Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

Amy's face burned. The speed with which she'd shifted from satisfaction with her growing ability to see through Comlan's careful facade to unworthy suspicion of his motives was deplorable!

  "After all you've done to keep the oath given a mortal and his wife, your honor could never be questioned." Standing a brief distance from Comlan, Amy gazed up with shamed regret filling serious gray eyes. "And I can only beg you to forgive my momentary but utterly unworthy doubts."

  "I would be wrong to fault you for so small a misstep when, in truth, you've come closer to understanding my nature than any human ever has." Her sincerity earned a more complete response than could safely be given and his voice was strained as he added, "Closer even than a good many of my own people."

  Indeed, Comlan inwardly confessed, with Amy he shared a rapport more intimate—on more than a physical level—than with any being he had ever known. But he dare not confess that fact to her after he'd already said and done far too much.

  Amy's blush glowed brighter but now with pleasure. The suggestion that her incredible fantasy hero felt an affinity with her was wonderful though futile.

  The warmth on Amy's winsome face was more temptation than Comlan could easily bare—not with burning memories of all that had passed between them in the fairy ring so fresh. (He refused to deepen his gloom by admitting they were unlikely to ever fade.) To distract himself and Amy, he let frost cover his words as he formally continued with what else she needed to know for putting his gift to its intended use.

  "When danger threatens, lay your palm flat over the amulet, close your eyes, and concentrate while silently calling my name again and again and again…"

  Against the chill of his voice, wistfulness clouded Amy's eyes and lingered until the crystal brightness of unspoken love laid bare broke through—a tender, dangerous enticement.

  "Do you understand?" Comlan softly asked even as he fell to temptation by stroking over ebony hair from crown to shoulder. "Will you remember?"

  Certain she'd never forget a single word her unbelievable lover had ever said to her, Amy nodded while mindlessly leaning toward his warmth and strength.

  "Then listen well." He reluctantly held her at arm's length, cursing himself for wrongs already committed and determined to prevent such a further lapse of his strong willpower as only this beguiling colleen could cause. "As with all dealings between your world and mine, there are rules and limits that must be observed."

  Amulet carefully cradled between her hands and pressed against her heart, Amy concentrated on listening intently despite the pain of his rejection.

  "If you're in motion when you call, I won't be able to locate you." His flat statements lacked natural inflection of any kind. "Nor can I hear if your palm fails to completely cover the amulet."

  Amy's attention fell to a scrutiny of the pretty piece, waiting in the expectation of more rules and restrictions. None were forthcoming and she glanced up to discover herself alone.

  Hyde Park daily drew crowds anxious to view the Crystal Palace and its treasures. Even today's scattered clouds and intermittent rains had failed to lessen the. flow which make it the perfect site for a secret meeting.

  "He's gone orf to Ireland," Macraedy defensively whined. "Can't strike an end to a man what won't stay put."

  "Hmm." Orville was not placated. "So, you've failed me—again."

  " 'Tis no failure, jist a delay what weren't my fault." Macraedy squared his beafy shoulders with false bravado but nervously twisted the cloth cap in his hands. "I only wanted to know if yer wants me to follow him ta that blighted land… what with Miss Danton already there."

  "Why are you discussing my sister's whereabouts with this rough-looking lout?" Garnet demanded. Attention caught by the sound of his sister's name on an uncultured tongue, he'd initially been shocked to find its source was a filthy oaf sporting a ragged eye patch but no less so by the identity of his companion.

  As Orville spun to face the younger gentleman, the "rough-looking lout" hastily faded into the anonymous crowd.

  "Ah, so nice to see you, old bean." Orville thought it best to simply ignore Garnet's question. He hid annoyance with both the interruption preventing him from issuing instructions to Macraedy and the foul quirk of fate allowing this one man out of the hundreds in Hyde Park to stumble across his path at so inopportune a moment.

  "How is your great-aunt Daphenia?" Orville politely inquired. "Recovering, I trust."

  "Daffy is not ill."

  "But your mother said…" With mock amazement, Orville let the statement trail off on the higher note of a silent question.

  Garnet's lips compressed into a tight line.

