Bride of Fae (Tethers) (2 page)

His hand
brushed against Nanny’s last holy cake, a dry lump of flour and water crossed on top with salt—guaranteed to thwart the very devil and his disciples on this most dangerous of nights. So armed, he made way up the back stairs.

The music came through clearly in the stairwell, and the
raucous laughter bounced off the walls in the confined space. They were drunk. Donall once asked his father why he tolerated such behavior among his servants.

“Let them be, so long as they’re quiet,” the governor had
grumbled. “It does no harm and feeds their souls.”

Feeds their souls.
The phrase turned a lock and opened a door in Donall’s mind. He’d thought souls were for feeding on Sundays, but submission to the vicar’s weekly sermons generally left his more depleted than fed. He’d always considered himself a failure in the reverence department.

The
romance of servants creeping up Faeview’s back stairs to glimpse the heavens’ display enchanted him. From that moment their superstition secured a fond corner in his heart, and he felt bound to protect them in it.

He opened the rooftop door to the clear night, the moon a bright flat disk and the stars blazing. Cold air nipped at his ears and filled his lungs, and he
again jammed his hands into his pockets for warmth.

The revelers at the north corner didn’t notice him
—and they weren’t who he was expecting. Heart in throat, he dove behind a half wall at the parapet, clenching his fists and crushing the poor little holy cake. Half hoping, half hoping not, he peeked around the wall.

Fairies!

More than a dozen sat cross-legged in a circle playing flutes and pennywhistles and drums. In the air above them, two females held hands and spun around each other. Their wings glittered in the moonlight, and their bodies shimmered under skin-tight gauzy material that made no mystery of their female features.

“Aubrey, dance with us!” one
of the fairy ladies cried.

Donall recognized her voice from the fireplace. Her bright red hair was short and ragged, and she wore a collar-like necklace of red cord and sparkling beads.

“My pleasure, princess.” A lean, bare-chested fairy stood at the edge of the circle. His straw-yellow hair stuck out at all angles. He was delicate and manly all at once and reeked of sexual energy. He spread his arms and flexed his chest muscles. Glittering golden wings sprouted from his back. He wore a similar choker but more ornate, the color of ship’s rope.

He flew up to the redhead
and offered a gentlemanly hand to the other female fairy. “Morning Glory?”

Morning Glory’s long white-blond hair fell gently over her shoulders. Her breasts were clearly visible through the filmy material she wore—as was the dark patch between her legs. She had large eyes and thick lips painted garish red.
Anxious desire shot through Donall, through his chest to his loins. She was the most captivating, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Sod it, man. How could you be disloyal to Miss Pengrith?

Morning Glory smiled at Aubrey
. Donall’s guilt evaporated, replaced by raging jealousy.

“Take care.”

Merely two words, but they commanded the attention of all. Manly, strong, confident, they came from the first voice in the fireplace, the one who’d claimed some sort of victory.

The speaker rose within the circle. He was like a king, tall and muscular, of aristocratic bearing
. His sleek dark hair was pulled off his face like a romantic warrior of the Highlands, secured in a topknot by two silver sticks that glittered when he moved and falling down his back like a river of hair.

“We’ll not disturb Lord Dumnos
,” he said.

He wore a skin-tight leather waistcoat and no shirt. Like the others, he wore a necklace, but his was different. A simple black woven collar
at his Adam’s apple. The bright-cut stone at its center caught and reflected moonlight like a diamond.

Donall surveyed the others, some dancing, some sitting and playing instruments. All
were beautiful, some exquisite. All wore the collar-like necklaces with bright-cut center stones. Straw-haired Aubrey’s was the most elaborate, extending over his bare chest and loaded with beads of glass or jewels and stone.

That fairy has a healthy self-opinion,
Donall thought.

“You’re not yet our king, Dandelion,” Aubrey said to the regal, dark-haired fairy. “You haven’t completed the ritual.” He sighed with fake sincerity. “Perhaps it’s as I feared. You don’t have what it takes.”

Dandelion glared at Aubrey and held up a leather pouch for all to see. The others stopped dancing, stopped piping, stopped drumming. The red-haired princess and blonde Morning Glory hovered, their bright eyes on Dandelion as he emptied a pale golden liquid from the pouch into a magnificent glass cup.

“Say the words.” The princess fairy circled Dandelion and kissed his cheek fondly then flew back
up to join Morning Glory. The ladies linked arms, a delightful floating picture silhouetted against the moon.

“Say the words.”

“Say the words.”

The chant dimmed as Dandelion made eye contact with the fairies one by one. When he’d silenced them, he tossed the bag aside and raised the cup.

Moonlight shone on its embedded jewels of blue, green and red. Morning Glory tossed something from her hand—fairy dust? A shower of light illuminated Dandelion and his long hair—which wasn’t brown or black at all but a rich dark chestnut. He chanted:

“By the fae cup I swear,
And by dandelion wine,
To claim the fae crown
Ever meant to be mine.”

He drank
. The stillness was like a sacred silence. Aubrey watched intently. As his lips curled with satisfaction, a bad feeling crept over Donall.

Dandelion finished the draught.
With the last swallow the princess cried, “Hurray!” She and Morning Glory flew over Dandelion’s head, throwing out showers of sparkling dust.

