by Lily Baldwin
A knot formed in Gwynn’s throat. “I’m not certain I know how.”
The fairy frowned. “Stop listening to yer doubtful thoughts. Ye’ve great courage, Gwynn. Seize it. The time for thinking is over. Now is the time to act.”
Her mind was racing, but she forced herself to stop listening. “I will do it.” She closed her eyes. “Make me human.”
The fairy chuckled, drawing Gwynn’s gaze. “Ye don’t need my help for that. If ye choose to step through the pool into their world, human ye shall become. But to aid yer quest, I will grant ye one wish.”
“A wish?” Gwynn repeated.
“Search yer heart. What can I grant ye that will help ye find yer own self-worth?”
Gwynn closed her eyes and did as the fairy bade. An image came to her. In her mind’s eye, she saw a memory from her youth—her mother placing her hand on the brow of a frail woman trembling with fever.
Opening her eyes, she met the fairy’s gaze. “Give me the knowledge to heal.”
The fairy smiled approvingly. “Granted. Now, rise, Gwynn and cast off yer chains. Ye’ve paid yer penance. Strive for happiness—ye deserve to find it.”
Gwynn did not feel deserving. She felt flawed and unworthy, but she knew the man who had been able to unlock her cage was worth fighting for. For him, she would push aside her fear and doubt and do as the fairy had bade—she would strive to be happy, which meant loving him with her whole heart.
Moving to stand in front of the pool, she glanced down at her reflection in the smooth water. She saw her shimmering violet-black hair, iridescent eyes and flawless white complexion. Repulsed, she looked away. To think that long ago, she had given up true-love for beauty and riches. Closing her eyes to block out her reflection, she took a deep breath to find the courage to leap.
“Aren’t ye forgetting something?”
Gwynn’s eyes flew open. “What?”
Then, the silence that the fairy’s presence had brought to the glen ceased, and the pounding against the forest barricade renewed.
“Ye’re bound to yer master.”
The taste of bitterness thickened in Gwynn’s mouth. “Once upon a time, he was my husband,” she spat, glaring at the straining tree trunks.
The fairy raised her brow. “He was never that, not truly.”
Gwynn knew she spoke the truth.
Lifetimes before, Gwynn, the daughter of a humble cottar, had handfasted with a young man from her village. He had no wealth or title, but he had loved her and she him. Then, one day a man called Cranor came to the village. He was striking to look at with ebony hair and devilishly handsome looks. He drew her gaze and lured her weak soul away from her one true-love.
In the end, she broke her vows and chose Cranor’s promise that if she married him, she would be wealthier and more beautiful than she could ever dream possible. And he fulfilled his promises. He brought her to the world of the fae where magic blossomed within her, altering her appearance and giving her the splendors of immortality.
What Cranor had neglected to tell her was that he was not a man at all. He was a wulver—a dark creature who could take the form of a man or a fierce wolf. His cruelty and disdain crushed her will until she became a shadow of a soul, left only with regret and thoughts of the young man she had discarded.
Her betrayal had broken true-love’s heart and brought shame to his name.
Over the years, news of his life drifted to her on the wings of fairies who traveled between worlds, whispers of how he grieved for her, how he never found love again, and eventually, of how he died, alone and forgotten with no one to mourn his passing.
And there was nothing she could do, for she was bound to her choice.
As the painful memories flashed across her mind’s eye, her heart filled with self-loathing. She looked the fairy hard in the eye. “I told ye. I’ve sinned too grievously. Cranor will never release me. And even if yer right, he will hunt me down, destroying anyone in his path along the way.” The thrashing forest drew her gaze. “I cannot allow that.”
“Where is yer faith, yer hope?”
Gwynn scowled at the magical creature. “Hope is only for humans.”
The fairy fluttered close to put her wee hand on Gwynn’s. “So it is, and when ye pass through that pool, human is what ye shall be.”
