by Anne Bishop
“I saw his face,” Odella said. “His real face.”
“Then where are the gifts?” Royce said. “According to the stories, the Fae always give gifts when they bed a woman. Let’s see them.”
“I didn’t get any gifts. He said a gift wasn’t given for the night of the Summer Moon, but he would bring a gift the next night.”
“So where are the gifts?”
“There aren’t any gifts. He didn’t come back.”
Royce snorted. “Were you that much of a disappointment?”
Outraged, Odella shot to her feet. “He didn’t come back because he was bewitched. He didn’t come back because Ari saw him and wanted him. So he forgot about me and has been having his romp inside her drawers!”
“Liar!” Royce raised his fist.
“You think just because she refused you, she hasn’t been lifting her skirts for someone else?”
“She wouldn’t dare.”
Odella laughed. It was a nasty sound. “Oh, she dared. I saw him there one morning, as bold as you please. My lover. The one who had promised me chests of gold and jewels.” Her mood changed. Her face crumpled in unhappiness. “When I greeted him, he just laughed at me. He laughed. And he was already pulling up her skirt before I could ride out of sight.”
“That bitch,” Royce said quietly. “I warned her about lifting her skirts.”
“When was this?” Neall asked. He knew the Lightbringer had been Ari’s lover, but, somehow, the Fae Lord being at the cottage during the day seemed more intimate and threatening than the man spending the night in Ari’s bed. That was just sex, a promise fulfilled because of that damned fancy. But during the day . . . that was life. The collection of small details that made up a shared day was what gave richness to what happened in the bed at night.
When they all turned to look at him, he realized he should have kept quiet, should have backed out of the room before they’d noticed him.
“Not long ago,” Odella said, her eyes filled with delighted spite. “Well after the new moon, so it wasn’t as if she was just fulfilling a pledge.”
Neall closed his eyes as he tried to absorb the verbal blow. So. It hadn’t ended. Was that why Ari hadn’t given him an answer yet?
Wait. Wait. Something wasn’t right here. What had Odella said about the morning she’d seen the Fae Lord? That he’d lifted—
Neall looked at Odella. “You’re lying. You may have seen a Fae Lord there one morning, but you didn’t see him lifting Ari’s skirt.” He smiled bitterly. “She only wears skirts when she has to come to Ridgeley. At Brightwood, she wears loose trousers because they’re easier to work in.” He took a step forward. “What else are you lying about, Odella?”
“I’m not lying,” Odella spat. “He was mine! I should have had all the gold and jewels he’s given to her!”
Neall shook his head. A kind of recklessness filled him, pushing aside any thought of caution. “You couldn’t have met him on the Summer Moon. I’m not saying you didn’t meet a Fae Lord. It’s possible. But it wasn’t him. Which means she didn’t steal him away from you.”
“I say she did!”
Recklessness shifted to grim anger. “You want to deny whoever it really was you’ve been with in order to avoid a bad marriage, that’s fine. You want to say it was a Fae Lord who got you with child, that’s fine too. That gives you a way out since everyone knows Fae men don’t marry human women. But don’t accuse Ari of something she didn’t do. You might steal a man away from another woman simply because you wanted him, and you wouldn’t give a damn what it might mean to her. You’d even use one of Granny Gwynn’s potions to do it if you couldn’t entice him any other way. But Ari would never do that. Never.”
“How dare you?” Baron Felston said. “How dare you say such things to my daughter? How dare you side with that witch against your family? Have you forgotten who’s fed you, clothed you, given you a roof over your head for all these years?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Neall snapped. “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve begrudged me every mouthful of food and every castoff piece of clothing.”
“I’ve made allowances for you because your father was a gentleman in name only, but—”
“My father was more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be,” Neall said.
Baron Felston’s face flushed to an ugly red. “Get out of my house. Get out and stay out. You set foot on my land again, I’ll horsewhip you.”
