by Anne Bishop
Distaste rippled through Dianna, a natural enough reaction to meeting a human who had so much Fae blood in him that his eyes remained clear-sighted instead of being clouded by the glamour. She should have considered that children sired by Fae men would seek out a place like this where their mixed heritage would be tolerated, if not accepted outright.
She pushed the thought away when the strongly built, gray-haired man turned away from the paddocks and approached her. There was no welcome in his dark eyes, nor any sign of deference in his manner.
“Lord Ahern,” Dianna said courteously.
“Huntress,” he replied gruffly.
He knew who she was. Not just that she was Fae, but who she was. And it made no difference to him.
“I’ve come to ask a favor,” she said, offering a smile that normally had other men eagerly promising to fulfill her slightest whim.
“You can ask.”
She hadn’t really expected that smile to work, but she would have felt better if it had softened him just a little. “I need the loan of a horse.”
He studied her mare for a long moment. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”
Dianna’s teeth clenched. It took a little effort to get her jaw relaxed enough to answer civilly. “There’s nothing wrong with her. I just want a horse that’s less likely to attract notice.”
“Why?”
“That should be obvious,” Dianna said coolly.
“You’ve a mind to go into Ridgeley?”
Despite the fact that the surrounding land was where she rode the most often when she brought the Wild Hunt to the human world, it still took her a moment to remember that Ridgeley was the name of the nearby village. “No, just a ride through the countryside.”
“Where?”
“What difference does it make?”
He studied her too long, and there was a violence in the back of his eyes that threatened to turn ugly at any moment.
“Take care where you ride, Huntress,” he said quietly. “Take care what you do here. If you bring harm to those at Brightwood, the only time you’ll feel four legs under you again is when you change to your other form.”
Dianna’s mouth fell open. “Are you threatening me? Me?”
“You can take it any way you like,” Ahern replied, turning away from her, “as long as you don’t forget it. Come along. I’ve a horse you can use.”
A few minutes later, Dianna trotted away from Ahern’s farm, relieved to be gone. The bay mare she now rode had a blaze and white socks, but nothing that would make it stand out.
Not a Fae horse, Dianna thought, wincing a little at the loud clopping of hooves on the road. Not even one of the horses Ahern bred from both Fae and human animals. But still a fine animal . . . by human standards.
With Ahern’s warning still ringing in her ears, she slowed the mare to a walk when she came within sight of the cottage. From that distance, it seemed . . . pleasant. Sturdy. Except for the broken kitchen door, she hadn’t paid much attention to the cottage the other night . . . or any other night when she and her hounds had skirted the meadow on their way to the surrounding countryside. Now she studied the building, trying to determine what was here that Fae males found so attractive.
Was it simply that the cottage was built in one of the Old Places and the Mother’s power swelled around it so ripe and rich that it enticed Fae men like pollen enticed bees? Or was it the female herself who was so intriguing? If it was the female, what was it about her that could make the Lord of the Horse protective and territorial . . . and infatuate the Lightbringer?
Beside the cottage was a large plot of land surrounded by a waist-high stone wall. The female working there was too involved in her task to hear the horse’s hooves. Or, perhaps, she paid no attention to travelers. And since the female hadn’t noticed her, Dianna faced her first stumbling block. Would a gentry lady speak to a servant?
Of course she would, Dianna decided, if only to be presented to the cottage’s owner.
“Good day to you,” Dianna called as she guided the mare close to the wall.
The female’s head whipped around. The expression in her eyes, before it turned to just wariness, reminded Dianna of prey scenting a hunter.
Was it possible the female realized she had been addressed by one of the Fae? Dianna wondered.
The female turned away and fumbled with the laces of her tunic before getting to her feet. She brushed her hands on her thighs, with no regard to the dirt she was leaving on the cloth, before approaching the wall.
Dianna breathed out slowly. No, she decided. The creature was simply trying to make herself presentable, and whatever made her wary of visitors had nothing to do with the Fae. Besides, I sense no magic here except what flows from the Mother.
“Blessings of the day to you, Mistress.”
“Kindly tell your mistress that I am here.” There. That was surely more courtesy than a servant would usually receive.
The female frowned, looking puzzled. “There’s no one else here, Mistress.”
Dianna clenched her teeth, then forced herself to smile. She hadn’t gone to this effort just to be thwarted. “Then I’ll wait for her.”
The female’s puzzlement deepened. “I didn’t mean she was away, Mistress. I meant there’s no one else here. This is my cottage.”
Dianna stared. Lucian had spurned the invitations of every Fae Lady over the past few months only to bed this grubby creature?
“I’m Ari,” the female said with a dignity still touched by wariness. “Is there something I can do for you, Mistress?”
What to say now? Dianna looked up at the sky, and let a sigh turn into a smile. So that’s what Lucian had been up to.
“Mistress?”
Dianna pointed at the puffy clouds that were taking on the shapes of sheep being chased by a dragon. “It would appear that someone is feeling whimsical.” She slanted a glance at Ari to see what her reaction would be to Lucian’s gift. She was more than startled when Ari turned deathly pale and sagged against the wall.
“No,” Ari said. “Oh, no.”
