Midnight of the Fae

by Heather Rainier

  Yes, and you are the only woman as far as I’m concerned. I’ll be about today, watching over you.

  What were you doing this morning?

  She could still hear him as he trotted down the hall. Making sure all is in readiness for tonight.

  Glancing at Marigold, who was busy chopping herbs, she tiptoed over to the kitchen door and watched him saunter away, tail wagging as if he was happy.

  Ma chèrie, the most beautiful woman in the world let me make love to her last night. Happy is an understatement.

  What a schmooze. Too bad I can’t have a kiss.

  He just trotted on with his jaunty air, tail wagging. Spoiled already, he murmured in the link they somehow shared. But with Madame de Rochambard in the house, and in the state she’s currently in, my primary duty is to keep her in sight—and you safe until Charles returns. The woman has a black heart.

  “Was that Leandre?” Marigold said as she scraped the aromatic herbs into a neat pile on her cutting board. “I wondered where my widdle smooshkin had gotten to. I didn’t see him at all this morning.”

  “Oh, he stayed in my room with me last night. I let him out for a little fresh air in the garden.” Telling even a white lie to trustworthy Marigold felt wrong.

  “Good. I think he’s grown quite attached to you.”

  Caresse went back to her work, sprinkling fresh flour on her work surface, and was reminded the mistress of the house had returned when Poutina and Niebleht poked their heads in the kitchen, both appearing a little sleep deprived.

  Niebleht spotted her and said, “We need your help this afternoon, Caresse. Mama wants our gowns altered for the ball tonight.”

  “It’s the last night, and she says we are to make a splash no one will ever forget,” Poutina added. “Something smells heavenly down here. What are you cooking?” She peered into the pot that Marigold was stirring and missed the odd look Marigold gave her. The girls didn’t make a habit of coming into the kitchen unless compelled to.

  “It’s a chowder for your midday meal, milady. I was able to get some beautiful clams fresh from the coast. It will revive you after your late night,” Marigold said as she held the spoon up so Poutina could take a small taste, which she cooed and made yummy noises over. “Your dresses were lovely. Why would you need to alter them?”

  There was a decided droop to Niebleht’s shoulders as she replied. “I think it’s a lost cause since Nicola de Rainier appeared, but Mama is determined.”

  “Who?” Marigold inquired as she added a pinch of spice to the pot after sampling the broth.

  Poutina’s lip pooched out even further. “Only the most perfect princess ever born. Not only does she charm the crown prince and his cousin, Prince Leandre, she also managed to capture the hearts of everyone at the ball last night. I should hate her, but I adore her.”

  Niebleht cast a glance at the door and shushed her. “Careful or Mama might hear you. Everyone liked her, Marigold. I even liked her, and I don’t like anyone!” Niebleht muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. “We can’t compete with her.”

  “Which is probably why the queen has decreed that those holding invitations already may bring a guest tonight,” Poutina said, a little light coming into her eyes. “Mama may be blind, but the queen can see that Sebastien is smitten with Nicola. And we’ve never even heard of her.”

  “No one knows who she is or anything about her.”

  “But she dances superbly,” Poutina said as she turned and performed a neat little grapevine down the hall, calling out. “Come see us when you get done here, Caresse. I don’t know what can be done about our dresses, but Mama is determined.”

  Grousing as she went, Niebleht said, “If Mama could see at all, she would understand it’s a lost cause.”

  Desdemona’s shrieking filtered down to the kitchen, and they both squeaked in alarm.

  “We’re not supposed to be in the servants’ area!” Poutina said as they both high-tailed it.

  “I’ll come as soon as I can!” Caresse called as she cracked an egg and tipped the contents into the bowl and added a pinch of salt.

  Marigold chuckled as she went back to her labors. “What will you do? Alter their dresses so even more of their flesh shows?”

  “I’m not sure. All I’ve heard the last couple of days is how perfect their gowns are for the third night of the ball. If they have a chance at attracting a suitor tonight, revealing even more skin may not work in their favor.”