“It will be a pleasure to leave you,” Neall said. He turned and walked out of the room. When he reached the staircase, he checked to make sure none of them were watching him. Then he raced up the stairs and ran down the corridor to his room. Let the servants think what they would; he needed to get out of here before Felston—or, more likely, Royce—thought about trying to keep the one thing he truly valued: Darcy. He hadn’t paid Ahern anywhere near what the gelding was worth, but he’d paid the asking price out of his own money, from the paltry wage Felston had reluctantly paid him for all his work on the estate.
Within minutes, he had stuffed his saddlebags with a couple of changes of clothing and his grooming tools. He took his bow and the quiver of arrows, then looked around the room to see if there was anything he’d missed that he would regret leaving behind. He grabbed the threadbare winter coat from its hook on the wall and left the room.
Down the servants’ staircase and out the kitchen door. Running to the stables as quietly as he could. Opening the doors for whatever light the moon would provide, then slipping inside and moving down the wide aisle.
Darcy’s head appeared over the stall door.
“Shh,” Neall said quietly before the horse could greet him. There was always one stableboy sleeping in the loft in case he was needed. He listened, heard a muted snore. Good.
Leaving his things beside Darcy’s stall, he opened the door and motioned the animal to stay. Moving as quietly as he could, he got his saddle and bridle from the tack room.
Darcy didn’t even shift his feet while Neall saddled him and arranged the saddlebags and the rest of his gear.
“Let’s go,” Neall whispered. He walked the gelding out of the stables. It was easier to close the doors that way.
As Neall turned to close the doors, Darcy snorted a warning. Neall spun around, swung into the saddle just as Royce ran toward the stables, shouting, “Thief! Thief! He’s stealing our horse!”
Before Neall could collect the reins, Darcy charged straight at Royce. In the moonlight, Neall saw Royce’s eyes widen with fear as he skidded to a stop and barely flung himself out of the gelding’s path.
Darcy raced down the estate drive. When they reached the road, Neall tried to slow the animal, but the gelding had the bit between his teeth and refused to obey. They raced down a road full of moonlight and shadows—and Neall realized that they weren’t running away from Baron Felston’s estate and the village of Ridgeley; they were running toward something. And someone.
“We can’t go there,” Neall said firmly. Holding Darcy back wasn’t easy, but he’d had enough time to consider what to do before they’d reached this point in the road. “Not tonight.”
If he showed up at Ari’s cottage tonight, she would let him stay. He couldn’t do that. The choice to come with him had to be her own. It couldn’t be made because he had to leave now. Tomorrow he would ride over to Brightwood.
“This way,” Neall said, turning the gelding away from Brightwood. “We’ll see Ari tomorrow.” Darcy made one more try at heading where he wanted to go, then set off down the road in a heavy-footed, bone-jarring trot that made Neall grit his teeth to keep from biting his tongue.
There were still lights on at Ahern’s farm. There was even a small bonfire between the house and stables.
Yes, Neall thought with grim amusement, Ahern and his men would still be celebrating the Solstice.
As he trotted into the light, the talk and laughter around the bonfire faded.
“You’re out late tonight,” Ahern said, stepping a
way from the fire to meet him.
Neall swung out of the saddle. Feeling Darcy’s muscles bunch, he kept a firm grip on the reins. The last thing he needed was the gelding bolting for Brightwood.
Ahern’s sharp eyes took in the bulging saddlebags, the bow and quiver, the winter coat tied behind the saddle. “You going on a journey?”
“Soon. Not tonight.” Neall hesitated. That reckless feeling was pushing at him again. “The baron threw me out of his house tonight. I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days. I’ll work for my keep.”
For the first time that Neall could remember, Ahern looked uncomfortable. “I can put you up tonight, but it would be best if you made other arrangements in the morning.”
“Why?” Neall said quietly. “Because you’re Fae?”
