Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection

by Madeline Martin

  Evina waved the comment away and the maid set to helping her remove the leather armor from her body in preparation for bathing. In truth, having servants was a part of the privileged life Evina could not tolerate. Aye, she enjoyed the hearty food with its tender meat and freshly baked bread, and she loved the solitude of sleeping in a large, soft bed.

  Evina had assumed Duncan would have come to her. Certainly, his gaze had lingered over her when Gillespie led her off to show her to her room. Mayhap he wanted to allow her time to enjoy her time in the tub.

  Her ruminations, however, melted away once she sank into the rose-scented water. The temperature was the ideal warmth, the oils carefully mixed to leave her smooth but not greasy. Surely Heaven itself would not be as luxuriantly blissful.

  “Thank ye, Ala, but ye dinna have to return tonight.” Evina leaned her head against the wall of the tub. “I can get myself into bed and ye can clear this in the morning.”

  Ala inclined her head with her long neck, and took her leave as quietly as she’d arrived.

  Evina stayed indulgently in the tub until the water cooled. When she finished, her entire body seemed to glow from within. For the first time she could remember, she felt truly clean.

  She drew on the long night rail Ala had left her, the linen so fine, it might well be made of silk and wishes. Evina drew one indulgent hand over the cloth, and made her way to the steps leading up to that glorious bed.

  The first wood stair was pleasantly cool under the heat of her foot, and she took the stairs to the top where she crawled over the wide mattress. She sank into its incredible softness with a sigh and drew the thick velvet coverlet over her, trapping in the warmth of her freshly bathed body.

  Velvet. She’d seen women wear it, but had never owned anything as fine herself, let alone having slept under a sizable piece of it. She ran her hands over the smoothness one way and let it prickle against her palms when she changed the direction of her hands.

  Aye, she would rest like a queen.

  She settled against the pillow and closed her eyes, ready for the best slumber in her life.

  Only it was the worst night of her life. No sooner had she fallen asleep, a sharp edge of something unseen scraped against her back, the pain quick and bright. She reached for her sword before remembering she was in a bed twelve mattresses high and nowhere close to her weapons.

  She swept her hand over the bed clothes, but found nothing sharp, nothing to have caused such pain. Exhaustion fogged her brain and drew her to the thick, downy pillow. Her eyes closed and she gave in to sleep’s embrace.

  A sharpness raked down her back, snapping her awake once more. Evina cursed and patted the coverlet, and again found nothing. Rest did not come as easily the next time, but when she relaxed into slumber, the unseen thing cut her once more. Again and again this occurred until sleep finally ceased to beckon her.

  The light of dawn took the stretch of a lifetime to make its appearance. Finally the rising sun glowed in a thin, gold-red line at the base of the heavy curtains, and Evina gave up on attempting to rest in the loveliest bed she’d ever been offered.

  She stomped down the stairs lining the mattresses, and tugged off the delicate chemise. A flash of red caught her eye, and she stopped, gaping in awe at the expensive fabric. Crimson dotted the brilliant white. Blood.

  Her blood.

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  For the first time in the course of her lifetime, she had actually bled.

  DUNCAN HAD BARELY SLEPT and hoped Evina’s night had been worse than his. Gillespie had confirmed he’d placed the Spear of Assal under the first mattress.

  A new day had begun to show, and he found himself grateful for his habit to rise early. After all, Evina was a warrior and warriors did not let the day start without them. Duncan flew from his bed and swiftly dressed.

  He had to know. He had to see.

  His heartbeat echoed in his ears and his hands trembled, which made pulling on his trews difficult. Aye, he could have called for Gillespie, but he hadn’t wanted to rouse the older man, especially when the work creating a staff for the household from local creatures had left Gillespie exhausted.

  It was preposterous to imagine one could generate servants from the forest. But Gillespie had said he’d been successful.

  Duncan left his chambers and found a man with red hair and a sharp nose waiting stiffly for him, hands folded in front of him. His golden eyes met Duncan’s, and he offered a bow. “Good morning, laird. Gillespie said he will be with ye later today and I’m to tend to ye. Are ye ready to break yer fast?”

