Unaware of the depths to which her grand-niece's misgivings had fallen, Daffy's dry chuckle seemed to float on the velvet wave of Comlan's laughter. The sound so thoroughly increased Amy's irritation with the pair that she impetuously leaped up and strode toward the door with every intention of abandoning their company.
Repenting the jest in which Amy clearly found no humor, Comlan intercepted his dark colleen and swept her stiff body into his arms to cradle her close while Daffy fought to stifle giggles and explain.
"Now, Amy-girl, tame your wild spirit." Daffy could hardly believe she was cautioning her grand-niece to restrain the spirit she'd been urging her to free for years. "Comlan would not see you marry another man. And even if you were to repeat the vows, false rites can never end in a union honest and true."
Despite her lover's will-weakening nearness, Amy scowled. These two made no sense. Oh, yes, her loving heart wished Comlan would truly regret her marriage to another but in her mind the cool logic she'd begun to think gone forever reasserted itself with a crisp, chill denial of the mere possibility.
"The person presiding over the ceremony we've suggested wouldn't be a minister." Wanting to alleviate Amy's lingering confusion, Comlan offered further facts about the plan he and Daffy had devised while Amy sipped tea and exchanged idle chat at the afternoon social event. "The two men will wed not you but each other."
As each deep word vibrated from the broad chest beneath her ear, Amy frowned again. This time not in irritation but with the concentration she gave an earnest attempt to sort through tidbits of information delivered in hopelessly random order.
"Don't know who we'll recruit to play the minister," Daffy mused an instant before mischievous gleams began dancing in her eyes. "But just imagine the mortified expression on Paddy's face once that vain lothario finds himself 'wed' to another man! Too bad Patience will miss her grandson's great performance."
Amy barely heard Daffy's voice but nodded while in her mind details once hazy began resolving into a clear pattern. The final image lit a spark of amusement that warmed her lips with a slight smile which one heartbeat later burst into a grin.
Now this was precisely the type of wry scheme Amy realized she ought to have expected of a being with Comlan's sardonic wit. Yes, a plot built as much of humor as vengeance. Moreover, beneath the promise of humor and at least as pleasing, she saw the possibility of additional benefits—particularly one able to free Garnet and Lovey of the hovering clouds threatening them with ruin.
Aye, Amy silently mimicked an Irish brogue, 'twas a grand thing. She heartily approved and glanced up at Comlan. The intensity of the immediate bond between her crystal eyes and his emerald gaze made words utterly unnecessary.
Chapter 19
The weak light of a sickle moon cast its silvery glow over the park's rain-damp vegetation. From the concealing gloom behind a towering hedge, Amy peered at the lone figure waiting with a motionless patience she'd always found amazing. Bingley sported a false beard and was soberly dressed in a frock coat, top hat—and clergyman's reverse shirt collar.
Intent on her view of this small glade long a site of lovers' trysts, Amy jumped when Comlan squeezed her shoulder to direct her attention toward the indistinct figure of a new arrival. He was fairly short and swathed in a voluminous cloak and a layer of shadowy veiling while his uneasiness was clear in the many furtive glances cast over one shoulder.
Nodding, Amy glanced left and returned Comlan's wry smile with a pleased grin she next shifted to the right and shared with Daffy, this strange event's third designer.
It was working. The plan so convoluted that logically it should fail had crossed its first hurdle. No, Amy corrected herself, its second hurdle since the first had been overcoming considerable difficulty to assemble an audience of carefully chosen witnesses.
Amy could single out their darker shadows only because she knew where to look. Garnet and Lovey crouched behind the dense shape of a topiary bear while her reluctant parents stood in stiff discomfort beneath the drooping branches of the weeping willow bent over a stream lazily flowing parallel to the selected site. Beattie and Dooley, now amazingly together by choice, had settled in relative comfort and obscurity on a lap-rug covered stone bench that was nearly surrounded by neatly trimmed yew bushes.
