Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

  "I wish"—Amy reached up, making a futile attempt to tame black hair into some semblance of normality without a comb—"I had your talent and could do the same."

  The next instant Amy's hand rested on a neatly coif fed head. Glancing down, she fought the momentary disorientation of amazement. Her old gown had been restored to a far better condition than it had seen in years. Refusing to question the miracle, she met Comlan's grin with one of her own.

  In the space of a single instant more, Amy realized that they were now standing a single step from the back border of Daffy's rear gardens. Determined not to let her bemusement show again, she put her hand into the waiting crook of Comlan's arm and let him lead her around the cottage to its front entry.

  Her abruptly scowling escort's sudden halt threatened to revive Amy's confusion.

  "The window hasn't been repaired." It was clear by the irritation in Comlan's voice that he'd expected the broken pane would be whole again.

  Wanting to soothe his annoyance, Amy calmly reasoned. "Even in London glaziers can't be expected to work so quickly."

  "Glaziers, no." Late afternoon sunlight glowed on golden hair as a sardonically smiling Comlan shook his head. "But my people?"

  Comlan's prolonged appraisal of her appearance summoned a rosy blush to Amy's cheeks. How could she be so foolish? Clearly he or his could restore the window in no more than a heartbeat.

  While Amy silently berated her silly error, Comlan led her to the cottage's front door. As he swung thick planks open, it squeaked, and the sound earned an immediate reaction.

  "Amy-girl? That you?" Daffy's voice betrayed a rare strain in her control and a hint of exasperation, as well. "We've company."

  "Yes, it's me," Amy responded, promptly moving the few steps between entry and parlor.

  "Ah, I see you found Lord Comlan." Daffy spoke quickly, anxious to let the couple just entering know what excuse she'd given her guests for Amy's absence. "I hope this means you've accepted my invitation to dinner, Comlan."

  Restraining his broad grin with difficulty, Comlan gave a gracious nod first to Daffy and then to her visitors, Patience and Paddy O'Leary.

  "And, of course, as I said before"—Daffy turned to the O'Learys—"you are welcome to join us."

  "Thank you, but no." A plainly put out Patience rose. "We only stayed this long to ensure that you not be left alone, Daffy dear."

  With the last statement, Patience sent Amy an accusing glare.

  "Come, Paddy, we've work of our own to see done before the sun sets."

  Chapter 15

  As dusk settled over an Irish cottage, a like gloom filled its interior. Two sheets of paper, carefully unfolded and aligned on a dark tabletop held the unwavering attention of three people. The first paper had been found tucked into one of the many books filling a large oak case in the parlor. The second had been curled into a long unused but treasured drinking horn hung on that room's wall by a satin ribbon attached to the vessel's gold-rimmed mouth on one end and to the golden cap on the tip of the other.

  "They both say the same thing." Daffy ended a long, morose silence by pointing out the wry jest in this absurd fact and then added another. "And both are utterly unnecessary as the true document states much the same."

  Amy was uncomfortable with the prospect of her gain at the cost of Daffy's life and promptly hurried the discussion forward. "Also, though different people planted these false wills, each was determined to ensure the same end."

  "Personal gain." Daffy nodded. "But whose? Only you profit. Or, indirectly, your family."

  "Yes, Amy inherits." Comlan was growing impatient with their laggardly mortal pace. Fortunately, as the issue at hand involved only facts that could be easily divined by human reasoning and would surely be recognized (eventually), he was free to immediately direct their attention to the obvious danger. "But her future husband will be the one to control its usage."

  "I know what you think," Amy responded to the mocking glint in emerald eyes pointedly watching her. "But I still can't agree. Orville is a wealthy man with no reason to take mad risks to increase it."

  "Few humans ever feel they have so much that they wouldn't welcome more," Comlan wryly argued. The next instant his amusement disappeared but the intensity of his gaze did not waver. "Remember the false faces I warned you to guard against?"

