Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection

by Madeline Martin

  The fact he thought her appearance interesting enough to comment upon sent happiness bubbling through her. “Perhaps you weren’t looking in the right places.” Averell laid her free hand on his chest, not knowing if she wished to push him away or encourage him to hold his course.

  “Apparently, you are correct, for I would remember you.” He’d lowered his voice and the purr of a whisper warmed her. “Why do you keep yourself hidden in the trees, lovely Averell? What do you fear from the forest?”

  “My fears do not come from the trees or the woods, but from the evil of man,” she whispered back. “My father cautions me to be wary of everyone. What are you, I wonder—friend or foe?”

  “That depends on what time of day you see me,” he replied.

  “What does that matter? Is not a man the same regardless of the time?” She peered into his eyes, briefly flicked her gaze to his mouth before challenging his gaze once more. What would his lips feel like against hers or his fingers over her skin? Perhaps it was wicked to think such thoughts, but it was well past time for a change in her life. She’d witnessed trysts in the woods over the years between humans, as well as between humans and members of other species. There’d been so much joy and pleasure shared in such an act that she wanted those feelings for herself, those experiences.

  “If only I could tell you,” he murmured and cupped her cheek with his free hand. Averell shivered from the exquisite sensation and wished heartily that he wasn’t wearing a glove. “But I have enjoyed our meeting.” His whisky-brown eyes darkened. “Unfortunately, I must leave you.”

  “Why?” The utterance was a breathless affair, hardly even a word. She slid her hand up his chest to curl her fingers around his nape. How sturdy and strong he was, how manly and different than she.

  “Two members of my hunting party are returning even now.” He put his lips near her ear. “I can hear them; they are not as quiet as they should be.”

  Her ears pricked. Now that he’d mentioned it, the soft thud of boots as well as the snap of a dry twig resonated over the normal sounds of the forest. “I hear them too.”

  “They will wonder at my absence, so I must go.” He pulled away long enough to stare into her eyes. Regret shadowed his. “Remember me. Perhaps we shall meet again if fate decrees.” Then the man—Quinn—pressed a brief kiss to her temple before releasing her. “Disappear, Averell, my wood sprite, for I do not wish to share your presence with anyone.” He winked and gave her a tender nudge toward the trees. “I agree with your father. There are many evils within the forests—even in the breasts of men. Be careful who you tarry with. I would hate to see something happen to you that would mar such innocence.”

  Bemused and in a pleasant fog brought on by the feel of his warm lips against her skin, Averell slipped into the trees. She moved a few paces away and from her hiding place she looked back at him. He glanced about the spot where she’d been moments before but then a couple of men broke through the shrubbery and occupied his attention.

  Averell sighed and touched the place where his lips had caressed her. Would she ever see him again? Longing gripped her so intently that her heart ached. She’d let him enchant her so much she’d neglected to ask more questions of him, the least of which where he’d come from and why he’d chosen to hunt these lands.

  CHAPTER 2

  PRINCE DEVON JAMES QUINN LANSDOWNE—QUINN to his friends and contemporaries—and second in line for the throne of Annanvale ran through the wooded area where he and his hunting party had tread earlier that same day.

  The breeze ruffled his ruddy gray fur and cooled his body. His tongue lolled partway from his mouth as he jumped over fallen trees and dodged around boulders and other obstacles in his path. The rhythm his four paws made as he loped low over the ground pounded in time to his pulse. This was where he felt most free—no responsibilities, no pretending to care about court business, no attending boring social commitments, no listening to his father expound upon the merits of the ball held three nights from now so his brother could find a bride.

  Here in the woods he was one with his wolf half and with nature.

  Hungry.

  And his wolf’s urges.

  Quinn slowed. He snuffled through rotting debris on the ground in the search for rodents or other small mammals. His wolf had hunted and eaten steadily throughout the night. Surely he couldn’t want another snack, but then, he’d been with his wolf half since the age of seven, and sometimes the beast was demanding. He and his older brother were cursed as children by a disgruntled witch disguised as a fairy. The affliction could not be helped and he didn’t worry about it any longer. Why should he? This was who he was. Nothing would change that. Long ago he’d made peace with that fact.

