FOREVER ENCHANTED

by Maggie Shayne

  "Do you expect me to be pleased by the honor?"

  He reached for her. She struck him hard across the face, with the clawed end of her fingers. He felt the cuts, felt the blood beading and rolling down his cheek, and his smile widened.

  Chapter Five

  The bells jangled , announcing that a customer had entered. Bridin glanced up from the shelf she'd been arranging to see John busy unpacking and shelving a new box of books on spirit guides and channeling. Busier than she was. Sighing, she set a pewter castle in the center of the shelf, and turned to glance toward the newcomer.

  He looked up at the same moment, and their eyes met with an impact so powerful, she felt she'd taken a blow. The shock! She jerked backward in sheer reaction, and a silent cry was wrung from her soul. Her hand hit the little pewter fantasy scene she'd been painstakingly setting up, and figurines flew everywhere. The man froze where he was, his eyes wide and unblinkingly fixed on hers.

  John stood up fast, looking from one of them to the other, his frown finally settling on Bridin's face. "Honey, what's wrong? You okay? Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost."

  Bridin blinked her vision clear and narrowed her eyes on the man whose entrance had so shocked her. "For just a moment," she whispered, "I thought I had." She tilted her head and stepped closer to the man. Tall. Broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. He wore modern clothing, worn indigo jeans and an army green T-shirt. High-topped black boots with long laces. A brown leather belt.

  Still closer she stepped, her gaze raking his features. So like Tristan's... but different. His hair was the same wavy mass of black satin, but cut short, and so much tamer. And he wore a very close-cropped coat of dark whiskers on his face. Like a shadow of darkness—the visual evidence of the darkness she'd always sensed shadowing Tristan's soul.

  Only... this wasn't Tristan. Tristan was dead. The scrying crystal, and her own mother's magic, had told her so. Tristan was dead.

  She moved until she stood very close to him. And she saw the minute differences. The shape of his jaw, not as sharply delineated as Tristan's. And his cheekbones were softer, too. His lips seemed less full to some degree, and his brows curved differently.

  In fact, the more she told herself this man wasn't her Tristan, the less he resembled her nemesis. Until she was left wondering how she could have looked at this stranger and seen Tristan's face. Then she met his eyes again, and she knew why. It was those eyes, coal black and full of mystery, heavily fringed, and hard and icy cold. A layer of frost sealing in the emotions that stormed and burned underneath. The pain. The hurt. And the passion.

  That was where the resemblance was strongest. In the eyes. And if she blocked out the rest of him and only focused on his eyes, it was almost as if she were looking at Tristan again.

  And that disturbed her.

  He smiled, and the resemblance vanished. He seemed kind, and gentle just then. Nothing like the man she'd known. "I frightened you," he said in a voice that came out as soft as goose down. Deliberately so, she thought. "I'm sorry."

  She shook her head, feeling foolish. "You remind me of someone... someone I knew once."

  "Really?" he asked, lifting his brows. "Who? Someone you were fond of, I hope."

  She lowered her head. "Someone I hated with a passion," she told him. "I only just realized how very much I miss the bastard."

  He tipped his head to one side. "You miss a man you hated?"

  "Hated with a passion," she said. "It's the passion I miss." She looked up at him again and felt her lips pulling into a slight smile. "Gods, how I loved fighting with him."

  "Did you win these fights?"

  He seemed genuinely curious. "That's just it," she said. "He didn't live long enough for either of us to be declared the victor." She sighed. "Life seems rather boring without him." When she met his eyes again, they were bright, sparkling. "I'm sounding quite insane, aren't I?" she asked. "Never mind. You're here to buy something and I'm here to sell it to you."

  "Actually," he said, his voice dropping low, "I'm not sure why I'm here."

  "No?"

  He shook his head. "I was passing by and I was overwhelmed with the urge to come in here. Odd, isn't it?"

  Gods! Could he be the one?

  She blinked and took a step backward. Not him. It mustn't be him. She couldn't bear to be with a man so much like Tristan.

  "Anyway, now that I'm here, I could probably be persuaded to make a purchase. Why don't you show me around?"

  Her heart was hammering against her rib cage. She tore her gaze away from his dark one, and sent a pleading glance to John.

