by Anne Bishop
The stallion snorted delicately.
Ari stroked his cheek. “But that’s only one kind of affection, isn’t it?” she said softly as her hand traveled down the strong neck. She fingercombed the long mane. “There are other kinds, aren’t there? Like friendship. That’s something I could give with a willing heart.”
Oh, she liked petting him. Liked feeling his warmth under her hand. Liked the way that black mane brushed against her skin.
“I feel strange,” she whispered.
He made a sound that might have been agreement or understanding.
She pressed her hands against his cheeks.
He lipped her chin.
For a moment, she couldn’t look away from those strange gray eyes. Then she pressed her lips against his muzzle. “There. A kiss to seal the bargain.” Suddenly feeling shy, she went to the cave and pulled out her pack. “Since we’re friends now, I’ll share my meal with you. I don’t think cheese is of any interest to you, but horses like apples, don’t they?”
The stallion nodded vigorously.
Ari eyed him a moment. “You are a horse, aren’t you?”
He turned his head as if he needed to check the body behind him. He swished his tail, then gave her such a quizzical look she couldn’t help but laugh.
“All right. So it was a foolish question. But I wouldn’t want to insult one of the Fae by offering such humble fare.”
He shook his head.
It was nothing, Ari assured herself while she cut up the apples with her folding knife. Just moondreams and too many of her grandmother’s tales about the Fae and how they could change into another shape. The horse was used to people. And Ahern’s “special” horses tended to act as if they understood what was being said, so maybe there was some inflection in her voice that the horse was responding to, some cue she wasn’t aware of that made it seem like he was really answering her. He was just a horse that, for some reason, was curious enough about her to stay.
As expected, he wasn’t interested in the cheese, but happily munched his share of the apples. Since he seemed determined to have his share of the fairy cakes as well, she gave him one, hoping it wouldn’t make him ill. There was no fresh water nearby, so she kept pouring water from a canteen into her palm until he’d had his fill.
After slaking her own thirst, she tucked her pack back into the cave, then she joined him on the beach.
He arched his neck and pranced in a circle around her.
“Don’t you think it’s time you headed home?” Ari asked.
He stopped, shook his head. One foreleg stamped the sand.
“You’re going to have to make your wishes clearer than that, lad,” Ari said primly.
He did. As soon as she turned her back on him, he came up behind her and gave her a firm nudge.
“Do you bully all your ladies like this?” Ari demanded.
He didn’t bother to answer. He just kept herding her back toward the rock wall. She tried slipping past him a couple of times, but he was bigger and faster and more experienced in herding than she was at dodging.
“All right. All right,” Ari grumbled a minute later. “I’m standing on the wall. Are you pleased now?”
The stallion shook his head. Sidling close to the wall, he presented his left side.
That invitation was plain enough.
“I’ve only ridden a horse a few times when I was a girl,” she said, hesitating. “I’m not sure I remember how.” But she wanted to ride him. Tonight. Here. Now. Oh, she wanted to.
He turned his head and looked at her.
She took off her cloak, folded it, and set in on the wall. Gripping a fistful of his mane, she eased one leg over his back, glad that she had chosen to wear the loose trousers and long tunic she usually dressed in except when going to Ridgeley.
He moved away from the wall at a quiet walk, giving her time to get used to the feel of him under her.
An odd sensation, to have her thighs spread this way, to feel the heat of his body where she was pressed against his back.
They walked along the edge of the foam. There was no sound but the sea sending gentle waves to kiss the shore.
Ari breathed deeply, draining one kind of tension from her body.
He lifted into a canter, the change so smooth she didn’t have time to tense her muscles. The wind in her face tasted of the sea. She knew they were moving far more slowly than his gallop down the beach, but she felt like she was flying. Here there were no problems, no unhappiness. There was only the sea and the wind and the sand . . . and the powerful body moving beneath hers.
He circled, headed back toward her mother’s place, then went past it, taking them farther down the beach. As he circled again, Ari glanced up at the cliff’s edge.
Her muscles involuntarily clenched, throwing off her balance. The horse immediately slowed to a walk, his ears nicking back and forth.
“That’s enough,” Ari said quietly, trying to watch the cliff without appearing too obvious. “That’s enough.”
The horse snorted softly, sounding disappointed, but he headed back to her mother’s place.
Unable to resist, Ari looked over her shoulder and studied the cliff for a moment. Had there been a man crouching on the edge of the cliff, watching her? Or had it been nothing more than stone and a trick of the moonlight? It didn’t matter. It had scared her enough to remind her of why she should have remained out of sight instead of riding on the beach.
As soon as they were close to the low stone walls, she slid off the horse’s back, not waiting for him to stop.
“Quiet,” she whispered harshly before he could voice his opinion of having indulged an erratic rider. She scurried to the cliff base, hardly daring to breathe until she was safely hidden.
The horse hesitated a moment, then followed her.
Ari petted his neck. “Thank you for the ride,” she whispered, “but you have to go now. Someone might notice you and come down here to find out why you’re wandering by yourself. I can’t take that chance. There are too many hunters out tonight.” She shivered.