While Amy took stock of invited viewers, another figure slipped into the scene. This one was also heavily veiled and cloaked from shoulder to toe. She was amused to see the single white rose in one gloved hand—a romantic gesture though likely the bloom had been stolen from elsewhere in the park.
Amy was amazed by the foolishness of the two who'd allowed themselves to be lured into the park by her suggestion of secret wedding rites—secret yet binding. And yet here, facing the disguised Bingley with his open Bible, stood their cloaked figures. Amy's smile brightened. This bit of trickery was hers. She had foreseen the unpleasant consequences likely to follow premature recognition of any participant. And when meeting individually with her two suitors, she'd urged each to arrive with identities thoroughly concealed, ostensibly to confound possible uninvited guests. Even now she could hardly believe that neither had questioned obvious discrepancies in height and weight. But then she did understand the weaknesses she'd played on to draw them here during the darkest hours of night.
Paddy's was the tall figure. His vanity had allowed him to believe her protestations of regret for refusing the advances of such a handsome and charming man. And, too, he'd easily accepted her mournful explanation that because her father, the viscount, would never accept an Irish commoner for son-in-law, their only hope was a clandestine wedding.
As for the shorter, rounder Orville… his pride of position and wealth had been his downfall. Having always believed that the surely desperate graduate of so many debutante balls would be grateful for the attention of such a fine gentleman as himself, he hadn't been surprised by her proposal. He was only, as he'd said, "charmed by her delightful eccentricity." However, unbeknownst to him, she knew all about his unsavory business with Garnet and by that was aware of the true reason for his anxiety to marry her as soon as possible—before guilt drove her brother to confess and see them both destroyed.
A single muffled voice could be faintly heard, and it scattered Amy's memories of the morning's individual conversations with the unwitting pair of the grooms. But that indistinct sound droned on and on until Amy began to wonder if she'd made the right choice in appointing Bingley to perform as minister. That silent doubt seemed to act as catalyst since by its end Bingley had carefully closed the Bible—an action signaling others to be taken.
"Congratulations." Comlan gently propelled both Amy and Daffy forward. "Yes, gentlemen, congratulations on your nuptials… truly a memorable event."
Comlan's mocking words earned their targets' immediate attention.
"But I fear you may be a wee bit disappointed by the mate with whom you've exchanged vows. As you see"—Comlan wrapped his arm firmly around Amy's shoulders—"the intended bride is here at my side."
"Wot the bleedin' hell!" Color flooded Paddy's face as temper drove him forward with fists at the ready.
Amy flinched but Comlan remained motionless, his only visible response the ominous flaring of perilous flames in emerald eyes.
Paddy threw a vicious punch and groaned in pain when, a breath short of the goal, it landed against what he'd swear was a wall of solid stone. Cradling a crushed fist, he stared up into an unsmiling face and recognized a truth that sighed out on another moan, "Tuatha De."
Comlan gave an infinitesimal nod.
Amy gasped. She was surprised by this admission of his nature even though beyond herself and Daffy only Paddy could hear or would understand.
But while Comlan's action startled Amy, it earned Daffy's brightest grin. That would teach Patience and her grandson the folly of feigning friendship and belief while privately mocking her Patrick's tales of the Faerie Realm.
"And, boy-o," a grinning Dooley called from the stone bench still sh
ared with Beattie, "I own I'd be pleased to carry the good news of your nuptials throughout the home county."
The dark color earlier staining Paddy's face drained completely away. This tale of an alliance with another man was a threat to his prized reputation as a ladycharmer. Many others less successful in amorous pursuits would gleefully welcome the story, and no claim he made of trickery would weaken their sniggering ridicule… he'd be the butt of everyone's derision.
"Ah, now," Dooley nearly chortled in delight. "I may or I mayn't. It rightly depends on you…"
Picking up where his friend left off, Comlan spoke in a quiet voice more threatening than ever any snarl. "Go home, Paddy. Stay there and never risk my displeasure again. For I promise that if there is a next time, I'll be considerably less restrained in my defense of all people and things dear to me."
Paddy cast aside the heavy veil, a token of his shame, and disappeared as quickly as he had on the night he'd been ejected from a dilapidated coach.