  John gave her an imperceptible nod and set the box he'd been unpacking aside. "I'll show you around, Mr...."

  The man's eyes darted around the shop, lighting on the case of crystals. "Stone," he said. "Christian Stone."

  "Call me John." Her savior stepped between the two of them, to shake this Christian Stone's strong hand. "My assistant here was just heading out on her lunch break, and I don't want to lose her, so I don't dare keep her any longer. Go on now, Bridin, honey. Get something to eat. See you later." He winked.

  Bridin sighed in abject relief, and slid past the disturbing stranger toward the door.

  "But I can't let her just leave," Stone said softly.

  She froze with her hand on the door, goose bumps racing up and down her spine. Gods, he even sounded like Tristan. Softer-spoken, yes, but...

  "At least, not until I help fix the mess I created."

  She turned, then watched as the man crouched down to begin retrieving the toppled figurines from the floor, gathering them into his hands one by one, rising again and spilling them onto the glass shelf. His hands mesmerized her. Long fingers, elegant, like the hands of a wizard, as he set up the pieces again. The castle in the center. The wizard with his comically pointed hat, and the tiny bit of a crystal ball balanced in his palm, beside it. Tiny cottages with trolls and goblins surrounded the castle. And then the fairies, one by one, set up around the outskirts of the tiny village.

  Frowning, she stepped forward. "That's not quite right," she whispered.

  He turned to face her. So close she could feel his breath fanning her face. "No?"

  "No." Tearing her gaze from his, she reached for the fairy with the butterfly's wings, and placed her beside the castle. She took the wizard and placed him outside the village where the fairy had been. Then she took the dragon he still held in his hand and placed it next to the wizard.

  "Now, that hardly seems fair," he said.

  "Why not? Any wizard worth his salt could slay a dragon."

  "And if he's not so great a wizard?"

  "Then the dragon will eat him."

  He studied the scene, tilting his head, rubbing his chin. "How about a compromise?" He picked up the wizard and set him again beside the little castle, close to the fairy's side.

  Bridin's stomach twisted into a hard little knot, and she blinked at an inexplicable burning in her eyes. "Why... why did you do that?"

  He shrugged. "Seems to me that they'd stand a better chance of slaying that dragon if they worked together."

  She searched his face, and her hands grew damp.

  "Now that that's finished," he said, surveying his work, "how about that lunch?"

  "L-lunch?"

  "I was on my way to grab a sandwich myself before I wandered in here. Why don't you join me?"

  John cleared his throat, breaking the spell this stranger's familiar eyes had on her. And Bridin looked his way. "Bridin's not in the habit of going out with strange men, Mr. Stone. Wouldn't be wise, in this day and age. I'm sure you understand."

  Stone smiled when she looked back at him. "I wasn't suggesting she get into my car and let me drive her away to the middle of nowhere. Just a sandwich. At Hal's. We can walk. Look outside, Bridin. The Commons is crowded with people. You'll be as safe as a princess in the hands of her prince."

  She felt her eyes widen, knew she'd drawn in a sudden breath.

 
"Bridin?" John asked.

  "I... I can't. I have... to see someone. Maybe another time." Bridin was not the kind of woman who ever allowed as senseless an emotion as fear to invade her mind. But it was there now. Senseless, yes, but huge and vivid and real.

  Disappointment clouded his eyes. "Well, I'm not one to beg," he said. And she could have sworn a hint of anger tinged his voice. Very unlike the sad expression on his face. He closed his hand around hers, sending warmth and a tingling sensation right up her arm. "I'll see you again, though," he promised.

  Her hand trembled in his, and she drew it away quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed. "I have to go," she said, and hurried to the door.

  "She knows!" Tristan slammed the door of the suite and turned to glare at Tate's surprised expression.

  "Impossible," Tate said, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

  Tristan sighed, lowering his chin and shaking his head. "Maybe not on the surface, Tate, but somewhere inside her, she knows me. She recognized me the second she looked my way." He crossed the hotel-issue carpet to the wet bar at the far end, took a dewy pitcher of iced tea from the minuscule refrigerator, and filled a glass. "Gods, I've never seen Bridin so shaken."

