Storm Warrior g-1

by Dani Harper

  The monarch still smiled, but there was wistfulness behind it. “You look so very much like her, my dear Morgan. I felt your presence the moment you set foot on our island soil, and I so hope you will forgive my little deception during your stay. It was a great pleasure to pretend I was with Aylwen again, and a comfort to my heart.”

  For a moment, Morgan saw not the queen’s face but that of the older woman who had been her delightful traveling companion in Wales. Her mouth fell open. “Gwen? Omigosh, it was you all along!” No wonder Morgan had been unable to contact her after the trip. “I missed you. I tried and tried to phone. I—we—well, we just have to do a road trip together the next time I’m in Wales.”

  “I shall look forward to it, my dear.” The queen gave a long, slow wink and a girlish grin, then assumed her own perfect features before vanishing completely.

  Darkness rushed back into the stable as if it had been a tide held back, and Rhys held Morgan tightly. She clung in return, until she could stop the sudden shaking that had overtaken her. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  “It happens to some after battle. You’ve nothing to be sorry about. You were brave as a lioness and clever as well.” He put a finger under her chin, tipped her face up, and kissed her tenderly. “I’d sworn to protect you. But I think ’twas you who did most of the protecting tonight. You’ve freed me twice: first from the collar and now from the Fair Ones themselves.”

  “But we lost Ranyon,” she said. “He took on Daeria all by himself.”

  Rhys rested his forehead on hers. “He was a brave friend and a wise one. I’ll not relish telling Leo what became of him.”

  “You’ll not be telling Leo anything of the sort,” came an indignant voice from behind them. “And I’ll thank ya not to bury me afore I’m dead!”

  Morgan felt her way to the wall switches and flipped on the overhead fixtures. After all the light that had bathed the barn’s interior in the last hour, it was as if she’d struck a match, not turned on a pair of one-hundred-watt bulbs. She blinked in the yellowed light that seemed both bright and dim at the same time, and persuaded her eyes to focus just as the ellyll emerged from one of the stalls.

  Morgan and Rhys rushed over to him. Miraculously, he seemed none the worse for wear, but he was much more concerned with the state of his prized Blue Jays cap than with answering their questions. Several shards of wood impaled the bright logo. The bill was cracked and half torn from the crown. He cradled the sorry remains in his twiggy hands, shaking his head over it.

  “We’ll get you another hat,” said Morgan, patting the ellyll gently on the shoulder as much to reassure herself that he was all right as to comfort him. Gwenhidw must have healed him. She glanced over at the wall, the cracked and broken planks marking where Ranyon had impacted it, and shuddered. There was no other explanation for the ellyll’s condition. By rights, his little body should have looked far worse than the hat.

  The ellyll sniffed loudly. “That’s kind of ya, good lady, but this is the one that dear Leo gave me.”

  “Then we’ll give it a place of honor,” she said softly.

  “Morgan! Come over here!” Rhys was in Lucy’s stall, and Morgan’s heart sank. She would never forget the terrifying sight of the Wild Hunt amid the unnatural storm. If Lucy had been forced to run with it, what condition was she in now?

  Morgan leaned in to look where Rhys was pointing, her heart in her throat. And then her knees gave way, and she was sitting in the straw, staring.

  There was nothing wrong with the horse. Nothing at all.

  Rhys brought her the big flashlight from the toolbox on the wall, and she examined the horse’s legs closely, running her hands over what used to be dozens of ghastly, deep gashes held together only by her own sutures. Instead, there was nothing but silvery gray hair over smooth, unbroken skin.

  “Gwenhidw did this,” said Morgan in awe. “That’s—” She nearly jumped out of her skin as her long-forgotten cell phone rang in her front jeans pocket. Fishing it out hurriedly, she thumbed it open, and two things struck her at once. One, that it was barely 5:30 in the morning. And two, it was Jay. Hoping it was a clinic emergency and not worse news, she put the phone to her ear as Rhys put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Good morning,” said Jay.

  “Don’t good morning me—is Leo okay?”

  “Better than okay. Walking around, visiting with his kids, and complaining about the food.” There was a pause. “He wants to know if—never mind, just put Ranyon or Rhys on the phone. He won’t be happy till he talks to one of them in person.”

  Morgan grinned and handed the phone to Ranyon. She wasn’t sure he could hold it, but his twiggy fingers were far more flexible than they looked. In fact, the ellyll settled himself on the grain bin as if getting comfortable for a lengthy conversation.

  “Leo’s all right,” she said to Rhys.

  “By all the gods, the queen has indeed set things to rights.” The mare stamped impatiently and whickered. “And now Lucy wants to try out her legs.” Rhys led the horse to the yard with Morgan and Fred at his side.

  The couple stood with arms around each other watching the great horse prance and trot, buck and caper, as the big dog ran playfully beside her. The moonlight turned the mare’s dapple-gray coat to silver, and for a moment, Morgan thought Lucy looked like a faery horse. Perhaps she was.

