Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection

by Madeline Martin

  If only he'd spotted the shadow so close to his before another groaning floorboard gave away the intruder's position. As it was, he noticed both at exactly the same time. James spun around, aiming his weapon, but it was too late. Perhaps he could have prevented the blow to the temple from the butt of the intruder's pistol, then again, perhaps not. His last thought before he blacked out was that he'd wished he'd done more with his life. Had been a better man.

  He'd leave nothing behind as his legacy.

  FRIGID WATER HIT him in the face some time later and he gasped, swallowing liquid and choking. He tried to flail his arms to swim, but he was bound and tied to a…tree? James sputtered, coughed, blinked and tried to regain awareness of his surroundings. He wasn't drowning in the sea, but in the woods, probably those on his own property, and being roused to consciousness before his assailant who was—a young lad. Well, not a boy, but definitely green around the edges in age. No older than ten and seven, if a day.

  "Who the devil are you?" With his bewilderment fading, irritation quickly filled the void. James scowled at the lad with the uncanny notion he'd seen him somewhere before. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall where.

  The imp wearing dark, unkempt clothing crossed his arms and smirked. In the moonlight, his sandy hair was a riot of shoulder-length, unbound waves. A street urchin, perchance, but definitely their leader. Behind him, about a dozen men stood, equally young and disheveled. The one in charge held an empty bucket, which made sense as the water it had previously contained soaked James through to the bone.

  "Your servants are bound and gagged in their chambers," the imp said, tossing the bucket aside. "You'd think a pirate such as yourself would have better precautions in his own home, old man."

  Old man? Old? He was only thirty. In his prime! "I beg your pardon, boy," he all but growled in response. He struggled with the bonds holding him but there was no give to them. "Why are a band of toddlers breaking into houses in the middle of the night, harassing hapless servants? Isn't it past your bed time?"

  His assailant laughed. "I'm seven and ten," he said, confirming James' assumption. "Hardly a toddler. You truly don't recognize me?" He stepped closer and peered at James. Shrugging, he began pacing in front of him as an irritated animal might. "I recognized you. After I clocked you, of course, and you went down like a limp codfish. Imagine my shock that a reputable member of the ton could have a hand in smuggling brandy from the Continent."

  James sighed. The jig was up. He'd been found out. Now he'd either be blackmailed or turned in. His crew didn't indulge in outright piracy, but smuggling was still illegal and would definitely cause a scandal his family couldn't avoid. As the third son of Viscount Summerfield, he might lack a title of his own, but that didn't make him less of a member of the peerage, unfortunately. It would send the tongues wagging when he was turned in—by an uncouth youth of all people.

  How had he found out though? If the imp planned on breaking into his home, wouldn't he have been aware who lived in it? Something did not quite add up. The most James could do was deny involvement with his activities and hope for the best.

  "You aren't going to guess?"

  "Guess what, exactly?" James gritted out, perplexed. It was like the kid lived in his own fantasy world and expected everyone to follow along. Oh, that's right. He was offended James didn't know who he was. "Your name? I don't care."

  The lad unsheathed a long, sharp dagger from his belt and pointed it at him. James was unimpressed, even as the kid said, "Show a little more respect and you may live."

  This…child…was going to outright murder him now? James had always considered himself a patient sort. If the heated rage replacing the chill from the wet clothing plastered to his body, that patience was quickly turning to ire. He gave up trying to feign ignorance of his role in smuggling. Glaring at the rest of the boys who did nothing but fidget and look away at the eye contact, he returned his focus on his main assailant. "What do you want, boy? Riches? A percentage from the brandy take?"

  The lad grinned like a cat that had properly cornered a plump mouse. "We're performing a mutiny. Your fortune is ours now. I own you."

  James rolled his eyes. He can't be serious. "A mutiny is when the crew rebels on its own ship to overthrow the captain. You aren't my crew, and we're not even on a blasted ship."

  "Semantics." The lad tapped his baby-smooth chin with the point of his blade. "Allow me to introduce myself since you're slow on the uptake. Peter Paxton, Earl of Underwood. You really do need to pay attention to Society more, but I guess it's difficult when you're a seasoned criminal and all, hiding away in the country on his father's estate when he's acquired more than enough to live on his own through criminal means."

  This kid had a real talent for getting on his nerves. Wait a second… Paxton…Underwood… His father was the Marquess of Huntington. James vaguely recalled the man, and he must have met Paxton when he was much younger, which was why he looked familiar. That didn't explain why he was supposed to remember him though. There was no reason to.

  "We've decided, my boys and I," he said while gesturing with his dagger, "that we want to take over from you. We found intel on the location of a smuggler and it led to you. Now, you can sign over the documents for the ship and we'll free your servants and tell them how to find you, or I can kill you and take it anyway."

  A muscle twitched under James' right eye. Someone had sold him out, but he'd deal with that later. The ropes were too expertly tied for his liking, and he needed to get loose. He didn't necessarily want to hit a kid, but if he kept swinging that blade in his direction, he'd do it—if he could only have use of his hands or a leg. He wasn't picky. "You're willing to kill for a ship you could have simply stolen on your own rather than travelling all the way to Summerfield to make a grand show of it for the legalities…before heading back to London to take it anyway?" He thumped his head back against the tree and laughed. "I can't sign anything over if I am tied up. If you untie me, I'll return the welcome I was given tenfold." He met Underwood's gaze. "That's a promise."

