by R. F. Long
Matthew didn’t look convinced. He balled his fists at his side, no doubt prepared to defend her as any brother would his sister. Daire wondered whether it would help to tell him that was no need, that he had no designs on Rowan, that he couldn’t risk it even if he had, and besides, she was more than capable of defending herself.
Probably not, he decided. Silence was the best approach. It was her world, her brother. Relief shimmered across Rowan’s pretty features. Had she read his thoughts and decision from his face? Whatever it was, she approved of his silence.
“Just have a seat inside,” she said to Daire, pointing back at the living room. She steered her brother towards her kitchen.
“What sort of an actor gets that far into his role?” Matthew asked.
“Method,” she replied, with all the self assuredness Daire was coming to expect of her. He’d have to be careful. She was an artful liar.
Trapped in the house, at least until Matthew went, Daire paced the room. It was crammed with trinkets. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, and on one shelf little metal sculptures of foletti fae—the kind her people called fairies—were caught in a dance. Their wings were transparent panels of glass lined with pale colours and patches of glitter. Delicate little fancies. They belied the pragmatism he’d observed in her so far. There was more to her than practicality then. Something of a dreamer lurked underneath.
It made sense when he thought about it. That blast of soul fire she had given him to defeat Aynia had to be channelled somewhere in her daily life. It ought to emerge in the mortal world as creativity, some area of artistic, literary or musical excellence. Nothing was apparent. Where was she hiding it?
Matthew stopped at the door to the living room as he left, giving Daire a very precise warning with his glare. Daire understood the implications well enough. He had a sister too, just as obstinate and self-possessed though she was younger. He inclined his head, a gesture of respect, though he was uncertain whether Matthew believed it.
Matthew shifted his attention to Rowan. “I’ll talk to the senior partners and see what I can get through the door today. I should be able to at least stop his London show opening.”
“I don’t care, Matt.” She sighed, and her tone spoke of resignation, of defeat. “I don’t want that. I just… I just don’t know what to do about the opening.”
“You’ll pull something out of the hat, sis. You always do. Leave the legal end to me. I’ll hand you his ass.”
“Stop it, Matt.” She glanced at Daire and flushed. “I don’t want… Just let it lie. I should have called back. But with Peter’s news and the battery acting up and Daire arriving… It all got a bit…”
Matthew kissed her cheek and bade her farewell.
Daire waited for her to return. “I should go too,” he said the moment she appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, of course, I… Your head?”
“Healed,” he replied, ignoring the drop of her jaw and her hasty recovery. “I would just like permission to search your garden for the key.”
“Of course.”
She sounded so forlorn that guilt worried at his stomach. He owed her much, not alone for this shelter, for her hospitality and the comfort she had given him. She had probably saved them all last night.
Daire crossed the room to her and rested his hands on her shoulders, intending to respectfully kiss her cheek as her brother had done. But the moment his hands touched her, the energy between them flared up again. She lifted her face, her mouth parting in surprise. He was shocked to find his body responding in spite of himself. This was not done. He should not feel anything for her but gratitude. And yet, his body thought differently.
His hold on her turned unconsciously possessive. He lowered his mouth to hers and she opened beneath him, tongue, teeth and lips moving in a magical harmony. Rowan gripped his chest, her fingers tightening, burying themselves in the brittle texture of the leaves. She pressed against him, warm and supple, her body to his body. From within her throat came a small groan of need, of desire, and he responded by deepening the kiss. His hands slid down her back, lingering over the delectable curves where her hips flared out from her narrow waist. He held her there, pulled her closer.
No! This was madness. He was a Sidhe warrior, with duties and responsibilities a mortal woman would never understand. He was a danger to her, like all his kind. And no fae could ever trust a human.
Daire pulled back from her, unaccountably shaken. He would only hurt her, leave her desolate and alone or worse, draw the Dark Sidhe to her. It had never been his intention to stay this long. Fate had cursed him, in a typically twisted humour, creating this situation.
No, he thought, and unexpected regret wrung at his heart.
“Forgive me,” he whispered and embraced her instead, burying his face in the scent of her hair and inhaling the sweet perfume as deeply as he dared. It was an intoxicant that sent his senses reeling once again.
“I know,” she replied, her words carrying the weight of wisdom, and Daire realised that somehow she truly understood, in a way he would not have expected of a mortal. She broke the embrace, and her expression became a study in calm. “You can come back if you need to, if you can’t find the key, until Aidan sends help. He will, won’t he?” She flushed again, that warm glow of embarrassment that was so endearing. It suited her. Only a step away from the heat of her desire.
She drew in a sharp breath, as if she read his thought, or it showed on his face. But it couldn’t. Frustrated, Daire forced his body and this alien desire back under a tight fist of control.
“I should leave,” he said, with a formal bow.
Rowan paused, looking at him carefully. “Do you need help? I… I know the woods. I may be of some help.”
Even though her voice conveyed doubts and nothing but a desire to flee his company, still she offered. She understood courtesy far better than she gave the appearance of doing, that was certain. He knew he should turn her down. And yet something in him could not.
