Will this man expect a kiss in exchange for the valiant services rendered? Would I let him kiss me if he tried?
But that’s a ridiculous question—I certainly would.
The rogue thought makes my face heat. I don’t even know this man. Yes, he saved me from the goblins, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are pure.
Besides, with the way he’s dressed, he must be a bandit. Gustin would have my head if he found out I was entertaining these sorts of thoughts about a common thief.
Not that Gustin is a pillar of virtue himself. If he was, he wouldn’t be languishing in a debtor’s prison in West Faerie after gambling away our family’s estate in a game of chance with Lord Ambrose. Only a fool falls into a Fae’s trap.
Only a fool would barter with that same Faerie for her brother’s life.
Perhaps it runs in the family. Sister like brother, I suppose.
“Why are you in the forest?” the man asks, pulling me from my wayward thoughts. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to pass the boundary at this time of day?”
“I have business with Lord Ambrose. I must have dozed off in the carriage, and I didn’t realize…”
How did I fall asleep on such a short trip? And what happened to my coachman and the horses?
Like a command, the man replies, “You have no business with Lord Ambrose, or any of the Fae. Go back to your side of the bridge, where it’s safe.”
“I have nowhere to go,” I admit, wondering why I’m sharing that bit of information with this man. “And I have come to work off my brother’s debt.”
“There is nothing you can offer Lord Ambrose that he will want,” my rescuer says, almost as if he’s growing bored of the conversation. “You’re a lovely girl. Go home—knock on the door of any eligible bachelor. Surely he will take pity on you and your plight, and you’ll be married in a week.”
I bristle, unsure why that statement sounded like an insult but certain it was.
“Do you, bandit, have personal insight into Lord Ambrose’s desires?” I say hotly. “I am an artist, renowned and respected. People come from cities near and far to sit for one of my portraits. The Fae are known both for their love of art and their narcissism. How dare you tell me I have nothing to offer?”
The man jerks his head toward the smoldering remnants of my belongings. “That may be, but I imagine it’s difficult to paint without supplies.”
Though my heart wrenches, I hide my anguish. “That is none of your concern. I’m thankful you saved me, but I ask you to now go about your own business. I can tend to mine.”
The man shifts, and though it seems as if it would be impossible for us to come any closer, I now feel as though every inch of me presses against every inch of him. Thankful for the cover of night, I swallow.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement once more.
Having no intention of answering, I tilt my head to the side, refusing to look at him.
The man chuckles under his breath. “You’re willing to involve yourself with a Faerie as cold and callous as Lord Ambrose, but I don’t even get your name after saving your life?”
Perhaps it’s his laugh that captures my interest, or maybe it’s because I’ve never allowed a man to hold me like this. But no matter the reason, I suddenly feel like a moth drawn to a dangerous flame.
“Alice,” I finally answer, hoping he won’t hear the hitch in my voice.
“Alice?” He sounds skeptical—as if perhaps he thinks I’m lying. And maybe that would have been wiser.
“That’s right,” I answer, this time a touch hesitant.
“Very well. I will give you a choice, Alice,” he says solemnly after another few long seconds, acting as if we’re about to enter into a contract. “I will accompany you back to the boundary, or I will escort you to Lord Ambrose’s estate. Take my advice and choose the first. Even wandering the streets without a copper to your name is preferable to making a deal with Lord Ambrose.”
“What business do you have on this side of the fence?” I ask instead of answering. “Why don’t you take your own advice and go home? Surely stealing from the Fae is far more dangerous than stealing from humans.”
I can just make out his smile in the night. Amused, he asks, “You have pegged me for a thief?”
“What else could you be in that mask?” I demand.
He leans in. The side of his jaw brushes against my cheek as his words caress my ear. “The only things I’ve ever stolen are hearts, Alice. Go home before I’m tempted to claim yours.”
I jerk back, startled by the bold words, and he laughs again.
“Have you made your decision, fair painter?” he asks. “Where will I take you?”
I stare at the man, my breath shallow and my cheeks warm. I want to pull the mask from his face and look at him in the dusky starlight, but I’m not that brave.
“To Lord Ambrose’s estate,” I say firmly. “Right now, there is nothing for me in the human world.”
He nods, looking resigned to my decision. “Very well.”
2
BRAHM
I should have let the goblins eat the girl.
But no, it will be all right. I’ll simply turn her away when she requests an audience. She won’t recognize me—how could she? She hasn’t even seen my face.
I watch Alice from the corner of my eye as we walk down the road. Her long, pale blonde hair shines silver in the starlight, and her dress is torn in several places thanks to the brambles. Even though she has likely never walked this far in her life, she doesn’t complain or ask how far we have left to travel.
This girl is that half-wit’s sister?
If Alice had any idea what her brother offered me when he realized what he’d lost, she wouldn’t be here on his behalf. I shake my head at the thought of any human sending their kin into Faerie—it’s unthinkable.
Just as unthinkable as the eldest prince of West Faerie accepting the ridiculous trade.
