Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

  Refusing to admit even the faint possibility that this human maid might pose a threat to his style of living, Comlan's laughter again rolled over the hilltop like warm thunder.

  Beneath his devastating smile Amy felt herself almost physically drawn toward him. Her last resistance crumbled. Yes, she would seize the opportunity to enjoy this remarkably real fantasy for as long as it lingered… and close her mind to an unsettling suspicion that he'd already cast over her his spell of fascination.

  With a bright smile and daring sparkle in her eyes, Amy laid small fingertips across King Comlan's large palm. Certain she'd awaken on the hilltop soon enough, safe but all alone, Amy closed her mind to the conscience screaming warnings about all manner of dire consequences. Gladly she threw long-ingrained caution to the wild winds of impetuosity.

  Amy was swept off her feet to lie across the mist-formed horse, cradled by powerful arms. Their journey was remarkably brief, traveling as they did not by riding over the earth but by crossing the sky. It was an action impossible in the world of reality but a thrilling adventure to experience in a dream—and further proof that this truly was no more than an exceptionally vivid fantasy.

  Once inside walls seemingly formed of translucent marble Amy was welcomed by an array of golden beings. Charmed by their glowing smiles and joyous laughter, she willfully closed her mind to rational thoughts and, surrendering to the dream, was soon caught up on their tide of good humor. Pipes, harps, timbrels and other instruments she had never seen before produced a chimera of music that carried listeners out on an endless sea. The enticing melody flowed from haunting to sprightly while Amy indulged in her magical escapade.

  Amy denied herself only one delight. She remembered enough of Great-aunt Daffy's ardently repeated Faerie Realm lore to know that danger lay in partaking of either their food or their drink, no matter how appealing. Legend held that for a human to consume anything in this enchanted world meant never leaving. Though very nearly convinced this was merely a dream, Amy couldn't be absolutely certain. And while to be daring was one thing, to be foolishly reckless was quite another.

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Amy's mouth. Happily there was no restriction to keep her from dancing. Thus when Comlan took her into his arms, she eagerly yielded to the strength sweeping her out to join other figures swirling across the floor. He tutored her through intricate steps in a succession of new and delightful dances. Once comfortable with the patterns, she foolishly glanced up.

  Nothing in her previous experience had prepared Amy for the shock of closely meeting an intense green fire in the gaze moving over her like a caress, nor the physical impact when it lingered on the too tight bodice.

  Comlan willingly met the dark beauty's stare, pleased to see the fascination darkening silvery eyes to charcoal while a faint blush bloomed, emphasizing her exquisite complexion. Never in his long life had he wasted time dreaming of any particular female's company, not when there were a willing number ever near. Thus, he easily dismissed a premonition that this unusual damsel might succeed in holding his interest where many others had failed.

  Amy's thick lashes fluttered in a desperate attempt to block the mesmerizing lure in his burning eyes. This fantasy figure was too near, too real. She could feel his heat through the layers of cloth between them while bodies, once barely touching but now pressed tightly together, moved in perfect time. Losing her battle but unable to mourn the defeat, Amy felt a strange awareness wrap her in an exhilaration that carried her deeper into a private world of unfamiliar, thrilling intimacy.

  Of a sudden Comlan released Amy. A much deplored but unstoppable tide of rose burned her cheeks more brightly, and she bit her lip against the unpleasant shock of their abrupt parting.

  Comlan saw small white teeth nibbling a lower lip to berry brightness. His gaze softened to the hue of a gentle sea mist. Anxious to soothe the self-conscious damsel's unease, he murmured into a small ear the explanation for this separation no more welcome to him than her.

  " 'Tis time for tales and songs."

  Mortified for having betrayed a too obvious dismay, Amy's gaze dropped. She forced a tight smile and quick nod. However, suspecting herself a likely focus of ridicule, she peeked from beneath demurely lowered lashes and made a welcome discovery. The area around them was clearing, and other dancers were too busy moving toward the walls where seats softened by silken pillows waited to notice her discomfort.