He was aware of the men moving toward him. He was aware that some of them were holding pieces of burning wood, and it wasn’t because they wanted more light. But he kept his eyes on Ahern’s face and wondered if he’d misjudged the man.
“What makes you think I’m Fae?” Ahern finally asked.
“Fae blood runs through me too. I can see through the glamour.”
A long silence. Then Ahern said, “Get your gear. We’ll take it up to the house and then talk.”
As soon as Neall let go of the reins to get the saddle bags, Darcy knocked him down and bolted.
“You!” Ahern said sternly.
Hooves clattered to a stop.
“Come back here and behave yourself.”
With obvious reluctance, Darcy returned and stood quietly while Neall got his gear.
Ahern looked at two of his men. “Get him bedded down.” He watched while the men led the gelding into the stables. Shaking his head, he led Neall up to the house. “When he was a foal, she used to pet him whenever she stopped by. Got to the point where we had to lock him up to keep him from following her home. I thought he would have forgotten by now.”
“She still pets him, so he’s not likely to forget,” Neall said dryly. “But it does explain why he gets so stubborn whenever we’re nearby and don’t stop at Brightwood.”
“She never took to riding. I made sure she knew how to sit a horse, but she didn’t want one of her own. If she had, you’d never have gotten that one.”
They said nothing more until Neall left his gear in a small guest room and they were back outside, walking toward one of the paddocks.
Ahern rested his arms against the top rail of the paddock fence. “How long have you known?”
“I’ve been seeing it ever since I met you,” Neall said. “But I just recently figured out what it was I was seeing.” He hesitated, then decided a question left unspoken was a question that would never be answered. “Which one are you?”
Ahern made a sound that might have been a gruff laugh. “Can’t you guess?”
“A Lord of the Horse,” Neall said. When Ahern just looked at him, he felt a little chill run down his spine. “The Lord of the Horse.”
Ahern nodded. “The Lord of the Horse. I command, they obey.”
“Why are you living here? Why aren’t you in Tir Alainn like the rest of them, coming down here whenever you want to amuse yourself?”
“There’s a large dose of bitterness in those words, young Neall.”
“Maybe I have reason to feel bitter. Or, at least, worried. The Fae seem to be taking a lot of interest in Brightwood these days. And in Ari.”
Ahern stared at the land. “You’re going to your mother’s land, aren’t you? That’s where you’re headed now that you’ve reached your majority and Felston doesn’t hold the reins in any way. And you’re taking Ari with you, aren’t you?”
Neall just stared at him.
“Well then,” Ahern continued, “it doesn’t really matter whether the Fae are interested or not, does it?”
“How— How did you know about the land?”
“Astra, Ari’s grandmother, told me about you.” He made another gruff, amused sound. “Obviously, there were a few things she didn’t mention. But she told me you would go back to your mother’s land when you came of age—and she told me not to stand in your way if you tried to persuade Ari to go with you.”
Neall studied the older man, saw strong emotion ruthlessly controlled. “Why would it matter to you?”
Ahern didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, “When I was a young man, I did exactly what you said—I came to the human world for diversion and amusement of all kinds. Young human gentlemen call it getting some town bronze. The Fae don’t have a name for it, but it amounts to the same thing. Seasoning. Experience. I was a randy young stallion. And I enjoyed myself.
“Then one day, I met a young woman who was quite unlike anyone else I’d ever met. She was forthright and bright—and not at all impressed that a Fae Lord found her interesting. A challenge for a young man who was impressed with himself. So I did my best to woo her. And I succeeded a little too well. She loved. I cared. Can you see the difference?”
“Yes,” Neall said softly.
Ahern nodded. “Thought you would. I visited the Clan near where she lived for a couple of months, but I spent most of my nights with her. Then, one day, I got an itch for . . . a different experience. So I left. Traveled. Grew into my power and became the Lord of the Horse. But I never forgot her, compared every other woman to her. So I decided to go back, sure I would be welcomed with open arms. After all, I was a Fae Lord and she was just a human female.
