The Absinthe Earl

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  I made a small curtsy to Angus and Caer. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord and lady.”

  “Travel safely,” said Caer kindly.

  “Finvara will take care of you,” her husband added.

  I moved slowly away, more than half expecting one of Diarmuid’s eruptions in my wake.

  In truth, I could sympathize with his unhappiness at this turn of events. Leaving Edward at this time was the last thing I would have chosen, but it seemed our stars had other ideas.

  On my return to Diarmuid’s chamber, I made another search through drawers and chests until I’d found suitable items for the journey—a fur-lined cloak, a pair of sturdy boots, a less ostentatious gown that had chain mail sewn into the sleeves, and a leather bodice that might deflect a blade.

  I was struggling with the laces of the emerald gown when suddenly the door slammed shut behind me.

  I spun around. “Edward!” I cried in surprise.

  He crossed the room like a rainsquall, halting a few feet before me. “Promise me you will return when this business is completed. Do not follow Finvara back to his court.”

  “What is it that frightens you, Diarmuid?” I demanded, unable to keep a note of scorn from my voice.

  “It is I, Ada. Edward. And I don’t want you following him back to Knock Ma, because he’s a woman-stealer.”

  “Diarmuid has told you this?” I demanded. I knew, of course, of Finvara’s reputation—the story most frequently told of him had to do with kidnapping the most beautiful woman in Ireland from the home of her betrothed. But it was a severe case of pot and kettle, and I resented the earl’s sudden bluster. Which may explain why I tried to rouse him further by asking, “Are you sure this isn’t about Duncan O’Malley?”

  The earl’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. He stepped closer, until the toes of our shoes almost touched. “At this point,” he replied, “there is no difference.”

  I gave up wrestling the fastenings of my gown and drew myself up to my full height, little good that it did when he had a half-foot advantage. “Do you fear that he will hold me against my will, my lord, or is it I whom you do not trust?”

  His hands gripped my arms. “Why do you test me?” he demanded, and I wondered at this change in him. But I could not expect him to share his mind with the Danaan warrior and not be affected.

  “Why do you not answer the question?” I replied with no quaver in my voice. “Do you not trust me?”

  “We have no arrangement, Ada,” he said, as if this explained everything. “You are not my wife, or even my mistress.”

  “I am glad that you have remembered it.”

  The argument was pointless, but my blood was rising, and not only in anger. A kind of energy swelled between us, like a gas lamp flaring to life.

  “There was a time before all this when you were less indifferent to me,” he said, bending over me so I was forced to tip my head back.

  He was baiting me. We were baiting each other. Which of us would first feel the hook?

  “You once asked me to fortify you against the charms of another,” he continued, his thumbs hotly rubbing the insides of my arms.

  The loosened gown had slipped down my shoulders, revealing the visible quaking of my chest. I followed his eye there. My heart was near frantic with desire, and a tremor entered my voice as I replied, “And were you satisfied with the result, my lord?”

  He made a dark rumbling sound in his throat. “Indeed, I was.”

  I swallowed past the thick, hot pressure in my throat. “Then why not test its efficacy again?”

  His hand came to the side of my neck, tilting my jaw, and he covered my mouth with his. Heat, hunger, even anger—I took all of it into myself through his lips and tongue. With his free hand, he yanked loose the laces of my gown and pulled down the bodice.

  Edward

  Bending to her chest, I dipped my head and closed my mouth over one breast. Opening my lips wide, I took as much of the sweet, supple flesh into my mouth as I could. The hard, dark pebble I woke with a thrust of my tongue—the breath hissed between her teeth and she slackened in my arms.

  I was mad. Mad with lust, mad with fear, mad with the impotence of a lover overruled by cooler heads.

  Curling my hands under her buttocks, I lifted her, tucking her legs around my waist, resting her full weight atop my throbbing cock. I took three steps, luxuriating in the pressure and slow friction, before tossing her onto the bed.

  Her arms and legs splayed as she fell, and before she could recover a more dignified position, I grabbed the hem of her gown and shoved it above her waist.

  I watched her face as I reached down to loosen my breeches, and instead of offering protests or scooting away from me, she issued a challenge with her eyes and slid her legs farther apart. Taking her thighs in my hands, I dragged her toward the edge of the bed and fell on top of her. Reaching between her legs, I parted her silken flesh with one finger, uttering a groan as it slid inside her. I could lose myself in that warmth and wetness and never miss the light of day.

  I added a second finger, and she made a sound halfway between cry and plea. The muscles of her sex closed over me.

  I teased her only a moment more before pulling my hand free. Then I sank my cock into her until my abdomen was pressed up against her mound.

  Taking hold of my shoulders, she wriggled until I understood that she wanted me on the bed. When we had managed this reversal, she sat up, straddling me, the green gown pooling about her waist. Thus mounted, she seemed to hesitate, as if unsure what came next. I took hold of her hips, grinding her sex down hard against me. Her head tipped back, and a long feminine moan worked its slow, delicious way out of her.

  Hands bracing against my chest, she began to rock under her own steam, the center of her pleasure grinding against me, trailing moisture across my flesh. Her swollen breasts rolled with the violence of her movement, and my hands were now free to knead them, drawing from her a piercing cry, and a stronger spasm of contracting muscles.