“It would be my honour,” he replied.
She smiled, a bright lifting of her whole face, light sparkling in her eyes. Daire drew in a breath and wondered at the dangers that lurked in beauty of those eyes.
Chapter Four
Rowan studied the tree line warily. Her memories of stumbling through the trees in the dark were still too fresh for her to feel comfortable here so soon, even though she was with Daire. Or perhaps because of him. She couldn’t tell.
When she hesitated at the shattered fence, he reached back without looking and took her hand in his. She felt that heady sensation of warmth and strength touching her skin and it bolstered her resolve, lifting her spirits. At the thought, embarrassment flushed her face, and she wriggled her fingers loose. It was too intimate a contact and it bit at her stomach in a way which made her uncomfortable. Even with Peter, she had never felt like this, a combination of giddiness and fear. She was not quite sure what to do with it.
“Okay,” she said, flexing her hand behind her back. Her skin shivered from his touch. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. “Where are we going?”
“You know the land better than I. Take me along the same path we took last night. Show me the way back to the gate.”
Why not? It made perfect sense and would save him a great deal of time and frustration. So why was her heart hammering against her breastbone?
Because last night I was attacked near here by creatures that are not supposed to exist outside of Grams’ tales? Because I am standing here with one right now, longing to touch him, for him to turn around and kiss me again?
Rowan gritted her teeth. This was insane. She didn’t have time for this. She thought again of the gallery and Peter, of the debts she needed to pay and the guests she needed to inform about the cancelled exhibition. She didn’t know Daire or owe him anything beyond directions. Shaking her emotions aside, she walked forwards and, as she did so, a magpie swooped out of the trees. It flew right at her with a vicious squawk.<
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Startled, she threw herself back, unable to stop the cry that burst from her lips as she fell against Daire’s unyielding body. He caught her in his arms, helping her back to her feet. But he didn’t release her. His fingers tightened on her elbows and when she glanced back his eyes were searching the upper branches of the nearest trees with an intense scrutiny.
She followed his gaze, searching the same branches for flashes of black and white. But she saw nothing of the sort.
Instead, the forest glowed with the red, gold and rich copper hues that seemed to embody all the tones of Daire. Birdsong filled the air, trills and whistles, snatches of wild melody she knew from so many days spent in earshot of these woods. Her escape, her refuge. How she had longed for those sounds over the roar of traffic when she lived in the city. She had gone to Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park in search of the same sounds, but somehow it was never the same. She found only a pale imitation, as if the birds had forgotten the song, but tried to imitate it nonetheless. Grams could tell you which bird sang which tune and would spin little tales about what they were saying.
Grams had told the most wonderful tales. Tales of her home, the fairy stories she had grown up with, the Gentry, the Shining Host—the Sidhe.
Rowan sighed, pulling herself away from Daire. The world around her dimmed as the contact broke. The intensity faded once she stood alone just inside the tree line. The stream ran through a hollow in the forest, and on the far side the ground rose to a ridge like a wrinkle in the ancient landscape, half hidden by ash, elm and beeches.
Daire watched her, his eyes far from human. Their green was too bright, she decided, the light in them too alert. They moved too quickly and followed every movement.
“What is wrong?” he asked in that soft, strong voice. Beneath the surface she could hear his impatience, but he didn’t rebuke her for her hesitation.
“Nothing.” She tried to shake off the fear. It wasn’t irrational, not after all she had seen, but this was daylight, she reminded herself. Broad daylight and she had a Sidhe warrior at her side.
Either that or she was losing her mind.
“There’s the stream.” She pointed downhill. “And beyond that, you head uphill and west until you come to the stones. You can’t miss them.”
He stared at the stream and then scrambled down the slope ahead of her. “Did we come this way? Cross this?”
She followed him, matching his speed, though it took her some effort to do so. “Yes. Don’t you remember?”
“I’m surprised you do.”
“Bits of it. It’s like…” As if scenes had been rubbed out, leaving an afterimage like old chalk ghosts on a blackboard. Not enough to really remember. But how could she tell him that? He’d think her demented. “It’s confused.”
Daire gave no reply, but she was sure he was biting the inside of his cheek instead.
At the water’s edge, he paused, staring at it. “Aidan came to here.” He dropped to a crouch, running his hands through the leaves. His fingers were long, his hands elegant.
She tore her eyes away and tried to pretend she had been looking for the key too. She could not remember a key. It should be easy enough to find, she thought, picturing something large and gothic, rather than the small, modern keys which hung from her key-ring. But there was no glint of metal amid the leaves, no sign of anything that did not belong there.
Daire stood, stretching like a cat as he did so, and his gaze travelled across the stream, to the close-knotted trees beyond.
“I sent you back from this spot here.”
You kissed me, she thought, though she did not say it. You kissed me and everything blurred after that.
“What lies to the north?”
“North? Eventually the village, Weathermere, but we are quite far out. Oh, and the caves.”
“And south?”
“Farmland, in the main. Like I said, it’s isolated.” She grimaced. “Never really bothered me before.”
“Nor should it now.” He glanced at her guiltily and she wondered if he had just lied, and if so, why?