His gray eyes studied her for far too long. Then he turned and trotted back down the beach in the direction he’d originally come.
She snatched up her cloak and wrapped herself in it. That didn’t stop the shivering. Sitting next to the wall, she pulled her knees up and rested her forehead against them.
Please, Lady. Please don’t let anyone find me tonight.
Ari wasn’t sure if she was making that plea to the Mother of All Things or the Lady of the Moon. To the Great Mother, she decided as she raised her head to look at the night sky, feeling a little disappointed that she couldn’t see the full moon from where she sat. The Lady of the Moon would be wearing another face tonight, and it wasn’t a gentle one.
Eventually, she stopped shivering. Leaning back against the wall, she let the sea’s endless song lull her into sleep.
And dreamt that a puzzled, gray-eyed horse had quietly returned to watch over her.
Neall leaned against a tree at one edge of the woods that bordered the meadow behind Ari’s house.
If you’d had the brains you were born with, you would have stayed in your room tonight. . . with the door bolted. Some men may joke about the Summer Moon being the Bedding Moon, but the ones who bedded a woman they wouldn’t have chosen to wed tend to call it the Ensnarer’s Moon . . . with good reason.
His heart had overruled his head. He knew Royce was coming here tonight, which was why he’d crept out of his uncle’s house and ridden to Brightwood. But when he’d slipped away, his cousin had still been at the table, guzzling ale, so there was a little time to decide what to do.
He knew perfectly well how Royce would react if he was the one Ari offered the fancy to. Royce would make his life more of a misery than it already was. But Ari was worth whatever misery might come of it. She was worth far more than that—even if she never seemed to actually see him.
So he was here to make sure he was the first man she
would see. When he’d heard the whispers about the fancies Odella and some of the other girls had purchased from Granny Gwynn, he’d told himself over and over that he was just acting as a friend. A man could accept the fancy without taking advantage of the physical pleasure that was offered with it. Or, perhaps, accepting that offer just once to seal the bargain—and to assure the girl that she was desirable.
He told himself that he would refrain so that Ari would realize he wasn’t like Royce, that she mattered to him far too much for him to take advantage of love magic that gave her no choice. He needed to have her make that choice. If she didn’t, if she just tolerated him in her bed because she had to . . .
If she gave you the fancy, you’d be spending as much time in her bed as you could before the bargain ended. And if her belly swelled with your child because of it. . .
Neall closed his eyes. Even if he got her with child, she wouldn’t necessarily agree to stand with him at Midsummer and say the pledge that would make them husband and wife. And if she didn’t agree, she would be facing those months, and the birth that would come after, alone. He couldn’t do that to her. And he couldn’t stand by and not take advantage of anything that might bind her to him.
“Prey isn’t usually so obliging as to stand waiting for an arrow in the heart,” a rusty voice said quietly.
Neall stiffened but made no other movement. As he opened his eyes, he turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice.
The small man was no taller than the length of Neall’s arm, a stout little man dressed in the brown and gray clothing that would make him invisible in the woods. An arrow was loosely nocked in the bow he held.
“The Mother’s blessings be upon you,” Neall said softly. When the man didn’t respond to the greeting, Neall’s chest tightened. He’d always been courteous and careful not to give offense whenever he and one of the Small Folk crossed paths. They didn’t wield the power the Fae did, but their mischief magic could make a person’s life difficult, and if they were sufficiently riled, they could be deadly. But he knew this one, had spoken with him any number of times, so he didn’t understand the anger filling the air between them now.
“What brings you to Brightwood tonight, young Lord?” the small man asked.
Ah. So that was it. “The same thing as you,” Neall replied, giving the man a bit of a smile.
“I think not.”
Neall’s smile faded. “What I do here is none of your business.” Then he added angrily, “You’re not the only one who cares about Brightwood and the witches who live here.”
“Witch,” the small man said with a trace of bitterness. “There’s only one left now, isn’t there?”
Before Neall could reply, they heard a horse cantering down the road. Neall crouched down. His eyes flicked from the piece of the road he could see to the dark cottage.
Royce came into view, reining in hard enough to set his horse on its haunches. He studied the cottage for a long moment before dismounting and striding toward the front door.
“No lights,” the small man said, now standing beside Neall. “No smoke rising from the hearth. No reason for anyone to think she’s home.”
That was what worried him. He’d seen no flicker of a candle or lamp since he’d arrived, and he’d seen no sign of Ari. But she must know she couldn’t thwart the fancy that way. And where else could she be?
The small man said, “If she keeps the door bolted—”
“Love magic doesn’t work that way,” Neall snapped. “If she tries to defy it, it will turn against her.”
“A convenient spell, that,” the small man said with deadly softness.
They heard Royce pounding on the front door, watched him circle round the cottage and pound the kitchen door. His curses reached them clearly.
But no light flickered at any of the windows, no shutter moved to indicate someone might be peering out.
“You bitch!” Royce shouted. He threw his weight against the door again and again until the lock broke and the door swung inward. ”You’ll give me what I came for, one way or another.“
Royce tried to take a step forward, and ended up taking a step back. He tried several times, but couldn’t cross the threshold. “Bitch!” He spun around, and every line of his body shouted his intention to vent his rage on something.
