A Winter Moon

by S. J. Smith

  When she finally came to a fork in the path she paused, looking for sunlight and feeling for a breeze, then turned to the left. The caverns seemed too uniform and deliberate to have been made over time, but what could have dug them out? The corridors and rooms both arched high above her head. Perhaps she was inside of a mountain. Perhaps faeries had carved out the rock. Perhaps she had been transported into another realm. Her stomach clenched. What did that make Grant? It was well known that faeries could take the shape of men. And they always wanted something in return for their aid.

  Suddenly she found herself searching for an exit, but what she found instead was a monstrous room, lit by dozens of holes in the roof, letting beams of weak sunlight shine down on more riches than Maisie had ever imagined existed in the whole world. There were coins of all shapes and sizes, goblets, plates, large chests filled with golden coins and rubies and emeralds and sapphires and other gems that Maisie couldn't put a name to. She stared with wide eyes at the treasure, completely ignorant of the hot wax that dripped down onto her hand. Where in God's name was she?

  “Ye should be resting,” Grant said from behind her. Maisie gasped and jumped, almost dropping the candle as she spun around to face her captor and savior. Grant caught her around the waist as her ankle gave out. She could see him clearer now, his bronze hair and green eyes, and the look of concern on his face. Her heart thudded painfully, and all of her thoughts raced from her head.

  “Ach!” Grant exclaimed and snatched the candle from her fingers, letting go of her waist to grab her hand. “Ye burned yerself.”

  Maisie watched mutely as he scraped the wax off her skin with his thumbnail and raised her hand to his mouth, brushing cool lips over the irritated flesh.

  “What is all of this?” she managed to ask.

  “Th' fruits o' my labor,” Grant replied. “I'll help ye back t' bed. Come.” Maisie looked back over her shoulder as he led her away from the room.

  “Are ye fae?” she blurted out. Grant didn't reply immediately. “Why do ye live in a cave? 'Tis damp and cold. Where did all tha' gold come from? Is it payment for granting people's wishes, or ransom for returning them t' their ilk?”

  “Tis neither,” Grant said firmly. “I delivered yer message, now I beg ye t' stay in bed until yer ankle is healed. Th' more ye rest th' sooner ye can return t' yer village.”

  “Ye are fae,” Maisie said accusingly. She struggled against Grant's grip but he was far too strong for her to wiggle free. She must have irritated him, though, for he let the candle fall from his grasp, the flame snuffing out as it rolled along the damp floor, and swung her up into his arms, holding her against his chest. His body was hot; like she was sitting next to a fire. He smelled of the freshness of rain and morning dew. Maisie found herself relaxing into his hold, despite the hands she had fisted in his shirt. He seemed to have no trouble seeing in the dark, or perhaps he had just lived down in the caves so long that he could move around them with his eyes closed.

  He took her back to the bedroom and laid her down on the blankets, feeling her head. “Yer warm,” he said. “Ye should have stayed in bed as I told ye.”

  “I'm fine,” Maisie said. She brushed Grants hands away. “I wish t' be home. Why cannae ye take me?”

  “I told ye already,” Grant said. He pulled the blankets up to her chin and sat in the chair with a heavy sigh, pushing both of his hands through his hair. “Please,” he said softly. “I only wan' t' help ye.”

  “By holding me hostage?” Maisie asked.

  “By keepin' ye safe,” Grant replied. “Worse people could have found ye.”

  He meant it. Maisie could tell from the look on his face and the sound of his voice. She felt her shoulders relax, a sense of safety falling over her. He wouldn't hurt her. He would keep his word. The feeling in her gut was strong.

  “Ye'll be healed soon,” Grant continued. “I promise.”

  Maisie sighed and let her eyes slide shut. She was tired, and her leg hurt all the more for walking on it. Perhaps it was best to listen to Grant. The man clearly knew what he was talking about, if he truly was a man. And if he was fae, then it was best not to cross him. She heard his sigh and the creak of the chair as he shifted. She thought of her family, and soon found herself drifting into an uneasy sleep.