  Hungry for more than food. Want mate.

  He shook his head and launched into a run once more. I’m not of a mind to rut tonight. Over the years he’d learned to embrace his wolf half—to surrender to the animal during the nighttime hours—and all that entailed. It became a way to escape the pressures of palace life and the obligations he held as a prince. Some days, waiting for nightfall to summon the shift was excruciating. Playing politics at court didn’t set his soul free like running as the wolf did.

  The one drawback? Not exerting tight control over that part of him, though he struggled with it at times. When he shifted, the animal was in charge, complete with primal urges on all fronts. During those times, he wasn’t himself, rarely thought like man; he was the beast.

  Such was his curse.

  No. Want our mate. Life partner.

  Quinn huffed and ignored the wolf’s internal explanation. He continued to bound through the ink-dark forest. His brother, Prince Henry, was the heir and had been groomed for the duties for more years than Quinn could count. Did neighboring rulers wish him dead? Of course. The lands were unsettled and currently enjoyed a tentative peace. When he could, he worked quietly to quell those threats on his brother’s life. At least shifting into the wolf came in handy for security purposes.

  Where Henry had accepted the inevitable in regards to choosing a mate, Quinn remained undecided. He stayed out of the limelight, for he loathed the attention. And he absolutely didn’t wish for the throne if something horrible were to occur to his brother. He’d much rather show how royalty could make an impact by doing good works with the people without the fanfare. Was he looking for love? No, but if it were to happen, he would enjoy that aspect of life. If not, he was still content.

  Lonely.

  Hmm, perhaps his wolf had a point. Quinn slowed to a trot. Women tended to make life interesting, yet finding a warm and willing female wasn’t the problem. There had been more than a few he’d taken to his bed over the years. No, the issue lay with the need to explain what he was once night fell, and the fact that all male-born children would suffer the same curse. The only way to avoid such a conversation was never to engage his heart. If he kept himself above being marriage minded, all would be well.

  It didn’t take long until he reached the spot where he’d caught the woman Averell unaware earlier in the day. He reduced his pace to a walk and as he put his snout to the ground, he easily picked up her scent—honeysuckle and the unique spice that was hers alone.

  Find her.

  On this, he agreed with his wolf. Now that he had her smell in his nose, it was easy enough to locate her. She was… not anywhere that he could see. In front of him towered a massive oak tree. Its branches and leaves spread out over the sky, blocking the cloudless night from his gaze.

  Quinn sat on his haunches and stared at the tree with his head cocked. Where the devil is she? Perhaps she’d told him the truth when she’d said she lived in a tree. Odd, but not entirely strange, for magic was all around at any time. Then his breath caught. Averell came around the tree from the rear, her arms laden with chopped wood. No longer did she wear the garb of a huntress. Now, a dress of navy wool clung to her form, and he filled his gaze with her feminine curves. Her dark brown hair, bound in a thick plait, h
ung down her back. What would it look like unbound? Damn, but it wasn’t a good thing thinking about a woman’s tresses.

  Quietly, he padded into the trees nearby, for he didn’t wish for her to see him in his animal form, didn’t wish to spook her. She glanced about, pausing to listen. What did she hear? And most astonishing of all, she grasped what appeared to be a knob of gnarled bark. A section of the tree opened like a door and a golden rectangle of light bolstered the opinion. In that soft illumination, he caught a glimpse of her blue eyes, and then she slipped inside and the panel closed behind her, leaving the area bathed with midnight once more.

  Go to her.

  Patience, wolf. I require clothing for such a meeting.

  No clothes. Lay with her. The wolf’s muscles tensed. Raw need circled through Quinn’s gut as his animal side prepared to pounce, to revel in its primal urges.

  Hold. He rolled his eyes and tossed his head. These things must be finessed, oh canine half. We do this my way or not at all. Understand?