  Underwood shrugged.

  One thing niggled at him though. "You really didn't know whose house you were breaking into, but managed to find the location of it well enough without seeking more information?"

  He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

  James made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. These children were playing games they didn't fully understand or care about. "Are you really willing to blacken your soul with evil over…a ship and an idea that smuggling is a worthwhile way to spend your life?"

  "It's good enough for you."

  James opened his mouth to argue further and then slammed it shut. He was third in line for a title that held little weight and was worn by men in his family like women would wear their mothers' hand-me-down jewels. He had purchased a position in the Navy, the one time he'd ever used his family name and fortune to obtain something without earning it. However, the wars were winding down and he had never been sent into the line of duty, much to his annoyance. He'd wanted to matter, but the Royal Navy hadn't needed him any more than his father did when he was sired as a second spare. He'd had nothing else to do with his time, which was how he'd ended up dabbling with smuggling and building his own fortune. Unenthused by life, he'd wanted a bit of adventure and danger, but even that was losing its allure.

  "Nothing to say?" Underwood drawled. "Of course, should you go free, I'd own you. Now that I've discovered your identity, and I'll have your ship, I'd be willing to let bygones be bygones should you manipulate your father into seeing me as the worthiest of suitors for your sister."

  At last, the real reason for this whole charade has come to light. James barked out a laugh, and Underwood scowled at him. "You didn't even know what man you were going to harass this evening, and now you think I am going to pair my one and only sister with a child who longs to steal my ship and blackmail me? You are truly delusional." The bloody knots in his bonds refused to loosen.
His skin was rubbed raw already. If he couldn't annoy the kid into letting him loose, he was done for.

  The imp lunged forward, glaring. He poked James lightly in the chest with the tip of the blade. "I will have Wendelin as my bride, make no mistake about that. It was happy coincidence my target tonight is you."

  "Over my dead body."

  The smile on the lad's face became sinister. "Gladly."

  Underwood signaled to his boys, who surrounded James, each giving him a good facer or a jab to the gut until he was winded and throbbing all over. When they finally untied him, he toppled over, breathing heavily. This wasn't how my escape was to go. At some point he lost consciousness again, probably due to the original head injury being struck repeatedly as he'd hit the ground.

  HE CAME to on a skiff with Underwood and two of his goons. The shore at the edge of the Summerfield estate was barely visible. Dear God, were they going to drop him in the sea to drown? He struggled to remain alert. His hands were tied again. Blasted ropes!

  Underwood used his dagger to slice through James' bonds. The blade was sharp, and he'd had little difficulty cutting the thick rope in one quick gesture. Before James could react, the goons grabbed his arms and held him secure. He winced, positive a rib or two were done for. He struggled to breathe in this new position.

  "Hold out his left arm."

  Then, Underwood kneeled beside him and raised the dagger with both arms high above his head as James' sleeve was pulled back to reveal his flesh, his hand held firmly out over the edge of the skiff.

  Realization sank in, and his eyes shot wide. He tried to throw the goons off, but his ribs were screaming with pain and he was weakened from being knocked out twice in so short of time. James was likely concussed.

  He wouldn't truly do it, would he? Underwood was barely more than a child. A spoiled member of the peerage. Why would he—

  The blade cut clean through the bone in one, heavy blow. The pain didn't hit James until after he registered what happened before his eyes. As blood started to run and his hand fell away from his wrist into the North Sea, floating momentarily before slipping beneath the waves, he bit down on a scream, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction.

  But Underwood wasn't done.

  "Let's call it a game of chance, Captain Harlow. If you make it to shore and live, you'll arrange for your sister to accept me. If you don't make it, well, you'll be dead and we'll have found the documents in your study we need for the ship regardless, and I'll be there to console poor Wendelin when she attends your funeral." He turned to a tall lad to his right who had his head cast down, refusing to look at James directly. "Cauterize that. It's not much of a game if he bleeds out the moment he hits the water."

  The agony and confusion numbed him from the movements of the young men as they heated a blade over the candle in the boat lantern in order to seal his wound. What had he done in life that had been so terrible to result in it ending this way? Smuggling was illegal, but no one had ever been hurt on his watch. They had one cannon on board his ship and never had cause to use it. Furthermore, did Wendelin have any idea this mad earl had set his sights on her? Dear God, what horrors would Underwood put his sister through should he have his way? The searing heat of burning metal against flesh and sinew brought him from his turmoil.

  He had to fight this. He had to survive. For his sister's sake, James would continue on and see Underwood dead before ever allowing his sister to be alone with him.

  The men shoved him over the edge of the skiff. The moment the salted water engulfed his wounds, he finally allowed himself to scream, but the sound was lost to the depths of the water.

  Fight. Swim!

  His shirt wafted around him, a pale shroud, as he sank into the welcoming abyss.