  Her dreams were blurry and nonsensical, of dragons soaring over mountains and familiar green eyes. She woke feeling like her entire body was on fire, but shaking so violently that she groped for the furs that covered her. She felt a warm hand on her brow, smoothing her hair back from her face, and her body being shifted to the other side of the bed. A hot form slid in next to her, strong, solid arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. She snuggled into the heat, pressing her nose into a broad chest, into a shirt that smelled of fresh water and cool earth. She drifted in and out of consciousness, in and out of fevered dreams. She had no idea how much time passed. The only thing she was aware of was the constant warmth of a body next to hers, holding her tight, wiping sweat from her brow and humming something soft and familiar in her ear.

  Her fever finally broke, leaving her feeling exhausted. She stirred awake in the middle of the day, unsure how long she had been out, and snuggled into a firm, warm body lined up against the back of hers, one heavy arm slung over her waist and warm breath on the side of her neck. She shifted, pressing more firmly into the heat and hearing a soft grunt in response. The arm around her squeezed then lifted, a hand coming to rest on her brow.

  “Fever's broken,” Grant said in a rough voice behind her. “Good.”

  Maisie slowly cracked her eyes open and twisted so she could look over her shoulder. Grant was the one pressed against her, fully clothed, his green eyes bright in the shadows of the cavern.

  “Who are ye?” Maisie asked, her throat dry and her voice raspy. “Did ye send me those dreams? I know yer nae a man. Ye cannae be.”

  “Why nae?” Grant asked. “I look like a man, aye? I speak as one, move as one. I must be one.”

  “'Tis yer eyes,” Maisie said weakly. “They glow.”

  “Yer ill,” Grant said. He sat up and carefully extracted himself from the bed to fetch Maisie a cup of water that she greedily drank down. “Ye dinnae ken what ye say.”

  “Ye live in a cave filled with treasure,” Maisie said. “Tell me what ye are. If yer fae I want naught t' do with ye.”

  “I am fae,” Grant almost shouted, scowling at her. “But nae any fae ye know.”

  Maisie stared up at him, and wondered why she wasn't frightened. “What are ye?”

  “I am th' monster of Loch Morar,” he said softly. “Th' one ye call Morag.”

  Maisie shook her head. “'Tis a myth. I want th' truth.”

  “Are nae th' fae a myth? 'Tis th' truth,” Grant replied. “'Tis nae my fault if ye dinnae believe.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should nae have said anything.”

  “If ye are fae than prove it,” Maisie said.

  “Ye dinnae want me t' do that',” Grant said, fixing her with a loaded look.

  “And ye have no grounds t' tell me wha' I want.”

  “If that is the lady's wish,” Grant said slowly. He stood with a sigh and stripped off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled but scarred torso, then undid his breeches and dropped them as well, kicking off his boots. He stood with his back facing Maisie, giving her a proper eyeful of a very well rounded arse that made her face burn as hotly as if she still had a fever, and rolled his shoulders and neck. It was difficult to make out everything in the low light the sun shining through the hole provided, but Maisie could see enough. Grant's limbs extended and his skin rippled as the structure of his muscles changed. His arms became strong wings and his legs bent, toes extending into talons. What had once been a man was now something Maisie had only heard tell of in old stories. A scaly beast, with a great head and green eyes that had cat-like pupils, twice Maisie's height, he breathed heavily as he examined Maisie closely. A scream caught in her thr
oat, held in only by the distinct humanity in the creature's eyes.

  It shifted its weight, looking almost nervous, long tail whipping and scraping across the stone floor. It snapped its teeth, fangs the size of Maisie's arm.

  “Jesus Christ,” Maisie swore. “What manner o' creature are ye?”

  The beast's deep, rumbling voice filled the room, making the cavern walls tremble. “Th' kind feared and persecuted by men. Th' kind that must hide in order to survive.” A soft growl, almost like the purr of a cat, lay under its words. “Do ye believe me now?”

  Maisie made the sign of the cross. The beast chuckled and shook its great head.

  “I willna' hurt ye,” it said. It sat back on its haunches and stretched out its wings, their span stretching across the width of the room.

  Maisie took in the gleaming golden scales, the same color as Grant's hair, the undeniably human look in its eyes. "How did this come t' be?" she asked.