But Lord Gustin didn’t know my true identity when he made his desperate offer, just as his sister doesn’t know I am Lord Ambrose. I go by many aliases—so many, in fact, I often forget who I am myself.
And apparently now, I am a thief.
Something small scampers across the road and into the bushes, and Alice jumps.
I peer at her, narrowing my eyes. “If you are afraid of mice, you certainly shouldn’t have crossed the boundary. There are far worse things than rodents on this side of the bridge.”
“Things like goblins,” she murmurs.
“Things worse than goblins. Some would say Lord Ambrose is one of them.”
She looks at me, silently scrutinizing me in the glow of the pale waxing moon that has risen over the trees. It shines down on us, fat and nearly round.
Luckily for Alice, it won’t be full for two more days. Imagine the trouble she would have found herself in if I weren’t scouting the woods tonight.
As it was, I almost didn’t leave when the shadows grew long. I had a headache, likely brought on by the message I received from my mother. Dreading her monthly masquerade, I nearly retired to my bedroom, deciding any stray humans could find their own way back to the boundary.
There are always a few caught on our side of the bridge come night, each too careless to pay attention to the sun’s position in the sky until it’s too late.
For the most part, however, the humans I encounter are rushing for their side of the forest…not heading deeper into ours.
I glance at Alice again, and a scowl tugs at my lips.
A portrait, I scoff silently. The last thing I need is another likeness of myself gracing a random wall.
Narcissistic, she claims. As if this human girl has ever known one of us well enough to make that assumption. And how is it any fault of ours that we’re attractive? To deny it would be a lie, and those are far more painful than they’re worth.
We’re just nearing the estate gates when I realize that even once I turn Alice away, I won’t
be rid of her. Someone must escort her back to the bridge. She’d never make it alone.
Too many creatures of Faerie are intrigued by her people. They’re captivated by humankind’s insatiable curiosity or their laughter, the feel of their skin or the taste of their flesh. It depends on what creature finds them whether they become pet or prey, but either fate is dark.
“Let them have their fun,” Mother always says. “There are enough humans in the world—no one is going to miss the few my subjects take.”
Perhaps I would agree, but only if she hadn’t come into our lives. I think of the girl who’s only a hazy memory at this point, dwelling on the past.
When I realize where my mind has wandered, I shake my head to clear it. But again, I glance at Alice, hit with the strangest sense of déjà vu.
Sensing she has my attention, the girl looks at me. “What is it?” she asks hesitantly.
“You remind me of someone.”
It’s impossible to make out the color of her eyes in the moonlight, but they’re a light shade. Amber, like rich honey, I imagine.
“Whom?”
I stare at her, this strange recognition playing tricks on my brain.
They share the same name.
No, it’s not possible. Though the resemblance is uncanny, that girl’s hair was sable. And besides, Mother didn’t return the child to her family.
A shudder runs down my spine, my body subtly reminding me that things of the past are best left forgotten.
“No one,” I say, dismissing the notion. “Never mind.”
Golden eyes peek at us from the bracken as we walk, but nothing but the fool goblins would dare challenge me on the road, though certainly not for lack of interest.
These hidden creatures are small and insignificant—wood pixies and mud sprites, florigans with fat bodies covered in colorful hair and faunaweavers with eyes three times larger than their ferret cousins. None are a threat.
Alice, however, senses them. Their eyes wink out as she looks their way, just before she has a good view, lingering in her side vision to spook her. She’s unnerved, glancing into the surrounding forest as we walk, unconsciously edging closer to me.
Funny that the girl unknowingly shies away from those insignificant creatures and ends up next to one who’s not so benign.
But she thinks I’m human. I almost laugh aloud, morbidly amused by the innocent assumption.
Too soon, we reach the tall, scrolling gates that mark the boundary of my land.
“Iron,” Alice murmurs to herself, frowning. She then turns to me. “I thought the Fae…”
“They cannot work the metal themselves, but it makes a decent deterrent against the less savory of their kind. The materials are purchased outside Faerie and then transported here. Human workers install them during the daylight hours.”
Alice presses her hand to the gate, giving it an experimental push to see if it's open. I, however, know the gates are locked from the other side, barred with a heavy rod of metal. A chill travels my spine when I contemplate reaching through the bars and touching it with my bare hand.
Contrary to human legend, iron doesn’t burn us. But it does send a jolt through our bodies that’s not dissimilar to the sensation one receives if someone scratches a nail across a chalkboard. It’s unpleasant.
I turn to Alice. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”
Looking hesitant, she peers through the gate at the heavily wooded lane that eventually leads to my estate. “Who is Lord Ambrose, exactly? Why does he live so close to humans?”
“He’s the marquis of Rose Briar Woods.” I cross my arms. “He protects the Fae border.”
“From humans?” She looks back as if the notion is startling.
I nod.
“Have you ever seen him before?”
I think of all the times I’ve looked at my own reflection in the mirror, deciding it’s not a lie. “I have.”
“Is he as terrifying as rumor states?” she asks, fear finally making her voice sharp.
I smile, pleased with the turn in the conversation. “Even his mother abhors him.”