  Leave at least a little of the veil of mystery, my mama always said. But what do I know? I’m pretty sure my nipples were on display last night. The reminder led her to other distracting thoughts.

  All morning long, she trembled every time images of Leandre and Sebastien making love to her came to mind. They’d been so sweet with her, so tender and caring.

  A bond had snapped into place between the three of them, not strange or intrusive, just unexpected. Angel would’ve called it telepathy. Elaina would’ve called it something goofy, like a mental chat room, and given the rather articulate conversation she’d had with her lovable furry companion, she was inclined to agree.

  She might not understand all the particulars yet, but as pieces began snapping into place, the ties to this place, this land, seemed to only grow stronger.

  * * * *

  Leandre did his best to keep his wits about him, but thoughts of Caresse distracted him all morning.

  He’d checked in with her first thing when he’d returned to the mansion as Desdemona and her daughters had left the palace. Not to make sure she was safe, because he knew she was in the care of George, Marigold, and the others, but just because he’d needed to be near her.

  He’d remained in his tangere form because he never risked being seen in his true form within the walls of the mansion. To them, he’d always been the lovable, inquisitive house pet. The disguise made it possible for him to monitor Desdemona and her shenanigans.

  Keeping an eye on her had been a good thing because she’d been furious when she’d discovered, upon her arrival home, that Caresse was no longer locked in her room.

  No one seemed to know how that had come to pass, although George carried a set of keys to every lock in the place and didn’t deny the assumption when it was put to him.

  Though he’d acted the image of doggy innocence, Leandre had caught the way George grinned at him and given him a wink.

  Maybe not everyone in the mansion was as oblivious as he’d always thought.

  Desdemona’s next step, upon finding the attic room unlocked, was to ascertain that the room was still appropriately barren, which he managed with a tiny mirage and a tangere push, so that all she saw was bare walls. She ripped the bedclothes from the bed in an angry fit, cursing and mumbling to herself.

  She’d stared down at the pillow in her grasp, eyes a little wild and muttering at it before tossing it back on the bed and stalking from the room, leaving a trail of malice in her wake that made his little canine nose twitch.

  In the years he’d been watching Desdemona, he’d seen her cunning, her ability to manipulate, and her machinations to elevate the status of her daughters. But it was only lately, since Caresse’s arrival, that she’d become unstable in her malevolence.

  Caresse had enough on her plate that morning without knowing her quarters had been violated again, so he’d kept the encounter to himself.

  Caresse seemed to think his vigilance was overkill, or at least she communicated that belief with her thoughts, when he showed up to sun himself while she worked in the herb garden, gathering the herbs and salad greens they needed to prepare the servants’ evening meal.

  Desdemona chose Caresse’s time alone to confront her and, Leandre felt certain, to terrorize her while no one was around to see.

  Caresse was kneeling in the far end of the garden by the stone wall. The sun shone down on her radiant golden hair, making her look even more like an angel as she snapped dandelion leaves from their stems and added them to her basket of
greens.

  “You will avail yourself to my daughters this afternoon to alter their dresses.”

  Caresse nodded without looking up. “I was informed earlier. They know to expect me in their suite as soon as I finish.”

  “Those dresses had better be perfect and to my specifications,” Desdemona ground out as she kicked one of the tender plants loose from its carefully tended mooring of soil.

  Caresse hid her reaction to the thoughtless action. Leandre figured he could get in one good chomp and flit away before she could kick him, but he didn’t want to inflame her already volatile temper.

  “Once you’re done with the dresses, you’ll be locked in your room with no supper, and no furry companion, either,” she added, giving Leandre a hateful look.

  Leandre bared his teeth, and his mouth watered. He wanted to bite her so much. He could imagine sinking his tiny fangs into her ankle. She’d taste awful, but he’d risk getting kicked to keep Desdemona from spewing her vitriol at Caresse.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” Caresse insisted, and Leandre was proud of her for defending herself, not that it would do her any good. Even a servile tone would’ve been met with Desdemona’s hate.