Her mobile jangled in her pocket and Daire spun towards her, much faster than she expected. His pleasant face transformed, his eyes hard as precious stones, his mouth opening in a snarl. He snatched the sword from his belt, and it flashed in the sunlight as he drew it. Rowan gave a cry of alarm and fell back, her foot slipping on a rock slick with wet moss.
Her stomach flipped as she splashed down into the freezing water of the stream. Her breath burst from her lungs in a gasp and she flailed her arms, making her mortifying situation even worse.
Daire’s strong hands seized her, pulling her out of the water and back onto the bank. His face changed again, gentling with concern and then, to her horror, she recognised a growing amusement.
“Slowly,” he warned. “Breathe slowly. You’re unharmed. I beg your forgiveness, Rowan, for startling you so.”
She flapped her arms at her side and then hugged them across her chest when she realised that her blouse was clinging against her breasts, framing them and leaving nothing to the imagination.
“I’m okay. Really. I just… I’d better get back… I…” Flustered and humiliated, she turned away from him.
“Allow me to escort you home.”
“I’m fine, really. I’m—” Soaking wet? Making a fool of myself? “I have to get ready to go. My work, my gallery—I have so much to do and I… I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Before he could form another word of thanks or apology, or anything that might tempt her to stay with him, and to freeze to death in all likelihood, she fled, running back home like a child in distress.
Chapter Five
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Rowan threw her damp clothes into the wash basket, her body shivering uncontrollably. What had she been thinking, rabbiting on like that? Might as well get it tattooed across her forehead.
You’re hot and I’m desperate. My brain turns to mush within a yard of you.
And he scared her. She couldn’t equate the two emotions in her mind. But as attractive as she found him, Daire frightened her.
She sat down on the bed heavily and groaned, pulling her quilt up around her. She had all but thrown herself at him like a randy teenager. Then she had acted like Queen of the Klutzes for his amusement. She had never made such a fool of herself in so many ways so quickly for one man.
But he was going, as soon as he had his key. He was probably already gone. And that was that.
Rowan forced herself to her feet and stood very still, commanding herself to calm down. This would get her nowhere and she had more pressing matters to attend to. Like the gallery. What was she going to do about the gallery?
Get down there, for one thing. She needed to pull herself together and do her job. First thing was a shower. If she wasn’t already freezing from her dousing in the stream, she would need to make it a cold one, although she allowed herself to pass no comment on that. Then she would get dressed: smart, casual, neat and precise. A businesswoman without the formality she detested, the frigid formality she had left behind in London. After that she would go to work, without checking the trees or looking for him.
Daire would be gone. The likeliest explanation would be that he was no more than a product of her imagination anyway, a delusion brought on by a blow to the head. Or maybe it was all a dream, though her dreams had never been so vivid. But dreams should be shaken off with morning. If she made the world real again, Daire would be gone.
Why did she miss him already? Why did she want to run back outside and find him?
Shaking her head firmly, she tried once more to put him out of her mind, but her mind would not cooperate. Her lips tingled where he had kissed her and she imagined she could still feel a phantom kiss, hands cradling her like a thing most precious, and the warmth of a body pressed to hers, hard with muscle, strong and unyielding. The scent of autumn leaves about to fall.
Rowan fetched fresh towels from her airing cupboard.
The wind started to pick up outside. It rattled the window, whistling through the cracks. Strange, she thought. The morning, or what little she had seen of it, had been still and the sun bright. She wrapped herself in a towel and peered outside. The trees of the surrounding forest undulated like waves in the sea. Leaves skittered across the lawn and driveway.
There was no sign of Daire outside.
She growled inwardly at herself and forced her mind away from him yet again.
Stepping into the flow of cool water, she closed her eyes and tilted back her head to let it wash away the misadventures of the morning and the night before.
Her shoulders tensed in alarm as the sense of being watched came over her. She pulled back the shower curtain and swept her eyes over the empty bathroom. No one there. Shivering, she let the curtain drop again and tried to relax back into the stream of water, turning up the heat so that steam filled the room.
The she heard it. A tap-tap at the bathroom window. Rowan pulled the curtain back again and found herself gaping at a magpie as big as a cat perched on the windowsill, its vicious beak worrying at the foot of the window. Despite the warmth of the room, an unaccountable chill ran through her. The bird rolled its bead-like eyes and pecked again, as if trying to tug the window open from the outside.
“Shoo!” Rowan flapped her arms at it. The magpie stopped and lifted its head, glaring at her. Rowan tried to take a step back and slipped in the water, barely catching herself against the slick tiled wall. She turned off the water and pulled a towel around herself. The bird followed her movements with his keen eyes.
“Shoo.” She tried again and banged her fist against the glass.
With a tortured caw, the magpie took wing, circling across her drive, skimming low over her car before vanishing into the trees.
Rowan shivered, her skin covered in painful goose bumps. Just a bird, she tried to tell herself, but her stomach felt like a deep hollow had opened up within it. The same bird? But it couldn’t be. Magpies were common, weren’t they? She finished her shower as quickly as she could.