“Whatever is the matter?” Dianna asked sharply. When she got no answer, she scrambled out of the sidesaddle and slid off the mare’s back.
“I didn’t know,” Ari whispered, staring at the clouds. “I thought it was a game or a dream. I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” Dianna said, reaching across the wall to grab Ari’s arms. What was wrong with the girl? Dianna looked at the sky again. The clouds were already losing their shape. In a few more seconds, there would be nothing to see. “What’s wrong with a bit of whimsy?”
“Nothing,” Ari said, sounding miserable.
“Hardly nothing,” Dianna snapped.
“It’s payment,” Ari snapped back. Temper and pride flashed in her eyes for a moment before she sagged again. “I didn’t ask for payment. I didn’t want payment. I thought it was just a game. I never thought he really would—” She looked at the sky, then grabbed Dianna’s arms, smearing dirt on the sleeves. “Does the sun feel like this elsewhere?”
Where is elsewhere? Dianna wondered. But now that she considered it . . . “It does seem a bit softer here, not quite as hot.”
Ari moaned softly. Dianna, losing all patience, shook her. “Stop sounding so pathetic.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Then we’ll go inside and sit, and you’ll explain.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.” Dianna all but dragged Ari over the wall. Taking the reins, she led girl and horse toward the front door.
“It’s locked. We have to go to the kitchen door.”
Around the cottage, stopping just long enough to tie the mare to a post near the cow shed, then into the kitchen, with the girl mumbling, “Come in and be welcome,” as they crossed the threshold, and on through to the main room.
“Sit,” Dianna ordered, pushing Ari into a chair. Returning to the kitchen, she looked around, frowning. Wine would be good; water would be b
etter than nothing. She didn’t see either. “Where do you keep your water?” she called out.
“The pump,” was the muttered reply.
Pump. Mother’s Mercy, she was the Lady of the Moon. What did she know about pumps . . . whatever they were? Even in Tir Alainn, she never made an effort when it came to food or drink. That was for others to do.
She turned toward the shuffling footsteps. Ari appeared in the kitchen doorway. Dianna didn’t appreciate the sympathetic humor she saw in Ari’s eyes, but it was better than dealing with a shriveling, sniveling female.
“Pump,” Ari said, stepping up beside Dianna. She grasped the handle of an odd-looking metal object, then moved it up and down a couple of times. Water gushed out. Ari took one of the mugs sitting beside the pump, filled it with water, and handed it to Dianna. She filled another, then made an effort to smile. “You probably don’t see much of your kitchen.”
“No, I don’t.”
The smile faded. Ari shuffled back to the main room. She sat down in a rocking chair in front of a cold hearth. Dianna took the other chair.
“Why are you troubled?” Dianna asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Ari said, her eyes fixed on the mug in her hands.
Dianna thought she understood at least part of the problem. But how to say enough to get the girl to talk without saying too much? “I may be able to help. I’ve had . . . dealings . . . with the Fae.”
Oh, that brought some interest.
“Why do you think this concerns the Fae?” Ari asked cautiously.
Why indeed? “Because you look at some clouds that are shaped like sheep and a dragon and you act like some gentry lady who grows faint when confronted with the least little thing.” She had no firsthand knowledge of whether or not gentry ladies did this, but there were plenty of songs and stories whose complications began with a human female growing faint over anything and everything, “So it stands to reason that you’re upset because you believe someone did this for your benefit, and the only ones who could do this are the Fae.”
Ari studied Dianna for a long moment. Then, haltingly, with her face turning pale and flushing in turn, she explained about the Summer Moon and having to offer the fancy to the first male she met.
There were many things Dianna was sure were left unsaid, but what was most striking was that, while Ari finally admitted that the male she’d given the fancy to was a Fae Lord, she didn’t boast that it had been the Lightbringer who had come to her bed last night.
“Gifting is a custom among the Fae,” Dianna said.
“I made a promise,” Ari replied quietly. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”
Not even pleasure for yourself, I’ll wager. Which probably explained why Lucian hadn’t done the easy thing and given Ari a small trinket as a gift. He would have had one or two in his coat pocket. All Fae men did.
“You made a promise, which is important to you.” Dianna waited until Ari nodded agreement. “And he fulfilled the custom of gifting, which is important to him.”
“But—”
Dianna waved a hand impatiently. “He asked you what you wanted, did he not? So what’s wrong with him keeping his promise?”
“Nothing, when you say it like that, but—”
“So he gave you a softer day so that you could enjoy working in your garden. . . What’s wrong with that? It was something that was in his power to give. And the other gift. Consider the children who had looked up at the sky during those few moments and were delighted.” Since Ari still seemed inclined to argue, Dianna cut her off. “You made a promise, and you would have kept it no matter what the man was like. Maybe . . .” Knowing her brother as she did, there was no “maybe” to it. “Maybe he wanted to soften the obligation a bit so that he wouldn’t be unwelcome if he came back.”
Ari caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you mean he’ll do this every time . . . if he chooses to come back?”
Sensing there was trouble, but not sure what it was, Dianna answered cautiously. “He’s a Fae Lord. He’ll follow his own customs, Ari . . . just as you will follow yours. It will please him if you accept what you may be given.”