  I was not equal to this sensual attack. I could not continue to man the battlements. Gripping her hips again, I held her in place and thrust as hard as I could—one, two, three, four, five—deepening my seat with every motion, voicing a shuddering moan with my release. Her body went rigid, the muscles between her legs wringing pleasure from me, and she gave a final cry of surrender before collapsing, breathless, onto my chest.

  My sense of relief at her weight resting on me, and the physical contentment of sated desire, held at bay my sense of alarm at her determination to leave me—to flee from my protection into danger, and in the care of a rival. This was a moment I would wish to hold on to forever.

  On this subject, my ancestor and I were in accord. He did not trust the king, and I did not trust my cousin. Duncan would never harm her, I knew, but he had made it quite clear that should the lady feel mishandled by me, he would know how to treat her better. These possessive impulses were alien to me, and I was not proud of them.

  For now, I must content myself with this victory of the flesh. She had met and matched my desire, and we had not been overcome by powerful ancestors. Diarmuid had kept to the shadows, and I believed I understood why. Only in feeling unthreatened by his presence could I give in to the demands of my body, which had only grown more insistent since the lady first gave herself to me. And if he could not be with Cliona, Ada was the next best thing. I should have been sickened by such a thought. And I might later be. But while she was here, nothing could disturb the warm contentment flowing through me.

  You understand nothing, came his voice in my mind. For me, she is Cliona. And I was not about to send her away without a reminder of what burns between us.

  So my ancestor’s motive had been the same as my own. Did Cliona love Finvara, I wondered? Had the choice been real, or merely a case of unrequited affection?

  Only the lady k
nows, came the answer. I did not find it reassuring, though I did consider it a point in his favor that he had not compelled the information from her, sorely as he must have been tempted.

  Had I, I would have lost her forever.

  Closing my eyes, I stole a few more moments of uncomplicated enjoyment of my mortal lover’s scent, her soft skin, and her sweet sighs of contentment.

  “The king waits for me,” she murmured.

  I coiled my arms more tightly around her. “He’ll wait a moment more.”

  “I would not choose to …” She trailed off, and I stroked her back, encouraging her to continue. Her body rose under my hand as she breathed deeply and said, “I would not choose to part from you just now.”

  My heart sang with relief. “Ah, love,” I replied, kissing the top of her head, “nor would I. You needn’t go, you know. He can most certainly manage the errand on his own.”

  “I think you know that’s not why I agreed to go.”

  I sighed, feeling heavy and resigned. “You agreed because you thought he wouldn’t go otherwise.”

  She gave no reply, but none was necessary.

  “I don’t trust him, Ada,” I said. “Nor does Diarmuid.”

  “I’m not sure that I do, either. But somewhere within him resides Duncan, and I trust him.”

  I laughed dryly. “Duncan, I assure you, is a thorough rogue and an opportunist. But he would protect you, of that we already have evidence.”

  “I shall try to call him back to us,” she replied. “I think that eventually he will find his strength, as you have.”

  “Ada,” I said, and she raised her head to look at me. Mesmerized by her clear green eyes, I brushed a lock of silver away from her face. “I hope you can forgive my brutish behavior. I hope you understand that I am not entirely myself.”

  “I do, my lord.”

  When first we met, this courtesy title had made me feel all too keenly the distance between our stations. But for me, it had now taken on sensual connotations, and hearing it from her lips never failed to warm my blood.

  “I hope you also understand how …” My courage failed me on the word “dear,” and I finished with “… how important you are to me.”

  She parted her lips to reply, but I continued. “I do not ask for assurances or declarations. I merely wanted you to know it before you go. My most fervent desire is that you return safely … whether or not you return to me.”

  She raised her eyebrows, and she touched her thumb to my lower lip. “Return to you I shall,” she said softly. “As expeditiously as possible.”

  Another warm current of relief coursed through me, and I took her hand, kissing the palm. “Then let us reunite you with your gown and send you on your way so that you may return all the sooner.”

  And before the Danaan warrior finds the strength to brutishly revoke my acceptance of this distasteful arrangement.

  THE BOG KING

  Ada

  I fought a choking tightness in my throat as Edward snugged the leather corset against my spine, his warm breath tickling the hair at the nape of my neck. As the time for leaving approached, I began to second-guess my decision. I had ever felt safe in the earl’s company, but this fairy king and even his descendant were relatively unknown.

  More to the point, however, was the strong attachment I had formed to Edward.

  “I shall be the worse for the loss of your counsel,” he said.

  I turned and took his hands in mine. “Trust yourself, my lord. Your heart and your intentions are ever in the right place, whether you realize it or not.”

  He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “If you believe in me, I must surely believe in myself. For you are the cleverest person I know.”

  I laughed. “We must believe in each other.”

  “I believe in you unquestionably. Only promise me that should you find yourself in need, you will get word to me somehow.”

  I nodded against his chest, and he held me tighter.

  “And trust that if an undue length of time should pass, I will come for you. Never feel that you are abandoned.”