  Preoccupied with questions of who and why, Daffy gave scant attention to Comlan's words. Instead she responded to her grand-niece's claim, providing additional support for that position. "Without a desperate need for riches, no English noble would go to such lengths for a simple cottage and wild Irish lands. Most certainly not one as snobbish and proud as Amy assures me this Orville is."

  "Besides," Daffy quietly mused, "that man isn't Amy's only suitor." While visions of her birdlike friend tending a weak hatchling floated through her mind, she added, "Patience nurtures barmy dreams of a match between her beloved grandson and my grand-niece."

  Amy was shocked. Not by either Patience's hopes or the too obvious intentions of the vain Paddy but by her great-aunt's discernment.

  "Tch, tch." Daffy shook her head in faint reproach. "That you believed me unconscious of my ambitious friend's scheme suggests you've a poor opinion of my intelligence."

  "Oh, no. I am very well aware of your agile wits and shrewd understanding." Amy reached across the table to clasp age-thin hands and earnestly explain. "But knowing your fondness for Patience, I wouldn't expect you to take her never hidden goal seriously. I didn't, not until I spent a deal too much time in her company on our hasty journey here."

  While the two women continued their discussion of possible perpetrators only to uncover a dearth of alternate possibilities, Comlan watched with growing frustration. His opinion wasn't asked and without a direct question he couldn't give it. Amy might—might—be forgiven that lack. But, really, it was too bad of Daffy. She'd known for years the importance of asking, yet made the same mistake.

  Having already done too much in reminding Amy of false faces, Comlan dared offer no further unsolicited clues. To prevent falling under that temptation, he vanished.

  "Thought it a great jest, they did—at my expense," Paddy raged, stomping from one side of his granny's kitchen to the other while describing yet again the scene of his ridicule.

  Patience applied the sentiment of her name while watching as her frustrated grandson's mask of lazy cheer was reduced to useless ashes by the fires of fierce anger.

  "The whole bleedin' lot of them took glee in tellin' me tha' the only abode ta Daffy's north is the ruins me namesake allus swore ta be the Tuatha De Danann's splendid palace."

  Hope that if left to work his way through resentment of the likely unintended insult, Paddy would eventually be restored to calm, proved futile. Patience realized that her grandson was only working himself into an even less manageable temper and knew she must intervene.

  "But—" Patience tried to slow the spinning storm of Paddy's anger with a sensible question. "Did ye ask specifically about a Doncaully family seat?"

  "Oh, aye. 'Course I did!" In his frustration Paddy nearly lashed out physically. "And what did I earn for me trouble? They laughed the harder."

  His clenched fist smashed down on the tabletop, shaking its planks and slopping tea over the side of his granny's cup. "Seems 'tis tha' verra thing old Patrick was forever blatherin' about while spinnin' wild tales of fairy raths and magic."

  Never one to cringe, despite a dithery facade, Patience calmly inquired, "Then what shall we do?"

  His granny's unshaken serenity began to slowly smooth the ragged edge of Paddy's anger. And though he wouldn't admit its fire misdirected, his voice was quieter as he responded.

  " 'Tis a bad and sorry state we be in, me ole girl. If I don't find that wretched man's house, can't rightly sneak in and put an end ta his interferin' ways!"

  "Never liked your plan," Patience softly confessed. "It'd be certain ta see us in gaol."

  Paddy's black brows scowled but his granny
continued. "Sure, and don't ye see that no' findin' the Doncaully home is an omen, a warnin' to fall back on our first design."

  Dissatisfied with his granny's too soft, too weak scheme, Paddy paused in his restless pacing while his fierce scowl deepened.

  "There need be no killin'." Patience sent her too easily riled grandson a stern glance. "Jist steal the colleen away and no' bring her back till vows ha' been exchanged and the match consummated."

  "Steal Amethyst away? How?" Paddy at last sat down at the table opposite a determined woman. He'd done it once already only to have the mysterious Doncaully sweep her safely away.

  "Faith be! Do you mean ta tell me tha' after the ease with which ye stole into the colleen's fine London home ye'd balk at the challenge of slipping into Daffy's old cottage?" Patience's question held both disbelief and irritation. "Surely tain't so. No' now when her parlor's shattered window is proof enow tha' others covet our prize?"