  Duncan stood in mute awe of the fox-like man, who promptly led him to his own great hall.

  “Do ye know if Mistress Evina has woken yet?” Duncan asked.

  The man’s graceful gait did not slow. “I havena been informed, laird.” He stopped beside the table.

  Duncan sat and the man was replaced by a woman as round as she was tall. Her brown hair had been brushed back into a smooth knot save for several tufts floating up about her temples. She turned her overly large eyes upon him and blinked several times. “I hope ye enjoy what I’ve prepared for ye.”

  The slabs of salted pork were perfectly browned, the oatcakes as hearty as ever. Exactly as Gillespie typically cooked the food. “Aye,” Duncan replied. “Thank ye.”

  The cook inclined her head in satisfaction before waddling to the kitchen. Before Duncan could take his first bite, another figure appeared in the doorway. Curious to identify what new animal might be next in Gillespie’s collection of woodland servants, Duncan paused before taking a bite of the steaming oatcake, and stopped.

  Evina sauntered in, wearing a blue kirtle. If he had stared before, he no doubt truly gaped at her. The feminine garb hugged her breasts and waist before flaring out at her hips in a full skirt. Her black hair shone with the same purple blue sheen of a raven’s wing, glossy and arrow straight. She appeared well-rested, her complexion radiantly clear of any discoloration from a night of poor rest.

  Duncan’s eagerly racing pulse calmed under the weight of disappointment.

  Before he could rise to offer Evina a seat, the fox-man appeared with silent grace and slid her chair out for her.

  She cast an uncertain glance at the new servant before accepting the proffered seat. She had settled across from him before the question he’d been longing to ask burst from him. “Did ye sleep well?”

  Evina studied him and pursed her lips before answering. “Well enough. Thank ye for the fine bed.”

  Her reply was terrible. Duncan found it suddenly difficult to draw breath. “Ye dinna have any discomfort?”

  The cook waddled in, and put a plate of steaming food in front of Evina. Irritation tightened the muscles along Duncan’s neck and shoulders. This was why he hated having household staff. One couldn’t engage in a simple conversation without someone stepping between to do something, clean or clear or offer.

  Evina cut a square of pork and popped it into her mouth without answering him.

  Duncan’s blood simmered with an angry frustration. Didn’t the world know how damn important this was?

  “So, no discomfort in yer sleep?” he asked again, hoping the tension straining in him was not evident in his tone.

  “I’m a warrior.” Evina said with a shrug. “We sleep on floors without complaint. A bed with twelve mattresses is hardly worthy of complaint.”

  Duncan curled his fist around his eating dagger. He wanted to fling it at the wall. Instead, he flatted his hand and drew a long, steady breath. “Ye dinna feel anything in yer bed, did ye?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes and set down the bite of egg she’d been drawing to her lips. “Did ye put something in my bed?”

  “Of course I dinna.” He broke his oatcake open, but didn’t bother eating it. The lie sat uneasy with him. He’d tried to trick her for nothing. She was not the woman he expected her to be.

  “Ye dinna need to hire the additional servants,” Evina said abruptl
y. “I intend to leave after I’ve broken my fast. Only I’ll need my clothing. I had naught but this to wear when I woke this morning.”

  “It’s becoming on ye.”

  She did not soften under his compliment. Indeed, she cast an irritated look at him. “It’s no’ comfortable.”

  “Ye’re welcome to stay,” Duncan offered. However, his heart was not behind the suggestion. His world spun and slowed, dragging him into a beast of a mood.

  It had been years since he’d allowed himself to be defeated thus by the curse. He’d been foolish to hope.

  Disappointment was bitter after over a decade of resignation. Appealing though Evina may be, he wanted her to leave so he could return the abundance of servants to the woods and resume his post at the window. How many leaves had fallen during this useless distraction?

  “Is it an enchantment, or a curse?” she asked.

  The question was sudden and unexpected.

  Duncan frowned.

  Evina surveyed their surroundings with exaggeration. “The castle. The tree. This.”