  Rhys took a deep breath and released it. “I’ll not be looking over my shoulder for the fae anymore. ’Tis a good feeling. A very good feeling.” He nuzzled Morgan’s hair, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly in her ear. “I’ve a mind to sample you here under the stars.”

  “I’ve a mind to let you. But Lludd of the Silver Hand is watching and so is his dog.” She pointed up at the sky and grinned.

  “I’m certain they would approve.”

  “And our dog and our horse and our friend are here as well.”

  “I’m certain they would also approve.”

  “Probably, but let’s go see Leo first.”

  Rhys kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver and her breasts tighten. “Aye, well, we can tell him our news then,” he said.

  “That we defeated the fae?”

  “That we’re going to marry.”

  Morgan’s mouth fell open. “What? When did we decide this?”

  “I decided it a long time ago. And you decided it when you left the safety of the house to face down the Wild Hunt and return to the barn, my brave anwylyd.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

  “’Twas not a sensible idea. You could have been killed.”

  “Maybe, but someone once told me that ‘instinct often reveals the greater truth.’ My instincts told me to do it, that we belonged together, no matter what.”

  “Aye, and that’s why we’re marrying.”

  Morgan opened her mouth and closed it again. The man had a point. So she acted on instinct again and simply kissed him with everything she had.

  THE END

  Read on for a sneak peek of Storm Bound

  AD 1124

  Heavy muscles bulged as the tall man strained repeatedly against the fine silver chains that bound him, wrist and ankle, to the stone.

  “Such an ungrateful mortal you are, Aidan ap Llanfor,” she chided. “Is it not an honor to be a guest of the Tylwyth Teg?”

  He lunged at her, but though she stood within an arm’s length of him, she neither recoiled nor shrank. Aidan’s chains had been forged with faery magic, and as such they would not break, not even for the largest bwgan, much less a human. The man’s iron-gray eyes, however—were they daggers, she thought, she would be pierced and her sapphire blood would be poisoned and pooling around her delicate silk slippers.

  For the briefest of moments, she felt something, and thrilled to it, eager for more. But Aidan immediately stilled, bridling his anger and reining it back as if he could sense her craving for emotion—any emotion—and refused to give it to her.


  “I have not sought to visit your land,” he gritted out between his teeth. “Nor have I trespassed upon it. I have given thee no cause to bring me here against my will.”

  “Are you so certain of that? I seem to remember a bold and comely child playing on the faery mound beyond the village. Such a dear little wooden sword he had, hacking at bushes and slicing at trees as if they were dreadful monsters.” It was satisfying that she’d succeeded in surprising him, yet puzzling to her. How was it that mortals remembered so little when their lives were so short? Years had passed for him, but for her? It was scarcely a day ago that Aidan had traded his wooden sword for the business of adults. Mere hours since he’d apprenticed to the village blacksmith. Moments since he inherited the forge and took over the business. She had observed it all, fascinated, in the way that a cat is fascinated by a bird.

  “I could have spirited you away that first time,” she continued, “Simply for setting foot on fae territory. But it was much more fun to watch you. You played often at the mound, though you saw me not. I was witness to not one but many trespasses, Aidan ap Llanfor. You’ve lived your life thus far in your tiny mortal world only because I permitted it.”

  “A child is not held accountable for things he knows not of.”

  “Human rules,” she sniffed. “Why do you waste so much time making them when you have such fleeting lives? You’re like the mayflies that dance above the water for less than a day. The Tylwyth Teg are ancient beyond your ability to count and our laws are ancient too—made once, to stand for all time. And by those laws, you are mine to do with as I like.”

  “Release me, Faery,” he said in a dangerous tone. It was not a request.

  “Think you to make demands?” She laughed and shook back her waist-length hair, well aware of her unearthly beauty and its near-hypnotic effects on most mortals. “Know to whom you speak. I am Celynnen of the Thorn House of the Tylwyth Teg, and my blood is pure.”

  “You are a tywysoges then, a princess of the Fair Ones.” He gave her the slightest of nods, a scant acknowledgement of her station—and not one mote of reverence more.

  Others had died for less, and Celynnen could have killed him herself if she’d been so inclined. Still, for the sake of the entertainment he afforded her, she could forgive him much—for a time. She had often watched him hammer hot metals into clever shapes, particularly that most fearful of all elements, iron. Years of striking sparks amid the glow of flames had not bent his tall frame, only added strength. Even clad in his dull-brown tunic and scarred leather apron, his face streaked with soot and sweat, she had to admit that the comely child had grown into a very attractive man. Her people often took human lovers, and she had begun to consider the delicious possibilities—

  Until this morning, when Aiden had not gone to his forge as usual. He had not donned blacksmith’s clothing either. Instead, he had bathed at length and dressed in what passed for finery among these common mortals. His blue woolen tunic was open at the neck to reveal a pale linen pais beneath. His dark cloak was newly made and clasped with an artful brooch of silver and amber that she had not seen before. It was a gift that a woman would give, a human woman.