  Tate shrugged and planted himself in the modular sofa's corner seat. It dwarfed him, soft brown plush hugging in on him from all sides. "She doesn't know, Tristan. She can't know. She might have thought she recognized you at first, but her common sense would have ruled it out right away. I told you, she believes you to be dead."

  Tristan sighed. "Maybe so. But believing me dead, Tate, is a far cry from believing this new me to be the man she's come to find." He took a long, deep drink from the glass. Icy, sweet tea bathed his throat.

  Rubbing his chin, Tate nodded. "She refused to go out with you, then?"

  "Of course she refused. She's afraid of me." He gazed down into the amber liquid. "Hell, she was never afraid of me before. Even when she was my captive."

  "And curious?" Tate said. "You did as I suggested, didn't you, Tristan?"

  Sighing hard, Tristan nodded. "I sprinkled my sentences with veiled references to Rush, yes. Which only seemed to shake her further." He recalled the way she'd removed the pewter wizard from the vicinity of the tiny castle, and placed the poor bastard beside the dragon instead. It had angered him. Bridin always angered him.

  "So she's curious. No doubt she'll consult that crystal ball she has with her tonight. Ask it whether you're the one she's been instructed to seek."

  Tristan set the glass on the bar with a bang that sent droplets up to sprinkle his wrist. "And no doubt the ball will tell her that I am not."

  "Did you follow her when she left? Find out where she's staying?"

  Glowering, Tristan met Tate's eyes and nodded once.

  "Good. Give me the address."

  Tristan came forward. "Why do you want it, Tate? It's over. She's probably already looked into her magical little orb and learned—"

  "It amazes me, Tristan, how very little you know of the ways of my people."

  Tristan tilted his head.

  "She has a Wood Nymph with her. A powerful one, yes, but, my dear misinformed prince, Wood Nymphs only scry by night. By moonlight, if possible. Marinda—powerful though she is—will wait until nightfall to consult the crystal. And by then... it will be gone."

  Tristan blinked in surprise. "You're going to steal it."

  Tate smiled. "So the ball won't be ruining your chances to make our plan work. Bridin will have only her own instincts on which to rely. But this is as much as I can do for you, Tristan. You're the one who has to convince her. Charm her."

  "Charm a woman I detest," he muttered, shaking his head and pacing the room's center. "I can think of more pleasant chores."

  "Make her fall in love with you, Tristan. At least convince her to care for you in some way. Make her believe you're the one she's been waiting for. Your kingdom depends upon it."

  Tristan closed his eyes.

  "And remember my warnings. The nymph Marinda, she must never set eyes on you. She'll know you at once if she does. We're not as easily fooled as you gullible wizards and fay folk."

  "You set such easy tasks for me, Tate. Make a woman who hates even my memory fall in love with me. Make her believe I'm someone else. And never set foot in view of the woman she lives with."

  "There is some encouraging news, my lord."

  His polite form of address, Tristan knew, was as close to an apology as he was likely to give. "Please, enlighten me. Good news, I need."

  "I've found us a house."

  Tristan's head came up, and for the first time, a genuine smile pulled at his lips. "Tell me about it."

  "It sits high above Cayuga, on an island. Isolated, as you suggested. In fact, I'm certain it's invisible to mortal eyes. Shrouded in mists, you know."

  "Tate, this is the mortal realm. There are no enchanted castles here."

  Tate only shrugged. "Enchanted or not, ifs quite fit for a prince of Shara, if I'm any judge of houses."

  Tristan frowned and tilted his head. "Sounds a lot like the home of Bridin's sister, Brigit."

  "Oh, no, Tristan. Not at all. That place is so..." He made a face. "Contemporary. So mortal. No, ifs far from there. Just off the opposite shore, on a sliver of an island far out into the waters. As close to a castle as anything to be found on this mortal continent."

  Tristan nodded. "I'd like to see it."

  "All in good time, my lord. For now, we have work to do. The both of us. Now, stop pacing and sit still so we can discuss tonight's strategy."

  "Marinda!"

  The tiny woman went rigid at Bridin's shrill cry. She was turned away, facing a bright, sunny window and holding a watering pot over a gargantuan fuchsia that had been but a slip last week.