  Gillespie appeared in the doorway behind Evina and waved at Duncan with a frantic gesture. Duncan cleared his throat and rose. “A moment, aye?”

  The suspicion in Evina’s regard sharpened, but she did not protest his departure.

  He grabbed Gillespie’s slender shoulder and drew him into the kitchen. The owlish woman blinked at them in surprise and kept her exceptionally wide eyes fixed on them.

  Duncan ignored her. “Evina is no daughter of Morrigan, as I assumed.” He didn’t bother to suppress his bitterness.

  “Are ye sure?” Gillespie lifted his hand where he clutched a bunch of linen. A cocky grin spread over his long, thin face.

  Duncan took the cloth from him. Gillespie plucked at it and pointed to several dots of brownish red.

  “See?” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Blood.”

  Duncan dropped his hand, bringing the ruined chemise with it. “She’s a mercenary who recently emerged from a battle where the others all perished.”

  Gillespie’s excitement drooped. “She’s already injured?”

  “I dinna ask. I willna be asking. She said she’s leaving and I willna stop her.”

  The servant shook his head. “Nay.”

  Duncan eyed the older man, unsure he’d heard correctly. In the years they’d spent together, never had Gillespie contradicted him before. Aye, he’d encouraged and cajoled and even nagged, but never had he told Duncan ‘nay’.

  “I have a feeling about this lass.” Gillespie’s pale green eyes fixed on Duncan, desperation leaving them wide. “Duncan, ye’ll be dead in a fortnight. If she’s the lass, she could save ye.”

  “And if she is just an ordinary woman?” Duncan gritted out.

  “Then at least ye’ll have a fine tupping before ye die if she’ll have ye.” Gillespie winked.

  Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle at the macabre jest. Even now, toward the end when they were left with mere grains of sand in the hourglass, Gillespie maintained a hope Duncan could not muster.

  Duncan heaved a sigh, though it did little to shove out the pressure building in his chest. “Aye, fine. I’ll keep her from leaving. For yer sake.”

  Gillespie inclined his head as graciously as any well-minded servant. Duncan handed him the chemise and made his way back to the great hall, determined to ask Evina to stay with more conviction.

  He rounded the corner and his stomach dropped. Her seat was empty.

  The fox-man emerged from the corridor, quiet and deft. “Did ye require something, laird?”

  Duncan indicated the empty seat. “Where is she?”

  Those unsettling golden eyes flicked first to the empty seat, then to Duncan. The fox-man offered an apologetic bow. “I’m no ‘sure, laird. She left the castle with haste.”

  Duncan did not bother to reply, nor ask for further assistance. Nay, he spun on his heel and dashed off to reclaim the woman who might bring peace to his remaining two weeks of life.

  CHAPTER 4

  CURSE OR ENCHANTMENT, Evina no longer cared. She had bled. For the first time in the whole of her life, something within the castle, within that damn bed, had pierced her flesh and made her bleed.

  She stalked past the rowan tree, keeping her face turned from the sunlit aura of magic, and made her way to the white wall of ice and snow. She paused before it.

  When she’d come here, she’d wanted nothing more than to die. An easy wish for one with invincibility. The blood on her night rail had been what she’d needed to rouse herself from the ridiculous notion.

  She could meet battles and blizzards a thousand times over and emerge unscathed. Even with the annoyances of day-to-day life of cold and hunger, she’d choose them over the comfort of a grand castle that could pluck drops of her mortality like petals from a hearty rose.

  She didn’t have her clothing, but at least she had her cloak and pack. She regretted not having her armor, but neither it nor the weapons left behind were of sufficient quality to warrant staying a second longer.

  Resolve once more established, Evina shoved out of the sunlit barrier and plunged herself into the roaring wall of ice and clawing, merciless wind. It whipped around her with staggering ferocity, pulling and pushing from all directions until her mind was awash with disorientation.

  Frozen bits of ice surrounded her, hurtling at her face, stinging at her cheeks and arms. The storm had been bad before. Now it was awful.

