by Nora Roberts
“And much more . . .”
“Do you know if there is any way to break the spell?”
“Oh, yes,” Lady Gwynn said. “She gave him seven years to find someone to take his place. But Gordon refused.” Lady Gwynn shook her head. “He has always been stubborn, like all the Thornes.”
“He wants to send me away,” Phoebe told her.
“It would be wise of you to go.”
Lady Gwynn suddenly lost interest in their conversation. She ignored Phoebe, picked up a paintbrush and began daubing at a half-finished canvas. Phoebe saw she’d get nothing more from Gordon’s aunt at the moment. She slipped away to her own room to finish hunting through her father’s manuscript.
Elsie was waiting there for her and wouldn’t leave until Phoebe was undressed and her hair brushed out. The moment she was gone Phoebe set to her task. There had to be a way to free Gordon.
She scanned the handwritten pages until her eyelids drooped and the candle sputtered out.
Phoebe dreamed . . .
She was back in the faerie garden, in the perfumed air of a summer night. Crickets sang and lights glimmered along a curving path, leading down to a moonlit lake. She floated along it in her gossamer gown, her heart filled with joy and longing.
She came to a rose bower hung with silk and slipped inside. The air was fragrant with the spicy scent of damask roses. She smiled when she saw her lover waiting there.
“Beloved!” he said and pulled her into his arms. His scent, his voice, the hard muscles and planes of his lean body were all as familiar to her as her own. This was where she belonged, wrapped tight in his embrace.
His mouth skimmed hers and her heart fluttered in response. He took the kiss deeper and she swayed against him. The heat of passion blazed between them. She burned with desire, her body melting against his like molten metal.
He swung her off her feet and lowered her to the sumptuous cushions, covering her face with kisses. “Gordon . . .” she breathed, and touched his ruined face with infinite tenderness. “Foolish Gordon. How could you think I wouldn’t love you? I fell in love with you the moment I first set eyes on you. And I will never stop loving you.”
His mouth claimed hers again, this time with mounting hunger. His hands caressed her skin. He pressed his lips at the hollow of her throat, over the soft swell of her breasts. She had never felt so joyous and alive. So loved.
His hands moved slowly, sensuously down her body and she arched against him with need.
“Make love to me, Gordon,” she said softly. Urgently. She struggled against the constricting clothes that kept their bodies separate.
“All in good time,” he whispered. He took the blood-red rose from her hair and trailed the velvet petals along her jaw, down the elegant curve of her throat. Her breath sighed out in pure pleasure. The fabric parted and she felt the rose brush the tip of her breast. Heat poured through her and her limbs grew heavy with languor. She floated on a wave of intense pleasure that deepened as his mouth moved down and claimed his prize.
He was a skilled lover, drawing her deeper into his sensual web. Teasing and caressing, his hands gliding down her body until she was wild for more. But something was wrong. Something was missing. Even as his lips skimmed her body and his hands worked their magic, she was aware of it. She wanted him. Him!
She wanted more than his passion, she wanted his love.
He looked down at her sadly, as if reading her thoughts. “No,” he said. “No!”
She felt a sharp pain in her breast. The rose had a hidden thorn, and a red scratch followed the soft curve of her breast.
As a drop of blood welled up, the bower dissolved . . .
Phoebe found herself back in her bedchamber tangled in the sheets, her blood roaring in her ears and her arms achingly empty.
She cried out in frustration. It had seemed so real! She could still feel the warmth of his hands upon her skin, the weight of his body against hers.
Her sense of loss was deep and shattering. Phoebe sat up and lit the candle on her nightstand. She gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. The coverlet was splashed with drops of blood!
She touched them and her heart thudded against her ribs.
The spots weren’t stains of blood at all, but a scattering of scarlet petals.
IN the opposite wing of the house Gordon awakened to find his arms empty and a scarlet rose stretched across his linen sheet. He cursed and flung it away.