  Inside his head, his wolf whined.

  With the sauciness of his last encounter with Averell fresh in his mind, he broke into a lope once more. He would reach the spot in the forest where he kept a fresh supply of clothing and then he would return.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Quinn stood in front of the behemoth tree. Yes, magic was an ever-present force in his realm so it followed that it played a part in this one as well. So how, then, was he to announce his presence?

  “If you mean to harm me, I must warn you that I’m armed.” The dulcet tones of her voice cut through the thick darkness with all the accuracy of a dagger’s blade.

  Slowly, Quinn turned about with his hands up. Perhaps she hadn’t recognized him. “Fear not, lovely Averell. I accidentally happened upon this tree and stopped to take in the wonder of its size.”

  She stood with an arrow clutched in her hand like a knife—a silver arrow. Her navy dress blended with the inky darkness. “What are you doing skulking about the woods at night? There are prowling things abroad.”

  Oh, if only she knew. “Things that go bump in the night do not scare me, for I can defend myself.” He lowered his hands. “I apologize for startling you.” When she stared at him as if trying to access the secrets of his soul, he rushed on. Obviously, he’d need to explain his presence, and he couldn’t say it was easy for him to run copious miles while in wolf form. “Uh, my hunting party idled too late. We’ve camped not far from here and will head out at the first light of dawn.”

  “And you are here, why?” Though she’d let the arrow—made with a razor sharp point—drop, he eyed the weapon warily. Did she know what he was to brandish such a weapon? The implement would be too heavy for a regular bowstring. “It’s rare anyone finds this tree.”

  More intrigued by her than ever before, he gave her an easy smile that had never failed to charm women. “In all honesty, I had hoped to catch a glimpse of you again.” Not exactly a lie, it wasn’t the actual truth either, but it was as good an explanation as any.

  Her expression softened, slightly. “In the dark?”

  “Yes, why not?”

  “My father will not be home from the village until tomorrow. I’m not certain it is proper to entertain gentlemen by myself.” She frowned and the smooth skin of her brow creased. Quinn knew a sudden urge to smooth away her cares with a caress or even a kiss. Since she stood a couple of inches shorter than he, such an embrace would be ideal.

  “Indeed it is not, but here we are and the circumstances cannot be helped.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want so late?”

  A return to their banter of the afternoon would be a marked improvement to her wariness. “Perhaps a cup of tea? I promise that is all I wish from you.” This evening. He glanced about. “Where is your cottage, by the by?”

  “Can I trust you?”

  “About as much as you can trust anyone, I suppose.” He quirked an eyebrow. “However, I swear on my own life I will not harm you or betray your secrets.” A sigh escaped him. “I’m held to a higher standard than most men.”

  “Of that much I am sure. You do not act like the men in the village.” Averell gestured him forward with the arrow. “I wasn’t lying when I said I lived in a tree.” She again grasped the gnarled knob of wood and the door swung inward. “This tree has been enchanted. My father brought me here when I was a small child. We have lived here ever since.”

  “Does the magic that disguises your cottage also protect you from harm?” He followed her into the tree and then stumbled to a halt as he gaped at the interior.

  The residence was bigger on the inside.

  “What sorcery is this?” Quinn dashed back outside to gauge the distance of the tree trunk’s circumference and then he returned to the cozy space inside. There was no logic to it.

  Indeed, the tree had been enchanted, for he stood within a modest cottage whose hardwood gleamed from a fresh scrub and polishing. A braided rug rested beneath a round, intricately carved wooden table that sat four. Two green sofas of a rustic fabric decorated with plump pillows practically invited a man to sit and relax. A low wooden table waited between them and matched the dining table. Along one side of the cottage, one whole wall had been taken up with a fireplace complete with a deep enough lip that could sit six people. A small, cast iron pot hung on an iron arm and waited over a cheerful flame. To the right, just past the entry door, a set of polished hardwood stairs twisted up, up, up the central trunk of the tree, presumably to bedrooms above.