  Sounding aggrieved, Orville said, "And here I thought Amethyst would return to London as soon as the dear woman's health improved."

  "My father left today to bring Amy home," Garnet responded without thought and regretted it a moment later.

  "Marvelous." Lord Comlan might be there, but Amethyst was coming home. Orville greeted this news of his intended wife's return with a smug satisfaction that left her brother horribly uncomfortable. "Then doubtless I'll see her at the Duchess of Worthington's ball at the weekend."

  "Stay away from Amy."

  "Now, now." Orville slowly shook his head with a ruefulness belied by the unpleasant gleam of delight in his eyes. "Remember, the sharp edge of the weapon you hold over me can be just as effectively turned on you."

  Black brows scowled.

  "Be calm, my friend," Orville advised with apparent concern. "As I've assured you before, we've a delicate relationship able to guarantee the security of us both—at a price. You leave that sword safely sheathed in exchange for the wherewithal to build your pretty little wife her own home while I also leave it untouched in return for your support of my courtship of Amethyst."

  Already enduring growing shame over his dishonest report on this man's produce and products, Garnet realized that this contract with the pompous devil would exact the greatest penalty. It would force him to helplessly watch as his youngest sister was permanently trapped in a despicable marriage.

  As it had with increasing regularity in recent days, again in Garnet's mind rose the perversely beckoning vision of a confession made and price paid that cleansed his soul and rescued Amy. An honorable man at heart, the stress had grown so intense that now it was only the fearful threat of the loving trust on Lovey's face melting into disillusionment and disgust that held him back.

  And this, Garnet acknowledged while turning to stride away from the self-satisfied toad, was the shape of a nasty gaol he'd built for himself, one unknowingly guarded by the two women he most loved and one from which he could never escape.

  Chapter 16

  "Amy, we're going home—now." Weary and badly out of sorts, a stern-faced Lord Farley Danton, Viscount Wyfirth, stood in the doorway of his aunt's parlor.

  Amy's eyes widened with the unpleasant shock of her father's arrival. Only moments before she'd been chatting amicably with her great-aunt and waiting with growing anticipation for Comlan's appearance.

  "Your mother is frantic," Lord Farley raged. He'd not soon forgive his errant daughter for forcing on him this preposterous jaunt to Ireland.

  Amy gazed warily at her father's broad figure, and to calm flustered nerves studied how the spattering of raindrops across his thick shoulders gleamed under the faint light falling through a restored window.

  "And I shouldn't wonder," the viscount roared on, "but that Orville has begun to worry if madness runs through our family bloodlines." With the latter he glared unwaveringly at Daphenia. When both she and his daughter burst into laughter, he was nearly convinced that it was true himself.

  Heavy face fairly glowing with testy color, he demanded, "Come, Amethyst!"

  Amy obediently rose and yet tried to reason with the man plainly in an unreasonable mood. "Father, there was a purpose for my journey."

  "Humph…" he growled. "None that can excuse inconsiderate, foolish, dangerous actions threatening to be the ruin of you
r reputation and deliver a mortal blow to all your mother's dreams."

  Now there, Amy acknowledged, was the crux of the matter—her mother's dreams. Against their fragile assault she had no defense.

  "At least…" she quietly begged a small concession from her father, "let me fetch my cape and satchel."

  "Now, Farley," Daffy spoke for the first time since her nephew's arrival. "For gracious sake, this bleak day is half-done. Stay here until morning when, hopefully, the dawn will be blessed with less nasty weather."

  "Thank you, no." The crisp edge to Lord Farley's words ensured that no one would mistake them for honest appreciation. "I have rooms reserved at an inn in Liverpool. Amy and I will spend the night there, the better to reach Wyfirth House by tomorrow's end."

  Once in the quaint little bedroom at the top of Daffy's cottage, Amy packed her satchel with as much haste and scant care as she had while Paddy waited in London. Glancing through the bedroom's tiny window, she saw her father's hired coach tied to a tree barely more than a sapling at one side of the cobbled walkway.