  Annwyl.

  The raven-haired Annwyl of the village of Aberhonddu was the woman that Aidan ap Llanfor planned to marry. Today. And that’s when Celynnen made her decision to spirit him away to the kingdom far below the Black Mountains.

  “Release me, Your Grace,” he said.

  The significance of the royal title was not lost on her. It was hardly filled with admiration and awe, but it was devoid of sarcasm. This was not a man who would beg, ever—but she had just won a major concession from him. What else can I win? The thought of such a challenge excited her. She would enjoy playing games with Aidan ap Llanfor just as much as lying with him, perhaps even more. “Nay, I believe I will keep you.”

  “Do not do this, Your Eminence. For the sake of my bride that I will wed this day, for the sake of the promises I have made to her and her family. Make me not an oathbreaker, for ye yourselves do despise such.”

  It was an eloquent argument. Once given, the word of any of the Tylwyth Teg was unbreakable. In fact, humans who did not keep their promises to each other often suffered justice at the hands of the fae. Celynnen brushed her fingers over the brilliant scarlet of her dress and traced the birds and flowers embroidered there in silver thread and seed pearls. “A man of his word is a rare commodity, so it seems fitting that such be rewarded. You may put your mind at ease on that point. No oath will be broken.”

  From her sleeve, she drew a solid cluster of brilliant yellow-green crystals—mortals would call it peridot—and cupped it in her hand, where the stone’s many facets gleamed and flashed. Bringing it close to her lips, she whispered the words of the ancient language, then blew gently over it. A wisp of pale-green light, like an emerald spirit, spiraled from the crystals and floated toward Aidan.

  He drew back, suspicious but unable to avoid the approaching wraith. “What are you doing?” He jerked as it touched him and enveloped his entire body in a caul of green light.

  “I have simply granted you what you wanted.” The green light flared suddenly, then disappeared, and she turned toward the high-arched doorway. “I must make an appearance at the court for a time.”

  “Wait,” he called. “Release me! My wedding—Anwyll will be waiting for me!” He rattled the fine silver chains until they pealed like tiny silver bells.

  Celynnen turned and arched a delicate eyebrow. “You did not wish to be an oathbreaker, and so you will not be. Your intended is not waiting for you.”

  The look of horror on his face was immediately eclipsed by rage. “What have you done to her?” he roared, straining so mightily against his bonds that for a brief instant she thought they might actually give way. Instead, blood ran down his wrists and spattered on the floor around him. A droplet struck her hand and she backed out of range, blotting the spot away hastily with her sleeve as it began to burn her skin. Human blood got its curious red color from the iron it contained—and iron was deadly poison to all fae creatures, including the Tylwyth Teg.

  The precious fabric failed to clean the spot well enough, however. Her hand hurt, and pain was not something she was acquainted with. She snapped at him. “You foolish mortal. Did you think I was going to let you go? You were concerned for your honor, and I have graciously protected it. Even more merciful, your precious Annwyl will suffer no broken heart over you because she does not remember you. Her family does not know who you are, and in fact, even your own family will not recall they ever had a son.

  “In short, you have ceased to exist outside of this kingdom. You. Are. Mine.”

  On that note she swept from the room to find a healer before the tiny mark upon her hand became an abhorrent scar. Halfway down the vast hallway, the last thing she heard from Aidan was a full-fledged snarl: “I’ll not be your pet!”

  A laugh burst from her lips then. “Oh, I think you will.”

  Here ends Chapter One of Storm Bound.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  What would I do without my fearless team of beta readers? These are the people who let me know if the story’s continuity has run off the rails or that I’ve run afoul of Canadian versus American phraseology again—and thank goodness, they’re sworn to secrecy! My betas are also the ones who talk me off the ledge when I’m discouraged, hand me fresh coffee, and tell me to keep writing. On this particular project, a very special thank-you goes out to Ron Silvester, Samantha Craig, and Sharon Stogner.

  I’d also like to express my appreciation to my agent, Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management (who talks me off the ledge when my beta readers are busy), and to my new editor, Eleni Caminis of Montlake Romance, plus the entire Montlake and Amazon team. I feel very fortunate to work with such enthusiastic and talented people.

  Most of all, I’d like to thank my readers. You are the reason I write. There is nothing like that moment of connection when the story be
comes a cocreation between us. I might pen the words, but my story doesn’t LIVE until it is read. I thank you for this shared joy.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dani Harper is a former newspaper editor whose passion for all things supernatural led her to a second career writing paranormal fiction. A longtime resident of the Canadian north and southeastern Alaska, Dani recently ventured south with her husband to rural Washington to be closer to their grown children. She is also the author of Changeling Moon, Changeling Dream, and Changeling Dawn.

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