At the moment when Paddy's temper exploded, the second deluded suitor had gladly used the diversion to try and slip away unnoticed. That feat was difficult for one of his girth… and unsuccessful.
"Orville," Lord Wyfirth had demanded, stepping into the fleeing man's path. "Why this strange charade when you already had the approval of Amy's parents?"
"Because—" Garnet interrupted, moving to within a pace of the frustrated man thus effectively trapped, "Orville is on the verge of a disgrace likely to see you rescind your approval before he can wed Amy, thus securing Great-aunt Daphenia's wealth for himself."
"No, it can't be." Lord Farley's eyes skeptically narrowed. "Orville is a respectable man who has nothing disgraceful that needs hiding."
"Ah, but, Father," Garnet reasoned, "you would likely say that of me while, in truth, Orville and I share in the same wrong—a shame to us both."
"We're ruined." Lady Wyfirth, having moved to her husband's side, sagged against him under the sudden prospect of being toppled from the pinnacle of social standing she'd made her life's work. "Simply ruined."
"Not necessarily." Comlan had escorted both Amy and Daffy to stand directly behind Garnet who immediately spun around to face him. Although emerald eyes focused on Amy's brother, Comlan still spoke to her mother. "There's excellent reason to believe that if your son returns to Mr. Bennett's warehouses and retests, the results will match those he's already recorded."
"But how can you—" Utterly unprepared for this suggestion, Garnet frowned.
"Garnet, do it for me?" Amy pleaded, gray eyes earnest. "Trust Comlan's suggestion and retest. After all, what more harm could it do?"
"Yes." Lovey stepped free of the topiary bear's shadows to join her husband and add her soft voice to the appeal. "Please, Garnet."
Garnet would've done it for Amy… eventually. But for his Lovey's sake he would start in the morning.
"If by some miracle of fate the tests are clean…" Garnet turned a chill gaze to the erstwhile cohort now foe. "Then, Orville, let me assure you that I'll never again do business of any sort with you."
"Oh, really?" Orville's vicious sneer stabbed at the younger man. "But you owe me a substantial debt and I must insist that you repay the whole."
"Or what?" Garnet laughed, spirits lifted by growing hope that he'd been led to a path through the dark tunnel he'd dug for himself. Surely by following it he would find his way into the sunlight beyond. "Will you take me to court so we both can explain to the magistrate all the details of how our dispute came about?"
"Oh, I say—" Though Lord Farley had only the sketchiest suspicion of what wrongs lay at the heart of their contention, he recognized Garnet's honest regret and spoke out in support of his son. "I hardly think Mr. Bennett would care to have his lofty reputation tainted by too close an acquaintanceship with the courts."
Watching this exchange and greatly heartened by its promise of a happy resolution, Amy nestled more closely against the man who'd wrapped his strong arm about her shoulders.
"Daffy is safe and after this you are, too." Like a rumble of gentle thunder, Comlan whispered in Amy's ear, "And so now we must talk."
In stark contrast to the pleasure of an instant before, Amy's heart sank. Clearly, the moment she dreaded had arrived; the moment her fantasy king intended a return to his own realm.
Comlan felt Amy's distress as keenly as if it were his own. He gently pulled his dark colleen to stand in front of him and then lowered his mouth to again whisper into her ear. "Let me whisk you to our private haven, whisk you to Lissan's fairy ring where we will have uninterrupted time together?"
Turning the head resting against a broad shoulder to glance up at him, Amy gladly sank into emerald fires. She would revel in every moment together stolen from a forlorn future and hoard them all securely against the loneliness to come.
The sweetness of Amy's smile was answer enough for Comlan and in the blink of an eye they stood together in his sister's magical ring of flowers.
Alone with her love, thrilled and yet terrified that this would truly be the last time, Amy nibbled her bottom lip and stared determinedly down at the lush grass about their feet. Then, as if her eyes had been opened by a flash of heavenly light, Amy realized that the prospect of an unhappy existence was hers to change. She'd known it all along but the habit of cool logic had blinded her to simple truths. Comlan would never ask her to make the sacrifice of leaving her world to live in his… but of her own free will she could.