  "But," Paddy stubbornly argued, "even if I capture her, who'll do the deed? We've already left one reverend waitin' uselessly."

  Patience immediately responded without the slightest question. "Tha' sotted reprobate, Reverend Scheely, who vainly waited on the coast will gladly see the rite performed—for the same handsome fee."

  A hint of moisture filled the night air, signaling coming rain. But it wasn't the hint of changing weather that held Paddy motionless. Concealed by darkness, he waited in a stand of trees just to one side of where Daffy's front walkway ended. He'd seize the opportunity—which ever one presented itself first.

  Whether it meant killing the apparently homeless lord, the elderly woman who'd already lived too long or simply abducting a possibly reluctant bride, he wasn't particular. Not so long as his feat won the prize.

  A sliver of light pierced the gloom as a sturdy door opened. In that same moment a pistol was raised. The firearm was heavy and old, but the man holding the weapon had long experience in using it for bringing down prey—small animals to supplement the dinner table's meager offerings and occasionally the larger, two-legged variety for monetary spoils. However, experience with the time-consuming process of reloading also underscored the importance of seeing his single shot succeed.

  Two women stepped beyond the threshold with a golden-haired man. Paddy was annoyed when Daffy, doubtless by long ingrained habit, pulled the door shut, limiting him to the dull glow of a cloudy night sky. Then when the younger female, whom he daren't harm, stood as unintentional shield between him and the mysterious lord, their hostess became the most promising target.

  Daffy's warm voice carried across still air, "I'm so glad you returned, Comlan. We feared you felt insulted and abandoned us for all time."

  A loud crack suddenly shattered the countryside's peace even as an invisible force shoved Daffy harshly back against the closed door.

  The strong-willed victim, though pale and flustered, clutched her cane like a weapon and glared into the night. Amy rushed to cradle her great-aunt's fragile figure a single moment before Comlan wrapped his infinitely stronger arms about them both.

  Pushing the door open, Comlan urged the women back into the cottage. As he did so neither he nor Amy could help but see the bullet imbedded in the thick oak door.

  Amy glanced over the neat, white braid coiled atop Daffy's head to silently question Comlan. No, she chided herself. It could hardly be a question. Rather, it merely requested confirmation of an amazing fact revealed by the bullet's position directly behind where Daffy had been standing. Clearly, it must have passed through the shaken yet uninjured woman. How? By the same magic that had seen Comlan survive an assailant's blade in Hyde Park?

  A ruefully smiling Comlan nodded, an action that seemed to draw and trap light within the golden strands of his hair.

  Comlan helped an unusually weak Daffy up narrow steps before retreating to wait in the parlor while Amy aided a waiting Maedra to settle her great-aunt in bed for the night.

  Standing with broad back to the miraculously restored window, he spoke softly the instant Amy stepped into a room dimly illuminated by the flickering light of a single oil lamp. "I have something for you."

  Preoccupied with constantly repeating memories of the recent assault, Amy's delicate brows arched in surprise. Comlan's announcement seemed woefully inappropriate. But then, hadn't he warned her during their first encounter that predictability had no value to his kind. The thought of that warning put a slight upward curve on berry-bright lips. Whatever else might be true, it appeared certain that life in his realm was never boring… unlike the strict rules governing her daily routine. An image of the staid future mapped out for her even before birth loomed but she chased it away with a bright if impossible fantasy of life at her love's side and in his magical land.

  Amy suddenly laughed and her unexpected action was a delight that shocked a stunning smile from Comlan. However, it abruptly disappeared as he solemnly said, "I blame myself for our serious wrong."

  Fearing Comlan regretted their lovemaking, Amy would've spoken had he not immediately continued.

  "And I repent the danger to you that I cannot cure."

  This statement perplexed Amy.

  "Having taken your innocence, I know how naive you are but surely you realize that the time we spend in Lissan's circle of flowers could bear fruit?"