  CHAPTER 2

  THERE WERE days when living beneath the waves proved wondrous and exciting. Today was not one of them, for Ione had left home. For good. Well, she was free to leave whenever she wished, but she didn't intend to return to the Aegean Sea. Like several of her forty-nine sisters before her, Ione had finally had enough and wanted space. The downside to that concept being that the ocean provided a lot of space.

  Too much at times.

  In fact, she wasn't exactly sure which ocean or sea she had ended up in at the moment due to swimming aimlessly without paying attention to her surroundings while lost in thought about what she would do next. The water was much cooler than at home so she'd clearly gone north. Or northwest. She should have been paying attention…

  Biting her lip and looking around, she flicked her golden tail beneath her until she was vertical and then glanced upward. A small boat floated on the surface. Humans were lucky to have so much freedom on land. Dangers to mortals constantly lurked from all sides in the water. On land, danger would be milder. At least, she thought so. Ione had never wandered off the shoreline. She hadn't been comfortable being herself on land before. Because of her nature. What she would have to do to protect herself if she stayed there too long…

  Maybe she should seek out the Vanishing Isle a few of her sisters had searched for years ago. It never stayed in the same place twice, and would offer more security should she decide to wish to mate. Maybe she wouldn't be required to drown the human male she would use to sire her daughters with if she was somewhere secure. Somewhere that wouldn't lead to humans hunting her kind out of fear or curiosity. She was past ready to mate with a man, and couldn't bring herself to do it. Furthermore, she didn't want to kill someone after an act like that. It seemed…wrong. And what if she liked it with him and wanted to do it again?

  Ione shook her head, brushing her hair out of her face as she did. She didn't belong in the human world, but the prospect of drowning mortals had helped keep her away. She didn't have a violent nature, and sea nymphs were nearly all female, with only a portion of them having fins like she did. Her cousin, Triton—Poseidon's son and messenger much like Hermes was to Zeus above the waves—had a tail fin like hers, and his male and female children had them too. She could mate with one of the male tritons if she wished it, but her cousins didn't do anything for her romantically. They were decent males, sure, but she wanted something…different. If she mated at all, she wanted someone new and exciting. Someone who didn't remind her of her upbringing. Who wasn't already family. Someone all of her own. Perhaps a human.

  Would her family be horrified if she let one live to use for her pleasure? Desire tore through her as she thought about it. Nymphs required two things from life: the element they drew their strength from and sex. She'd been in the sea for centuries, but sex…she took care of herself when the need arose, but she needed to slate that part of her. It was making her miserable the longer she denied it. It was why she couldn't stand being home anymore. And had to leave. She needed so much more than she should long for.

  A splash had her glancing upward again. One of the humans had jumped into the water. How odd. The middle of the night didn't seem like the ideal time for a swim if one didn't have fins. Humans didn't have enhanced sight like she did…or gills. So why would he do such a thing?

  The mortal, a male, continued to sink, barely moving an arm or leg, to kick back toward the surface or the boat, which was rowing away from him as if they hadn't noticed his departure at all. She gasped. Gods, he was drowning! Had his companions left him to die on purpose? Why would they do that?

  Before she had decided to do anything, she kicked her tail at a rapid pace, gliding upward until she'd caught the man under his arms. Both the instinct to protect the human and the secret of her kind from others like him had her at odds, and Ione rushed with him in the opposite direction of the boat. It helped that the night sky obscured as much as the moonlight revealed. She'd always been fascinated by the glow of moonlight—but now was not the time to marvel in such things.

  When she brought his head above the waves, he wasn't breathing. Fearing she'd kept him under too long, she repositioned him onto one of her arms and placed her hand on his chest, over his heart, then s
lipped her palm under the loose material of his clothing. His flesh was cold to her touch, possibly from the water's temperature and not because she was too late. Channeling energy into her hand, she lowered her lips to his, willing the water he had inhaled to come back to her. To exit his body. When saltwater met her lips, she pulled back as he coughed and spat the water out of his system.

  Ione looked at him then, and admired his masculine beauty. Dark hair had come loose from the tie that still held a portion of it back at the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue—detectable due to her enhanced senses required for life beneath the surface. He had a square set to his jaw, and a pleasant facial structure. As he stared at her, he blinked, almost as if he were in disbelief. Then he winced.

  "I must say," he gritted out in a deep voice that made her shiver, "I expected heaven to be less…wet." And with that, his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

  Humans were so fragile.

  With a sigh, she kept hold of him and swam in the direction of shore. She could faintly make out a beach in the distance, and hopefully the night would offer them enough privacy that her being above the surface wouldn't endanger her or her people. Either way, the thrill of adventure called to her. And her desire to mate hummed in her veins.

  EVERYTHING HURT. If James was dead, shouldn't he feel lighter? Unless he'd gone to hell, which didn't make sense because he was certain he'd seen an angel before he'd blacked out again. A golden-haired, beautiful angel who'd scooped his soul right out of the ocean. She'd been as soaked as he currently felt. As a wave hit him in the back of the head, his body plunged forward and saltwater went down his throat, making his eyes and nostrils burn.