Gwynn gasped as the fairy’s wings pumped and magically Gwynn flew, rising high in the air. Looking down, the surface of the pool was now beneath her.
“Close yer eyes and breathe,” the fairy whispered, but her words echoed in Gwynn’s mind.
Suddenly, she was falling.
She gasped when her toes sliced through the surface and warm water enveloped her in silky darkness. Relinquishing all control, she made her limbs soft, giving herself to the magic that would change her life forever.
Chapter Four
Owen stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. Gently falling snow cascaded from the white sky overhead. Judging by the light it was morning. Lying with his palms facing upward, he turned his hands over and brushed the cold, soft blanket.
What had happened? Why was he lying there?
He closed his eyes, straining to remember.
Slowly, it all came back to him...leaving hearth and home on the yearly hunt for the winter stag, slipping on the ice, and then plummeting off the cliff...He couldn’t remember anything else, which meant the fall must have rendered him unconscious, but for how long?
He sat up, gripping his head in anticipation of pain but none came. He ran his hands over his arms and legs—nothing hurt nor did he feel cold. In fact, he felt surprisingly warm as if he’d only been exposed to the cold for a few moments instead of days.
With ease, he stood and scanned his surroundings. He was on a ledge. Above him, he spied the cliff from which he had fallen and not three strides away was the stag, lying motionless with an arrow through its heart.
“By all the Saints!”
He didn’t remember taking the shot. Still, there it was. He squatted down and inspected the arrow. The shaft bore his mark. With a new found lightness in his chest, he considered the animal. The stag was bigger and fatter than he remembered. The Heavens had, indeed, blessed his clan.
His heart filled with gratitude, he unwound the rope from around his quiver. Cutting the length in half with his dirk, he tied the stag’s front hooves together and then its rear. After that, he strapped his quiver to his back and crossed his bow over his chest. Then he reached down and heaved the stag over his broad shoulders and began his descent. The journey home was treacherous. Still, if he hurried, he could arrive at the outskirts of his village before the moon rose high in the night sky.
A gust of wind barreled down the pathway, stirring the fresh snow into a frenzy. He froze, steeling his stance against the harsh force. When the wind ceased, he started forward only to falter an instant later.
He stood for a moment, not breathing.
The wind had swept his path clean, revealing a motionless cloaked-figure, curled in a tight ball on the frozen ground. His pulse suddenly racing, he charged forward while he prayed the unfortunate soul was not one of his kin. He stopped short when he was close enough to judge the huddled form’s size to know that it was either a small woman or child. Shaking his head, he could hardly believe his own eyes.
He turned to face the ledge wall and bent over, letting the stag roll off his back onto the ground. Wary that it may not be a woman or child at all, but one of the fae seeking to fool him for a bit of sport, he tentatively closed the rest of the distance. With dirk in hand, he knelt and waited for some sign of life but saw no movement except for the person’s cloak lifting in the slight breeze. Tucking his knife into the top of his tall, leather brogues, he reached behind his back and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. Using the feathered end, he caught the edge of the hood and nudged it back to see the person’s face.
Brows drawn, he took in the profile of a woman, her skin red and chapped, her lips cracked and tinged a faint blue. Brown strands
of hair danced across her lifeless, freckled cheeks. Quite certain he had never seen her before, he felt momentary relief, knowing whomever had perished was not one of his kin. Still, he released a regretful breath. Whoever she was, she belonged to someone, somewhere and was no doubt sorely missed. He reached down and lifted her chin for a better look at her face, but when his fingers touched her icy skin, her eyes flew open and she gasped for breath.
“Mother of All,” he exclaimed, falling back into the snow.
She was alive!
Quickly recovering from his initial surprise, he scurried forward and scooped her into his arms. Sure enough, her skin was icy cold but not stiff with death, and although her breaths were shallow—she was, indeed, breathing, hot and wet against his neck.
“Lass,” he said, shifting her in his arms to see her face. Her eyes had closed again. “Lass,” he said louder. She stirred in his arms and a slight groan fled her lips but her eyes remained closed.