This was magic at work. More of Rowan’s doing, he said. Cursing, he rose from the bed. Up till now he’d fought for every remaining minute in his own world. Only the pain had ever driven him to seek respite in the Kingdom of Faerie. But now there was not only himself to consider, there was Phoebe.
He buried his face in his hands. Phoebe’s flowery scent still lingerd on them.
“Damn you, Rowan! Damn you and your fiendish schemes. I won’t let you draw her into them.”
Chapter 12
PHOEBE hesitated in the darkness outside Gordon’s room. The seductive dream, she was sure, had been sent by Lady Rowan. But why?
There was a light on in Gordon’s room. She tapped on the panel and waited for his response.
“Enter.”
Phoebe opened the door and slipped inside. Gordon stood at the window in his dressing gown.
He looked up in surprise. “Phoebe! I thought you were Holloway.” He took in her disheveled hair and nightgown. “What the devil does this mean? You have no business here.”
“Oh, but I do. Unfinished business.”
He came toward her and she opened her hand and let the petals fall around her bare feet. For a moment they were frozen in time, then he pulled her into his arms and crushed her against his chest. He put her away from him gently.
“Phoebe, darling, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I do. I love you, Gordon. Don’t turn your heart away from me again.”
“I never have.” But his face became stern again. Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her roughly. “Go back to your room, Phoebe, for the love of God.”
She raised her chin. “I’m not a child, to be dismissed!”
His smile was rueful. “No, you are not. And that is the problem.”
She stepped forward and wound her arms around his neck. “Make love to me, Gordon.”
He wavered, then swept her into his arms once more. She sighed and lost herself in his embrace. The passion that had been denied so long burst into flame, consuming every other thought. Wildfire burned through his veins, ignited in hers. She opened her mouth to his kiss, gasped at the touch of his hand upon her breast, the sudden flood of sensation that swept everything else away.
His hands moved down to her waist, smoothed the light fabric of her gown over the soft swell of her hips. She moaned against him, moved instinctively to curve her body into his. He groaned and swept her up into his arms. He was incredibly skilled, incredibly tender, and she was as responsive to him as she’d been in his dreams. The heat built up, feeding their desire until it burned white and hot inside them.
She wasn’t prepared for the suddenness, the fierce bright glory of it. And as she shuddered and surrendered to it, she heard him call out her name.
They kissed afterward, then made love until they were sated. Phoebe’s heart was overflowing with happiness. She drifted off to sleep with her head on his shoulder. Everything would be all right now.
PHOEBE awakened to find Gordon standing over her. He was dressed for riding and his face was filled with anguish.
“What is it?” she asked, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “Good-bye, Phoebe. God keep you safe.”
“But Gordon! Where are you going?”
He didn’t reply. She stood in the doorway listening to the sound of his booted feet as he descended the staircase. Then she ran back to her bedchamber and dressed for riding.
If I’m quick, I can reach the stable ahead of Gordon. His
lameness will slow him down.
The side door was latched but she slid the latch open and went out into the bright moonlight. The wind was cool and fragrant with the scent of the damp green promises of spring. She heard Gordon’s voice.
“Is the chestnut saddled and ready, Hugh?”
“Aye. Saw the signal from your window, milord. Here’s yer lantern.”
“I don’t need one. The moon is bright and I know every cursed inch of the way.”
“Be sensible now, Master Gordon. Wouldn’t want ye to take a tumble and break yer head.”
“It might be better if I did,” Gordon answered.
“Never say that! God speed to ye, sir, and bring ye safely home.”
Gordon didn’t reply.
A moment later a wooden gate creaked open and Phoebe watched Gordon ride through. He rode sedately until he was well away from the house. Then he urged the bay forward and cantered off in the moonlight.
Phoebe felt a cold certainty that he wasn’t coming back ever again.
She slipped inside the stable while Hugh lit his pipe.