  Bridin crossed the room, her steps rapid, and took the pot from Marinda's little hand.

  Marinda looked up, all brown-eyed innocence. "I know you said no magic here, my lady, but the plant only needed a bit, and—"

  "Oh, gods of Rush, Marinda, I don't care about the plant."

  Tipping her head to one side, Marinda searched Bridin's face. "What is it then?" She frowned. "By wands and cups, lady, you're white as a snowdrop! What's happened?"

  "A man. He came into the shop today and... Gods, Marinda, he can't be the one. He mustn't be the one. Get the crystal. Hurry!"

  Marinda shook her head from side to side, clucking like a wet hen. "Now, Bridin, dear, you know the magic is strongest by night. Under the moon, the crystal will—"

  "Get the crystal, Marinda. Now."

  Marinda swallowed hard, bobbed her head, and rushed off. She wore no shoes, so her steps were quick and soundless. Forest green tights in a little girl's size, a pleated plaid skirt, vanished into the master bedroom. Moments later she returned with the beautiful quartz sphere cradled in her hands. "It might not work. Daylight and all. It simply isn't done, you know."

  Bridin wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her stirrup pants and went to the window to draw the drapes. Then she locked the apartment's door and extinguished the lights.

  "Better?" she asked, sorry she'd snapped at her friend, but desperate for an answer all the same.

  "Perhaps," Marinda said. She opened a drawer and took out a blue candle, struck a match and lighted it. Then she placed the ball carefully in the center of the floor, with the candle at its back, and folded her legs beneath her to sit before it.

  "Well?" Bridin moved behind her, dropping to her knees to peer over Marinda's shoulder.

  "Sit," Marinda said softly. "Relax yourself, my lady. Tension is no more conducive to scrying than daylight is. Breathe deeply, slowly. And tell me about this man."

  Bridin sat. She drew a deep, cleansing breath, released it.

  "Close your eyes, my lady."

  Bridin frowned at her. "I didn't have to close my eyes before."

  "It wasn't the middle of a sunny afternoon in a world without magic, before. Now, do you wish to know the answers or don't
you?"

  Sighing, Bridin closed her eyes. She tried to envision the man called Stone so she could describe him to Marinda. But all she could see were his eyes. Tristan's eyes.

  "He... he reminds me of Tristan," she said in a whisper.

  She heard a soft gasp, and sensed, in the way of the fairy, that Marinda was staring at her, and paying no attention at all to the crystal.

  "Does he?"

  Her voice sounded wary, as well. Bridin opened her eyes to peek, and Marinda jerked her gaze back to the ball, where it belonged. Her small hands hovered over the ball, as if in an attempt to draw the magic out of it. But Bridin had the distinct feeling she wasn't really trying.

  "Well, then, it's no wonder you hope he isn't the one."

  "I couldn't be with him, Marinda. I couldn't marry this man."

  "Not even for your people, Princess Bridin of the Fay? Not even... for Rush?"

  As a not-too-gentle reminder of her duties, it did the job. Bridin braced her spine and stared at the crystal. "I would do anything for Rush," she whispered.

  "Perhaps, my lady, your vow is about to be put to the test."

  Bridin blinked and turned to stare at Marinda. But Marinda's wide, unblinking eyes were fixed on the crystal though it wasn't glowing as it had before. "Marinda?"

  "Close your eyes, child!"

  Bridin did, and Marinda began to speak slowly. "The man you met today is not what he seems," she said, her voice taking on the soft monotone Bridin knew well. "He is a man of shadows. With great pain in his heart. But he is also a man of destiny. And his destiny, Bridin, is twined with your own."

  "No," Bridin whispered.

  "Make him fall in love with you, Princess. Make him your husband. And make him your king."

  Bridin's heart knotted in her chest. "Not him," she moaned. "Gods, why must it be him?"

  "It must."

  Bridin opened her eyes in time to see the candle flicker and die, though there wasn't even a breeze in the room. She blinked at Marinda, then at the ball. "I don't believe it," she said. "I... I want to see for myself!"

  Marinda clutched the crystal to her breast, her eyes round and hurt-looking. "You distrust me, my lady?"