His nostrils flared as he stood, determination coursing through him. He had to get her to shelter. That she was alive was a miracle, but without warmth, she wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Kicking at the loose snow, he covered the stag in a thick white blanket, then he continued his descent down the mountain. Carefully so as not to slip on the icy surface, he cradled her frail body.
He knew just where to take her.
Rounding the craggy bend, he came to the narrow opening of a cave and turned sideways to fit through. Just inside, where the sliver of sunshine hit the stone floor, he gently laid her down and began to inspect her limbs for breaks or other signs of injury. Satisfied that she did not have wounds that needed tending, he scooped her back into his arms and retreated deeper within the cave.
Cloaked in darkness, he laid her down and set to work battling that which threatened her life most. The deadly cold.
Sweeping the heavy fur cloak off his shoulders, he spread it over the cold stone. Then he picked her up and laid her down upon the warm, soft bed. He set to work removing her icy cloak and tunic. Her skin pained his heart to touch, it was so cold. He leaned close to hear her breaths, which came in shallow rasps.
“Hold on,” he bade her gently. “Keep breathing. Ye’re going to live!” He stood and unfolded his long plaid and set it aside. Then he whisked his tunic over his head and removed his hose and boots. Naked, he lay beside her pulling her into his arms so that his flesh pressed against hers. Then he pulled up on the sides of his fur, surrounding them both. Rubbing her shoulders briskly, he prayed the Heavens would show her mercy.
PAIN, UNLIKE ANYTHING Gwynn could have ever imagined, shot through her whole body, stabbing and ferocious. She cried out against the agony.
“Lass,” she heard a distant voice say.
“Help me,” she tried to scream. Her stomach twisted with hunger, and her mouth cracked when her lips parted. Stabbing needles of both fire and ice raked her flesh. She sobbed and prayed for darkness, nothingness...death. And the world once again disappeared, and so did she.
A drumming filled her ears. Pain bit at her flesh, but it no longer screamed. It was dull and continuous. Too weary to fight it or bear it, she tried to retreat back to nothingness, but the drumming refused her choice.
What was that sound?
“Lass.”
She wasn’t alone. A part of her fought to be alert, fought to know who was there, fought to listen to the drum. It...it sounded like a heartbeat. She opened her eyes but only blackness, thick and unyielding, met her gaze. The drum was so far away. She strained but she couldn’t reach the surface. She was so tired, tired of listening, too tired to resist oblivion.
OWEN HAD ONLY LEFT her side for a moment to retrieve the stag from the pass so that a wolf wouldn’t eat his clan’s hope. Hour after hour, slowly, within his arms, flesh to flesh, the woman’s skin became warm but with that came a new struggle.
She shook and cried out in pain. He knew it was the torture of sensation returning to her limbs. How he longed to ease her suffering, but all he could do was hold her, soothe her, and promise her that the pain would pass.
More than once, he thought he was going to lose her, that she would die right there in his arms. And for a moment, he had allowed hope to enter his heart when he believed she’d awoken, but he couldn’t be sure.
Holding her thrashing body for hours had tightened his shoulders. His breath now matched her quick pants, but at long last, she slowly grew peaceful and her breathing steadied.
He expelled the full breath that had been trapped in his chest and felt his own shoulders ease. Pressing a protective kiss to her forehead, he whispered a promise to return. Then he sat up and wrapped the fur tightly around her.
Not bothering to cover his nakedness, he left the cave. It came as no surprise when he saw the sky begin to lighten. He expelled another breath. She had survived the night, which was a good omen.
Turning back inside, he bent down and lifted her into his arms, cradling her close. Then he moved to the mouth of the cave to invite the morning light to caress her face. While she slept, he studied her. She had long brown hair. Her skin was freckled and still bore the ruddy effects of the cold. Her mouth was wide. He appraised her cracked lips, relieved to see that the blue had subsided. Taking in her face as a whole, he was certain she was a woman grown but could not have guessed her age.