  Leandre was certain the woman had made no connection between Nicola de Rainier and Caresse. Even if the mask hadn’t been enough to disguise Caresse, Desdemona’s poor vision and her prideful refusal to get spectacles had worked to their advantage. Something else was driving her behavior.

  “It’s up to me as the mistress of this house to determine whether you deserve punishment. You somehow found a way out of your room after I locked you in last night.”

  Caresse’s jaw tightened, and he could sense her growing frustration. “The door was unlocked this morning when I awoke. I assumed you left instructions for it to be unlocked.”

  “I most certainly did not. I put you there for a reason and intended for you to stay there. Everyone under my roof needs to be reminded I rule in this domain.”

  Caresse sighed, obviously trying to keep her frustration in check. “Perhaps you forgot the key in the lock and didn’t realize it wasn’t locked properly. Madame, your vision isn’t the best…”

  Oh, my love, do not go there.

  “I can see you just fine, you wily little bitch. I don’t know what it is you’re up to in my house, but I’ll put a stop to it soon enough. Until then, you’ll do my bidding.”

  “Why not just eject me, if you dislike me so much?”

  “And listen to Charles whine and complain? He’d just send somebody after you when he gets home later. No, my problem needs a more permanent solution.”

  Leandre’s ears pricked at her choice of words, and his nose twitched again. Her untoward hatred had a scent all its own, but now there was an added edge to it.

  “I’ll have my eyes on you, girl,” she added as she turned to walk away, smoothing her hand over a lump in the pocket of her day dress.

  “Not that they’ll do you much good,” Caresse muttered. “Blind batty woman.” She was looking down at her work and didn’t see the crazy gleam in Desdemona’s eyes, but Leandre did. Desdemona pivoted and returned.

  “My ears work just fine, though. You’ll pay for that.” Desdemona snarled as she swung her hand back in a wide arc.

  The compulsion to protect Caresse made Leandre’s shift as instantaneous as it was necessary.

  Assuming his massive wolfen form, he rose from behind Caresse, his dark brown coat bristling with the animosity he’d saved up over the years, waiting for that woman to face her retribution. Soon, Madame. Soon. Desdemona gaped and her jaw fell slack as he advanced.

  Caresse wisely stilled as he climbed over her and her workbasket, which had overturned as she’d tried to back away from Desdemona.

  The growl vibrating in his chest was invigorating, and the fear in Desdemona’s eyes was particularly satisfying as his mouth watered and his huge canines descended even farther in his open jaws. I’d kill you right now for attempting to strike Caresse, if it was up to me.

  Selena’s chuckle interrupted his predatory musing. Well, someone’s awfully territorial this morning. Ease off the moment of death fantasies, bro.

  I’m done playing your damned games, Selena. Even in his head, his voice had a hard-to-control, animalistic quality as he conversed with his sister, who liked to pop into his head like some kind of freaky Peeping Tom from time to time.

  I know, I know. I’ve been so busy lately, but the timing had to be perfect. Don’t tear her throat out quite yet. You’re gonna love what I have planned for tonight.

  Desdemona fell flat on her derriere in the dirt as she scrambled backward, screaming like a banshee, trying to gain her feet to run for the house.

  “Wolf! Help!”

  Leandre gave a harsh snarl to spur her on her way and then calmed instantly when he felt a gentle hand in the thick ruff of fur around his neck.

  He’d not wanted Caresse to see this form, convinced he’d terrify her or, worse yet, somehow stir buried memories of the only other time he’d been in Caresse’s presence as a wolf. The harrowing night she’d nearly lost her life as an infant at the hands of highwaymen who were holding her captive, awaiting orders for her disposal. He’d personally torn them limb from bloody limb that night and had always worried the memory was somehow buried in her psyche, thanks to his instinct to protect her.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered out loud as she tugged and stroked her fingers through his fur. He growled low in his chest as Desdemona stumbled through the garden gate and ran screaming to the house.

  Yes, my love. I’m sorry if I scared you.

