The Faerie Queen (The Faerie Ring #4)

by Kiki Hamilton

  “You may ask, Fial,” Rieker’s face remained blank, giving away nothing. His voice was even when he spoke. “But in the end, it’s my choice whether I choose to help you or not, so I wouldn’t say ‘fair’ has anything to do with it.”

  Fial nodded. “Well said, William. A strong man chooses his own path in this life. Will you help us?”

  “I assume the help you want involves finding the Faerie Flag but it isn’t my help you need. There’s only one person in this world—or the Otherworld—who is meant to find that flag.” He reached for Tiki’s hand. “You need to ask Tara, not me.”

  Fial smiled gently. “You’re right, but as the Jester would say, the body closest to the light casts the largest shadow.”

  Tiki frowned. “Now I am quite sure you’re the Jester. There’s no one else I know who speaks in riddles.”

  Their guest chuckled. “Perhaps the riddle will become the rhyme. I ask you, William, because I believe you have the most influence with Tara. Together I believe you are meant to find the Faerie Flag.” His expression sobered. “Will you help us?”

  Tiki reached for Rieker’s hand and gave a slow nod. “Tomorrow we shall set out for Lombard Street in search of the Fourth Treasure.”

  THEY LEFT EARLY the next morning headed for Richmond, where the Bosworth’s and Shamus were tending to Rieker’s estate. The drive took less than three hours, but along the way the City gave way to scenic vistas and country roads. The sky overhead cleared from the threatening blackness that consumed London the further they drove. The change in scenery gave Tiki the feeling they’d traveled far away from London and part of her desperately wished they could just keep going.

  The driver had barely pulled the carriage to a halt when Toots and Fiona jumped down and raced for the front door of the house.

  “Wait for me!” Clara called as she sprinted after them, her short little legs struggling to keep up. Though she had grown in the last year, at five, she was still thin as a water reed and barely reached to Tiki’s elbow.

  Mrs. Bosworth’s scream could be heard all the way outside.

  Tiki laughed and smiled at Rieker. “The children have found Mrs. B.” She hurried after them, anxious to see Shamus as well as the Bosworth’s. She found them in the kitchen seated around a big wooden table. Clara was sitting on the housekeeper’s lap while Fiona, Shamus and Toots were so busy talking they kept interrupting each other.

  “Tiki!” Shamus thin face lit up and he jumped from his chair to come hug her.

  Tiki laughed in surprise. “Shamus, if you keep acting like that I’m going to think you missed us.”

  “I have,” the thin young man admitted, a sheepish grin on his face. “More than I ever thought I would. I guess I got used to you lot chattering and talking all the time.”

  “And Toots still toots all the time,” Clara cried, then pinched her nose. “If you know what I mean. I bet you didn’t miss that.”

  “Well, maybe not that part—” Shamus smiled— “but it’s not been the same without you.”

  “And I’ve missed you little dears something dreadful,” Mrs. Bosworth chimed in. “I hardly know what to do with myself all day long.”

  Shamus laughed. “Don’t believe a word of it. Mrs. Bosworth doesn’t rest.” They continued to chatter happily and Tiki listened with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was her family. This was where she belonged. She would go find the Faerie Flag and deliver it to Larkin so she could solve the problems in the Otherworld, but as soon as possible Tiki was going to return here, so her family could be together once again.

  IT WAS EARLY evening when Tiki and Rieker sat alone with Shamus in the den, a fire burning in the nearby grate as they filled him in on some of the details of the war.

  “I’ve not seen anything that would make me suspicious since we got here,” Shamus said. “I’m sure the children will be safe.” He stared down at the carved wooden figure of a four leaf clover that he held, his fingers smoothing the curves and angles. “I worry about you both, though.” He looked up. “How much longer do you think this will go on?”

  Rieker exchanged a glance with Tiki before he answered. “It’s hard to say, Shamus. When we leave we’re going to try and stop it once and for all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The sun had barely stretched its fingers over the tops of the buildings on Lombard Street when Tiki and Rieker stood at one end and surveyed the road.