  He released me then and retrieved Roup’s spear from its resting place against the weapon wall. “You’re certain you’d prefer this to the shieldmaiden’s sword?”

  I reached for the spear. “I am. I wouldn’t know how to manage such a powerful weapon.”

  “Dare I hope you’ve had some instruction in self-defense?”

  “Certainly,” I replied, laughing again. “Lovelace heartily embraces the idea of physical education for young women. I’d not call myself formidable, and never in my wildest imaginings did I suspect that these skills might one day be put to use, but I am not entirely a novice.”

  There came a knock on the chamber door. “My lady,” called Duncan’s voice from the other side, “I’ve come to collect you if you’re ready.”

  The earl muttered an oath, and I reached up and touched my fingers to his lips. I love you, I thought but did not speak, for I could not be sure whose thought it was.

  Then I bent and collected my cloak and crossed to the door.

  “Dana guard and keep the jewel of my heart,” he said as I opened the door. Diarmuid, I assumed, for this poetry was not like the earl. As my eyes fell on the king, the Danaan warrior added, “And the battle crow take Finvara should the slightest harm come to you.”

  “Only Diarmuid would send off his beloved with a curse,” muttered the king. “Come, my lady.”

  I glanced once more at Edward, and he watched, grim-faced, as we departed.

  We left the manor house and liberated Billy Millstone from his guardians. He appeared not to have suffered in their care. And in fact, when he took note of my new companion—whose sword was drawn as a precaution—I would bet my small fortune that he would have returned to the woodland fairies rather than proceed with us.

  “So you’ve cast off the old oath and taken a new,” King Finvara accused.

  The redcap screwed up his courage and glowered defiantly. “Billy sees that the lady and he have it in common.”

  Finvara raised the sword to knock the redcap a blow with the pommel, but I stayed his arm. “Let it pass, my lord.”

  He lowered the sword but growled, “How soon you forget the kindness you’ve been shown by your king and by your Danaan ancestors.”

  “Is it not the fault of they that we are exiled from the sun?” demanded Billy. “From the moon and stars? Is Billy to be blamed for castin’ his lot with those as would return them to us?”

  Glancing up at the sky, I noticed that the light had not changed at all during the hours we spent inside the house of Angus. Was Faery cursed, then, to exist as no more than a shadow of the living, breathing world?

  “Has Faery not always been like this?” I asked. “Was it caused by the exile?”

  Finvara looked surprised by the question. I suppose he assumed that as Cliona, I would know.

  “Faery is as it ever was,” the king replied. “But the fairies are more tied to Ireland and the Irish than to the Danaan, so exile has been hardest for them.”

  “Are fairies not descended from the Danaan?”

  “Aye, but their ties to their forefathers severed when the immortals departed for Faery. They are soulless creatures, drawn to the light and dark in men. Without it, they have no compass.” He looked pointedly at Billy. “Their loyalty is transient. They don’t always make choices that align with their interests.”

  The redcap’s lip curled, and he spat on the ground.

  “Billy here would poison the Irish to suit the Fomorians,” the king continued, “never thinking how he shall exist or occupy his time in a world without men.”

  “S’pose that’s nobody’s business but Billy’s,” grumbled the redcap, but I could see a glint of uncertainty in his bulging eyes.

  I began to see what a
heavy price all the races of Faery had paid for Diarmuid’s actions. As we continued to the river, I found some sympathy in my heart for Billy Millstone.

  The little copper-hulled tug carried us to the Gap gate at Knock Ma, and we emerged inside a mossy cave concealed behind a waterfall. I used Cliona’s gift to stop the waters, but we could have managed it without supernatural aid—though we would certainly have been soaked to the skin. I asked Billy whether all the Gap gates were concealed by water. He was inclined to be rude, but one threatening glance from Finvara was enough to loosen his tongue.

  The Gap gates were not so much concealed by water as enabled by it, he told me. Water was sacred to the druids—conjurers of “old magic”—and it was also important in alchemy. Billy had a meandering turn of mind, but I believed I understood him to say that Diarmuid’s seal—or “Diarmuid’s curse,” as he called it—was old magic that covered Ireland like a blanket, its stitches straining in sacred places like this, where the boundaries preferred to remain fluid. And alchemy, as Diarmuid had already told us, had been used to establish the Gap gates. When I asked him how those who could not part the waters accessed the gates that were submerged, he simply replied, “By swallowin’ a great deal of water.” Thus it became clear to me why Ireland was not already overrun. And gave me hope that the servants of Balor were not yet so far ahead of us as Diarmuid believed.

  “This gate is relatively easy to pass through,” I said to Finvara. “Perhaps we should set a guard.”

  The king nodded. “I will give the order, my lady. Bear with me a few moments while I return to my fortress at Knock Ma.” He turned to Billy. “It’s time you returned home, redcap.”

  Billy backed away with a startled yelp, but Finvara collared him, and the two of them disappeared, leaving naught but faint green outlines of their forms hanging in the air. I stood alone in the gloaming, watching the vapor dissipate. If I correctly understood Edward, had he and I allowed ourselves to be overtaken by our ancestors, as Duncan appeared to have been, we, too, could flit between Faery and Ireland.