Give him a different target, Neall thought, rising from the crouch and glancing at the still-dark cottage. You can survive a beating. As he started to step away from the tree, the small man gripped his wrist, holding him back.
“Can’t you feel it?” the small man whispered harshly, pulling Neall down to a crouch again.
“Feel wh—”
Magic rippled across the land. A moment after that, a howl filled the air.
“Mother’s mercy,” Neall whispered.
“Best to stay down and stay quiet, young Lord,” the small man said. “The Wild Hunt rides through Brightwood.”
Neall shivered. He saw Royce freeze, then run to the front of the cottage where he had left his horse. He had one glimpse of Royce whipping the horse into a flat-out gallop before horse and rider vanished from his line of sight.
Twisting around, he stared at his gelding, which hadn’t stirred at all.
“Sleeping dust,” the small man said softly. “He’ll sleep a bit longer. Perhaps long enough,” he added under his breath.
The pack of shadow hounds burst from the woods that bordered the back of the meadow, racing silently toward the road.
Neall’s breath caught, suspended by fear and awe. The hounds looked like phantoms shifting across the meadow rather than living creatures. As they streaked past his hiding place, he didn’t dare move. The traveling minstrels and storytellers had plenty of tales about men who had been invited to participate in the Wild Hunt—as the prey. True, all the men in those tales were scoundrels whose own misdeeds made the Hunt a deserved justice. But it was one thing to listen to those tales while sitting safely by the hearth; it was quite another to be out in the open with the hounds racing by.
It was the small man digging his fingers into Neall’s wrist that made him glance away from the hounds in time to see the Huntress and her pale mare canter into the meadow.
When she was abreast of his hiding place, she reined in the mare. She studied Ari’s cottage with its broken kitchen door for a long time. Then she turned her head and seemed to look straight at him.
The small man’s grip on his wrist grew painful. The Huntress’s stare was compelling enough to be painful in another way.
She’s ice, Neil thought. A man would be a fool to put his life in her hands.
One of the shadow hounds returned, as if wondering why its mistress no longer followed the pack.
She looked at the hound, hesitated . . . and moved on.
When she could no longer easily see him, Neall dared to turn his head toward the road. The pack was gathered there, sniffing the tracks. Some of them were staring in the direction of Ridgeley—the direction Royce had taken.
The Huntress paused there too, then crossed the road. She urged the mare into a canter and headed toward old Ahern’s farm, the hounds flowing on either side of her.
“You’d best be gone before she comes back this way,” the small man said, finally releasing Neall’s wrist.
“What makes you think she’ll be back?” Neall asked as he straightened up slowly.
“She’ll be back.”
Neall walked over to Darcy, placed a hand on the gelding’s neck. Startled awake, the animal jerked away from his hand, then turned its head toward him, as if needing the reassurance of a familiar smell and touch.
“You’d best ride, young Lord, before she begins wondering a bit too much about you,” the small man insisted.
“What’s there to wonder about?” Neall said uneasily as he untied Darcy. “And being a poor relation of Baron Felston doesn’t make me a lord.”
“Wasn’t talking about the likes of him,” the small man said, annoyed. He studied Neall, his ex
pression grim. “You think the Small Folk talk to every lad that comes looking for us? We watch them the same way we keep watch to make sure the rats don’t harm our young. The only difference between most humans and rats is that rats are more honest. But like will recognize like, even when the blood has thinned—and yours isn’t as thin as you pretend. That’s why the Small Folk have made themselves known to you, and that’s why the Huntress will wonder about you.”
Neall stared at the small man. “You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” the small man asked softly. “Am I really, young Lord?” He shrugged. “As you will. But the boy you were has grown to be a man, and a lie told by a boy isn’t swallowed as easily when it’s told by a man. Remember that.”
Neall didn’t see any movement, but the small man was no longer standing there.
“Let’s get home before anything else happens,” Neall muttered to Darcy.
He kept to the woods for as long as he could, skirted the tenant farms his uncle controlled, and finally reached Felston’s manor house. As he gave Darcy a hurried grooming, he noticed Royce’s horse wasn’t in its stall yet, which probably meant his cousin had stopped at the tavern in Ridgeley. He imagined the place would be crowded tonight with the younger men who wanted a roomful of witnesses in case a girl pointed a finger in their direction. It didn’t matter if the man left early or came late. They would protect each other to keep from getting caught.
Slipping out of the stables, Neall headed for the back of the house. The kitchen door was unlatched, and there was no one sleeping by the hearth. Well, even servants weren’t excluded from the delights— and dangers—this night could hold, and he could well imagine what would happen to a young servant who had the misfortune of being the first man a gentry lady saw—especially Odella, if she was still out.
Using the servants’ stairway, Neall made it up to his room and gratefully bolted the door. Quickly undressing in the dark, he got into bed, releasing a sigh of relief.
Not that any of the gentry girls would have wanted to make an offer to him. He had no more to offer any of them than the servants. At least, nothing he was ready to acknowledge yet.