  Evina’s muscles burned with the effort and energy drained from her, leaving her as heavy and exhausted as if she’d been battling for days rather than simply walking for minutes. At least in battle, she had a body she could push her sword into, an opponent she could duck from or parry. But the wind and snow were omnipresent, filling her vision and stopping her ears, swarming, swarming, swarming about until it seemed the very insides of her head were flying with wild flurries of white.

  Evina trudged into the rising mounds of snow which rose up to her thighs. Each step was more difficult, requiring her to pull her leg higher and drag it from the drifts, only to plunge into yet another. She cried out in aggravation and redoubled her efforts.

  All at once, the storm stopped, the billowing ice stopped, and she stood at the edge of a sunlit cone of light with a rowan tree at its middle and a massive man beside it.

  Frustration knotted inside her. How had she returned to Duart Castle when she’d fought so hard to move away? How had she been so turned around that she’d unintentionally fought her way back to where she was trying to escape?

  The breath heaved from her lungs and her muscles were left with a jelly-like weariness. Sweat prickled her brow and mixed with the moisture of melting snow. Evina shoved the wildness of her blown hair away from her face and stormed a path to Duncan.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Why will ye no’ let me go?”

  He shook his head. “It isna me.”

  “What is it? What is this tree? This castle? Storm? All of it?” She was screaming and gesturing, very much the addled one on this second meeting. But she couldn’t stop the rage pouring through her.

  “It’s a storm, Evina.” He spoke so rationally, she almost doubted her own rage.

  “And what of the rowan tree? Why is it locked in sunshine while the rest of the world freezes?”

  “Come inside,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “No’ until I am told what enemy I’m up against. Ye say it wasna ye who made me return here, but how did ye come to be standing here when I emerged, waiting for me?”

  His jaw clenched. “I meant to come after ye. I intended to.” He dragged a hand through the thick darkness of his hair. “But I…” He shook his head. “I couldna leave.”

  “Who has done this magic?”

  He gave a mirthless smile. “There isna an enemy for ye to fight, at least no’ one alive to kill.” He sighed. “Ye’re right. The castle is cursed. I—it’s my fault.”

  “Why?” she demanded
/>
  “I’ll tell ye, but no’ here.” He held out his hand to her, palm up. Open and inviting.

  She knew better than to give her trust too easily, especially to a man as darkly handsome as Duncan. Those men always were the most dangerous. And her greatest weakness. Specifically tall, muscular ones with dark hair and soulful eyes, with large capable hands like the one extended toward her.

  Damn him.

  She put her fingers to his palm. The chill in her body warmed.

  “I want the entire story,” she said. “The tree, the castle, everything. It’s enchanted, aye?”

  Duncan nodded. “Aye. It is.”

  “Did it keep me here?”

  He looked over her shoulder, his stare tightening in concentration before he returned his attention to her. “I’m no’ certain. Let’s get ye inside by the fire.”

  Evina allowed him to lead her into the castle. If he would be willing to be open with her, she would be willing to listen, to possibly stay. She cast a glance at the rowan tree, taking in the spartan smattering of green leaves before finally walking from the brilliance of the sun to the blissful heat of a crackling fire.

  Duncan followed and bade her settle into a large chair before the fire. She removed her cloak and did as he suggested, grateful the cuts she’d sustained had already healed. Duncan did not sit. He braced one hand over the top of her chair and gazed down at his fingers.

  “Ye were right,” he said again. “This castle is cursed.”

  DUNCAN HAD NOT TOLD his tale aloud before. He’d explained it to Gillespie over time, but he’d omitted the part about the girl. The most shameful part. How he’d abandoned his mother and her maid in a dangerous forest for the hope of saving a maiden.

  After all, hadn’t he had enough women?

  And yet, it hadn’t merely been the hope of another conquest. It had been the idea of being a hero.

  The witch’s accusations had shamed him. They weren’t words hurtled at him, easily deflected; it was the truth ringing in his soul and the realization the consequences could not be refuted. He had let his mother and the sorceress she kept as a lady’s maid die because he’d wanted to be a hero.