  “The driver in Dunvegan said Mr. MacLeod was a bank clerk here, but the whole bloody street is full of banks,” Tiki said. “How are we possibly going to find him?”

  “We’re going to visit these banks one by one and ask.” Rieker motioned to the building nearest them. “Starting with that one.” The gold plate on the side of the building read Alexander, Cunliffes and Co. He held his arm out for Tiki and together they climbed the stones steps and entered the building. They pushed their way through the oversized doors and the first thing that struck Tiki was the silence. It was as if they were inside a stone vault. Behind a raised counter tellers sat at their windows, scribbling notes with somber faces.

  “Excuse me,” Rieker stepped up to one of the windows, “is there a Mr. MacLeod in your employ?”

  The older man narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows pulling together like two bushy caterpillars. “MacLeod, you say? Never heard of him.”

  The next bank was Barclay, Bevan and Co. The teller there had never heard of MacLeod either. Nor had the tellers at Barnett, Hoare and Co., Bosenquet and Co., Fuller and Co., Glyn and Co., Roberts and Co. until the names began to blur together along with the faces. It was when they entered Martin and Co. at number 68 Lombard Street that they found the answer they sought.

  The teller didn’t bat an eye. “Norman MacLeod? That’s him over there—behind number three. Best hurry, he’s about to take tea I believe.” He flicked his thumb to the right and went back to the pile of paper he was carefully stamping. Tiki gave a hopeful look to Rieker as they hurried through the great expanse of the lobby toward window number three.

  As they drew closer Tiki peered at the man curiously. He looked to be past middle-age. The top of his head had gone bald, but great grey mutton chop whiskers covered the side of his face. Bags formed half-circles below his eyes, magnified by the silver-rimmed glasses that perched on the tip of his nose and his shoulders slumped as though he’d been beaten down by life. He hardly looked like a man who might hold the Fourth Treasure of the faerie world.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Rieker held his hat in his hands as he approached the window. “We’re looking for Mr. MacLeod of Dunvegan, Scotland?”

  The old man raised his head. “Pray tell why two young people such as ye’selves be seekin’ a poor soul such as he.”

  “We’ve come on good authority that Mr. MacLeod has—”

  “Been seeking word of Dunvegan,” Tiki interrupted, fearful that Rieker was going to ask straightaway for the flag. That would never do. Especially with this crusty old gent. “We have just recently come from Dunvegan.” She nodded toward Rieker. “William’s father visited the castle as a boy and had told such glorious stories of the place we had to see it for ourselves. Are you Mr. MacLeod?”

  The man tilted his head back to peer through his glasses more closely at the two of them. “What was your father’s name, lad?” he asked Rieker.

  “Fial Winterbourne,” Tiki said quickly. “Do you remember him, by chance?”

  “Winterbourne?” The old man shook his head. “Nah. Been gone ‘nigh on twenty years now. The Potato Famine drove us from our home. Don’t remember anyone by the name Winterbourne, though.” He shuffled some papers to the side. “Do you have a deposit you wanted to make today? Banking business I could help you with?”

  “No,” Rieker said. “We came to talk to you about Dunvegan. I’m with the London News, you see, and we’re running a series of articles about historical sites.”

  Tiki glanced at him from the corner of her eyes as Rieker kept talking.

  “Dunvegan
was one of the places we’ve chosen to cover. I’ve always been curious about the place. It was quite a disappointment to find the castle had been vacated and we thought maybe you could answer a few questions for us.”

  “Questions?” The old man said brusquely. “Don’ know what kind of answers I might have.” He slid a little wooden sign that said Closed in red letters in front of his work area. “I’m off for tea break. You can join me if you care to.”

  “Yes, we’d like that,” Tiki replied. They walked along the teller line until Mr. MacLeod emerged at the far end. He was shorter than he’d appeared from his window—barely reaching to Rieker’s shoulder.