  "'Tis simply who I am," Grant replied. "It has always been this way, since the start of my family's line. 'Twas a gift, though now it has become a curse. I cannae walk amongst mankind. I have been cursed as a monster, to live forever in th' caves beneath this damnable loch."

  "Can ye change back?" Maisie asked.

  Grant swung his great head down to see her better, one sharp eye focused on her. "'Tis nae a pretty sight," he said, "but aye. That, at least, is under my own control. Does this form bother ye, lass?"

  "'Tis a frightening one," Maisie admitted.

  Grant released something that sounded like a sigh and shuffled back into the middle of the chamber. The transformation was the same, though in reverse, and no less painful to look at. Within a handful of minutes it was the man Grant standing in the center of the room, his hands clasped in front of him to cover his indecency. He cleared his throat. Bathed in the light that shone down from the hole in the roof he looked almost like an angel, his hair spun from gold and his skin pale and perfect.

  "If ye will close yer eyes," he said, "I will make myself decent."

  Maisie complied, wondering why her heart was pounding. It must have been her instincts protecting her against what her mind perceived as a threat. The man she heard shuffling around wasn't a threat, though. He had saved her. She could have died down in that ravine, or been picked up by men far worse, or taken for food by a wild animal. She had thought he was holding her hostage, but now she realized that wasn't the case, and he had shared what was doubtless his greatest secret with her. Maisie didn't know what to do with that knowledge.

  Grant cleared his throat. "Ye can look," he said.

  Maisie slowly opened her eyes. Grant stood in front of her, his arms crossed protectively over his chest, as if that would shield her from his judgment. She held her blankets to her chest.

  "Are ye th' reason why so many sheep have been going missing?" she asked.

  "I have a great appetite," Grant replied. "At times I can control it, but sometimes th' hunger grows too great."

  "I understand," Maisie replied. The look of sadness in Grant's eyes struck her deep in her soul. She let the blankets fall and swung her legs over to sit on the edge of the bed. Grant claimed the chair in front of her, watching her.

  "I'm sorry," she said, and reached out for one of his hands. It was warm and soft and human. "Thank ye for helping me."

  Grant's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I couldnae simply leave ye there. 'Twould be cruel of me, and yer far too pretty and sweet a thing t' leave t' the will of nature."

  Maisie's cheeks warmed. Grant raised his free hand and touched his fingertips to her cheek. Maisie leaned into the touch, her eyes sliding half closed. Grant brushed his thumb over the bone and let his fingers slide into her hair. It was hopelessly tangled and in desperate need of a brush, but Grant seemed not to notice, or care. He combed his fingers through it, gently working out any knots he came across, and never removed his other hand from her grasp. He leaned in, slowly, and very lightly brushed his lips over hers in a ghost of a kiss so brief that Maisie didn't have time to register that it happened before Grant had sat back again and dropped his hand from his hair.

  She blinked her eyes open to look at him, a slight frown on her face. “What-”

  “I'll take ye home on the morrow,” Grant said gently. “'Twill give you an extra day t' rest and recover from tha' fever.

  “Oh,” Maisie sighed. “Aye. My family will be glad t' have me back.”

  “I thought as much,” Grant replied. “If ye feel th' need t' walk, be careful and try nae t' strain yerself overly much.” He stood and turned.

  “This is yer bedroom, isn't it?” Maisie asked, more a statement of fact. She doubted there was a chamber specifically for guests. Maisie was likely the first one he had ever had.

  “Aye,” Grant replied.

  “Thank ye,” Maisie said.

  Grant smiled over his shoulder at her and then left the room. Maisie carefully stood to test her weight and stretched her legs and arms, keeping one eye on the corridor, hoping that Grant would return. As she walked slow laps around the room she held her fingertips to her still tingling lips and wondered at the butterflies in her stomach.

  *****

  She only saw Grant again when he brought her some cooked mutton to eat. Maisie had lit all the candles she could find and the soft light from them made Grant's skin and hair shine gold. The butterflies returned to Maisie's stomach. He said nothing to her, and turned to leave as soon as he had set down food and drink on the bedside table.