She had Daisy saddled and bridled before Hugh knew she was back in the stalls. She stood on a bench and swung herself up into the saddle just as he came around the corner.
“What the dickens! Miss Sutton, what are you doing?”
“I’ve no time to explain,” she told him. “Do not try to stop me, as you love your master!”
While the old man stared at her, wide-mouthed, she kicked her heels. The mare raced over the cobbles, her iron shoes sending sparks from the stones.
The moon was so bright there was no need of a lantern. She rode as she had never done before, narrowly missing a foxhole in her mad dash. She had seen Gordon nearing the northern boundary of the parkland. Phoebe prayed the wind and the sound of his own horse’s hooves would obscure the sound of the mare’s pounding feet as they raced across the turf.
She saw his mount picketed ahead.
The horse whickered softly and tossed its head. Phoebe patted its neck and went along the path as quickly and silently as possible. When she reached the end of the woods she finally saw Gordon. He was near the stone marker at the edge of his property, heading toward the moor and the dolmen.
There was a flash of intense green light and Gordon vanished into thin air. While she stood stunned and staring, a tiny ball of golden light formed where he’d been. It zig-zagged swiftly up the steep hill to the Faerie Stables and then it, too, vanished into the night.
Phoebe reached up and removed the talisman necklace her father had given her. Suddenly the dark hill was ablaze with light. There was the faerie castle blazing where the dolmen had been, shining and glorious, dimming the moon and stars.
As real as she was.
With her pulses pounding, she walked into the shadows of the dolmen and left the mortal world behind.
Chapter 13
IN the castle on the hill, where light and laughter reigned, discord entered with Lord Jack’s arrival. The dancing ceased and the music fell silent. He strode toward the dais where Rowan and Ash sat on their thrones of gold, scattering revelers by the sheer power of his anger.
“You go too far,” he said fiercely. “The mortal woman is not yours, to do with what you like.”
“Nor is she yours,” Ash said sternly.
“A pity,” added his queen. “Perhaps you would be happier with a human companion.”
“Is that why you have played your tricks upon her? In the misguided opinion that it would make me happy to betray her into sharing my exile? If so, you do not know me—even after all this time.”
Phoebe stepped through the doorway on the heels of his words. She was in the vast hall of her dream, where columns of gold and malachite held up a carved lapis ceiling, but the lanterns were hollow rubies, casting a scarlet glow.
A sudden hush fell over the assembled courtiers and they parted to let her through. Lady Rowan lifted her head. “Well! Here is your fair lady come, Lord Jack, to rescue you.”
The man standing before the dais turned to face Phoebe. Not “Lord Jack,” but Gordon, as he should have been, without the cruel scars that marked him in the human world. He stood tall and splendid in his rich silk garments, but his face was like a storm cloud.
He stepped forward to block her way. “No! Go back while you still can. This is no affair of yours.”
“It is,” she said, smiling up into his eyes.
She held out her hand where the gems glowed on her open palm and addressed the queen. “I have come to return what is rightfully yours, Lady Rowan—and to claim what is mine.”
“He is mine!” Rowan exclaimed. “You see the silver circle bound around his wrist, symbol of my protection.”
“A symbol of your cruelty,” Phoebe said. “What did Gordon Tremaine do to make you punish him so grievously?”
Lord Ash’s voice came like thunder. “He intruded upon a faerie rite that no mortal may see and live—and yet you see he has survived.” He turned a wrathful look on Rowan. “By my wife’s decree!”
“How could I not intervene,” his queen said, “when he saved my pretty page boy from the jaws of a hungry fox?”
She looked at Phoebe. “Little Pippin is dear to me, but a naughty, adventuresome creature. He stole a faerie steed and slipped away into the mortal world. Had it not been for Lord Jack’s intervention, he might have been eaten. And then Lord Jack, he whom you call Gordon Tremaine, brought Pippin back to Faerieland, thus stumbling into forbidden territory. For his noble action, I intervened and saved him from my husband’s wrath.”