  I thought you and I had some sort of mental connection.

  We do.

  Do I feel afraid to you?

  Well…no, now that you mention it. He shifted back to his smaller tangere form, and when she gathered him into her arms, he could feel the way she still trembled.

  I knew it was you. You stopped her from hitting me. Is that why you’ve been following me everywhere?

  No, and yes. I was worried, am still worried, that she would attempt to do worse. I was on edge from the moment she came out here. She never enters the servants’ areas of the mansion. I’d never let her harm you.

  Something glinted on the ground as the sun reappeared from behind a cloud. He went to it, and his canine nose wrinkled at the sharp tang of metal. The edge gleamed as if it had sharpened recently. He nudged the slim handle of the clam knife at his feet, which looked awfully large in his tiny form, but would’ve been sharp and thin enough for a woman of Desdemona’s size to wield as a murder weapon.

  You see? She meant you harm.

  You don’t think she would’ve killed me, do you?

  Is that your weapon lying on the ground?

  No.

  She got up from the freshly tilled earth and went over to pick it up. Leandre didn’t even want her to touch the thing, as if traces of Desdemona’s malevolence might’ve stuck to it.

  I saw Marigold using this to open the clams earlier. It didn’t get misplaced somehow. Why would Desdemona carry a freshly sharpened knife from the kitchen?

  Leandre had a growing suspicion. She’d never come out here to cut herbs, and there are no flowers in this section.

  What aren’t you telling me, Leandre?

  Sensing her burgeoning anxiety, Leandre returned willingly to her arms, not to give her a calming touch of the tangere but merely to lick her chin. She buried her nose in his fur as servants came running from the house.

  She would harm you if she knew she could get away with it.

  A pair of strange men, armed with shovels, ran into the garden, wielding their tools as weapons, along with Marigold, two of the footmen, and, lastly, George, who wielded a wicked-looking machete.

  “Are you all right?” George asked as he hurried to Caresse and helped her stand. The elderly butler was spry when he set his mind to it. “Madame told us there was a ravening wolf in the garden.”

  Leandre gave him
an authoritarian bark, which was actually a rather comical sound coming from one so little as himself.

  George’s eyebrows popped up, and he grinned as he patted Leandre’s head. “Ah, and here we have your protector, eh? No wolf in sight?” he asked of Caresse while gazing right into his eyes.

  Caresse cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’m all right, George. Madame seemed upset.”

  “Overwrought is more like it,” Marigold said before turning to the two strangers. “Who are you? And what are you about with those shovels in my herb garden?” Her tone implied she was about to use George’s machete on them if they didn’t get their big clodhopping boots off of her tiny plants.

  The men looked at each other and lowered their implements. The braver of the two of them said, “We…uh…heard a woman scream over the garden wall and came running.”

  The other stranger said, “We were hired to do some work here by the lady of the house. Yeah…uh, we were.”

  “Hmm,” George said as he assessed the two burly strangers. “I knew nothing about this. Monsieur de Rochambard apprises me of all work orders for the property, and he is out of town.”

  “Eh…” one of them said as he backed up a step. He looked back at the house and then turned back to George. “Maybe we have the wrong house? We’ll check back at a later time.”

  “Perhaps that is best, in light of the current excitement. Did you see a wolf run past?”

  “No, sir.” The two men nodded and then shook their heads vigorously, tipped their grimy caps, and took quick steps toward the outer gate at the back of the garden.

  “Hmm,” Marigold muttered. “We have no need for workman around here. The gardener’s sons do any digging that needs to be done.” She reached out to pat Leandre’s head. “What a brave widdle smooshkin you are, my pet. Come, Caresse, let’s get these greens inside before they wilt in the sun.”

  “That’s a good idea,” George murmured as he surveyed the rest of the walled garden. “No sense in spending any more time out here alone. I’ll have the gardener and his boys take a walk around the property to see if a wild animal has dug an entry under the wall somewhere.” His tone suggested that he doubted it but was willing to take the precaution.