  “Wait,” Maisie said, reaching out to snag the corner of his shirt. Grant stilled at her touch and turned to face her, tilting his head to the side. “Will ye stay?” Maisie asked before she could truly think about the words. “Will ye eat with me?”

  “Do ye truly want me to?” Grant asked.

  “Aye, I do,” Maisie replied.

  Grant hesitated, but tugged away and fetched down another cup then took his seat in the chair. He speared a chunk of mutton with his dirk and popped it into his mouth, but refrained from taking more until Maisie had eaten her fill. Once she sat back against the head of the bed he quickly finished what was left on the plate.

  “Ye should have eaten more,” Maisie said.

  Grant shrugged and drained his cup. “Ye need it more than I,” he replied.

  Maisie sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, letting her chin rest on them. “Yer as impossible as my brother,” she said.

  “Ye must be excited t' return to them.”

  “Aye,” Maisie replied, “though I'm afraid what my father will do to restrict my wandering.”

  “Maybe 'tis for the best,” Grant replied.

  “Maybe,” Maisie said with a shrug, “but if not for my sense o' adventure I would ne'er have met ye.”

  “Would tha' have been such a bad thing?” Grant asked. “Ye should stay away from the fae.”

  “I know,” Maisie said, “but unless ye seek t' trick me...”

  “I do nae,” Grant said firmly.

  “Then I am glad I met you,” Maisie said. “I could have suffered a far worse fate than ending up in your kind hands.”

  “Truly?” Grant asked.

  “Truly,” Maisie replied and smiled at him.

  Grant opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then snapped his jaw shut again and abruptly leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed and pressing his lips firmly against Maisie's. Shock delayed her reaction but once her brain caught up to what was happening she returned the kiss and let her hands rest on Grant's face. He brushed his tongue across her lips, seeking entrance that Maisie willingly, if awkwardly, granted, unsure what exactly the sensations zipping through her body really were. She felt hot all over just from his kisses. His weight shifted, one of his hands coming to rest on her waist, running up and brushing the side of her breast, curving around the back of her shoulder and scratching down her back. Maisie arched, her chest pressing against his. Grant's hand came dangerously close to her rear before he let it sl
ide over her waist again and run up her stomach to toy with the ties of her dress.

  He lifted his head, leaving her panting with lips red and swollen from his kisses and yearning for more. Grant shifted to sit on the side of the bed to pull at her laces with both his hands, his gaze never leaving hers. Maisie's heart thumped hard against her ribs, a flush starting at her face and spreading down to her neck. Grant leaned down to kiss the base of her throat, brushing his nose over her fluttering pulse, and tugged the collar of her dress aside just enough that he could slip a hand beneath the fabric and over her breast. Her nipples peaked at the brush of his palm and she squeezed her thighs together against a sudden aching warmth that bloomed between them, her gasp echoing off the chamber walls.

  She felt his other hand on her ankle, gently caressing it before moving up, taking her dress with it. He moved achingly slowly, giving Maisie plenty of time to push his hand away, but she let him continue until her skirt was bunched around her hips and Grant's fingers were rubbing the inside of her thigh while he pinched and rolled a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. Maisie let her eyes flutter shut and her legs be nudged open. Grant peppered kisses along her jaw and sucked on her earlobe, giving it a teasing nip before he pulled back to watch Maisie's face. His fingers teased up higher, closer to the almost unbearable thrumming right at the apex of Maisie's sex. She could feel a warm dampness on her thighs, just above Grant's fingertips.

  She couldn't figure out how things had gotten so heated so quickly, but she couldn't deny her body what it wanted, even if she knew what exactly that was. She let her hands rest on Grant's shoulders and trailed one down to grip his wrist and push his hand a bit higher, body tense. A noise caught in her throat at the first touch of his fingers through her folds. She let him tease through them, gathering her wetness, circling around the center of her ache in a way that soon had her thighs shaking. She knew what men and women did in bed, her mother had told her before her passing, but she had never mentioned this.

  Heat coiled low in her belly, a tension spreading from her hips down to her toes. She wanted the sensation to last forever, of being just on the edge of a precipice and only a breath away from falling.