  Amy wanted to linger in hopes that Comlan would appear but daren't risk further angering her father. Closing the satchel and brushing fingertips over the amulet pinned to the chemise beneath her bodice, she took a final look around the small room, wishing it were possible to stay. Once back in London, even if Comlan returned (and she prayed he would), they'd be allowed few private moments and never another opportunity for intimacy.

  Feet making soft thudding sounds, Amy slowly descended the narrow stairway to meet her impatient father in the cottage's entry.

  "Now you remember, Amy-girl," Daffy whispered as she gave her grand-niece a farewell hug. "I am perfectly safe in my snug little home."

  Amy nodded and whispered back, "I'll see you in London soon." Despite this planned reunion, part of Comlan's scheme for Daffy's safety, unshed tears sparkled—first for the distress of this separation and second for the prospect of a permanent one underscored by Comlan's talk of the brevity of human lives and Daffy's in particular.

  "We must leave." Lord Farley was impatient with overly emotional women delaying the departure. "I don't want to miss our ship to Liverpool."

  Daffy remained in her open doorway until the coach completely disappeared from sight. Only then did she return to a parlor seeming even emptier now that Amy's sweet presence was gone. She retrieved a fat needlework bag from behind the couch and settled in her favorite chair to resume her knitting.

  The blanket Daffy was working on for the local rector's charity had truly begun to take shape by the time a soft rapping summoned her attention. She glanced up and smiled to see a welcome sight.

  "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come," Comlan gently apologized—an action rarely necessary in his own sphere. "When I'm away for any great length of time, even simple matters become snarled and demand a deal of trouble to see them untangled."

  "I will always understand," Daffy assured him. "But I fear it's made you too late to find Amy here."

  "What?" Dark gold brows scowled.

  "My nephew Farley, the Viscount of Wyfirth, arrived earlier and hustled his daughter away with almost as much haste as you are able to move."

  "Hah!" The mere fact that Comlan gave the expected response was proof enough of how deeply affected he was by this news. "I hadn't thought Lord Wyfirth the sort of man to willingly undertake a journey made arduous by a nightlong train ride."

  "And that he isn't," Daffy agreed. "Which is why he's already reserved rooms at a Liverpool inn."

  Comlan slowly nodded. This information was inadequate yet possibly enough if Amy had reason to call on her amulet's powers.

  Amy rolled over. This bed was too narrow and the blanket too thin. Both perfectly good reasons, she assured herself, to explain why she couldn't sleep.

  But her tireless conscience wouldn't let that falsehood stand unchallenged.

  Though they'd been together a single day past, already Amy badly missed Comlan. She hated to think how much more painful the ache would grow each day endured without him. Time heals all wounds, she'd heard it said. But not for a single moment did Amy believe it would be true of loneliness for her fantasy king.

  Was it Comlan's contrary nature or her own that made it so? While pondering that question, sweet memories returned and soon lulled Amy into dreams.

  Even the crowded Woolvester Inn settled into silence as night hours advanced. The clock in a distant church tower struck three times and faded away before a dark shadow slipped across the rented room's floor.

  A wad of cloth being stuffed into her mouth awakened Amy. Choking, she worked her tongue trying to thrust the obstruction out. An attempt to sit up was met by a pair of wiry arms flipping her over to lie facedown. She was harshly shoved against the bed and firmly held there while the muffling gag was fastened in place with a length of cloth. Next her arms were roughly jerked behind and tied against her spine.

  "Fear not, sweet bride," a familiar voice whispered. "Next time I have you in a bed, I'll handle you with far greater care."

  Amy wanted to demand what Paddy thought he was doing, what insanity drove him to assault a woman in her bedchamber while her father rested in the next room and was not a heavy sleeper. But, of course, she couldn't. She couldn't speak but she could growl… and loudly did. Apparently to no avail since the only response was a harsher hold when jerked to her feet and the bed's lone, thin blanket was wrapped around her inadequately clad body.

  Slung over Paddy's shoulder like a sack of grain, Amy could see only the back of his heels while he rapidly carried her down one narrow flight of back stairs and then out through a ramshackle door— plainly the servants' entrance.