  When Amy's face instantly flamed, Comlan saw that it had never occurred to her.

  "That you gave no thought to such a price is understandable. You lack experience while I…" He shook his head and confessed a failing whose rarity she was unlikely to understand. "Though in my realm babies cannot be conceived without prior intent, I knew the dangerous possibilities in your world… but my control is perilously weak whenever you are near."

  Her companion's admission of so strong a response to her was something Amy would treasure for the rest of her life. And she didn't want him to regret a possible child, not when she would welcome a baby and adore it the more for being a part of him.

  "If blessed with a child"—Amy steadily met Comlan's green gaze and spoke with undeniable sincerity—"I'd love and care for it always."

  "But your family—"

  "No matter," Amy firmly interrupted. "I'd gladly escape with my wee one here to Ireland where I'm certain Daffy would greet us both with open arms."

  Yet again Comlan was host to an unfamiliar experience at Amy's hand. She'd caught him utterly unprepared and uncertain how to react. Off kilter, he fell back on the promise of this conversation's first words.

  "Then my gift may be of even more value than I dreamed when arranging for its creation."

  Amy blinked. She'd completely forgotten the words Comlan had spoken when she first descended from Daffy's bedroom.

  "If you remember the tale of the gold horned unicorn that can never be caught nor harmed"— Comlan reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small bag of supple leather—"you may appreciate this amulet."

  Amy's eyes first darkened with curiosity and then widened as he upended and gently shook the bag until a broach of great beauty fell into his palm.

  "This pretty piece is imbued with diverse powers able to provide you with a protective spell equal to the one you saw render a bullet harmless." With his free hand Comlan gently untangled Amy's nervously entwined fingers,, allowing him to lay the amulet into her cradled palms.

  Amy studied Comlan's gift with awe. An exquisitely carved, ivory unicorn reared inside an onyx circle while its golden horn gleamed. But not even her admiration of the amulet was stronger than the power of a steady, emerald gaze and she glanced up.

  "Do you have an amulet, too?" No longer bothering to hide her fascination, she visually caressed this fantasy figure come to life… her devastating lover. "Is that how you remained unscathed when attacked the day our Queen opened her Grand Exposition?"

  With a wry smile Comlan promptly shook his head. It was that instant when Amy acknowledged a realization arrived at slowly, steadily. Over time she'd begun looking beyond surface mockery for glimpses of
the deeper, rarely revealed emotions below.

  Having earlier been annoyed by her failure to ask direct questions, he welcomed this one. And yet, he yielded to his contrary nature long enough to briefly tease. "There's no need."

  Amy grimaced in sham disgust for his surely inadequate response.

  "Truly, the answer you seek is that simple." Comlan atoned for his gentle jest by providing a complete explanation. "No mortal weapon, whether wielded by human or fairy hand, can wreak more than temporary harm upon any member of the Tuatha De Danann."

  Far beyond doubts, Amy nodded her acceptance of his statement as simple truth before glancing back down at the charmed broach.

  "Did you say my lovely amulet is imbued with more than a single power?"

  "Yes and no." Comlan wasn't certain that Amy was ready for more but she'd asked a solemn question and deserved an honest answer.

  The darkening of green eyes to a serious, forest hue was enough to convince Amy that these words represented more than a further demonstration of contrary moods.

  Pleased that Amy hadn't instantly questioned his statement, Comlan continued. "The strands of many spells are woven tightly together to form a single protective blanket."

  His winsome colleen remained silent but her steady gaze and somber expression proved an effective demand for further explanations.

  "If you keep it with you always, you'll be able to summon my aid against any threat."

  Amy's brows drew together in a slight frown. Did he mean that their relationship need not end… so long as she did the calling? As a properly raised debutante she found that a disconcerting notion… and yet…

  "For all the pleasure my kind takes in the unexpected, we are also an honorable race," Comlan flatly stated, after recognizing the direction of Amy's thoughts. The idea that she might believe him capable of such discreditable intentions was dismal and annoying—particularly after their recent talk of babies. "I'll be able to hear your call only when serious peril looms."