by R. F. Long
In an instant, Daire was gone. Rowan blinked at the spot where he had been. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He just vanished. She leaned forwards, trying to find him again, but there was no sign. Not a trace.
Footsteps approached, stealthy and precise, but not completely silent. Not like Daire. And a voice, a whisper below.
“…here a moment ago, Lorcan.”
Lorcan and his companion appeared from the shadows, right underneath her. Both were armed, neither as tall as Daire, but broader, knotted with muscles. She remembered them from the previous night, wasn’t likely to forget either of these nightmarish men.
Her breath trembled as she tried to force it to be silent. Lorcan raised his face, sniffing the air. He stood so still one might take him for another tree, if they didn’t feel the aura of menace he exuded.
“There’s something here,” he breathed and his voice made her stomach tangle in on itself.
He looked up, right into her terrified face and he smiled.
The smile ran all over her body like filthy hands.
“What’s this little bird up to, Cathal?”
His companion snapped his attention to her as well, his look even more disturbing. She clung to the branch, trapped.
“Doesn’t look like she’s apt to fly away any time soon,” Cathal replied. They half-circled the tree, watching her with predatory eyes.
Rowan dug her fingers into the bark of her branch. If only she had a weapon of some kind, at least something heavy to throw. But she had nothing. And where was Daire? He wouldn’t leave her here like this, would he? Or would he? While the Dark Sidhe were distracted with her, he could do anything, get away, go home. Had he found his expected rescue party and abandoned her?
“So, she isn’t going to fly,” Lorcan confirmed with a savage grin. “And I don’t think she wants to hop down to us. What do you think? Should we ask Lady Aynia to send us a wind to knock her from her perch? Or climb up there and shake her down ourselves?”
Cathal chuckled. “A conundrum, my brother.”
“It also begs the question, has she lost her guardian already?” Lorcan lay his great gnarled hand on the trunk. “Or is he simply more artful at disguise?”
In a blur of movement, Lorcan stabbed at the tree. The blade clashed against answering metal, another blade.
Daire slid from whatever illusion he had hidden behind, beating Lorcan back with hammer blows. Cathal joined the fray, driving in at the Sidhe prince from the left, forcing him to retreat.
“Thought you’d find shelter in the arms of your namesake tree, Daire?” Lorcan jeered. “You know once we’re finished with you, I’m taking the girl. Don’t you?”
Daire didn’t answer, reserving his strength, Rowan guessed, not allowing Lorcan’s words to anger him to the point of a mistake. They angered her, though. She gripped the branch tighter. Take her? Let him try, she promised herself. Just let him try.
Daire fought with his whole body, blade, fists and feet, everything defined in rapid movements. He twisted as he fought, a deft kick catching Cathal in the abdomen. But his strength wouldn’t last forever. He faced two enemies alone. She had to do something. Anything. As Cathal staggered back from the other two men, he passed beneath her. Rowan braced herself and then dropped onto his back.
She hadn’t accounted for his strength. As a child, she had once sat astride a bolting horse. It felt like that now. Iron-hard muscles clenched beneath her body. She clawed at his face and hair while he whirled around in attempt to dislodge her. His free hand closed on her shoulder, fingers digging in like knives, but she clung to him.
Cathal changed direction, hurtling backwards to slam her against the tree but Rowan slid from his back, dropped right to the ground and rolled, taking his feet from under him. Carried by his own weight, Cathal crashed against the oak and lay still. Panting for breath, Rowan swiped his sword from the ground and tried to find Daire.
Lorcan raised his blade high, and for a moment she feared the worst. It plunged towards Daire’s body, lying on the forest floor, but the Sidhe twisted aside, a shimmy that avoided the fatal blade. He came thrusting up with an attack of his own. Rowan ran to help him, but to her surprise, Daire’s hand shot up and a barrier of air rose before her, pushing her back to the shelter of the tree. Strain showed on his face and Rowan immediately fell still, stopped fighting him for fear she would give Lorcan some sort of advantage.
