent enough time in asylums,” he said harshly. “You can’t make your mother any better, there or here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She wants your happiness. You know that, Merry.” His commanding tone became persuasive, almost gentle. “You’d make her happiest in these…last days by marrying well and starting on the road to having your own family.”
Mariah pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. She wanted children. She wanted them badly. But if she should inherit the madness that had claimed her mother and her mother’s mother before her…
Papa was blinded by the hope that she would be different. He still intended to see that she climbed to the heights of society, high enough to sneer at the snobbish “old money” of New York. And the surest way of achieving his goal was by trading money for a title.
As if that would make a difference.
I don’t need it, Papa. Oh, I can ape the manners of a fine lady, but I don’t belong among them. I’ve been by myself too long. All I want is a quiet life. Then, if anything goes wrong…
“I can’t, Papa. You know I can’t.”
“I know you can.” He was all brute force now, the man who had brought the New York Stock Exchange to its knees more than once, and in spite of herself, she quailed. “You will. And you’ll begin next week, when the Viscount Ainscough arrives.” He turned his back on her. “Mrs. Abercrombie is throwing a ball for him. She has invited you.”
Mariah wondered how Papa had wangled such an invitation. Perhaps Mr. Abercrombie hoped to encourage a substantial investment from Mr. Marron and had prevailed upon his wife to accept the former pariah.
“—you’ll be wearing a new gown and looking like a queen,” Papa was saying.
“I don’t need more gowns, Papa.”
“You will from now on. A new one for every concert, soirée, breakfast and party during the Season.”
Mariah rose and walked to the window, looking out over Central Park. Leaves were turning and beginning to fall. Mrs. Abercrombie’s ball was only the beginning. Soon the Season would be in full bloom, and she would be in the thick of it, as if Mama didn’t exist.
“I know it’s difficult for you, sweetheart,” Papa said, coming up behind her and laying his broad hand on her shoulder. “But you’ll carry on. You’re stronger than…”
Stronger than your mother. You won’t hear voices. You’ll behave normally. You won’t ever end up in a… “Promise that you won’t send Mama back to the asylum,” she said.
He looked at her with that shrewd, hard gaze. “Are you trying to bargain with me, Merry?”
“Keep her here. Let me see her between engagements, and I’ll become whatever you want me to be.”
His shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to send her back. I only want what’s best.” He seemed to shrink to the size of an ordinary man. “I agree.”
All the air rushed out of Mariah’s lungs. “Thank you, Papa.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her words, and returned to his desk. “The ivory gown from Worth just arrived from Paris,” he said, as if they had never discussed anything more important than her wardrobe. “You’ll wear that one to the ball. We’ll have to use a few local couturiers until the rest arrive.”
“Yes, Papa.” Mariah drew her finger across the windowpane, watching her breath condense on the glass. “How many Englishmen do you suppose I’ll have to c
hoose from?”
“I imagine you’ll snag a duke, Merry. How could any man resist you?”
And what about love? Wasn’t she as unlikely to find that with an English lord as with anyone in New York? Was there a man anywhere who didn’t want her only for her money?
Papa would use every means necessary to quash any current gossip about the state of Mrs. Marron’s sanity, of course. Sufficient wealth could buy almost everything. Everything but what really mattered.
Mariah walked to the door. “I’d best get ready for dinner, Papa.”
“You do that. Wear that little pink frock, the one with the lace at the bottom. Bring some cheer to the table.”
She nodded, left the office and climbed the stairs, acknowledging the nurse who was just leaving Mama’s suite. As she entered her room, she wondered if she might possibly escape marriage entirely. Papa thought her beautiful, but she knew that to be untrue. She was, in fact, a nobody. She had a considerable allowance of her own. Perhaps she could bribe the noblemen to leave her alone. Then Papa would have to give up, and she could find a way to be with Mama until the end.
But things didn’t work out as she’d planned. Halfway through the Season she met the dashing Earl of Donnington, already wealthy in his own right, and fell in love. He wanted a quiet, unassuming wife who would be content to remain at his estate in Cambridgeshire while he pursued his own interests; she could think of no better arrangement.
A few months later, Mama died. Mariah insisted on the full period of mourning, but Donnington waited patiently. A year later, she was on a steamer bound for England and the marriage her father had so wanted for her. The end of one life and the beginning of another.
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