The music started up again. “Come, dance!” The princess and Morning Glory separated, enlarging the circle they made in the air. They spun around and tossed more fairy dust that exploded like tiny fireworks over the players. “Spin three times!”

Donall nearly betrayed his presence with a gasp as Dandelion’s wings sprouted, huge, dark, the color of his hair. They unfolded with masculine vigor to at least twice the length of his body, and he lifted off the roof.

The fairy
began a grand sweep over the heads of the others, a victory lap. A few seconds into it, he lurched to the right and bumped against Morning Glory’s wings.

“Ow!”

“Slurry, Gloweye—I mean I’m sorry, Glory.” Dandelion’s strong face paled. He teetered in the air and shot an accusing glance at Aubrey.

The smirking fairy didn’t seem surprised one jot by
this turn of events. In fact, his smirk looked like jubilation. Donall leaned out for a better view and lost his balance. He smashed his knee against the wall’s edge and cried out in pain.

The fairies froze in place.

“Someone’s here,” Morning Glory said. Her gaze darted over the roof, and she quickly found Donall.

An electrical jolt of desire whipped through him as her green eyes sparkled and she looked into his very heart. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he remembered
someone named Lydia, but he couldn’t help himself. Morning Glory was the most delightful, the most fascinating woman in all existence.

“Fly away!” Morning Glory said.

“No!” Donall couldn’t bear the thought. She was so beautiful. He had to know her. Touch her. Kiss her.

She smiled right at him then. Generous.
Kind. So full of promise. Her lips red and luscious. She gave him a sweet, sad smile, and he thought she was coming to him. But she touched her throat and was gone.

Donall ran to the center of the fairy circle. He nearly touched a fairy, but it vanished. He shook his head
as they all began to pop and flash away. He wasn’t imagining this. He wasn’t!

“Everyone fly!” Aubrey gave Donall a wicked leer, touched his throat, and disappeared.

Donall spun around at the roof’s edge amid the flutter of wings and unintended musical notes and strange pops and flashes.

Then silence. A few seconds later, a screetch owl’s cry
was the only sound in the night. The only shimmer was from stars sparkling in taunting silence. So mundane compared to the glimmering glittering living sparkles that were here only moments ago.

They were here!

And they were gone. Donall felt as if a cavern had been dug out of his heart and left empty. Something gleamed at his feet. The glass cup. He picked it up, stunning in the moonlight.

“Ach!” The baleful scream came from
behind him just beyond the roof’s edge. Dandelion hovered there at a listing angle, his eyes wide with rage. His wings beat angrily, impotently, against the air.

Donall
desperately hugged the beautiful prize to his chest. It was the thing that could keep him sane. Proof this wasn’t a dream. Dandelion lurched closer. Frantically, Donall dug into his robe pocket with his free hand and grasped a handful of holy cake crumbs. He threw the crumbs at the angry drugged fairy.

Simultaneously
, an eerie green and blue light streaked through the night sky. Donall let loose a wild whoop. The northern lights! He was in luck.

“It’s a sign!” he cried. “Brother Sun and Sister Moon mean me to have it!” He tossed another handful of holy cake crumbs.

The fairy backed off and shrieked again, an animal cry of despair. He spun three times at blinding speed and stopped. His eyes blazing, he pointed an accusing finger. Ferocious, crazed. He oozed both mystical and physical power.

Donall took a step back, but that was all. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t oblige. He said a silent prayer of gratitude for Nanny’s holy cakes.

The would-be fairy king locked gazes with Donall and chanted:

“If this cup does shatter or crack,
Bausiney’s line will meet its lack.”

With a pop and flash, the fairy was gone.

1972. Tintagos Village

T
HE ENGINE WAS
running, and Beverly was last to the car. She tossed her handbag onto the back seat next to her little sister Marion and jumped in. Her dad put the ancient Rambler in gear and backed away from the tiny two-story cottage.

The wisteria over the front porch was a jumble of bare woody sticks. Knowing she’d miss its
sprouting new green growth in a few months gave Beverly a twinge of nostalgia, but she was more than ready to get back to London. Tintagos Village was great—if you were over forty or under ten. Castle ruins and legends of ghosts and wyrding women hadn’t been interesting since she was Marion’s age.

She’d
miss Mum’s flowers. Even in winter her roses thrived. She said they loved the Dumnos mist. The garden was a riot of red and white climbers and pink and yellow hybrid teas. On January 15th Mum would take out her shears and prune without mercy, crying all the while and mumbling that it had to be done for a healthy bloom in the new season.

Beverly wouldn’t be there. She hadn’t yet told her parents, but she wouldn’t be coming home again.

“We’re off to the circus!” Marion said in her nine-year-old, sing-song voice.

“For the millionth time, Piccadilly Circus isn’t a
real circus,” Beverly said. Everybody laughed. She eyed her little sister’s unfastened seatbelt. “Buckle up, kid.” They were all in a cheerful mood, looking forward to this trip to take Beverly back to UCL for the second term.

At twenty-one, Beverly was old for a first-year university student. She’d had to work a few years to save money for school. It seemed she’d waited forever for her life to begin, but it had been worth it.

Her first term was a blast. The theater and music scene in London was beyond fantastic. She’d seen The Who in concert at the Rainbow in November, and she couldn’t wait to get back to the city for more music and plays and fun.

And her coursework, of course.