  Bundled into a rented coach of much lower quality than the one her father had hired, Amy stubbornly averted her face from her abductor. Surely Paddy couldn't dream she'd willingly say the words that would make her his wife! Besides, no banns had been called. And, although a woman's consent might be dismissed, her father's approval was required.

  Grateful that her unwanted companion soon dozed in his corner, Amy let her forehead dip forward to rest against a cracked window frame while gloomy suspicions rose. Though it was not seemly for debutantes to be taught the laws of marriage, Amy suspected there were always methods to dodge such restraints. Would some dishonorable minister betray his calling by performing the ceremony? She hadn't a doubt. Oh, depressing thought!

  Don't be a pigeonheart! Amy heatedly berated herself for the momentary surrender to gloom. Fight for your freedom! Escape!

  Heartened by the fervor of this self-advice, Amy took time to closely examine the coach's shabby interior—torn seats, missing windowpanes, door handle replaced with a wire and piece of twine.

  Door handle? Amy studied it more closely and her eyes began to sparkle. Even without the use of her hands, there was hope. The next time this vehicle slowed, as it did on every corner, she would fall free. Of course, she'd still be bound and gagged… but first things first and that was freedom.

  So much time passed while they rolled onward in a straight line that Amy began to despair. Fortunately, she didn't relax her readiness. At the sound of the coachman softly calling to his horses, Amy tensed. And when the coach both slowed and rocked, thankfully in her direction, she threw her body against the flimsy door. Not only did the latch break open but the barrier split down the middle, allowing her to tumble out.

  Amy landed hard against the lane's hard-packed surface but quickly rolled until she felt the rough vegetation that grew on its verge. It was difficult to stand without the use of her hands but she accomplished the feat before the coachman could calm and halt horses spooked by the cracking door.

  "Amy!" Paddy screamed, half out of a coach window missing its pane. "Stop!"

  Rudely awakened, a testy Dooley blinked against the unwelcome light held by a friend's hand.

  Comlan announced, "There are advantages in being able to move through the human world unseen."

  Annoyed, Dooley didn'
t doubt this was a true fact but why had he been awakened to hear it? In the next instant he grimaced. He certainly ought to be accustomed to the Tuatha De's disconcerting habits… however, he'd also learned that they usually had some oblique purpose.

  "Ta shake me bed like tha', ye must have a purpose." Dooley peered through narrowed eyes. "Learned somethin' o' import, have ye?"

  "It's what I didn't see that worries me." The wavering glow of his single candle's flame gave a curious cast to Comlan's sardonic smile. "At a Liverpool inn Lord Wyfirth sleeps undisturbed in one room while Amy's satchel and shed clothing reside in the next."

  Raising up in his bed to rest on one elbow, Dooley gave the other man a speaking glance that demanded a sensible explanation. It came in a precious few, succinct words.

  "Amy's bed is empty."

  "Smart and full of pepper, is she. Likely fled to escape her da and all them infernal rules," grouched Dooley, looking an odd sight with bright hair twisted in a multitude of impossible directions.

  "Yes, she is both of those things." Comlan solemnly nodded. "Which makes it the more improbable that she'd flee in only nightclothes and a blanket."

  Dooley unwillingly admitted that Comlan had him there. Sitting fully upright with difficulty, he awkwardly swung his legs over the side of the bed. The prospect of the pretty, dark colleen being abused was no more agreeable to him than to his master.

  "So what is it that I can do to help?"

  "Go to the Wyfirth town house." Comlan's wry smile was a warning his companion uncomfortably recognized. "Speak with Amy's maid."

  Dooley's brows arched and then dropped as sharply into a scowl. "Beastie?"

  Comlan's white grin flashed. In the several centuries of human time that he'd known Dooley, rarely had Comlan seen the merry man quail as he undeniably did now. Was it, perhaps, because in this instance Dooley's opponent taunted with a tender challenge?

  "Why me and not you?" Dooley irritably queried.

  "If I, as the Lord of Doncaully, were to call at Wyfirth House at this most unconventional time of night, Lady Wyfirth would be called to greet me. And she would no doubt be terrified, fearful of what I might have to say since such an intrusion would only occur under the direst of circumstances."