He reached out and grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, which caused her to stir. He held his breath and shifted to lean over her.
“Come on, lass,” he urged her quietly. “Open yer eyes. Show me ye’re going to live.”
Dark lashes that fanned her cheeks began to flutter.
“Ye can do it,” he muttered. Tension filled his shoulders. He held his breath.
Her lids lifted slightly, revealing soft brown eyes.
A knot of relief filled his throat. He grazed her cheek again. “Good morrow, lass,” he crooned softly.
Her lips parted and moved but no sound came out.
“Here,” he said, lifting her head and pressing his costrel to her lips. She sputtered and much of the ale dribbled down her chin. He began to take the costrel away, but she shook her head.
“More,” she rasped.
He allowed her a few more sips, but then he laid her head back down and explained, “Ye need to begin slowly or ye might take ill.”
Winded from the effort, she nodded and closed her eyes. When her breathing quieted, she opened her eyes again. “Thank ye,” she croaked. A tentative smile began to curve her lips, but then she winced.
He knew her cracked lips had pained her.
Brows drawn, she began to shiver.
“Blast,” he cursed under his breath. He couldn’t risk moving her yet, but at the same time, she needed the warmth of a fire.
He lifted her and moved her deeper into the cave—out of reach of the icy breeze but still within the light. Then he unfolded his fur and slid next to her, once again, flesh to flesh.
Her head rested on his chest. “I can hear yer heartbeat,” she whispered.
He smoothed her hair. “I can feel yers.” He stroked his hand down her back. “Lass,” he said softly.
“Aye,” she replied.
“What’s yer name?”
He waited for her answer. Then at length, she whispered, “Gwynn.”
He held her closer and pressed a kiss to her head. “Rest, Gwynn. Yer safe. I will keep ye warm. I promise ye.”
She nestled close to him, her hand splayed wide on his chest and soon her breaths became deep and even.
Chapter Five
Gwynn raced through the woods, running, her heart pounding. At her heels, a massive wulver with a pointed snout and yellow eyes gave chase. He growled and howled, making her knees quake so that she feared she might crumble to the ground at any moment and lose herself to his will. If she could only make it beyond the trees to the glen where hope resided.
Up ahead, she spied glistening light through the Scots Pines.
The gl
en! She was so close.
Soon, she would be safe.
But then a sob tore from her throat. The trees had shifted their branches to block her way.
“Nay,” she screamed, slamming into the barricade of needles and bark. Beating against the branches with her fists, her voice cracked as she cried, “Let me pass! Please, I’ve changed. I swear it!”
Behind her, the beast slowed his pace, stalking, tormenting. Sure of his victory, he toyed with her.
Gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her ears, she pressed her back against the solid trees as the fierce beast stalked toward her. He gnashed his jaw and pushed his hackles high.
Her legs trembled, threatening to give way. “Get away from me, Cranor!”
The wulver stopped in his tracks. His yellows eyes slowly changed to violet as he released an unfamiliar growl akin to a mirthless laugh. But then the sound raised in pitch, taking on a feminine tone, which sent a shiver up her spine.
She held her breath, her heart pounding harder than ever as the wulver stood up on his hind legs and transformed into a woman of breathtaking beauty with violet hair to match her eyes. Slowly, rhythmically, she walked toward Gwynn. “Ye’ll never break free from me,” she sneered.
Gwynn opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out.
Gwynn’s eyes flew open. Her heart pounded as a sob fled her lips.
“Hush, lass. ‘Tis all right.”
Was it?
Nothing felt all right. Where was she? Who was she?
Her mind was slow and heavy as if her thoughts pushed through a thick fog. She lifted her head, and her gaze met warm brown eyes, eyes she thought she’d seen before.
“Is it ye?” she whispered. Arms surrounded her with healing warmth, his arms.