  “It’s just through here, we’ve got a small sitting area for the staff. It’ll be all right if you come in for a few minutes. No one else will be there this time of day.” He led them into a small room that held little more than a round table and four chairs. One wall had a small counter with a burner and a kettle. He raised the kettle in their direction. “Care for a cup?”

  “That would be delightful, thank you,” Tiki nodded.

  “So what is it you want to know of Dunvegan? The current structure was built in 1266—the oldest castle in Northern Scotland.” Pride was evident in his voice as he pulled a chair out, the legs screeching against the floor. His shoulders slumped as he sat down and a sad smile lit his face. “I am the 25th chief of a castle I can’na afford to live in. Not a very glorious or interesting tale to share, I’m afraid.”

  “But someday you’ll return,” Tiki said gently.

  Mr. MacLeod looked away. “Not in this lifetime.”

  Rieker took up the conversation. “One of the stories we were told was of a great treasure the MacLeod’s have had for centuries now—”

  “A treasure?” The old man snorted. “If there were a treasure I’d surely still be in Scotland.” The kettle began to sing and MacLeod shuffled from the table.

  “A flag of sorts—said to be connected to the faeries…”

  The man paused as he reached for the kettle and glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes shifted from Rieker to Tiki and back again with an air of suspicion. “How do you know about Am Bratach Sith?”

  “William’s father told us,” Tiki said. “Said it was one of the clan’s most prized possessions. Rory Campbell mentioned it too.”

  “Ah, you met Rory, did you?” He ran his hands over his side whiskers and stared at his feet as though lost in memories.

  “Did you bring it to London with you?” Rieker looked hopeful. “I know my editor would jump at the chance to run an illustration with the story.”

  “Bring it to London,” MacLeod snorted. He pulled the kettle from the stove and the teapot immediately ceased its shrill whistling. “There are some things—sacred things—that are not meant to be put within the reach of the pickpockets and thieves that populate every corner in this god-forsaken city.” He returned to the table and placed the steaming cup in front of Tiki.

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her fingers around the cup, enjoying the warmth. “You’ve left Am Bratach Sith at Dunvegan then?” She tried to speak as naturally as she could—as if the topic wasn’t of paramount importance.

  “London is not the place for something as precious as Am Bratach Sith but that’s not to say I left it unprotected in Dunvegan either.”

  “Sounds like quite a mystery. Can you tell us the story of how the flag arrived there?” Rieker asked. “I suspect the truth of the tale is one that only the MacLeod’s know.”

  MacLeod took a cautious sip of his tea, then settled back in his chair. He gazed at Rieker for a long moment and Tiki wondered if he was going to answer.

  “I’m sure Rory told you the story as it is a favorite tale of his. But regardless, it was a gift.”

  Even though she had heard the caretaker’s version Tiki was quite curious and she had to bite her tongue to stay still and let the man tell the tale how he would.

  “It was my ancestor—one of the first chiefs of the Clan MacLeod. He fell in love with a lass who couldn’t stay with him. When she left she gave him a gift.”

  “She was a faerie?” Tiki asked.

  Instead of answering, MacLeod lifted his cup again. When he finished he let out a long satisfied sigh and nodded. “Aye, that’s right, little lass. They say she was a faerie.” He peered at Tiki over the rims of his silver glasses. “Do you believe in faeries?”

  Tiki nodded.

  “Hmmmm an’ I see that you do.” He smoothed his whiskers again. “The gift she left behind was a flag meant to protect the bearer. On two separate occasions we have unfurled her gift and been given the strength to prevail against our enemies. Legend says the flag will save us one more time.”

  “But you’ve kept the location of the flag a secret?” Rieker asked. “For over twenty years?”

  “The flag is safe and those within our Clan who need to know, are aware of its location—that’s all that matters.” The older man spoke with confidence. “I will tell you this—the silk lies within an iron chest below the sign of MacLeod and awaits our return. Am Bratach Sith is in a place protected by those who gave us the flag in the first place. Only those who know where to look could find our treasure.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A small woman hurried along the shadowed corridors of Buckingham Palace, her white hair bright in the dim light. The heels of her shoes tapped intermittently against the marble floors when not muffled by the lush rugs spread along the corridor. She slowed as she approached a tall pair of doors and grabbed one of the ornate golden handles with both hands to tug the door open.