  Comlan insisted not only that Amy join him on the dais at one end of the chamber but also that she share his wide, well-padded, golden throne. Amy didn't know how to respond. Sharing a single seat, no matter how wide, suggested a closeness that would never be permitted in her world but… Uncertain about the customs of this place and unwilling to offend, Amy glanced surreptitiously around.

  "Remember," Comlan whispered. "It's only a dream."

  All too aware of the mockery behind the words, Amy's chin promptly tilted up. Even without her discovery that shared seats seemed a common practice here, pride would've driven Amy to perch primly beside the annoyingly amused king.

  An expectant hush fell before a parade of performers rose one by one. Amy was alternately amused or touched by their well-told tales and lyrical poetry. And, sitting motionless, she surrendered to music of ethereal loveliness.

  As Comlan's head rested against the high back of his gilded throne, light that had no identifiable source glowed on bright hair. He intently watched the captivating maiden as enthralled by the entertainments of his realm as he was by her. He ought to have known better. Any traffic with humans was unwise but…

  The only inflexible rules in his Faerie Realm were those governing contact between it and the human world. That law he had to keep, and it was that law which decreed an invitation to visit his realm must be extended to all of her species who dared trespass on the hallowed ground inside the ring of flowers grown by fairy magic. He'd thought himself far too wily, too experienced for any mere human female to be a temptation to him.

  Abruptly aware to her depths of the power in a steady emerald gaze, Amy stared twice as intently at the current performer. The singer's voice soared like liquid silver to fill the very air with a magic able to ease even Amy's tension. She clung to its comfort by focusing on the next performer, an aged man with a long white beard and booming voice.

  This performer easily claimed and held everyone's attention with his retelling of an obviously beloved fable. Fast-paced and rollicking, it was the tale of one humorously failed hunt for the gold-horned unicorn. The tale spinner's skill was great. By the end of his adventure, Amy was so thoroughly swept away that when the magical beast eluded its hunters she gave a tiny squeal of delight.

  "I see," Comlan murmured with pretended ruefulness. "You sympathize more with the prey than the hunter?"

  Beneath Comlan's sardonic smile Amy's cheery, dimple-revealing grin disappeared.

  "Your concern is laudable—but unnecessary." Comlan laughed lightly, but his gaze grew more intent. "The gold-horned unicorn can never be caught."

  "Then why do you try?" The devastating man was too near and Amy could only hope, however uselessly, that he'd think the color burning her cheeks yet again was a reflection of her heated defense of the unicorn. "Or don't you? Is it only a tale?"

  "Oh, no. We hunt," Comlan quickly assured her. "But for the joy of the chase—not its end."

  Amy frowned. She'd never heard of such a thing. Still, she had to admit this attitude was a lot easier to understand than was the habit of men in Society who took down great numbers of birds or other animals solely for the thrill of the kill.

  When the hot glitter in emerald eyes purposefully dropped to lips that parted on a gasp, Amy glanced quickly away. Anxious to focus her attention any-where but on the one far too near, she stared toward the center of the vast hall. To her surprise she discovered that dancing had began anew among the others, all seemingly oblivious to the pair on the dais. Initially watching with the blind intent of ignoring the king at her side, even
tually she began to see evidence of actions most unlike those practiced amongst members of London Society. A slight, bewildered frown appeared between her delicate brows. Here there were odd, mercurial changes of expression, moods that shifted as quickly as any chameleon changing color.

  " 'Tis what I am and they are," Comlan flatly stated, acute senses recognizing the source of her confusion. "Predictability has no value here."

  Comlan permitted himself to say no more. In truth, he shouldn't have shared even this much with a human. No member of humankind—whose life spans were so brief—was likely to understand the danger of joy-sapping boredom in things or deeds tediously expected for those who lived a great deal longer. Nothing of fairy nature should ever be revealed to a human. At least, not unless they willingly chose to remain in his realm.

  An emerald gaze narrowed on Amy. Truly this dark maid with her solemn eyes was different from most of her kind.

  And, as he'd already admitted, her courage in the face of the unexpected piqued his interest. Too bad she chose to believe this visit a dream…

  "Amy—" Comlan purred, tilting her dainty chin. She might be determined to view him as some insubstantial fantasy being, but he would give her a memory of something more physical.