“Do you care about this pretty creature?” Lorcan asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “She has an attraction, I’ll grant you that, but the iron runs to her core, Daire. She’s a mortal, no more than a brief whisper compared to our women. Compare her with Aynia, my friend.”
Lorcan’s words assaulted Rowan. Aynia, whom Daire had loved. Aynia, whom he had described like a vision of paradise. Rowan frowned, feeling the dirt pinching the skin of her face, flaked bark smeared on her cheek. A vision perhaps, but she didn’t like to think of what.
“Aidan left you here to rot,” Lorcan jeered. “And Aynia’s miles away. I’m offering you a deal, Daire. Give it up now and I’ll spit you straight on this.” He gestured with his sword. “I’ll kill you myself and spare you whatever Aynia is planning. Then I’ll carry off your little friend.”
He laughed and Daire launched himself forwards. Lorcan parried the homicidal blade, but couldn’t ward off the explosion of rage emanating from his foe. Daire lifted Lorcan off his feet, hurling him back through the trees. He crashed against a trunk and slumped into the undergrowth, still and unmoving.
Daire dropped to his knees, only the sword holding him up. Rowan sprinted to his side, leaping over undergrowth. She seized his arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Come on,” she urged. “Before they wake up or come back. Let’s go!”
Daire allowed her to lead him. The trees swept by them, shadowy sentinels which Rowan feared at any second would morph into another Dark Sidhe.
Almost within sight of the house, Daire pulled her to a halt, his hand firm but gentle on her upper arm.
“Do you recall what you did the other night?”
The confused images flared behind her eyes again, the coiling of roots and vines, the upheaval of the earth, the flow of raw energy from her innermost core. Nervously, she nodded.
“We’re going to do it again. When the spell activates, we need to stand ready to run for your home. Do you understand?”
Run? Could they outrun whatever lay in wait? Rowan’s chest tightened. “Yes,” she whispered.
He pointed to a tall yellow-flowered gorse. “Pick some of that.” Rowan didn’t think to argue but used her pilfered sword to hack some of the longer growth off. She offered it to him, but Daire shied back.
“No. And be careful with it. Once inside, lock the doors and windows and light a fire with that, understand?”
“Yes, but…”
“No buts,” he warned in a voice that would brook no dissent. “They will kill us if they catch us and that is the best treatment either of us could hope for.”
She glared at him, guessing his plan. He intended to remain outside and hold his enemies off. It was plain on the determined lines of his face.
“And what about you?” she asked, keeping her voice as diamond hard as his gaze. Daire didn’t answer.
Rowan followed him through the trees. They moved slowly, with the utmost care, each step judiciously placed. As they made their way forwards, Rowan tried to work out what she had actually done the night they met. Daire had been holding the sword, the world was going insane all around them and she had grabbed the hilt, needing to do something, anything! Seeing his fading strength, she had reached out with her own and…and what?
In the shadow of a horse chestnut’s wide, spreading branches, she reached out to him. Her fingers brushed his arm lightly, to get his attention, intending only to tell him she didn’t know what to do. He turned so quickly, the sword sweeping towards her, that Rowan gave a tiny cry of surprise and saw the darkness flooding his eyes.
&nbs
p; “You must be silent.” His voice emerged as a hiss.
“But I don’t—” she managed, but then laughter came from the narrow clearing ahead, a cruel, thin sound, the sound of the mean-hearted, the laughter of a tormentor. Rowan recoiled, but didn’t dare retreat. The Dark Sidhe were all around them, waiting for such a mistake.
“Prince Daire has a plaything,” one voice called out.
“Will he share?”
“No. His heart is gone. He doesn’t love us anymore. He doesn’t love anyone. He won’t share.”
“No fair no share.”
Rowan’s breath scraped against the insides of her throat. “Oh, God.”
Something to her left—far too close to her—spat out a curse.
“All the gods abandoned you, little one,” said a deeper voice, filled with the sound associated with the worst kind of leer. “There’s only us.”