  Light spilled out into the hallway along with the low murmur of conversation as the doorway slowly swung outward. The voices paused as the occupants of the room turned to see who had joined them.

  “Mamie!” Both young men rose from their chairs at the same time. The dark-haired one came around his seat with his arms extended. “You never cease to amaze me. I’ve only returned in the last thirty minutes and already you know I’m here.”

  “Arthur,” Mamie said, lifting her face for the young prince to kiss her cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve returned safely from your trip.” She squeezed his fingers. “We need you here—now more than ever.”

  “Mamie?” Leo stepped nearer, concern etched on his face. “What is it?”

  “It’s Donegal—the Winter King,” she whispered. Her bright blue eyes were wide with fear.

  “What of him? Is there news? Has he been seen in London?”

  “Worse, I’m afraid—he’s been seen here—at the palace. Looking for the little girl—the one named Clara.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “But I don’t want to go to bed yet,” Clara said in a petulant voice. She crossed her arms and frowned at their housekeeper. “Why do I always have to go first?”

  “Because it’s your bedtime, little darlin’, and you’re still growin’.” Mrs. Bosworth replied as she lowered the light on the gas lamps in the parlor. “Can you be a big girl and go up on your own?”

  “I don’t want to go up alone.”

  Mrs. Bosworth brushed a stray strand of gray hair from her face with the back of her hand. “Fiona, would you be a dear and take the little ‘un up to bed for me? I swear I’m asleep on my feet tonight.” She shook her head. “Don’ know what’s wrong with me.”

  Fiona jumped up and dropped her stitching on a side table. She held out her hand to Clara. “Come along, you little monkey and save me from any more fancy work tonight. I’ve already poked my fingers too many times with that bloody needle.”

  “Why do you do it, anyway?” Toots asked from where he was stretched out on the floor playing checkers with Shamus.

  “All ladies know how to do fancy work.”

  Toots laughed. “Since when do you care about being a lady? You used to only care about picking the pockets of ladies.”

  Fiona laughed shrilly and gave Toots a sharp kick in the leg. “You’re so silly, Toots.”

  “Ow!” he cried,
reaching to rub his leg when he gaze fell on Mrs. Bosworth’s back. “Oh. Right.”

  Clara stamped her foot. “But I don’t want—”

  Fiona didn’t wait to hear what the child was going to say. Instead, she leaned down and threw a shrieking Clara over her shoulder. She twirled in a big circle. “Maybe if I make you dizzy enough you’ll stop talking.”

  “Twirl me again, Fi,” Clara cried, giggling as they went.

  “Good thing you’re light as a feather, Clara, or I swear I’d have to dump you halfway up the stairs.”

  “Twirl me at the top, Fi,” Clara cried from where she hung upside down over the older girl’s shoulder. “We’ll have to teach Leo this game!”

  Once they were on the landing Fiona twirled Clara around and around, the hardwood floor squeaking in that spot as if laughing along. Fiona walked through the bedroom door she shared with Clara and twirled one more time before she dumped the little girl on the bed, the feather duster letting out a small whoosh as she landed. Fiona giggled and fell onto the bed next to her. “You’ve made me dizzy as well.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Clara laughed, kicking her feet in the air.

  “Hurry up and get your bedclothes on. I’ll tuck you in and kiss you good night.”

  Clara sobered. “What about my bedtime story? Tiki always told us one.”

  Fiona tweaked the little girl’s nose. “All right, I’ll tell you a short one. But be quick about it, I want to go downstairs and beat the boys in checkers.”

  IT WAS SEVERAL hours later when a squeak on the landing woke Clara. Someone had just walked up the stairs. She watched as the crack of light under the doorway grew to a long V shape before a shadow filled the entrance.