  Amy's lips formed a soundless "O" as powerful arms swept her up to lie across hard thighs. This was wicked, immodest. She should fight herself free. She should… but couldn't force herself to virtuously pull away before his very real lips descended to take possession of hers in a series of short, tormenting kisses that tempted with the promise of unknown delights.

  When a tender mouth tasting of innocence welcomed his with unexpected fervor, Comlan accepted the dark beauty's willing gift even knowing he'd likely regret this sampling of a honey-sweet wine he could never drink in full measure.

  This was a dream. Only an incredibly vivid dream. With that comforting thought Amy smothered the faint voice of her conscience, leaving her free to revel in the fantasy's pleasures.

  Accepting the dark beauty's willing gift, Comlan took her mouth with a warm assault that quickly parted her lips. He deepened the kiss with blatant expertise, built it to a fever of hungry passion.

  Amy sank headlong into a fiery whirlwind. Dazed by sparks of hot pleasure, her arms rose to loop about his strong neck as she twisted to press more fully against this source of heady excitement. Blood coursed through her veins like a river of fire, and the heavy pounding of her heart seemed to fill her throat until a strange sound whimpered out.

  Comlan instantly lifted his head. Seeing Amy's wild blush, he tucked her face beneath his chin. He knew truths that this plainly confused maid refused to believe, and it would be a contemptible fiend's evil deed to take advantage of her lack of guile.

  When her fantasy hero drew back this second time during a surely unreal encounter, the girl who took pride in never weeping felt a prickling of tears born from mingled frustration, anger and embarrassment.

  Comlan's strong hand slowly stroked the dark hair flowing unhindered down a slender back. His gentling touch continued until well after tears had dried and she was again at peace.

  Amy lay quiescent against a broad, powerful chest, drinking in a strength and masculinity she was never likely to experience again… certainly not once wed to Orville. Anxious to banish the image of an unwanted suitor, she peeked up at the hard lines of her unbearably attractive companion's face.

  She had endured a wider array of emotions during the course of this dream than in the whole of her previous life, and now faced a singular revelation. Never before had she felt so comfortable nor so secure as she did this moment cradled in the circle of Comlan's embrace. With that pleasant confession spread as a soothing balm over her worries, she drifted into slumber's warm mists.

  A ray of bright sunlight pierced thick foliage to disturb Amy's sleep. Slowly, reluctantly, she surfaced in what, by contrast to her dream, was a harsh reality.

  Amy frowned. Although positive that sleep had overtaken her while leaning against the oak, she now lay comfortably across shaded grass a little distance from its base. And she could've sworn a great deal of time had passed while she slumbered, but the sun riding just above the horizon as her fantasy began seemed to have barely moved at all. Worried that her grip on the sane and sensible world had grown appallingly weak, Amy chose to accept this trick of the sun as proof her remarkably vivid memories were truly no more than a dream come and gone with the unpredictable haste of such sleep illusions.

  However, despite her determined belief that this thought ought to be comforting, Amy was forced to acknowledge an empty ache of disappointment.

  Rising fully intent on returning to the prosaic present, Amy attempted to push the whole subject into an unregretted past. She dusted bits of dried sod from a gown far more wrinkled than might reasonably be expected after a brief sojourn on the grass. The unwelcome confusion roused by that small incongruity deepened when Amy lifted her drawing pad. There, in addition to her own sketch of the ruins, was another drawing—a deft rendering of her fantasy castle. Had she drawn it in her sleep?

  Its bold lines definitely were not her style but who else could have done it? She was alone, wasn't she? Amy peered into growing shadows, self-conscious about the need to make certain.

  No one was there. Of course not!

  After tucking the new drawing into the back of her pad and carefully aligning its edges to lie concealed, she started back down to her great-aunt Daffy's cosy cottage.

  "Now, Amy-girl, what for gracious sake was it that kept you so long atop yon hill?" Rising from a settee shared with Patience, her only remaining luncheon guest, Daffy moved to meet her returning grand-niece at the parlor door. "Near to sendin' Mr. Meaghan to fetch you back down, I was."