Phoebe was angry. “And in your gratitude, you made him lame and scarred? May I be preserved from such graciousness!”
To her surprise, Rowan looked abashed. “Even such as we are constrained by the rules of our kingdom. A compromise was the best I could effect. In these halls of Faerie, Gordon Tremaine is honored as Lord Jack, free and undamaged. Only in the mortal world does he suffer. The choice of worlds has always been his.”
“Let him go! Free him from your spell.”
Lady Rowan shook her head. “It is beyond my power.”
Gordon stepped between Phoebe and the queen. “I will not have her involved in this. Set her free and wipe her memory clean!”
But Rowan gazed down at him solemnly. “That, too, is beyond my power.”
Phoebe smiled. “But not beyond mine.”
Lady Gwynn’s ramblings had given her the clue, but it was her father’s lifework that had provided the key. “There is one way he may escape his servitude—if some other mortal steps forward to take his place.”
She held out her wrist. “Remove the silver band you forced upon him. I will accept it in his place.”
“Is this of your own free will?”
“It is.”
“Why?” the king interrupted.
Phoebe smiled. “For a reason even you would understand. For love.”
Gordon stepped forward and barred her way. “I refuse your offer. Go back, Phoebe, while you still can.”
Lord Ash rubbed his jaw. “Why should you refuse if her offer is sincere? If freedom is so great a boon, why not seize it now?”
Gordon’s voice was controlled fury. “Because I value honor more.”
Rowan smiled. “Do you love this woman?”
“More than my life.”
The faerie queen’s smile grew. “Then your magic is indeed strong and it has won your freedom!”
Lord Ash waved his hands. There was a great grinding of stone on stone. The graceful columns began to crack and twist as bits of gold rained down from the ceiling. Rowan cried out as a lantern fell, smashing into iridescent shards at her feet.
Ash gave a mighty roar of anger. “Foolish mortals!”
He threw his arms wide. Lightning flashed from his hands and thunder roared. The vast hall trembled. A burst of green fire shot from the elf king’s fingertips. Gordon sheltered Phoebe in his arms as the castle and all the beautiful faerie hosts vanished.
/> When the sound and fury ended they stood heart to heart on the deserted moor, their arms wrapped tight around each other.
Phoebe stared in surprise. Where the Faerie Stables had once stood was nothing but a tumble of broken rock. She looked at Gordon and her eyes sparkled with tears of happiness.
She laid her palm against his face. “Oh, my darling!”
Gordon looked down at his hands. The silver runic band had vanished from his wrist. He stood strong and whole once more, the mass of twisted purple scars healed and gone.
“I am restored,” he said wonderingly.
He pulled her closer and kissed her soft lips. “You saved me, Phoebe—and put yourself at risk to do so.” Gordon was still shaken.
“Just as you risked yours for mine.”
“I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as you were saved. I couldn’t bear to see you trapped inside the faerie world with me.”
She touched his cheek. “I would have joined the faerie world willingly, if it meant eternity with you.”
Gordon sighed against her hair. “My wonderful, beautiful Phoebe! How thankful I am that my uncle invited you to Thorne Court—although I fully intended to send you away.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t have gone. I’m still as stubborn as I ever was. And I sensed, from that first moment in the book room, that there was still something between us and that you still cared for me.”
“I never stopped loving you. I was furious with Rowan for sending you dreams and visions, trying to lure you into her realm.”
“Is that what you thought she was doing?”
He raised his brows. “Wasn’t she?”
An odd little smile played on Phoebe’s lips. “We women—of any world—have more in common than you know. She was fond of you and wanted you to be happy. I believe it was all a test. A test of love. Lady Rowan knew you would do whatever you could to protect me and that our love would break the spell in the process.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “It begins to make sense now. So that is the reason she interfered . . .” Gordon looked grave. “I wonder what has happened to them.”