Dianna rose. “I’m glad we met.”
Ari escorted her to the kitchen door. “Thank you for listening—and for your advice.”
Dianna just smiled.
“Blessings of the day to you, Mistress,” Ari said.
An odd farewell, Dianna thought as she headed back to Ahern’s farm. An odd young woman. Perhaps that was why Ari appealed to Lucian. She wouldn’t say the same things any Fae woman would say to him, or do the same things. There certainly was no harm in her, and hadn’t that been the question that had needed answering?
There was power around that cottage, and it was strong. But it came from the Old Place, from the Great Mother. She had sensed no magic in the girl— had sensed nothing that might harm or alarm.
Still, if Lucian decided to continue visiting the cottage and the girl for the full time allowed him by the fancy, it wouldn’t hurt to make a return visit herself.
Sunset. Ari opened the top half of the kitchen door and looked at the meadow that gently rolled to the trees that marked the beginning of Brightwood’s forest.
She brushed her hand over her best tunic and skirt, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.
Would he come? Did she want him to?
The thought of him and what he’d done with her in bed last night made her feel fluttery inside and produced a soft ache between her legs. She wanted to feel that way again, wanted to feel him again. But . . . Was that enough?
Of course it was. What more could she want or expect from a man who had come into her life so suddenly and would be gone again in a few days’ time?
But what was she supposed to do for those few days?
Looking over her shoulder at the stew simmering on the stove, she winced.
What was she going to feed him after tonight? There was barely enough stew left for the evening meal, and nothing for tomorrow. She could just walk across the meadow and wait for him in the woods. If he took his pleasure there, he wouldn’t expect hospitality as well, would he? Wouldn’t he simply enjoy himself for an hour and then be on his way?
He might. He could. The stories her mother and grandmother had spun by the fire while they also spun the wool had been a pleasant way for a child to absorb the lessons about dealing with the Fair Ones, but they hadn’t told stories about the more . . . earthy . . . subjects. If they had lived, would they have sat by the fire last winter and told her tales that would have helped her now? Perhaps.
The truth was she couldn’t open the door and walk across the meadow. She couldn’t offer to lift her skirt for him while he pulled her to the ground. That felt too much like her experience with Royce.
“You can’t change the turn of the seasons,” she said quietly. “You can’t lay the bounty of the harvest on the table while you’re still planting the seeds from which that bounty will grow. Offer what you can, and let that be enough.”
Turning away from the door, she stirred the stew, wondering if she should put it on the back of the stove just to warm. When she turned to look out the door again, she saw him, a black horse silently galloping over the meadow.
He slowed to a trot, turned away from the cottage in the direction of the cow shed.
Ari stayed by the door and waited.
A few moments later, Lucian came around the side of the cottage, his hair tousled, his modestly ruffled shirt open to the waist.
“You came back,” Ari said. “Come in and be welcome.”
He reached over the half door, captured her face in his hands, and kissed her long and slow and deep. When he finally raised his head, he said, “Yes, I came back.”
Propped on one elbow, Lucian watched Ari sleep.
She hadn’t been as delighted with her gift as he’d expected her to be. She’d stumbled over her thanks and seemed a bit . . . embarrassed . . . to be thanking him at all. His disappointme
nt in her response had a familiar taste. Wasn’t that why he had found it so easy to abstain for so long?
Perhaps she’d expected a traditional gift after all. He had one with him, a small jade pendant that was appropriate for a first or second gifting. He would put it on the dressing table before he left in the morning. She didn’t have enough artifice to tie up her thanks in pretty lies, and he didn’t need a woman’s tepid pleasure in a gift spoiling his pleasure of the bed.
Even there . . . Oh, she’d been warm enough, eager enough, desperate enough for the mating by the time he’d decided to mount her. He hadn’t been as kind as he should have been to a woman who had so little experience, but it had annoyed him that she had wanted to fuss with the pot on the stove instead of going straight to bed with him. If it had burned, what difference did it make? There was more. But no. She’d fussed long enough to have him simmering with another kind of heat, and he’d let a bit of his temper burn itself out in the bed along with his lust. Not enough to hurt her, but enough that she wouldn’t dismiss him so casually again.
I shouldn’t have brought anger to the bed. He pushed the thought away, along with the shimmer of guilt the thought produced. He had no reason to feel guilty. She had given herself to him for this measure of days, hadn’t she? She was human; he was the Lightbringer. She should be honored to have him in her bed.
She woke, stirred, looked at him with eyes that were a little fearful. “Are you hungry?” she asked hesitantly.
Her fear scraped at him, added chains to the guilt. But not enough to outweigh the heat in his loins.
He mounted her, sank into her, kissed her in a way that would build the warmth to a slow burn and extinguish the fear. “Yes, I’m hungry.”
Chapter Twelve
Adolfo stared at Harro, his nephew Konrad’s Assistant Inquisitor. The Master Inquisitor’s brown eyes revealed nothing, but there was a storm of rage growing inside him trapped behind a wall of shock. It wouldn’t stay trapped for long. He could feel it pushing, looking for a weak spot in the wall from which to burst free.