Comlan had arranged these private moments to ease the way for a conversation he realized was likely to be the most important of his life. After turning Amy to face him, he gently tilted a small chin upward with one forefinger. He gazed down into gray eyes gone dark but glistening with the crystal sheen of tears she clearly refused to let fall and opened his mouth to speak. And yet before he could, she did.
Knowing she must make her brave proposal now or live forever with painful regrets and desolate questions of what might have been, Amy began while tears escaped beneath dark lashes resting on pale cheeks. "Bonds of honor held your sister's husband, Killian, in his king's court rather than yours but—" Heart pounding so hard she thought it might choke her, Amy risked a mortifying embarrassment and the pain of final rejection. "No such restraints hold me back."
Admiring her courageous speech and its message, Comlan was torn between a selfish desire on one side to hear longed for words of love and on the other a need to immediately ease her distress.
"I love you too much to watch you leave me." Amy paused to take another deep breath. It was difficult to give her heartfelt plea to this seemingly emotionless man until she glanced up to be overwhelmed by fathomless emerald pools of deep feeling.
Amy rushed to finish her plea in fear that something might steal the words from her lips. "I beg your permission to accompany you back to that mystical castle on yonder hill."
Deeming her daring speech well-rewarded by Comlan's devastating smile, Amy fell to its potent powers and nearly missed the first precious words of Comlan's response.
"You are a treasure more rare and valuable than any contained in my realm." Emerald eyes studied Amy so long and so thoroughly that she swayed nearer in willing surrender to the green fires within their depths. "And if we were there, I would cherish you as the precious gift you are."
Despite his enticing gaze and honeyed tone, to Amy this sounded like the beginning of a gentle but completely unexpected rejection and tears again began sliding slowly down pale cheeks.
"No, my darling." Comlan's lips tilted in a crooked smile of piercing sweetness as he wrapped her in his embrace. "I'm not refusing your priceless gift, not when I could no more bear a permanent separation from the one I love than you wish to live apart from me."
Comlan's lips brushed across the silky, black hair atop her head before adding, "On several occasions you've demonstrated an ability to adjust to the peculiarities of my nature. And by that ability, that willingness I believe you would give up your own world for me."
"I would," Amy earnestly assured Comlan, tightening her arms around him.
"And I love you for it." Comlan rained brief kisses over her brow, eyes and cheeks. "But I've found a way for us both to have the futures we seek… while sharing them with each other."
"How?" Though loath to question so desirable an end, in these words Amy clearly heard the kind of contradiction so valuable to his kind.
Comlan saw on Amy's expressive face a struggle between hope and disbelief. Yielding immediately to a gentle concern he might once have belittled as more human than fairy, he tried to lessen her turmoil by explaining.
"My Gran Aine, the ruler of the Tuatha from whom I inherited, along with all those who came before were so accustomed to looking for the peculiar, the contrary or simply hidden that they failed to recognize the obvious."
Amy could easily believe this might be true, particularly as she'd been guilty of much the same error. But still she frowned. Comlan hadn't revealed the most important fact, the one freeing them to be together. He hadn't told her what his forbearers had failed to see.
"It's simple." Comlan's smile contained the myriad of pleasures anticipated in their shared future. "You already know the life spans of those in my realm are a great deal longer than any among humankind. Indeed, to us the length of a mortal life is almost negligible."
Amy's slight frown deepened. What was it about a human's apparently inferior lifetime that would make an alliance between the two of them possible? The only fact she clearly saw was discouraging. If Comlan was still in the prime of life, despite its incredible length, how would he deal with a mate who would show the ravages of age so much faster?
"Sit with me." Comlan had noted Amy's expression. Was she already regretting her offered sacrifice?
Though yielding to the gentle tug of Comlan's hand and settling beside him on nature's green car-pet, Amy nervously wrapped her arms about updrawn knees.
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