  An image of her great-aunt's equally aged gardener hobbling up the hill intent on obeying the command to force a young woman's return sent a grin over Amy's lips. It was quickly stifled… but not soon enough.

  "You ought be shamed, you wicked thing. Shamed—" Though Daffy rightly rebuked Amy's amusement, a betraying sparkle lit her own eyes.

  Wise enough to abandon an unworthy cause, Daffy simply took Amy's hand and pulled her into the parlor. She resumed her own position on the settee beside Patience, a friend who always made Daffy think of a small, bright-eyed bird ever flitting about. Then, once the girl settled in a straight-backed chair drawn near, Daffy gently restated the question for which she meant to have an answer.

  "Now, me girl, how says you? What reason had you for stayin' so long away on our last afternoon?"

  The older woman's penetrating gaze seemed to bore into Amy who blushed guiltily—a revealing contradiction to the blandness of her answer. "After finishing your drawing I was foolish enough to doze and didn't awaken until twilight was falling."

  Daffy's lips clamped together against this failure of all her hopes, and despite her near certainty that … She'd spent a sennight setting the scene and dropping the hints she'd been sure would prick the girl's curiosity. Apparently her actions had been delayed too long, and Amy's parents had already succeeded in crushing a naturally independent spirit beneath the weight of Society's expectations.

  Under Great-aunt Daffy's sadly disappointed expression, Amy very nearly confessed the whole of her exciting dream, almost told about the fascinating king who was its hero. But to what good use?

  In the next instant Amy wondered why her great-aunt was disappointed? What had she expected?

  "Ah, 'tis a sorry fact tha' you must be careful these days." Fretted by the woeful expression so rare to Daffy's lips, the forgotten Patience broke a silence growing between her frowning friend and the young visitor. "For certain true there's danger skulkin' about in th' dark what with prowlers tryin' to break into th' home of a self-respectin' widow."

  A gray gaze dark with concern skipped quickly from speaker to hostess. "Someone tried to break into your home, Great-aunt Daffy?"

  With a sinking feeling, Amy remembered the elderly woman's distrust of ban
ks and assuredly foolish insistence on keeping the whole sum of her substantial wealth hidden somewhere in this cottage or on its surrounding acres of wild land. Only Daffy knew where.

  "Tsk, tsk." Daffy shook her head in mild disgust, irritated with her friend for raising the very subject she'd taken such pains to conceal.

  "Faith be, Patience! Like a magpie you clap onto every stray scrap of gossip to weave a nest out of the most innocent things—here nearer to a hornet's nest."

  "But, Daffy," Patience immediately protested. "Some wicked creature did so try to pry open your shutters. I saw th' splintered wood meself!"

  As the brogues of the two Irish women intensified with their heated exchange, Amy realized they'd entirely forgotten about her.

  "Aye, and sure it be tha' I told you what 'twas all about," Daffy unequivocally stated. "I did, now didn't I?"

  "Aye, so as you did," Patience instantly responded. "But you can't rightly think me such a fool as to believe it were no' but a fierce wind wha' done tha' awful deed?"

  "Ladies—" Though concern for Daffy hadn't eased, Amy interceded before matters between the other two could worsen. "I would value your opinion on my work."

  Remembering how often more respected voices had counseled her great-aunt on dangers courted by the tempting target she made for all manner of thieves and ruffians, Amy bit back a similar useless argument. She reluctantly contented herself by merely pulling her drawing of castle ruins from the folder on her lap.

  Chagrined by the rare loss of her temper, Daffy accepted the extended sheet from Amy's hand with a penitent smile.

  "I hope it suffices for your intent." Questioning gray eyes met the elderly woman's gaze.

  "Ahh…" Daffy's prolonged sigh gave Amy more sincere praise than she felt her efforts had earned.

  "I thank you with all of my heart," Daffy murmured to Amy, emotion thickening her voice. "Here is proof that the view is even lovelier than my fond memories can restore. But then it's been years since I was equal to the climb." She gave Amy a bright, loving smile. "I'll hang it on my bedroom wall so that it will be both the first and last thing I see each day."