And Daire, she thought. His broad shoulders rose before her, his curling hair brushing the place where his neck joined them. She could smell his scent, the deep, rich aroma of earth and wood, of the natural world.
But another smell drifted closer, from behind, the smell of decay, of rot. Rowan’s eyes widened as she realised what it meant. A hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her aside and the knife flashed in the twilight, heading straight for Daire’s unprotected back.
Rowan did the only thing she could; she shouldered the arm aside and thrust the sticks she carried right into the torso and face of their attacker. The Dark Sidhe fell back, screaming. His knife flew from his hand into the darkness.
“Now!” Daire yelled and she flailed around, grabbing his shoulders with her free hand and willing every ounce of strength she possessed into him.
A wave of dizziness engulfed her. She sank back against the horse chestnut tree, no longer ready to run, incapable of doing anything but collapsing slowly, sliding down the rough bark. It pulled at her shirt, lifting it, scraped the length of her back.
Daire exploded into action. Four figures coalesced out of the long shadows, each one formed as handsomely as the Sidhe prince, but each one a pale comparison. They would have circled their prey, but Daire dismissed the one to his right with a high, spinning kick, while his sword lashed out at the one on his left, disarming him on the fore stroke, disembowelling him on the back.
Rowan gagged as the Dark Sidhe fell, clutching at his stomach, as if trying to stop the inevitable. His body twitched and then lay still. Daire scooped up the fallen sword and hurled it at the third. It impaled his shoulder, tossing him back with the power behind the throw.
The final Dark Sidhe curled his upper lip and snarled at Daire. Their swords clashed as he flung himself forwards, but Daire slipped his blade up and over his opponent’s. His enemy’s own weapon and arm guided Daire’s sword straight towards the heart. The Dark Sidhe opened his mouth, though whether to speak or scream Rowan couldn’t tell. Blood gushed from between his clenched teeth.
Rowan sobbed, curling in on herself, unwilling to look any longer. For the first time the danger became real, took on an actual, concrete reality in her mind. It wasn’t make-believe or a hallucination. Her imagination would never contrive such scenes. They were real. He was real. And if things went wrong they would both end up as dead as the Dark Sidhe littered around Daire now.
Daire breathed in, the muscles on his back flexing and relaxing beneath the thin layer of his leaf clothing. He allowed the breath out, slowly, and surveyed his work, a professional, she realised. A professional killer. Logic told her to direct her fear at him, but somehow she couldn’t. She clutched the plant stems and wondered where she had dropped Cathal’s sword.
Satisfied with his kills, Daire stalked back towards her. “I thought I said run for the house?”
She shook her head. It was about all she could find strength for. She felt icy cold and drained, like a wrung-out dish cloth. “I’m sorry.”
A frown creased his forehead and he knelt down before her, studying her face. The exhilaration in him faded. In its place she saw confusion which was swiftly surpassed by guilt.
“Rowan.” He touched her face tentatively, his fingertips brushing her skin. Energy crackled between them and a little more strength seeped away from her. He withdrew. “I’m sorry. I took too much from you. I never meant for you to give your all.” Before she replied, he slipped his arms around her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child. He studiously avoided her skin but cradled her against him. “Hold on to me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and Daire flinched. Grey shadows tugged at the edge of her vision. She couldn’t seem to stop this burst dam of inner strength. She tried to keep the plant stalks away from him, for fear that he would react in the same way as the Dark Sidhe. As her remaining strength flagged still further, she rested her head on his shoulder, held on as best she could, and allowed his strength to carry her home.
Chapter Nine
Rowan nestled against Daire’s body, his warmth the only thing keeping her conscious. As he struggled inside the door to the cottage, she felt the iron in her home run like claws over her skin, and she was grateful for that. Reality seemed a little harder, more concrete than the beguiling font of light and fire that threatened to suck her in and enfold her, to float forever in a sweet oblivion.