  Her chuckle tugged at something deep inside him as she closed the door behind him. “I did say this was a magic tree. And no, the tree does not protect me from harm. That is why I have my arrows.” She gave the silver arrow a longing caress and then deposited it into a basket on the floor where three other such arrows waited… near a formidable crossbow that was more than adequate for the arrows. “Come. I have water on the boil.” She waved him into the living area. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought perhaps tea might settle my nerves.”

  “You are anxious?” He released the buckles that held his green cloak closed, and after he tugged it from his person, he laid it over the back of one of the dining chairs. Quickly, he took off his dark leather gloves and rested them over the cloak.

  “I am … confused… and somewhat excited.” In the soft glow of the lantern burning on the low table, the blush on her cheeks was telling. “I cannot stop thinking of our encounter earlier today.”

  “Oh?” How quaint. Quinn caught her gaze as he settled himself onto one of the sofas, which was as comfortable as he’d first thought. There was no guile in her eyes, nothing to indicate that she teased or flirted. Honesty twinkled in those lake blue depths. “Did our conversation bother you in some way?”

  “Quite the opposite.” While she busied herself with drawing the kettle toward her using a pair of rags, he couldn’t help but admire her backside, the curve of her hip, the nip of her waist. “It was invigorating and I enjoyed myself very much.” She stood and reached upon tiptoe for two ceramic mugs that rested on the mantle over the hearth. Her figure was lithe and muscled and soft in all the ways that mattered. His fingers itched to explore her body, but he tamped down on the urge. He was not as uncouth as his wolf. If—or when—she landed in his arms, it would be her idea and he wouldn’t force it. “I hoped I’d see you again soon, and here you are.”

  “Perhaps it’s fate.” Or perhaps it was his damned wolf, who’d set them on the course that brought him to her very doorstep. Surely she wasn’t his life mate. Such things were never so fortuitous, and he had been at the business of living for a while.

  “I’m not certain I believe in fate.” Averell poured steaming water into a matching ceramic teapot waiting on the hearth’s edge, and then she put the teapot and the two cups onto a wooden tray. When she came his way, shadows moved in her eyes. “If there was such a thing, why have I been here for the bulk of my adult life, far away from anything that would let me live differently, expand my knowled
ge? If it is fate, then it is quite a cruel taskmaster.”

  “Perhaps you have merely been kept away until the right time.”

  A soft snort emanated from her. “For what purpose?”

  He ignored her question and asked one of his own. “How old are you?” She was long past the first or even second blush of youth, yet her face was unwrinkled by sun or poor nutrition and her figure was as taut as a woman much younger.

  “I passed my thirtieth birthday two weeks ago. I’ve had quite a while to think about things here.” She handed him a cup. “At present we have no fresh cream, but since this is chamomile tea, it shouldn’t be too harsh without it.” When she gave him a tentative grin, a pull as if from an invisible thread that connected them tugged at his chest. “I picked the flowers by hand and dried them myself. There’s a patch of them not far from here where the sun hits the earth, away from the trees.”

  “Why did your father bring you here in the first place?” He wrapped his hands around the mug and reveled in the warmth the ceramic imparted.

  “He never told me, outside the warnings of evil that lurks everywhere.” She chose to perch on the sofa opposite his. “I never asked figuring he knew best.”

  “Perhaps you should. Knowing one’s history is important.” Quinn took a sip of the brew and the gentle floral flavor imparted calm. “What does your father do for his livelihood?”

  She smiled from behind the rim of her mug. Happiness danced in her eyes. “He is a huntsman in the service of the queen.”

  Warning prickled the hairs at his nape. “What does he hunt?”

  “Anything, really. Once a month he takes meat and pelts into the village. Or if I’ve made clothing and gloves, he will sell those too. We kill out of necessity, not from sport. Unless it is for defense. At times wolves threaten our existence.” A shiver gripped her form. “I dislike wolves, for they are savage and care not who they attack or why.”