“Except she wasn’t just a human female. She was a witch. I knew that. As I said, she was forthright. I just didn’t understand what it meant.
“When I trotted up to her cottage one evening, I saw a small child, a girl, playing outside. She was holding a bowl and was making the water inside it rise and fall. She had my dark hair and her mother’s woodland eyes.”
When Ahern didn’t say anything more, Neall said, “What happened?”
“I wasn’t welcome. And it hurt. I still cared, but she no longer loved. I had tossed that aside like a trinket when it had been new and shining. I never got it back. Even when we eventually became lovers again for a while, I never got it back. She cared. That was a pale emotion compared to what she’d once given me.
“I couldn’t live with her family, and I couldn’t go back to the way I had lived my life. I tried. So I made an agreement with the matriarch of the family to lease some of the land. I built a house, and I brought some fine Fae horses with me. I bought a stallion and some mares from this world, and I began to breed horses.
“And I watched that girl child grow up into a fine young woman. And I watched that young woman fall in love with a selkie man, a Lord of the Sea. And I watched her bring a daughter into the world, a little girl with the gifts of earth and fire.
“I watched from a distance what I might have shared in full.”
Neall gripped the fence rail with both hands. “Does Ari know you’re her grandfather?”
Ahern shook his head. “And she doesn’t know her father was a selkie man, just that her mother had a love for the sea.” He paused. “Tell me something. You must have gotten the Fae blood from your father. Do you know anything about him?”
“He had a quiet laugh. When we took walks, he would tell me stories. I didn’t realize at the time how much he was teaching me about the woods with those stories. And I remember the way he and my mother would look at each other and just smile.”
Ahern gave him a strange look. “He lived with you. She was a witch, and he lived in her house.”
“Yes.” Neall saw Ahern’s face tighten with some strong emotion. “I want to have with Ari the same thing my mother and father had. I want to love . . . and be loved.”
“You’re going to Brightwood tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll go over to see if she’s made her decision yet.”
“You can stay here until she does.” Ahern closed his eyes. “Find the right word to convince her, young Neall. Find the right words.”
Chapter Twenty-six
/> When Ari saw Aiden riding down the road early the next morning, she set the water buckets down by the garden wall and waited.
Did they use the glamour magic and ride down human roads because they didn’t want to alarm any humans they might deal with? Or was it nothing more than a deceit that made it easier for them to get what they wanted, a deceit that would be maintained until they chose otherwise?
“Good morning, Mistress Ari,” Aiden said.
“You must have been up at dawn to get to Brightwood so early,” Ari said. “From what Dianna has said, I had gathered you have a ways to travel to get to . . . where you’re staying.”
She saw his puzzlement and caution. She hadn’t given him the expected greeting. Hadn’t actually responded to his.
“My apologies,” Aiden said. “I’m disturbing you.”
Ari relented. She didn’t know why Aiden had come with Dianna last evening, but he’d done nothing except provide enjoyable music.
“The kettle is still hot. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you.” When he dismounted, he noticed the buckets by the garden wall. “Can I carry those somewhere for you?”
Ari smiled. “I thank you for the offer, but they’re right where they’re supposed to be.” Then she paused, and added, “Perhaps you should bring one to the back of the cottage. Your horse may want some water, and I’ve only the two buckets.”
Aiden picked up one bucket and followed her around the cottage. While he set the bucket in a bit of shade and slipped off the horse’s bridle so the animal could graze, Ari made tea and put some of the small cakes that were left over from the feast on a plate. She felt a prick of amusement when Aiden looked at the plate and quickly hid his disappointment—and she wondered if she should have offered slices of her bread instead. She’d noticed that her guests had all helped themselves to more of her food than all the dishes they had provided. She couldn’t blame them. The beef roast had tasted wonderful while the chicken, like the rest of their food, had been like eating solid air—the teeth found something to chew, but the tongue found no flavor.