Alice hugs herself, blinking with indecision.
“Let me take you back to the bridge.” I coax.
But my words of warning don’t elicit the response I was hoping for. The girl stands taller, letting her arms fall to her sides like she’s about to march into battle. “I’ve come this far; I’ve lost my things and my supplies. I can’t turn back now.”
“You can,” I point out.
She turns, pinning me with those familiar eyes. “But I won’t.”
The girl is either very brave or very foolish—or she simply loves her brother, though I cannot fathom why.
“Very well.” I bow before her with a flourish of my hand. “Then here is where we part.”
“You’re leaving?” she asks, reaching for me before she thinks better of it. For just a moment, she grasps my arm. Then, just as quickly, she pulls her hand back.
I cock my head to the side. “Let’s just say that as a bandit, as you so eloquently called me, I haven’t endeared myself to the Fae.”
That is also true, but only when it’s worded carefully. Still, magic makes my stomach squirm, letting me know it doesn’t like me bending the truth quite so far.
“How will I get in?” Her eyes are wide, and I’m sure she’s worried she’ll end up standing in front of this massive gate alone in the woods all night.
I reach past her, grasp the velvet rope that hangs behind a tree bough, and give it a firm tug. “They know you are here.”
She gulps, visibly spooked. “Thank you for escorting me.”
“Do not wander alone in the woods again,” I instruct her, and then I turn to leave. “And whatever you do, don’t initiate a bargain with Lord Ambrose. I will tell you again—Faeries are dangerous.”
“Wait!” she calls. “You didn’t give me your name.”
“I have no name,” I respond, which is a form of truth, at least when I am dressed like this. My people call me the Highwayman. I am a shadow cloaked in midnight. Ridiculed or romanticized by most of the Fae, despised by my mother.
“Will I see you again?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I disappear into the woods to wait and watch. Alice loses sight of me, wringing her hands, and then reluctantly turns back to the gate.
A few minutes later, a flickering light appears on the other side of the gate, bobbing through the trees until its owner comes into view. My housekeeper holds a single candle in one hand and dons a thick leather glove in her other. She wears a black gown, forever mourning her husband’s death.
I’m surprised my cousin answered the summon herself at this time of night. Regina is not truly part of my staff, but she currently acts as the lady of the house, dealing with the tedious daily affairs I have no patience for.
Regina’s face betrays her surprise when she sees the human girl standing on the other side of the gate in the dark of night.
Alice curtsies, looking terrified. “Good evening, madame. I am Alice Gravely, and I have come to request an audience with Lord Ambrose.”
Though Regina is only twenty-three, she has a stern look about her. But I know she has a softness for humans, as do so many of us who lived in Mother’s household ten years ago. Her expression becomes concerned as she glances down the road we walked. “You traveled alone?”
Alice hesitates a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to betray me. Not that it would matter—Regina is one of the few people who know of my evening activities.
“I hid in the woods when I met trouble on the road,” Alice says carefully, as if she doesn’t want to lie. Strange, considering how easily deception comes to her kind.
“I see.” Regina frowns, and then she shakes her head. “Very well. Come inside.”
She pulls back the heavy rod with her gloved hand and pushes the gates open. Alice enters the grounds slowly, perhaps remembering my warnings.
“You’re sa
fer in here than you are out there,” Regina points out.
“Am I?” Alice asks softly, looking unsure.
Without waiting, Regina leads her down the lane. “Come along.”
I watch Alice follow the candlelight, and then I rouse myself, knowing I don’t have much time. Quickly, I run along the boundary, stopping when I reach the towering willow that arcs a great branch over the iron fence. I leap up, grasping hold and pulling myself on top of it. I walk the sturdy limb until I’m over the fence, and then I jump down, cutting through the dense forest as I head toward the manor. Once I reach it, I climb the lattice on the southwestern side and then crawl over my balcony rail.
As always, I’ve left the door to my bedchamber unlocked. Quickly, I shed my black clothes for ones appropriate for a marquis. After tossing the hat aside, I smooth my short hair and then walk briskly for the door.
“Brahm!” Wallen, my valet, cries at a whisper when I step into the foyer. “Your mask.”
I rip it from my face just as the front doors open and Regina escorts Alice inside.
“I do not believe Lord Ambrose is in right now,” Regina informs Alice. “But you may wait—”
“I’m here,” I say curtly, subtly handing my mask to Wallen.
Alice turns her eyes on me, and she freezes.
She recognizes me.
No…perhaps not. It’s fear in her expression, nothing more. Her hand moves to her stomach as if she’s suddenly queasy, and her eyes sweep over me, wide and terrified.
Surely if she realized I was the man who brought her here, she would appear more at ease.
After a long moment, she drops into a graceful curtsy. “Good evening, Lord Ambrose. Please forgive my impertinent visit, but I didn’t know how to send you a message, and I am desperate to speak with you.”
“Desperate even,” I say coolly. “What business, exactly, could one of your kind have with me?”
She slowly raises her eyes to mine—her blue eyes. Startlingly blue, like the sky on a cloudless day.
The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1) Page 2