Daire placed her gently and carefully on the floor while he kicked the door closed and pushed the bolt to. Her kitchen floated by, the washing up still piled beside the sink, the cupboard door ajar. Mundane little pieces of her life, her reality. Fragments of a world she could barely attach herself to anymore.
Daire lifted her again and carried her through to the living room, to the same sofa on which he had lain. Rowan tried to fight the exhaustion eating away at her consciousness. With precise clarity of distraction, she watched him turn the catches on the window with the blade of his knife, securing her home, protecting her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“The original builders of your home knew enough to place iron locks on doors and windows and to bury iron beneath the thresholds. I can feel its sting. As your guest I can bypass them, and any Sidhe or fae with enough strength could break through eventually. Not without pain, or sacrifice, but even iron cannot hold in perpetuity.”
He took the plant stalks from her unresisting hands, wincing as it touched his bare skin.
“What’s wrong? What is it?”
Daire didn’t reply at first. He snapped the long stems and threw them into the fireplace, shaking his hands as if to clear a sting.
“It’s broom.” He knelt before her. Red welts, raised and obviously painful, covered his palms and fingers. “It likes not my kin and me. If they come, light your fire. Your windows and doors are bound with iron already. The smoke will prevent them using the chimney.”
“How?”
He shook his head briefly, a rapid gesture, almost too quick for her tired eyes. “Not now. They’ve gone for now. You need no nightmares.”
She lay back, closing her eyes in relief. All she wanted now was sleep, to relieve herself of the terrible burden of exhaustion. Deep inside her lay a quiet, dark place where she longed to curl up and hide. She found her consciousness burrowing towards it.
“No.” He pulled her up from the sofa. “Rowan, you can’t sleep. Not now. Talk to me.”
Part of her wanted to. The rest wanted to push him away. The logical part of her said stay awake and find out as much as you can, find out what is wrong with you, what makes you want to sleep like the dead. The rest of her told the logical part precisely what it could do with itself. She wanted sleep, needed sleep, as she had never needed it. And nothing on the entire planet could induce her to—
Daire kissed her. His lips claimed hers, burned against the sensitive skin. His mouth parted slightly, requiring a response. It was both invitation and a plea. His breath caressed her flesh, driving her senses beyond what they could stand.
His hands cupped her shoulders, holding her swaying body in place as his ki
ss filled her. She wasn’t sure how to respond, even if she had the strength, so she let him hold her to him and drank in kiss after delirious kiss.
Daire broke away from her and when he spoke, his voice sounded ragged. “Rowan, I’m not sure how much of this you’ll understand, but try to follow me. Magic needs energy. I am a creature of magic. And you…”
As if unable to help himself, he leaned in and kissed her again, like someone faced with a long-denied addiction. Hunger, need, and desire, beyond reason. She sensed his failing reluctance and yet couldn’t help luxuriating in the sensations, the touch of his lips, his tongue filling and enticing her. Her heart thundered against her ribs as he pulled back.
“Somehow, you are a source of enormous magical energy. It is a mortal’s gift from the Creator, the ability in turn to create. That is true magic. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, but with the movement the exhaustion flooded back again, a dark wave of oblivion which crested far above her. Her head lolled back as she surrendered to it.
Daire kissed her again, buoying her back to the light of his embrace, to the sound of his voice. His lips trailed across her cheek, up her jaw line, to her ear.
“I asked you to give me some energy, without thinking you would give me so much. You are a giving person. It isn’t in you to hold back. I should have thought. For that I am sorry. I should have guessed you would not understand the implications. I need to give some back to you, Rowan. Or you will be ill. Dangerously ill. Your tine anama is unbalanced, your soul flickering. I must restore what is yours.”
“How?” He sounded so serious. And the way her consciousness lurched sickeningly between the dark and Daire’s light, it felt serious, or would if she could bring herself to care for more than a moment. Every time she could grasp the importance, it slid away, straight into shadows on an oil-skimmed track.
Daire cradled her against his body again, rested his face against her hair. His words drew her back, though she felt certain he thought she slept.
